“Its no use to try to hunt Indians in the night,”
replied the man; “and besides, it will take 'til
morning to get the neighbours warned in.”

“Don't cry, Billy,” said the woman, putting
her arms round my neck, and kissing me affectionately,
“don't cry, my little man—they'll bring
your mammy back afore to-morrow night—no
mistake about that—its mighty hard for Indians
to get away from our people. You shall sleep
with my little boys, and be my son, 'til your
mammy comes back.”

The backwoodsman now directed several young
men, his sons and others, who were present, to
mount their horses and spread the alarm through
the neighbourhood, and to summon all the men
to meet at his house the next morning. The
young fellows caught his ardour, and in a few
minutes were dashing off, through the woods, in
different directions.

There was little sleep among the inmates of
this cabin on that eventful night. The children
were afraid to go to bed. The man of the house,
whose name was Hickman, aware of the necessity
of husbanding all his powers for the approaching
chase, which might last several days, threw himself
down in his clothes, and soon appeared to
slumber. His wife sat by the fire, sighing, pouring
out bitter anathemas upon the Indians, and
giving utterance to her lively sympathy in the

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

afflictions of her neighbour, while the children
crowded around her, squatted upon the floor with
their bare feet gathered under them, each clinging
to some part of her dress, gazing at one
another in mute terror, or asking questions in
whispered and tremulous accents about the savages;—
and all of them in turns casting glances
of pity at myself, as I sat, sometimes weeping
bitterly, and at other times staring in tearless
agony at the terrified group. At intervals, the
kind-hearted matron would articulate my mother's
name, accompanied by passionate expressions
of grief and affection.

“Poor Sally Robinson! she has had her own
troubles, poor thing! And she sich a good creetur!
It was sorrowful enough to be a lone woman,—
and her man murdered the way he was, right
before her eyes, as a body may say! The dear
knows how she did to stand it! Law, children,
don't pull my gownd so,—you'll tear every stitch
of clothes off of my back. What are you afeard
of? the Indians aint comin' here, no how,—the
varmints—they know better than for to go where
there's men about the house, 'drot their vile skins!
the 'bominable riff-raff cowardly scum of creation!
they haint got the hearts of men, no how! they
haint no more courage nor a burnt cracklin, no
way they can fix it! Poor Sally! ah me!—and
the dear child—the poor, poor little child!”

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

“Did the Indians kill little Sue, mammy?”

“I don't know, child—they carried her off, and
Him that's above only knows what has become of
her. And they have burnt the very roof over the
heads of them that had no one to take care of
them.”

“Did they burn Miss Robinson's house up,
mammy?”

“To be sure they did—the cabin, and a beautiful
piece of cloth that she had in the loom, and
all the plunder that the poor thing has been scrapin
together by the work of her own hands.”

“Mammy,—”

“Hush, what's that?”

Then they would all crowd together and listen.

“It's daddy snoring.”

It was past midnight when the tramping of a
horse was heard rapidly approaching. The dogs
barked fiercely, as if conscious of the necessity of
unusual vigilance, and then ceased all at once. A
loud voice called, “Who keeps house?”

Those who were sitting up were afraid to move;
but Mr. Hickman, accustomed to awake at the
slightest alarm, started up, and proceeded, with
his gun in his hand, to open the door cautiously.
My uncle entered. He had heard the rumour
vaguely repeated, had hurried home, and found, in
the smoking embers of his dwelling, a fatal confirmation
of his worst fears.

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

Between that time and the dawn of day the
neighbours poured in, all armed, and prepared to
pursue the Indians. Some were ready for action:
others, who had repaired more hastily to the
rendezvous, upon the moment of receiving the
summons, now employed themselves in wiping out
their guns, cleaning the locks, changing the flints,
and supplying their pouches with all the munitions
required for several days' service. Mr. Hickman
seemed to be tacitly agreed upon as the leader.
I watched all his motions, and, young as I was,
saw with admiration the coolness and precision
with which he made his arrangements. He examined
every part of his rifle with the most severe
scrutiny. He placed a handful of bullets on the
table, and passed them rapidly through his fingers,
one by one, to ascertain that they were perfectly
round and smooth, rejecting those that were in
the slightest degree defective. His flints and
patches underwent the same close inspection.
The tomahawk and knife were placed in his belt—
then withdrawn and placed again—until the
wary pioneer was satisfied that each was so arranged
as to be capable of being quickly grasped
by the hand, in case of sudden need, and so secured
as not to be liable to be lost while the rider was
dashing rapidly through the bushes. Grave and
taciturn all the time, he was as cool as if preparing
for a hunt.

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

His wife hung round him during these operations,—
now officiously tendering her services—
now leaning on his shoulder, and speaking to him
in a low voice,—then retiring, as if overcome by
her fears, and sometimes secretly wiping away a
tear with the corner of her apron.

“John,” she would say, “you won't lose no time,
I hope. Poor Sally! she will be mighty bad off
'till she sees you comin—it's sich a dreadful bad
fix for any body to be in.”

“We sha'nt be long, I reckon.”

“Take mighty good care of yourself, John—
you know, dear, what a poor broken-hearted body
I'd be without you. Don't ride Ball,—you know
he stumbles powerful bad, and falls down sometimes—
and his sight's so bad, he aint no account,
no how, in the night.”

“I shall ride Dick—no mistake in him.”

“No two ways about Dick,” reiterated the wife;
“boys, go and feed Dick, and clean him, and fix
him good for your daddy to ride. And, John,
when you get up to the miserable varmints, don't
be too ambitious—you know you're apt to be sort
o' quick when you're raised—don't be too brash;
if you can only get poor Sally Robinson away
from them, don't run no risks. You don't reckon
you'll have to fight with them, do you?”

“It's a little mixed,” replied the husband.

“It would be a droll way to hunt Indians, and

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

not kill any of them,” interrupted one of the
party.

“I'll be dogged if I don't save one of them,”
added another.

“I allow to use up one or two,” continued a
third.

“I'll never agree to return 'til we use up the
whole gang—stock, lock, and barrel,” added another.

“They are the darndest puteranimous villyens
on the face of the whole yearth—and I go in for
puttin the pewter to 'em, accordin' to law,” chimed
in a little dried up old man, who was whetting his
knife against the side of the fire-place, and looking
as savage as a meat-axe. It was very obvious
that the Indians would get no quarter.

