The Oak Openings, Or, the Bee Hunter

  CHAPTER XXX.

  Come to the land of peace!

  Come where the tempest hath no longer sway,

  The shadow passes from the soul away—

  The sounds of weeping cease.

  Fear hath no dwelling there!

  Come to the mingling—of repose and love,

  Breathed by the silent spirit of the dove,

  Through the celestial air.

  —MRS. HEMANS.

  It is now more than thirty-three years since the last war with the English terminated, and about thirty-six to the summer in which the events recorded in this legend occurred. This third of a century has been a period of mighty changes in America. Ages have not often brought about as many in other portions of the earth, as this short period of time has given birth to among ourselves. We had written, thus far, on the evidence of documents sent to us, when an occasion offered to verify the truth of some of our pictures, at least, by means of personal observation.

  Quitting our own quiet and secluded abode in the mountains, in the pleasant month of June, and in this current year of 1848, we descended into the valley of the Mohawk, got into the cars, and went flying by rails toward the setting sun. Well could we remember the time when an entire day was required to pass between that point on the Mohawk where we got on the rails, and the little village of Utica. On the present occasion, we flew over the space in less than three hours, and dined in a town of some fifteen thousand souls.

  We reached Buffalo, at the foot of Lake Erie, in about twenty hours after we had entered the cars. This journey would have been the labor of more than a week, at the time in which the scene of this tale occurred. Now, the whole of the beautiful region, teeming with its towns and villages, and rich with the fruits of a bountiful season, was almost brought into a single landscape by the rapidity of our passage.

  At Buffalo, we turned aside to visit the cataract. Thither, too, we went on rails. Thirty-eight years had passed away since we had laid eyes on this wonderful fall of water. In the intervening time we had travelled much, and had visited many of the renowned falls of the old world, to say nothing of the great number which are to be found in other parts of our own land. Did this visit, then, produce disappointment?

  Did time, and advancing years, and feelings that had become deadened by experience, contribute to render the view less striking, less grand, in any way less pleasing than we had hoped to find it? So far from this, all our expectations were much more than realized. In one particular, touching which we do not remember ever to have seen anything said, we were actually astonished at the surpassing glory of Niagara. It was the character of sweetness, if we can so express it, that glowed over the entire aspect of the scene. We were less struck with the grandeur of this cataract, than with its sublime softness and gentleness. To water in agitation, use had so long accustomed us, perhaps, as in some slight degree to lessen the feeling of awe that is apt to come over the novice in such scenes; but we at once felt ourselves attracted by the surpassing loveliness of Niagara. The gulf below was more imposing than we had expected to see it, but it was Italian in hue and softness, amid its wildness and grandeur. Not a drop of the water that fell down that precipice inspired terror; for everything appeared to us to be filled with attraction and love. Like Italy itself, notwithstanding so much that is grand and imposing, the character of softness, and the witchery of the gentler properties, is the power we should ascribe to Niagara, in preference to that of its majesty. We think this feeling, too, is more general than is commonly supposed, for we find those who dwell near the cataract playing around it, even to the very verge of its greatest fall, with a species of affection, as if they had the fullest confidence in its rolling waters. Thus it is that we see the little steamer, the Maid of the Mist, paddling up quite near to the green sheet of the Horse-Shoe itself, and gliding down in the current of the vortex, as it is compelled to quit the eddies, and come more in a line with the main course of the stream. Wires, too, are suspended across the gulf below, and men pass it in baskets. It is said that one of these inventions is to carry human beings over the main fall, so that the adventurer may hang suspended in the air, directly above the vortex. In this way do men, and even women, prove their love for the place, all of which we impute to its pervading character of sweetness and attraction.

  At Buffalo we embarked in a boat under the English flag, which is called the Canada, This shortened our passage to Detroit, by avoiding all the stops at lateral ports, and we had every reason to be satisfied with our selection. Boat, commander, and the attendance were such as would have done credit to any portion of the civilized world. There were many passengers, a motley collection, as usual, from all parts of the country.

