On reaching the "garrison," all was safe. Whiskey Centre watched the gate—a sober man, now, perforce, if not by inclination; for being in the Openings, in this respect, is like being at sea with an empty spirit-room. He was aware that several had passed out, but was surprised to learn that Peter was of the number. That gate Peter had not passed, of a certainty; and how else he could quit the palisades was not easily understood. It was possible to climb over them, it is true; but the feat would be attended with so great an exertion, and would be so likely to lead to a noise which would expose the effort, that all had great difficulty in believing a man so dignified and reserved in manner as this mysterious chief would be apt to resort to such means of quitting the place.
As for the Chippewa, Gershom reported his return a few minutes before; and the bee-hunter entered, to look for that tried friend, as soon as he learned the fact. He found Pigeonswing laying aside his accoutrements, previously to lying down to take his rest.
"So, Chippewa, YOU have come back, have you?" exclaimed le Bourdon. "So many of your red-skin brethren are about, that I didn't expect to see you again for these two or three days."
"No want to eat, den, eh? How you all eat, if hunter don't do he duty? S'pose squaw don't cook vittles, you no like it, eh? Juss so wid hunter—no KILL vittles, don't like it nudder."
"This is true enough. Still, so many of your people are about, just now, that I thought it probable you might wish to remain outside with them for a day or two."
"How know red man about, eh? You SEE him—you COUNT him eh?"
"I have seen something like fifty, and may say I counted that many. They were chiefs, however, and I take it for granted, a goodly number of common warriors are not far off. Am I right, Pigeonswing?"
"S'pose don't know—den, can't tell? Only tell what he know."
"Sometimes an Injin GUESSES, and comes as near the truth as a white man who has seen the thing with his own Pigeonswing made no answer; though le Bourdon fancied, from his manner, that he had really something on his mind, and that, too, of importance, which he wished to communicate.
"I think you might tell me some news that I should like to hear,
Chippewa, if you was so minded."
"Why you stay here, eh?" demanded the Indian, abruptly. "Got plenty honey—bess go home, now. Always bess go home, when hunt up. Home good place, when hunter well tired."
"My home is here, in the Openings, Pigeonswing. When I go into the settlements, I do little but loaf about among the farm-houses on the Detroit River, having neither squaw nor wigwam of my own to go to. I like this place well enough, if your red brethren will let me keep it in peace."
"Dis bad place for pale-face, juss now. Better go home, dan stay in Openin'. If don't know short path to Detroit, I show you. Bess go, soon as can; and bess go ALONE. No good to be trouble wid squaw, when in hurry."
The countenance of le Bourdon changed at this last intimation; though the Indian might not have observed it in the darkness. After a brief pause, the first answered in a very determined way.
"I believe I understand you, Chippewa," he said. "I shall do nothing of the sort, however. If the squaws can't go, too, I shall not quit them. Would you desert YOUR squaws because you thought them in trouble?"
"An't your squaw yet. Bess not have squaw at all, when Openin' so full of Injin. Where you t'ink is two buck I shoot dis mornin', eh? Skin 'em, cut 'em up, hang 'em on tree, where wolf can't get 'em. Well, go on after anudder; kill HIM, too. Dere he is, inside of palisade, but no tudder two. He bot' gone, when I get back to tree. Two good buck as ever see! How you like dat, eh?"
"I care very little about it, since we have food enough, and are not likely to want. So the wolves got your venison from the trees, after all your care; ha! Pigeonswing."
"Wolf don't touch him—wolf CAN'T touch him. Moccasin been under tree. See him mark. Bess do as I tell you; go home, soon as ever can. Short path to Detroit; an't two hundred pale-face mile."
"I see how it is, Pigeonswing; I see how it is, and thank you for this hint, while I honor your good faith to your own people. But I cannot go to Detroit, in the first place, for that town and fort have fallen into the hands of the British. It might be possible for a canoe to get past in the night, and to work its way through into Lake Erie, but I cannot quit my friends. If you can put us ALL in the way of getting away from this spot, I shall be ready to enter into the scheme. Why can't we all get into the canoe, and go down stream, as soon as another night sets in? Before morning we could be twenty miles on our road."