At daylight the party began to mount. All
were completely equipped. Under every saddle
was a blanket, to save the horse's back—behind it
was tied either a great coat or a blanket to sleep
in—on this was lashed a wallet, containing several
days' provisions, and a tin cup dangled on the top
of the whole. Each man carried a good rifle, in
complete order, and had a knife and a tomahawk
in his belt. Their legs were covered, to protect
them from the briars, with dressed deer-skin—not
made into any garment, but rolled tightly round
the limb and tied with strings. Some wore shoes,
others moccasins—some had hats, others rejected

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

this covering, and wore only a cotton handkerchief
bound closely round the head. When mounted
they bade adieu to their friends, and set out in
high spirits—not observing any particular order
of march at first, but falling gradually into the
single file, as the most convenient arrangement
for passing rapidly through the forest.

Towards evening two of the party returned.
They brought the clothes of my sister which had
been found by the way, near the bank of the Ohio,
torn and bloody, but yet in a state to be identified.
There was other evidence, abundant and conclusive,
that the poor child had been murdered, and
her body thrown into the river. I cannot express
the poignancy of my sensations on receiving the
intelligence of this catastrophe. I had, until now,
sustained my spirits by the hope of her escape. I
would not believe that even a savage could wantonly
give pain, much less inflict death, upon my
innocent companion—a sweet, rosy, laughing girl.
A girl! a little girl—I could not imagine it possible
that any human creature, with the form of
manhood, would touch the life of a thing so
winning, so gentle, so helpless. I dreamed away
the day in painful excitement—in feverish visions
of hope and fear; but when the truth came I sunk
down in an agony of grief and horror. I had not
realised the possibility of a catastrophe so terrible.

Another day was drawing near to a close. I

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

was withering under the pressure of affliction.
Grief, watching, excitement, and loss of appetite,
had produced a bodily exhaustion, attended with
extreme nervous sensibility. I had wandered off
by myself, and came, I hardly know how, to the
blackened ruins of our cabin. I seated myself
under a tree, in the desolated yard. It was a
bright calm evening; the sun was sinking towards
the horizon, and the long shadows of the forest
extended over the spot. The cool air fanned my
burning brow, and brought a momentary sense of
relief from pain. Before me was a silent heap of
ashes—but all else wore the air of home. A few
fruit trees that stood scattered around, were in
full blossom, and the bees were humming busily
among the flowers—the birds sang, and the domestic
animals seemed to welcome my return.
The cow, that had been standing unmilked, came
lowing towards me—the pigs ran to meet me—
and the fowls gathered about the place where I
sat, as if they recognised a master whose protection
had been withdrawn from them. Oh! how
many ties there are to bind the soul to earth!
When the strongest are cut asunder, and the
spirit feels itself cast loose from every bond which
connects it with mortality, how imperceptibly
does one little tendril after another become entwined
about it, and draw it back with gentle
violence! He who thinks he has but one love is

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

always mistaken. The heart may have one
overmastering affection, more powerful than all
the rest, which, like the main root of the tree, is
that which supports it; but if that be cut away, it
will find a thousand minute fibres still clinging to
the soil of humanity. An absorbing passion may
fill up the soul, and while it lasts, may throw a
shade over the various obligations, and the infinite
multitudes of little kindnesses, and tender associations,
that bind us to mankind; but when that
fades, these are seen to twinkle in the firmament
of life, as the stars shine, after the sun has gone
down. Even the brute, and the lilies of the field,
that neither toil nor spin, put in their silent claims;
and the heart that would have spurned the world,
settles quietly down again upon its bosom. A
moment before, I was in despair;—and now I was
caressing the dumb animals around me. They
seemed like friends; and a something like joy
revived within me, as I reflected that I was not
entirely forsaken. I raised my eyes and my
heart to Heaven, with a feeling of thanksgiving,
and melted into tenderness.

I looked up and gazed around me. In the
edge of the forest, an object attracted my attention.
It was the dim and shadowy representation
of a human figure. It moved; and then seemed
to lean against a tree; again it moved, and halted.
Could it be an Indian? Was the savage thirst

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

for blood not yet sated? Were they not to be
satisfied until all, even the last, of my unhappy
family, should have fallen under the tomahawk?
I did not fly: I would not have moved from that
spot had a myriad of savages appeared,—a legion
of devils could not have daunted my spirit in that
moment of stubborn desperation. The figure
moved along under the shade of a long point of
timber, which approached to within a few yards
of the house—advancing, and then halting, cautiously
as an insidious enemy, or painfully like a
friend, who came the bearer of unwelcome tidings.
I watched it with intense interest, until it came
near, and stepped from under the woody covert,
which had rendered the form indistinct,—and
then I recognised, with unerring instinct, the
person of my mother. I rushed towards her, and
in a moment was in her arms. I gazed at her
with an overwhelming gush of joy and fondness—
but, oh! how changed, how wretched was she!
Her bare feet were torn and bloody—her clothes
were tattered into shreds—her eyes red—her
face pale and emaciated—her frame exhausted
with fatigue. After being driven forward a whole
day, she had effected her escape in the night, and
had wandered back to the home which had been
desolated by the ruthless hand of the murderer and
incendiary. With my assistance she was enabled,
with much difficulty, to crawl to the house of our

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

kind neighbour, where she sunk down under her
bodily and mental sufferings, and remained some
days dangerously ill.

The party who had gone to her assistance, had
missed her on the way, but had overtaken the
Indians, and attacked them with such spirit, that
one half the savages were slain in the first onset.
The remainder dispersed, and found safety in
flight.