  Our attention was early drawn to one party, by the singular beauty of its females. They seemed to us to be a grandmother, in a well- preserved, green old age; a daughter, but a matron of little less than forty; and two exceedingly pretty girls of about eighteen and sixteen, whom we took to be children of the last. The strong family likeness between these persons led us early to make this classification, which we afterward found was correct.

  By occasional remarks, I gathered that the girls had been to an "Eastern" boarding-school, that particular feature in civilization not yet flourishing in the Northwestern States. It seemed to us that we could trace in the dialect of the several members of this family, the gradations and peculiarities that denote the origin and habits of individuals. Thus, the grandmother was not quite as Western in her forms of speech as her matronly daughter, while the grandchildren evidently spoke under the influence of boarding-school correction, or like girls who had been often lectured on the subject "First rate," and "Yes, sir," and "That's a fact," were often in the mouth of the pleasing mother, and even the grandmother used them all, though not as often as her daughter, while the young people looked a little concerned and surprised, whenever they came out of the mouth of their frank-speaking mother. That these persons were not of a very high social class was evident enough, even in their language. There was much occasion to mention New York, we found, and they uniformly called it "the city." By no accident did either of them happen to use the expression that she had been "in town," as one of us would be apt to say. "He's gone to the city," or "She's in the city," are awkward phrases, and tant soit peu vulgar; but even our pretty young boarding-school eleves would use them. We have a horror of the expression "city," and are a little fastidious, perhaps, touching its use.

  But these little peculiarities were spots on the sun. The entire family, taken as a whole, was really charming; and long before the hour for retiring came, we had become much interested in them all. We found there was a fifth person belonging to this party, who did not make his appearance that night. From the discourse of these females, however, it was easy to glean the following leading facts: This fifth person was a male; he was indisposed, and kept his berth; and he was quite aged. Several nice little dishes were carried from the table into his state-room that evening, by one or the other of the young sisters, and each of the party appeared anxious to contribute to the invalid's comfort. All this sympathy excited our interest, and we had some curiosity to see this old man, long ere it was time to retire. As for the females, no name was mentioned among them but that of a Mrs. Osborne, who was once or twice alluded to in full. It was "grandma," and "ma," and "Dolly," and "sis." We should have liked it better had it been "mother," and "grandmother," and that the "sis" had been called Betsey or Molly; but we do not wish to be understood as exhibiting these amiable and good-looking strangers as models of refinement. "Ma" and "sis" did well enough, all things considered, though "mamma" would have been better if they were not sufficiently polished to say "mother."

  We had a pleasant night of it, and all the passengers appeared next morning with smiling faces. It often blows heavily on that lake, but light airs off the land were all the breezes we encountered. We were among the first to turn out, and on the upper deck forward, a place where the passengers are fond of collecting, as
it enables them to look ahead, we found a single individual who immediately drew all of our attention to himself. It was an aged man, with hair already as white as snow. Still there was that in his gait, attitudes, and all his movements which indicated physical vigor, not to say the remains, at least, of great elasticity and sinewy activity. Aged as he was, and he must have long since passed his fourscore years, his form was erect as that of a youth. In stature he was of rather more than middle height, and in movements deliberate and dignified. His dress was quite plain, being black, and according to the customs of the day. The color of his face and hands, however, as well as the bold outlines of his countenance, and the still keen, restless, black eye, indicated the Indian.

  Here, then, was a civilized red man, and it struck us at once, that he was an ancient child of the forest, who had been made to feel the truths of the gospel. One seldom hesitates about addressing an Indian, and we commenced a discourse with our venerable fellow- passenger, with very little circumlocution or ceremony.

  "Good-morning, sir," we observed—" a charming time we have of it, on the lake."