"No do any good," returned Pigeonswing, coldly. "If can't go alone, can't go at all. Squaw no keep up when so many be on trail. No good to try canoe. Catch you in two days—p'raps one. Well, I go to sleep—can't keep eye open all night."
Hereupon, Pigeonswing coolly repaired to his skins, lay down, and was soon fast asleep. The bee-hunter was fain to do the same, the night being now far advanced; but he lay awake a long time, thinking of the hint he had received, and pondering on the nature of the danger which menaced the security of the family. At length, sleep asserted its power over even him, and the place lay in the deep stillness of night.
CHAPTER XIX.
And stretching out, on either hand,
O'er all that wide and unshorn land,
Till weary of its gorgeousness,
The aching and the dazzled eye
Rests, gladdened, on the calm, blue sky.
—WHITTIER.
No other disturbance occurred in the course of the night. With the dawn, le Bourdon was again stirring; and as he left the palisades to repair to the run, in order to make his ablutions, he saw Peter returning to Castle Meal. The two met; but no allusion was made to the manner in which the night had passed. The chief paid his salutations courteously; and, instead of repairing to his skins, he joined le Bourdon, seemingly as little inclined to seek for rest, as if just arisen from his lair. When the bee-hunter left the spring, this mysterious Indian, for the first time, spoke of business.
"My brother wanted to-day to show Injin how to find honey," said Peter, as he and Bourdon walked toward the palisades, within which the whole family was now moving. "I nebber see honey find, myself, ole as I be."
"I shall be very willing to teach your chiefs my craft," answered the bee-hunter, "and this so much the more readily, because I do not expect to pracTYSE it much longer, myself; not in this part of the country, at least."
"How dat happen?—expec' go away soon?" demanded Peter, whose keen, restless eye would, at one instant, seem to read his companion's soul, and then would glance off to some distant object, as if conscious of its own startling and fiery expression. "Now Br'ish got Detroit, where my broder go? Bess stay here, I t'ink."
"I shall not be in a hurry, Peter; but my season will soon be up, and I must get ahead of the bad weather, you know, or a bark canoe will have but a poor time of it on Lake Huron. When am I to meet the chiefs, to give them a lesson in finding bees?"
"Tell by-'em-by. No hurry for dat. Want to sleep fuss. See so much better, when I open eye. So you t'ink of makin' journey on long path. If can't go to Detroit, where can go to?"
"My proper home is in Pennsylvania, on the other side of Lake Erie. It is a long path, and I'm not certain of getting safely over it in these troubled times. Perhaps it would be best for me, however, to shape at once for Ohio; if in that state I might find my way round the end of Erie, and so go the whole distance by land."
The bee-hunter said this, by way of throwing dust into the Indian's eyes, for he had not the least intention of travelling in the direction named. It is true, it was HIS most direct course, and the one that prudence would point out to him, under all the circumstances, had he been alone. But le Bourdon was no longer alone—in heart and feelings, at least. Margery now mingled with all his views for the future; and he could no more think of abandoning her in her present situation, than he could of offering his own person to the savages for a sacrifice. It was idle to think of attempting such a journey i
n company with the females, and most of all to attempt it in defiance of the ingenuity, perseverance, and hostility of the Indians. The trail could not be concealed; and, as for speed, a party of the young men of the wilderness would certainly travel two miles to Margery's one.
Le Bourdon, notwithstanding Pigeonswing's remonstrances, still had his eye on the Kalamazoo. He remembered the saying, "that water leaves no trail," and was not without hopes of reaching the lake again, where he felt he should be in comparative security; his own canoe, as well as that of Gershom, being large, well fitted, and not altogether unsuited to those waters in the summer months. As it would be of the last importance, however, to get several hours' start of the Indians, in the event of his having recourse to such a mode of flight, it was of the utmost importance also to conceal his intentions, and, if possible, to induce Peter to imagine his eyes were turned in another direction.