We did not return to the spot which had proved
so calamitous to our unhappy family, but removed
to a place which was supposed to be less exposed
to danger. I had now no companion. The loss
of my little sister preyed upon my spirits. She
was continually the subject of my thoughts. I
often sat for hours together absorbed in visionary
speculations, founded upon the possibility of my
sister's escape from death. As is the case with
all dreamers, I did not examine the evidence for
the purpose of learning the truth, nor did I permit
the certainty of the catastrophe which had befallen
her to interfere with my theories; but
assuming the premises which were necessary, I
proceeded to erect an airy superstructure, and to
luxuriate in the enjoyment of the “baseless fabric
of a vision.” I exercised my ingenuity in imagining
a variety of modes in which she might have
escaped from her captors, fancied for her some
present state of existence under the protection of

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

kind benefactors, and realised the joy of her sudden
and unexpected restoration. Sometimes I
supposed her to be living in captivity, and fancied
myself leading an armed party to her rescue—
I went through all the stratagems and perils
of border warfare—signalised myself by a series
of acts of almost miraculous daring—delivered
my beloved sister from bondage, and filled the
heart of my bereaved mother with joy and pride.
When I slept, the same fancies were ever present.
I strolled about with my sister, embarrassed by
the endeavour to reconcile the appearances of my
dream with the facts indelibly engraved upon my
memory. Sometimes she sat by me, with her
hand clasped in mine, and narrated a series of
adventures, which she had passed through since
our parting; but more frequently she seemed to
laugh at my credulity, and pronounced our misfortunes
to have been all a dream. Often did I
awake in tears.

As I grew older, my tenderness began to give
way to sterner feelings. Accustomed to fear the
Indians from infancy, I began at last to hate them
with intense malignity. I had never heard them
spoken of but as enemies, to extirpate whom was
a duty. I had been taught to consider the slaying
of an Indian as an act of praiseworthy public
spirit. As my sorrow for the sufferings of those
who were dear to me began to harden into

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

indignation, the desire of revenge was kindled in my
bosom. This feeling was rapidly developed, because
it was the only one connected with my
reveries which I could trace out to any practical
result. I could not bring my sister to life, nor
dispel the cloud of grief from the face of my
widowed mother: but I could strike the savage, I
could burn his dwelling, and desolate his fireside,
as he had desolated mine. This passion soon
gained a predominating mastery over my mind—
as a rank weed shoots up and overshadows those
around it, the desire of revenge struck deep its
roots, grew rapidly into vigour, and smothered
the better emotions of my heart.

I procured a gun, and began to roam the forest.
In this country boys are permitted, at an early
age, to mingle in the sports of men, and my propensity
for hunting did not excite any particular
remark. The hunters sometimes took me with
them; but more often I wandered about alone. I
soon learned to shoot with precision, and became
expert in many of the devices of the backwoodsman.

When I was about twelve years old, a village
was laid out in the neighbourhood in which we
then resided. The country was settling rapidly;
several wealthy families from Virginia were
among the emigrants; the frontier had been

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

further west, and with it had rolled the tide of
war. Society began to be organised, and many
of the luxuries of social life were introduced.
Among other improvements was a school, conducted
by a person of some erudition, who brought
with him a good many books, and was looked
upon as a prodigy of knowledge.

I was sent to school; entered upon my studies
with eagerness, and made rapid advances in learning.
With a mind naturally inquisitive, and accustomed
to rely upon itself, I had no difficulty in
mastering any task which was given me, and soon
became fond of reading. My teacher had in his
possession a number of volumes of history, which
I perused with avidity. A few classics, which
fell into my hands, I read over and over, with the
delight of a newly awakened admiration. I commenced
the study of the Latin language, and
gained a slight acquaintance with the mythology
and history of the ancients. In three years, my
character was much changed; my mind was enlarged,
my affections softened, and the tone of my
morals considerably ameliorated. I still loved my
gun, and indulged my propensity for wandering in
the forest; while my hatred of the Indians, and
that thirst for vengeance over which I had so long
brooded, were by no means blunted by the perusal
of those histories, in which the recitals of military
daring form a prominent part, and martial

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

accomplishments are held up as exemplary virtues
worthy of the highest admiration.

I was little more than fifteen years of age, when
a number of the poorer families in the neighbourhood
formed a party for the purpose of removing
to the settlements upon the Mississippi, in Illinois—
a new country, which just then began to be
spoken of. My uncle and mother determined to
accompany them. I know not what infatuation
induced them to brave again the perils of the
wilderness, after all their fatal experience. It is
probable that their only inducement was that love
of new lands, of fresh wild scenery, and of the
unconstrained habits of border life, which forms a
ruling passion with the people of the backwoods,
and which no chastening from the hand of adversity
can eradicate.

The only settlements of the Americans in Illinois,
at that time, were in the neighbourhood of
the French villages, which were scattered along
the American Bottom, on the Mississippi, from
Kaskaskia to the vicinity of St. Louis. We
embarked in two large boats; and, after floating
quietly down the Ohio to the Mississippi, began
to ascend that wonderful river, proceeding slowly
against its powerful current. Sometimes a fair
wind invited us to hoist our sails, and enabled us
for a while to move forward without labour; but
usually our boats were pushed with poles, by the

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

most severe manual exertion. To get forward at
all in opposition to the current, it was necessary
to creep along close to the shore. But there
were places where it became impossible to make
any headway even by this method: where the
bank was perpendicular, the water too deep to
allow the use of poles, and the headlong stream
swept foaming against the shore. In such emergencies
it was impossible to proceed, except by
means of the cordelle, a strong cable attached to
the boat, by which the boatmen, walking on the
shore, dragged it past these dangerous places.
The shores, on both sides, were inhabited by
Indians, and our labours were rendered the more
burthensome, by the necessity of keeping up a
continual watch to prevent surprise.

One day we reached a place where the river is
closely hemmed in by rock on either side, and the
stream, confined within a more narrow space than
it usually occupies, rushes with great impetuosity
through the strait. It is one of the most difficult
passes on the river for ascending boats. Here, of
course, neither oars nor poles could be of any
avail, and arrangements were made for using the
cordelle. My uncle and mother were in the foremost
boat—I had happened to be, for the moment,
in the other, which, by some accident, was detained,
so as to fall a short distance into the rear.
The leading boat passed round a little point of

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

land, which concealed it from our view, and
immediately afterwards we heard the reports of
several rifles. The Indians had formed an ambuscade
at the point where they knew the crew
must land to use the cable, and had fallen upon
them at a moment when the difficulties of the
navigation absorbed their attention so entirely,
that they had forgotten their usual precautions,
and were not prepared either to fight or fly. On
hearing the alarm we endeavoured to hasten to
their assistance, aided by a breeze which filled
our sail, and bore us rapidly along. But we were
too late; and, on turning the point, beheld the
other boat moored fast to the shore, and in possession
of a hellish band of savage warriors, who
were dashing furiously about on the deck and on
the bank, uttering the most hideous yells. We
came near enough to see the bodies of our friends
stretched lifeless on the ground, or struggling in
the agonies of death—surrounded by the monsters,
who were still beating them with clubs, and gratifying
their demoniac thirst for blood in gashing
with their knives the already mutilated corpses.
Never did I behold a scene of such horror: language
has no power to describe it, nor the mind
capacity to obliterate its impressions. Men, women,
and children, were alike the victims of an indiscriminating
carnage. The hell-hounds were literally
tearing them in pieces,—exulting, shouting,

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

smearing themselves with blood, and trampling on
the remains of their wretched victims.