  "Yes—good time—" returned my red neighbor, speaking short and clipped, like an Indian, but pronouncing his words as if long accustomed to the language.

  "These steamboats are great inventions for the western lakes, as are the railroads for this vast inland region. I dare say you can remember Lake Erie when it was an unusual thing to see a sail of any sort on it; and now, I should think, we might count fifty."

  "Yes—great change—great change, friend!—all change from ole time,"

  "The traditions of your people, no doubt, give you reason to see and feel all this?"

  The predominant expression of this red man's countenance was that of love. On everything, on every human being toward whom he turned his still expressive eyes, the looks he gave them would seem to indicate interest and affection. This expression was so decided and peculiar, that we early remarked it, and it drew us closer and closer to the old chief, the longer we remained in his company. That expression, however, slightly changed when we made this allusion to the traditions of his people, and a cloud passed before his countenance. This change, nevertheless, was as transient as it was sudden, the benevolent and gentle look returning almost as soon as it had disappeared. He seemed anxious to atone for this involuntary expression of regrets for the past, by making his communications to me as free as they could be.

  "My tradition say a great deal," was the answer, "It say some good, some bad."

  "May I ask of what tribe you are?"

  The red man turned his eyes on us kindly, as if to lessen anything ungracious there might be in his refusal to answer, and with an expression of benevolence that we scarcely remember ever to have seen equalled. Indeed, we might say with truth, that the love which shone out of this old man's countenance habitually, surpassed that which we can recall as belonging to any other human face. He seemed to be at peace with himself, and with all the other children of Adam,

  "Tribe make no difference," he answered. "All children of same Great

  Spirit."

  "Red men and pale-faces?" I asked, not a little surprised with his reply.

  "Red man and pale-face. Christ die for all, and his Fadder make all.

  No difference, excep' in color. Color only skin deep."

  "Do you, then, look on us pale-faces as having a right here? Do you not regard us as invaders, as enemies who have come to take away your lands?"

  "Injin don't own 'arth. 'Arth belong to God, and he send whom he like to live on it. One time he send Injin; now he send pale-face. His 'arth, and he do what he please wid it. Nobody any right to complain. Bad to find fault wid Great Spirit. All he do, right; nebber do anyt'ing bad. His blessed Son die for all color, and all color muss bow down at his holy name. Dat what dis good book say," showing a small pocket Bible, "and what dis good book say come from Great Spirit, himself."

  "You read the Holy Scriptures, then—you are an educated Indian?"

  "No; can't read at all. Don't know how. Try hard, but too ole to begin. Got young eyes, however, to help me," he added, with one of the fondest smiles I ever saw light a human face, as he turned to meet the pretty Dolly's "Good-morning, Peter," and to shake the hand of the elder sister. "She read good book for old Injin, when he want her; and when she off at school, in 'city,' den her mudder or her gran'mudder read for him. Fuss begin wid gran'mudder; now get down to gran'da'ghter. But good book all de same, let who will read it."

  This, then, was "Scalping Peter," the very man I was travelling into Michigan to see, but how wonderfully changed! The Spirit of the Most High God had been shed freely upon his moral being, and in lieu of the revengeful and vindictive savage, he now lived a subdued, benevolent Christian! In every human being he beheld a brother, and no longer thought of destroying races, in order to secure to his own people the quiet possession of their hunting-grounds. His very soul was love; and no doubt he felt himself strong enough to "bless those who cursed him," and to give up his spirit, like the good missionary whose death had first turned him toward the worship of the one true God, praying for those who took his life.

  The ways of Divine Providence are past the investigations of human reason. How often, in turning over the pages of history, do we find civilization, the arts, moral improvement, nay, Christianity itself, following the bloody train left by the conqueror's car, and good pouring in upon a nation by avenues that at first were teeming only with the approaches of seeming evils! In this way, there is now reason to hope that America is about to pay the debt she owes to Africa; and in this way will the invasion of the forests, and prairies and "openings," of the red man be made to atone for itself by carrying with it the blessings of the Gospel, and a juster view of the relations which man bears to his Creator. Possibly Mexico may derive lasting benefits from the hard lesson that she has so recently been made to endure.