"Well, s'pose go dat way," answered the chief, quietly, as if suspecting no artifice. "Set 'bout him by-'em-by. Today muss teach Injin how to find honey. Dat make him good friend; and maybe he help my pale-face broders back to deir country. Been better for ebbery body, if none come here, at all."
Thus ended the discourse for that moment. Peter was not fond of much talking, when he had not his great object in view, but rather kept his mind occupied in observation. For the next hour, every one in and about Castle Meal was engaged in the usual morning avocations, that of breaking their fasts included; and then it was understood that all were to go forth to meet the chiefs, that le Bourdon might give a specimen of his craft.
One, ignorant of the state of political affairs on the American continent, and who was not aware of the vicinity of savages, would have seen nothing that morning, as the party proceeded on its little excursion, in and around that remote spot, but a picture of rural tranquillity and peace. A brighter day never poured its glories on the face of the earth; and the Openings, and the glades, and even the dark and denser forests, were all bathed in the sunlight, as that orb is known to illuminate objects in the softer season of the year, and in the forty-third degree of latitude. Even the birds appeared to rejoice in the beauties of the time, and sang and fluttered among the oaks, in numbers greater than common. Nature usually observes a stern fitness in her adaptation of means to ends. Birds are to be found in the forests, on the prairies, and in the still untenanted openings of the west—and often in countless numbers; more especially those birds which fly in flocks, and love the security of unoccupied regions—unoccupied by man is meant— wherein to build their nests, obey the laws of their instincts, and fulfil their destinies. Thus, myriads of pigeons, and ducks, and geese, etc., are to be found in the virgin woods, while the companionable and friendly robin, the little melodious wren, the thrush, the lark, the swallow, the marten, and all those pleasant little winged creatures, that flit about our dwellings and grounds, and seem to be sent by Providence, expressly to chant their morning and evening hymns to God in our ears, most frequent the peopled districts. It has been said by Europeans that the American birds are mute, in comparison with those of the Old World. This is true, to a certain extent, as respects those which are properly called forest birds, which do, in general, appear to partake of the sombre character that marks the solemn stillness of their native haunts. It is not true, however, with the birds which live in our fields, and grounds, and orchards, each of which sings its song of praise, and repeats its calls and its notes, as richly and as pleasantly to the ear, as the birds of other lands. One large class, indeed, possesses a faculty that enables it to repeat every note it has ever heard, even to some of the sounds of quadrupeds. Nor is this done in the discordant tones of the parrot; but in octaves, and trills, and in rich contra-altos, and all the other pleasing intonations known to the most gifted of the feathered race. Thus it is, that one American mocking-bird can outsing all the birds of Europe united.
It seemed that morning as if every bird that was accustomed to glean its food from the neighborhood of Castle Meal was on the wing, and ready to accompany the party that now sallied forth to catch the bee. This party consisted of le Bourdon, himself, as its chief and leader; of Peter, the missionary, and the corporal. Margery, too, went along; for, as yet, she had never seen an exhibition of Boden's peculiar skill. As for Gershom and his wife, they remained behind, to make ready the noontide meal; while the Chippewa took his accoutrements, and again sallied out on a hunt. The whole time of this Indian appeared to be thus taken up; though, in truth, venison and bear's meat both abounded, and there was much less necessity for those constant efforts than he wished to make it appear. In good sooth, more than half his time was spent in making those observations, which had led to the advice he had been urging on his friend, the bee-hunter, in order to induce him to fly. Had Pigeonswing better understood Peter, and had he possessed a clearer insight into the extent and magnitude of his plans of retributive vengeance, it is not probable his uneasiness, at the moment, would have been so great, or the urgency for an immediate decision on the part of le Bourdon would have appeared as urgently pressing as it now seemed to be.
The bee-hunter took his way to a spot that was at some distance from his habitation, a small prairie of circular form, that is now generally known in that region of the country by the name of Prairie Round. Three hours were necessary to reach it, and this so much the more, because Margery's shorter steps were to be considered. Margery, however, was no laggard on a path. Young, active, light of foot, and trained in exertions of this nature, her presence did not probably retard the arrival many minutes.