On our approach, they prepared for a new
triumph; for their numbers so greatly exceeded
our own as to render victory certain. We had
advanced so near as to be within the range of a
heavy fire which they poured in, and the foaming
current seemed to be dashing us upon the rocks
on which they stood—when our steersman, a cool
experienced man, suddenly threw the head of the
boat across the river, in the opposite direction,
and causing the sail to be trimmed suitably, shot
rapidly away from the scene of the massacre. A
shout of rage and disappointment burst from our
crew, who were thoughtlessly preparing to revenge
their friends. It was well that a more prudent
head directed our motions. The dead were beyond
the reach of our aid, and the infuriated
savages, mad with victory, greatly outnumbered
ourselves. We found safety on the opposite shore,
where we remained in painful suspense until the
murderers retired, when we repaired to the melancholy
spot, and rendered, in silent agony, the
last sad rites to the remains of the fallen. Not
one of all that crew had escaped. I recognised,
with difficulty, the mangled bodies of my mother
and my uncle; and kneeling beside the remains
of my parent, swore eternal vengeance against her
murderers—against that race who had poisoned

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

the cup of her existence,—and, not content with
robbing her of all that made life dear, and of life
itself, had insulted her inanimate remains.

Enough of this. I cannot express the feelings
of a son under such circumstances—the only son
of a widowed mother—who had been almost her
sole companion, had shared her adversity, witnessed
her afflictions, and appreciated her maternal
fondness. I pass them over.

I began to lead a new life. I found myself at
Kaskaskia, a stranger. I had not a relative living,
and in this place I had no acquaintances. But my
story gained me much sympathy; I was kindly
received—every door was open to me, and every
heart seemed to feel that I had claims upon my
countrymen.

No degree of kindness, however, could soothe
my excited feelings. The determination to avenge
my mother's death,—to be revenged for the loss
of a father, a sister, and an uncle, was unalterably
formed, and thirst for the blood of the savage was
become an uncontrollable passion. I wandered
about in the woods and over the prairies—spending
my whole time in hunting, in increasing my
skill in the use of the rifle, and in rendering more
perfect my proficiency in the various devices of
the hunter. In my wanderings I became acquainted
with a Frenchman, who lived almost
entirely in the forest. He was a small, slender,

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

quiet man, past the meridian of life. Taciturn
and inoffensive, he subsisted by hunting and fishing,
and had little communion with his own species.
He was never engaged in war, or in any kind of
altercation. Equally friendly with the whites and
the Indians, he visited the villages and the camps
of both, and was well received, although occasionally
suspected by each of acting as a spy for the
other. This suspicion was founded on the singularity
of his character, in which a great degree of
ignorance and childish simplicity was combined
with a remarkable shrewdness in matters connected
with his own vocation. The latter was
very naturally supposed to arise from native sagacity,
and the former to be the result of profound
dissimulation. What the truth might be, I never
knew; but, to me, Peter seemed to be the most
unsophisticated of human beings. How it happened
that I gained his confidence, does not now
occur to me; for he was unsocial in his habits—
and although, when he visited the French villages,
he cheerfully partook of the hospitality of his
countrymen, conversed freely, and was a delighted
spectator of their festivities, he soon wandered off,
and was not seen again for weeks, or even months.

To this singular being I attached myself, and
became the companion of his voluntary banishment
from society. We retired far from the settlements,
avoiding equally the hunting grounds of

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

the Indians and the haunts of the white people.
Sometimes we encamped at a secluded spot on the
margin of a river, and spent our time in fishing.
Then we wandered away to the pastures of the
deer, living upon venison, and drying the skins of
our game. Again, we sought the retreats of the
beaver, and, setting our traps, reposed quietly in
the neighbouring coverts to witness the success of
our arts. Occasionally we crept upon the elk or
the buffalo, and engaged, with the hunter's ardour,
in the pursuit of these noble animals; and sometimes
we circumvented the cunning of the wild
cat, or planned the destruction of the wolf or the
panther. To add variety to our meals, we plundered
the hoard of the wild bee; and Peter soon
taught me to trace the industrious insect through
the air, from the flowery prairie, to his distant
home in the forest. When our supply of furs
became considerable, we collected them from their
different places of deposit at some point on the
river, and, embarking in a canoe, floated down to
the nearest village, where we exchanged them for
powder, lead, and other necessaries.

But I did not spend all my time in hunting and
fishing. Naturally observant, the little education
I had received had quickened my mental powers,
and rendered me keenly inquisitive into all the
arcana of nature. I noticed every thing around
me;—the appearances of the clouds, and the

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

changes of the weather—the foliage of the trees,
and the growth of the multitudinous vegetation of
the wilderness—the habits of animals, and the
various notes of the inhabitants of the forest,—
but especially all the appearances of nature—all
the varieties of sunlight and shade—all the diversities
in the aspect of the natural scenery, from
midnight to noon, attracted my attention. Peter,
although not a naturalist, was an admirable teacher
in these studies. Accustomed to observe nature
from his infancy, he had become acquainted with
the secrets of the great volume, which all profess
to admire and but few understand. He could anticipate
the changes of the weather. He knew
when the moon would rise, and when the deer
would be stirring. He could select, with ready
tact, the most suitable pool for fishing, and could
tell the hour at which the fish would bite. His
ear was acute in distinguishing sounds: if a wolf
stole past in the dark, he could detect the fall of
his stealthy footstep in the rustling of the leaf or
the cracking of the twigs; and when the owl
hooted at midnight, he knew whether that scream
denoted the presence of an intruder, or was the
ordinary note with which the solitary bird solaced
his hour of recreation. There were few appearances,
and few sounds, which Peter could not
explain. He knew the points of the campass
and the landmarks of the country, and could find

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

his way in the dark as well as in the daylight,
and under a clouded atmosphere as easily as in
the blaze of noon.