  This, then, was Peter, changed into a civilized man and a Christian! I have found, subsequently, that glimmerings of the former being existed in his character; but they showed themselves only at long intervals, and under very peculiar circumstances. The study of these traits became a subject of great interest with us, for we now travelled in company the rest of our journey. The elder lady, or "grandma," was the Margery of our tale; still handsome, spirited, and kind. The younger matron was her daughter and only child, and "sis," another Margery, and Dorothy, were her grandchildren. There was also a son, or a grandson rather, Ben, who was on Prairie Round, "with the general." The "general" was our old friend, le Bourdon, who was still as often called "General Bourdon," as "General Boden." This matter of "generals" at the West is a little overdone, as all ranks and titles are somewhat apt to be in new countries. It causes one often to smile, at the East; and no wonder that an Eastern habit should go down in all its glory, beneath the "setting sun." In after-days, generals will not be quite as "plenty as blackberries."

  No sooner did Mrs. Boden, or Margery, to use her familiar name, learn that we were the very individual to whom the "general" had sent the notes relative to his early adventures, which had been prepared by the "Rev. Mr. Varse," of Kalamazoo, than she became as friendly and communicative as we could possibly desire.

  Her own life had been prosperous, and her marriage happy. Her brother, however, had fallen back into his old habits, and died ere the war of 1812 was ended. Dorothy had returned to her friends in Massachusetts, and was still living, in a comfortable condition, owing to a legacy from an uncle. The bee-hunter had taken the field in that war, and had seen some sharp fighting on the banks of the Niagara. No sooner was peace made, however, than he returned to his beloved Openings, where he had remained, "growing with the country," as it is termed, until he was now what is deemed a rich man in Michigan. He has a plenty of land, and that which is good; a respectable dwelling, and is out of debt. He meets his obligations to an Eastern man just as promptly as he meets those contracted at home, and regards the United States, and not Michigan, as his country. All these
were good traits, and we were glad to learn that they existed in one who already possessed so much of our esteem. At Detroit we found a fine flourishing town, of a healthful and natural growth, and with a population that was fast approaching twenty thousand. The shores of the beautiful strait on which it stands, and which, by a strange blending of significations and languages, is popularly called the "Detroit River," were alive with men and their appliances, and we scarce know where to turn to find a more agreeable landscape than that which was presented to us, after passing the island of "Bobolo" (Bois Blanc), near Maiden. Altogether, it resembled a miniature picture of Constantinople, without its Eastern peculiarities.

  At Detroit commenced our surprise at the rapid progress of Western civilization. It will be remembered that at the period of our tale, the environs of Detroit excepted, the whole peninsula of Michigan lay in a state of nature. Nor did the process of settlement commence actively until about twenty years since; but, owing to the character of the country, it already possesses many of the better features of a long-inhabited region. There are stumps, of course, for new fields are constantly coming into cultivation; but on the whole, the appearance is that of a middle-aged, rather than that of a new region.

  We left Detroit on a railroad, rattling away toward the setting sun, at a good speed even for that mode of conveyance. It seemed to us that our route was well garnished with large villages, of which we must have passed through a dozen, in the course of a few hours' "railing," These are places varying in size from one to three thousand inhabitants. The vegetation certainly surpassed that of even West New York, the trees alone excepted. The whole country was a wheat-field, and we now began to understand how America could feed the world. Our road lay among the "Openings" much of the way, and we found them undergoing the changes which are incident to the passage of civilized men. As the periodical fires had now ceased for many years, underbrush was growing in lieu of the natural grass, and in so much those groves are less attractive than formerly; but one easily comprehends the reason, and can picture to himself the aspect that these pleasant woods must have worn in times of old.