The extraordinary part of the proceedings was the circumstance, that the bee-hunter did not tell any one whither he was going, and that Peter did not appear to care about putting the question to him. Notwithstanding this reserve on one side, and seeming indifference on the other, when the party reached Prairie Round, every one of the chiefs who had been present at the council of the previous night, was there before it. The Indians were straggling about, but remained sufficiently near the point where the bee-hunter and his followers reached the prairie, to assemble around the group in a very few minutes after it made its appearance.
All this struck le Bourdon as fearfully singular, since it proved how many secret means of communication existed between the savages. That the inmates of the habitations were closely observed, and all their proceedings noted, he could not but suspect, even before receiving this proof of Peter's power; but he was not aware until now, how completely he and all with him were at the mercy of these formidable foes. What hope could there be for escape, when hundreds of eyes were thus watching their movements, and every thicket had its vigilant and sagacious sentinel? Yet must flight be attempted, in some way or other, or Margery and her sister would be hopelessly lost—to say nothing of himself and the three other men.
But the appearance of the remarkable little prairie that he had just reached, and the collection of chiefs, now occupied all the present thoughts of le Bourdon. As for the first, it is held in repute, even at the present hour, as a place that the traveller should see, though covered with farms, and the buildings that belong to husbandry. It is still visited as a picture of ancient civilization, placed in the setting of a new country. It is true that very little of this part of Michigan wears much, if any, of that aspect of a rough beginning, including stubs, stumps, and circled trees, that it has so often fallen to our share to describe. There are dense forests, and those of considerable extent; and wherever the axe is put into them, the progress of improvement is marked by the same steps as elsewhere; but the lovely openings form so many exceptions, as almost to compose the rule.
On Prairie Round there was even a higher stamp of seeming civilization—seeming, since it was nature, after all, that had mainly drawn the picture. In the first place, the spot had been burnt so recently, as to leave the entire expanse covered with young grasses and flowers, the same as if it were a well-kept park. This feature, at that advanced period of the summer, was in some degree accidental, the burning of the prairi
es depending more or less on contingencies of that sort. We have now less to do with the cause, than with its consequences. These were most agreeable to the eye, as well as comfortable to the foot, the grass nowhere being of a height to impede movement, or, what was of still more importance to le Bourdon's present pursuit, to overshadow the flowers. Aware of this fact, he had led his companions all that distance, to reach this scene of remarkable rural beauty, in order that he might make a grand display of his art, in presence of the assembled chiefs of that region. The bee-hunter had pride in his craft, the same as any other skilful workman who had gained a reputation by his cunning, and he now trod the prairie with a firmer step, and a more kindling eye, than was his wont in the commoner haunts of his calling. Men were there whom it might be an honor to surprise, and pretty Margery was there also, she who had so long desired to see this very exhibition.
But to revert once more to the prairie, ere we commence the narrative of what occurred on it. This well-known area is of no great extent, possessing a surface about equal to that of one of the larger parks of Europe. Its name was derived from its form, which, without being absolutely regular, had so near an approach to a circle as to justify the use of the appellation. The face of this charming field was neither waving, or what is called "rolling," nor a dead flat, as often occurs with river bottoms. It had just enough of undulation to prevent too much moisture, and to impart an agreeable variety to its plain. As a whole, it was clear of the forest; quite as much so as if the axe had done its work there a thousand years before, though wood was not wanting. On the contrary, enough of the last was to be seen, in addition to that which formed the frame of this charming landscape, to relieve the view from all appearance of monotony, and to break it up into copses, thickets, trees in small clusters, and in most of the varieties that embellish native scenery. One who had been unexpectedly transferred to the spot, might well have imagined that he was looking on the site of some old and long-established settlement, from which every appliance of human industry had been suddenly and simultaneously abstracted. Of houses, out-buildings, fences, stacks, and husbandry, there were no signs; unless the even and verdant sward, that was spread like a vast carpet, sprinkled with flowers, could have been deemed a sign of the last. There were the glades, vistas, irregular lawns, and woods, shaped with the pleasing outlines of the free hand of nature, as if consummate art had been endeavoring to imitate our great mistress in one of her most graceful moods.