Under such tuition, I soon became also an expert
woodsman. With an enterprising mind, a
frame naturally vigorous, and habits formed from
infancy upon the frontier, I had little to learn. I
only needed experience, and this I now gained in
the school of practice. The backwoodsman acquires
great skill in the use of the rifle, because he
employs that weapon not merely in sport, but in the
pursuit of a serious occupation. It was particularly
so in those early times. If he made war, it was
usually at his own cost; if he hunted, it was to procure
a livelihood. In his long marches through the
woods, when he is absent several days, or perhaps
weeks, from home, he can carry but little ammunition,
and has no means of renewing his supply
when it becomes expended. Powder and lead are
scarce and costly in these secluded neighbourhoods.
He is therefore cautious not to throw
away a charge, and seldom fires at random. He
creeps upon his enemy, or his game, gains every
available advantage, measures his distance, and
takes his aim, with great deliberation and accuracy.
In any attainment, it is not practice
merely which secures perfection, but it is the
habit of careful practice, of always doing well that
which is to be done, and of aiming continually at

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

improvement. Such is the habit of our hunters,
who seldom discharge their rifles unnecessarily,
and who feel their own characters, and that of
their guns, at stake in every shot which they fire.

There was one subject, however, which occupied
my mind especially—one master purpose,
to which every feeling of my heart, and every
employment of my life, was subservient. My
thirst for revenge was unbounded. It filled up
my whole soul. I thought of little else than
schemes for the destruction of the savage. I was
maturing a stupendous plan of vengeance, and
bringing all the resources of my mind to bear
upon this one subject. The feet of men are swift
to shed blood. I improved rapidly in the arts of
destruction. I practised all the deceptive stratagems,
by which the hunter conceals himself from
an enemy, or baffles the instinct of the brute. I
could lie for hours so still, that a person, within a
few feet of me, would not have suspected that a
living creature was near him; and concealed myself
so successfully, that even the Indian would
not have discovered me, unless he stepped by accident
on my body. I could swim, and dive, and
lie all day in the water, with my head hidden
among the rushes, watching for prey. I learned
especially that patience, that forbearance, that
entire mastery over my appetites, fears, and passions,
which enables the Indian to submit to any

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

privation, and to delay the impending blow until
all his plans are ripe, however alluring may be
the temptation for premature action.

I concealed my design from all, even from my
companion, Peter, while I was every day getting
from him the information requisite to advance
my purpose. I ascertained the names of the surrounding
tribes, their dispositions in respect to
the whites, and the location of their villages. I
obtained the names of their most celebrated
warriors, and particularly of such as were distinguished
by deeds of violence against my countrymen.
But the information to which I listened
with the most thrilling interest, and treasured in
my inmost heart, related to the massacre of my
mother. I learned from the Frenchmen, that the
party which perpetrated that bloody deed, consisted
of a number of desperate individuals from
different villages, led by a lawless chief, who still
occasionally assembled the band for similar out-rages.
I treasured with pertinacious care the
names of those Indians, and the distinctive marks
by which they might be known. More than once,
when I heard that they were hunting in our neighbourhood,
I left my companion, silently tracked
their footsteps day after day, laid concealed by
the path along which they passed, or crept
secretly upon their camp; until by close observation
I made myself acquainted with their persons.

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

All this was the more difficult, because this band,
aware of the indignation which that unprovoked
murder had excited, avoided the white people, and
were constantly on their guard against surprise.
But what vigilance can guard against the watchful
cunning of revenge—revenge for the cold-blooded
butchery of a mother, a sister, and a
father, and the disruption of every tie which binds
a young and generous heart to existence!

At length the long sought opportunity presented
itself. In the fall of the year succeeding that of
the massacre, I discovered that the hated band
were hunting on the margin of the Mississippi,
and were in the custom of retiring for safety,
every night, to an island in that river—first
making their fire, and arranging their camp on
the shore of the main land, as if with the intention
of spending the night there, and then secretly
stealing away to the island under the cover of
darkness.

I went to the nearest settlement—where my
story was well known, and had awakened a generous
sympathy—and laying aside my usual reserve,
boldly announced my plan, and asked for a band
of volunteers to assist in its execution. Such a
call was, at that period, seldom made in vain.
Warlike in their habits, and inveterately hostile
to the savages, the people of the frontier were
always ready for excursions of this character.

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

On this occasion the excitement was the more
easily kindled, because others had been bereaved
of relatives and friends, in the same catastrophe
which deprived me of my last parent, and all were
indignant at that outrage. The plan was well
matured, and rapidly executed. A company was
raised, equal in number to the Indians, all picked
men, and completely equipped. At midnight,
we assembled secretly on the bank of the river,
far above the island, and embarking in canoes,
floated quietly down. The night was cloudy, and
so perfectly dark, as to render it impossible that
we should be discovered from either shore. The
stream bore us along, and the noiseless paddle
accelerated and directed the motion of the canoe,
without creating the slightest sound which could
awaken alarm. We landed on the island without
confusion, and pursued the meanders of the shore
until we found the canoes of the enemy. These
we cut adrift, and pursuing a dim path, came to
the camp where the savages were lying asleep,
around the embers of a fire,—all but a sentinel,
who, half awake, sat upon a log. Each man
selected his object, in accordance with a preconcerted
plan—took a deliberate aim, and fired;—
and then drawing our tomahawks, we rushed in,
and grappled the astonished savages as they
sprung to their feet. So complete was the surprise,
that they had not time to grasp their arms

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

before the tomahawk was busy among them. A
few seized the nearest weapon, and fought with
desperation. But the conflict was soon over:—
not one of that fated band escaped to tell of their
defeat. Morning dawned over a scene reposing
in beautiful and majestic quiet; its rosy light
streaming over the variegated foliage, and glancing
from the eddies and ripples of the turbid river—
and there we sat, a grim and bloody company,
brooding over the gashed and mutilated bodies of
the slain, while a few scouts were busily exploring
the island, to ascertain whether any of the
enemy were yet lurking in the bushes. Not one
was found; and we departed in triumph,—in that
silent and subdued triumph which the sight of the
slain inspires in the bosom of the generous victor,
but yet with the emotions of satisfaction which
men feel, who believe that they have performed a
duty.

I had supposed, previous to this event, that the
gratification of my revenge would give peace to
my bosom; but this is a passion which grows
stronger by indulgence; and no sooner had I
tasted the sweets of vengeance, than I began to
feel an insatiable thirst for the blood of the savage.
Resuming my secluded habits, but without rejoining
my former companion, I now lived entirely in
the woods, occupied with my own thoughts, and
pursuing, systematically, a plan of warfare against

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

that hated race whom I regarded with invincible
animosity. I followed the footsteps of their hunting
parties, eagerly watching for an opportunity
to cut off any straggler who might wander away
from the others. For whole days I would lie concealed
by the paths which they travelled, or near
a spring which they frequented; and if a single
Indian presented himself, I shot him down without
remorse, as I would have slain a wolf, or crushed
a rattlesnake. Sometimes I met a single warrior
openly, and we fought manfully, hand to hand:
that I was successful in those conflicts, is proved
by the fact that I am alive—for those single combats
are usually fatal to one of the parties. But
more frequently I sought to engage them under
every advantage which might ensure success, not
feeling the obligation of any point of honour
which obliged me to meet an Indian on fair terms.
It happened, of course, that the advantage was
sometimes on their side; occasionally, I fell in,
accidentally, with several of their warriors, or was
tracked and pursued by a party—and then I
eluded them by cunning, or escaped by superior
swiftness of foot. They soon learned to know me
as their enemy, and scoured the woods in search
of me, with an eagerness equal to my own; but
while they sought my life by every artifice known
to savage warfare, few of them were willing to
meet me single-handed; for it is well understood,

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

that where the white man is trained to this species
of hostility, he is superior to the Indian, because
his physical powers are greater, and his courage
of a higher and more generous tone.

At length, tired of the monotony of the life I
led, and sated with carnage, I retired from the
woods, and betook myself to farming, living a
quiet and industrious life, and only resuming my
former habits to join a hunting party, or to assist
with others in the defence of the frontiers, in case
of an alarm. Once in a great while, however,
after a longer interval of quiet than usual, I took
my rifle, and strolled off to the woods to kill an
Indian, as another man would seek recreation in
hunting a deer or a panther.

It seems unnatural that a man should pursue
a life that may appear so ferocious and even
unprincipled. But you must not forget that I had
been raised upon the frontier; that I had been
accustomed from infancy to hear the Indian
spoken of as an enemy—as a cowardly, malevolent,
and cruel savage, who stole upon the unprotected,
in the hour of repose, and murdered without
respect to age or sex; that many atrocities
had been perpetrated within my own knowledge,
or related, to me by those who had seen them;
and that I had suffered more than others by this
detested race. Those who know the relations of
mutual aggression, and continual alarm, which

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

existed between the pioneers and the Indians, in
the first settlement of the country, can easily
imagine that the hatred they felt towards each
other was intense and permanent; and that an
individual, who considered himself more deeply
injured than the rest, might naturally have supposed
himself justifiable in seeking a more than
ordinary measure of retaliation.

I come now to a circumstance which changed
the tone of my feelings, and the whole colour of
my life. One day, towards the close of summer,
I had gone out bee-hunting. Our practice was to
find the bee-trees, at our leisure, during the summer,
and mark them with a tomahawk; each
hunter used his own mark, and respected those of
others; and at the proper season, we went out
with some axe-men, and proper vessels, cut down
the trees, and collected the honey. I had set out
early, and spent the day in roaming over a wild
unfrequented tract, in search of trees. To find
them, I watched the bees, observing, as they left
the flowers, clogged with honey, the course they
flew—or I set bee-bait, usually a little salt and
water, in an open vessel, which these insects sip
greedily, and then marked the direction of their
flight. The bee, in returning home, always flies
in a direct line; and the experienced hunter, having
observed the course, can follow it so accurately,
that he seldom fails to find the tree. This

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

he is enabled to do, partly by knowing the
kind of trees to examine, and partly by the
acuteness of his eye and ear, which enables him,
when near the place, to see the insects hovering
about it, or to hear the hum of those busy
labourers.

I delighted in this employment. I loved to sit
in the edge of the prairie, and gaze upon its undulating
surface, to see the waving of the tall
grass as the wind swept over it, to mark the
various colours of the flowers, to follow the laborious
bee in her active flight along the plain, to
behold the celerity and skill with which she
gathered her harvest of sweets from this immense
garden, and to trace her through the air as she
darted away, laden with spoil, to her forest home.
I loved the quiet of this solitary sport. The
admirer of nature always reaps instruction in gazing
upon her scenes of native luxuriance. The
wisdom of Providence is so infinite, the ingenuity
displayed in all the arcana of the animal and
vegetable creation is so diversified, that every day
thus spent discloses new facts, and suggests a
novel train of reflection. In the few years I had
spent at school, I had read enough to excite
curiosity, and to invigorate the powers of thought;
and so indelibly were those studies impressed upon
my memory, that the classic images of the
ancient writers arose continually in my mind, and

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

furnished pleasing illustrations of those natural
appearances by which I was surrounded.

On that day, my mind, thus calmed by an agreeable
train of association, had wandered back to
the period of childhood, and I thought of the sister
who had been my companion, and whose death I
had so amply revenged. I tried to recall her features,
and the sports in which we had engaged
together. I speculated on what she might have
become, had the ruthless hand of the savage
spared her to grow up to maturity. She would
now have attained the bloom of womanhood, and
her softness would have restrained those fierce
passions, the long indulgence of which had hardened
my heart, and thrown a gloom over my
mind. She would perhaps have been a wife and
a mother; my affections would have become entwined
with those of other beings, and, instead of
being a solitary man, standing alone in the world,
like the blasted and wind-shaken tree of the
prairie, I should have grown up surrounded by
hearts allied to my own, and have struck down my
roots into the soil, and interlocked my branches
with those of my kindred.

I had begun, very recently, to doubt the propriety
of cherishing those feelings of implacable
resentment, which I had indulged through my
whole life, of brooding over the melancholy disasters
of my youth, and of pursuing that systematic

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

plan of destruction, which kept my hand continually
imbued in blood, and my mind agitated
by the tempest of passion. Not that I questioned
for a moment my right to destroy the savage:—
that was a principle too deeply ingrained in my
nature to be eradicated—the dreadful maxim of
revenge was pricked upon my heart with the point
of a sharp instrument, and the characters stood
there indelibly recorded. Filial piety sanctioned
the promptings of nature; and I believed that in
killing a savage I performed my duty as a man,
and served my country as a citizen. But I had
begun to discover the injurious effects of my mode
of life upon my own character and happiness. It
had rendered me moody and unsocial. It kept
me estranged from society, encouraged a habit of
self-torture, and perpetuated a chain of indignant
and sorrowful reflections. I saw that others forgave
injury, and forgot bereavement; the cloud
passed over them, like the storm of the summer
day, black and terrible in its fury, but brief in its
continuance, and the sunshine of peace beamed
out again upon them—while I had disdained consolation,
had fled the kindness of fellow-creatures,
and had repelled the healing balm which Providence
pours into the wounds of the afflicted.

Occupied by such thoughts, the day wore away,
the sun was sinking in the west, and I entered a
thick wood, for the purpose of making my camp

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

for the night, on the margin of a small river that
meandered through it. Habitually cautious, I approached
the place with noiseless steps, when I
perceived, on the bank of the stream, the hunting-lodge
of an Indian—a slight shelter, made by
throwing a few mats over some poles which were
stuck in the ground. I examined the priming of
my rifle, loosened my knife in its sheath, changed
a little my direction, so as to advance against the
wind, and crept stealthily upon the unguarded
hunter. He was stretched on the ground, lazily
sleeping away the afternoon, and was not armed
nor painted—having evidently sought this quiet
spot, with his family, for the purpose of supporting
them by fishing. His wife, whose back was towards
me, was busily engaged in some domestic
employment; a child, perfectly naked, was wallowing
in the sand, and another, an infant, was
lashed to a board which leaned against a tree near
the mother. All were silent. I crept up with
the noiseless motion of a disembodied spirit, intending
to despatch the hunter as he lay inert
upon the ground. I had never yet spared a
warrior of that race; and, as my contempt for
them prevented me from feeling any pride in such
exploits, I exulted in the prospect of an easy
victory. All the reasoning of that day faded at
once from my mind; but the recollections of my
childhood, which had been called up, gave a

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

freshness to my desire for revenge. I had never aimed
a blow against a woman or a child; they were
sacred from any violence at my hand. But when
I saw that Indian father, with his wife and his two
children, the coincidence in the number and ages
of the family reminded me of the fireside of my
father, as it must have been when desolated by his
death; and I felt a malignant delight in the idea
of invading this family as mine had been invaded,
and blasting their peace by crushing their protector,
there, on that very spot, in the presence of his
innocent and helpless dependents. He was completely
in my power: I could shoot him from the
spot where I stood. There was no chance for his
escape. But I approached still nearer. We were
separated but a few paces, and I stood behind the
trunk of a large tree, which completely concealed
me. Once he expanded his nostrils, as if the scent
of a white man had reached him—and once he
turned his ear towards the ground, as if the sound
of a footstep vibrated upon it; but his indolence
prevailed over his vigilance.

I was about to raise my rifle, for the purpose of
firing, when the woman turned her face towards
me and stood erect. I had before remarked that
her stature was taller than that of the squaws, who
are usually short, and that her hair, which hung
plaited in one thick roll down her back, was not
black,—and I now saw that she was not of Indian

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

descent. Although browned by long exposure to
the weather, her features and complexion were
those of my own countrywomen. But what struck
me most, and almost deprived me of my self-possession,
was her likeness to my deceased mother.
Had it not been for the difference of age, I should
have been persuaded that my parent stood before
me. The height, the figure, the complexion, the
expression of countenance, were all so similar,
that, notwithstanding the Indian costume in which
the female before me was clad, she was the exact
representation of my mother, as I recollected her
in my early years—not as I remembered her in
after times, when broken down by widowhood and
suffering.

A thought rushed across my mind. The age
of that young woman corresponded with the years
to which my sister would have attained, had she
lived. What a gush of feeling overwhelmed and
almost burst my heart, as this suspicion arose—
what delight, what indignation! Could it be possible
that my sister had survived, and that I found
her thus—the wife of a savage, the mother of a
spurious offspring of that degraded race! My
arm sunk, the gun rested on the ground, and I
leaned against the tree. I stood for a long while
watching the group with intense interest—pursuing
the female especially with an eye of eager
curiosity. In what slight circumstances do we

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

discover resemblance! When she moved, there
was the air of my mother; if she spoke to her
children, there was the voice; if she smiled, there
was my mother's smile. My parent had been
handsomer than most women, and this young female,—
though her features were hardened by toil
and weather, though the wildness of the Indian
glance was in her eye, and the vacancy of ignorance
was in her countenance,—was yet beautiful,
and like my mother!

Convinced that I saw my sister, conflicting
emotions took possession of my mind, and I became
irresolute of purpose. At one moment I
felt more determined than ever to slay the Indian,
whose alliance with my only relative I considered
a new insult, and a deeper injury than all others;
then I melted into tenderness as I gazed on her.
I looked at her children, and recoiled at the idea
of the unnatural union which had brought them
into existence—I looked at herself, and felt the
stirrings of a brother's affection.

At last I determined to resolve my doubts; and,
subduing every appearance of emotion, I emerged
from my concealment and walked slowly towards
the lodge. On discovering me, the woman, without
betraying her surprise, uttered a low admonition
to her husband, who arose to receive me,
watchful, yet assured by the pacific manner of my
approach. I seated myself on a log—the Indian

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

followed my example, with an appearance of perfect
indifference, while his vigilant eye wandered
covertly to my gun, and then to the lodge where
his own was deposited. The woman, with a similar
expression of apathy in her countenance, threw
her glance hastily into the forest, and listened, as
if to discover whether other footsteps were approaching.
There was a silence for some minutes—
all parties were equally jealous, but all assumed
the same careless air of indifference. At last the
Indian, who spoke English tolerably well, said,

“Is the white man hungry?”

I replied, “No.”

“Does the white man require a cup of water?”

“I am not thirsty.”

“Is the white hunter seeking for a place to
sleep? There is my lodge, and the night is
coming.”

“I am not tired, and I never rest in a wigwam;
when I sleep, the earth is my bed and the heavens
my covering; I am not a fox, to hide myself in a
hole.”

“The white stranger is wise,” said the Indian
with a mock gravity.

“I come,” said I, “with the words of peace in
my mouth—I wish to hold council with a friend.”

“It is not usual for friends to talk together,
when one of them holds a gun in his hand.”

I took the hint, and laid down my rifle.

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

“Let us smoke,” said I, “I have something of
great importance to say.”

The Indian made a sign to his wife, who went
into the lodge and brought a pipe. It was lighted;
each smoked a few whiffs in silence, and passed it
gravely to the other.

I now enquired into the lineage of the female,
who had so much interested me, but found both
herself and her husband very unwilling to communicate
any intelligence on the subject. They
affected to misunderstand my questions, and gave
vague and cold replies. Determined to unveil the
mystery, I threw off all reserve, told them I had
lost a sister, and repeated some of the circumstances
of her capture. They listened attentively,
and the woman became interested. They admitted
that she had been stolen from the whites when a
child, but at first disclaimed all knowledge of any
of the facts. At length the woman, giving way to
her curiosity, which became excited, began to repeat
some reminiscences which she said remained
dimly impressed on her mind. She thought she
remembered a little boy that used to play with
her, and repeated some circumstances which I
well recollected. She distinctly remembered that
she was playing with her little brother near a
small stream, in a valley, when the Indians seized
her and carried her away. Other facts were
related, which had been gathered from the

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

Indians who composed the party—such as the burning
of the house, and the capture and escape of
the mother—and it was rendered certain that I
had found my long lost sister! The recognition
was mutual; all parties being satisfied that we
were indeed the children of the same parents.

This conversation lasted until night, when I declined
an invitation to sleep in the lodge, and set
out in a direction towards home; but no sooner
was I out of sight of the Indian camp, than I made
a circuit through the woods, and having reached
a spot directly opposite to the course on which I
started, prepared to rest until morning. Such
was my habitual caution, and such my distrust of
an Indian, even though married to my sister.

Early in the morning I sought their camp.
They were not surprised to see me—having understood,
and no doubt applauded, the caution which
induced me to lodge apart from them. We break-fasted
together; and my sister conversed with me
more freely than before. The Indians had treated
her kindly, and she was satisfied with her condition.
When I asked her if she was happy, she
cast an enquiring glance at her husband, and
shook her head, as if she did not understand the
question. I desired to know if her husband
treated her kindly, when she replied, that he
was a good hunter, and supplied her well with
food,—that he seldom got drunk, and had never

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

beaten her but once, when, she had no doubt, she
deserved it; to which the husband added, that she
behaved so well as to require but little correction.
As the restraint, caused by my presence, began to
wear away, and I was left to converse with her
more freely, I invited her to forsake her savage
companion, to place herself under my protection,
and to resume the habits of civilised life. She
received my proposition coldly, and declined it
with a slight smile of contempt.

The whole interview was painful and embarrassing.
I could not look at the Indian husband
of my sister without aversion, and her children,
with their wild dark eyes, and savage features,
were to me objects of inexpressible loathing.
Between my sister and myself there were no
points of sympathy, no common attachments,
nothing to bind us by any tie of affection or
esteem, or to render the society of either agreeable
to the other. The bond of consanguinity
becomes a feeble and tuneless chord, when it
ceases to unite hearts which throb in unison; like
the loosened and detached string of a musical
instrument, it has no melody in itself, but only
yields its delightful notes when attuned in harmony
with the other various affections of the
heart. There had been a time, when the name of
sister was music to my ear, when it was surrounded
with tender and romantic associations,

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

and when it called up those mingled emotions of
love, respect, and gallantry, with which we regard
a cherished female relative. But I had seen her,
and the illusion was destroyed. Instead of the
lovely woman, endued with the appropriate graces
of her sex, I found her in the garb of the wilderness,
the voluntary companion of a savage, the
mother of squalid imps, who were destined to a
life of rapine; instead of a gentle and rational
being, I saw her coarse, sunburned, and ignorant—
without sensibility, without feminine pride, and
with scarcely a perception of the moral distinctions
between right and wrong. I left her. We
parted as we had met, in coldness and suspicion.
She gave me no invitation to repeat my visit, and
I had secretly resolved never to see her again.

In sorrow did I begin to retrace my steps
towards my own dwelling. Slowly, and under a
sense of deep humiliation, did I wander back to
the habitations of my own people. My heart was
changed. A shadow had fallen upon my spirit,
which gave a new hue to all my feelings. I could
feel that I was an altered man.

I reached the edge of the prairie, and seated
myself upon an elevated spot, under the shade of a
large tree. The wide lawn was spread before me,
glowing with the beams of the noon-day sun. A
gentle breeze fanned my temples that were throbbing
with the excitement of deep emotion. The

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

angry passions of my heart were all hushed. The
storm of the soul had ceased to rage. Revenge
was obliterated. The blight of disappointment
had fallen upon me, and withered all the currents
of feeling. The past was a dream—a chaos.
New-born feelings struggled for existence. I pronounced
my sister's name, and burst into tears.

How grateful it is to weep when the heart is
oppressed! How soothing is that gush of tenderness,
which, as it pours itself out, seems to relieve
the bursting fountains of sensibility, and to draw
off a flood of bitterness from the soul!

A more calm and a more wholesome train of
reflection succeeded. I had long cherished a
vision, which one moment had destroyed. In the
place of an infant sister who was lost to me, I had
created the image of an ideal being, who became
invested with all the loveliness which an ardent
fancy could depict—and giving the rein to my
imagination, I had alternately revenged her death,
or had indulged the fond anticipation of meeting
her again, not only in the bloom of womanhood,
but in the possession of those virtues and attractions
which give dignity and beauty to the female
character. She had been the companion of my
childish sports; and while I cherished an intense
fondness for my early playmate, could I doubt that
her heart, if still in existence, throbbed with a
responsive feeling? I had seen her, and the illusion

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

was dispelled. The murderers of our mother
and our father had taken her to their bosoms, and
her destiny was linked with theirs. She was the
wife and mother of savages.

Yes—my sister,—she, for whom I would have
willingly offered up my life, and whose image had
so long been treasured in my memory, was contented,
perhaps happy, in the embraces of a
savage, at the very time when I was lying in
ambush by the war-path, or painfully following
the trace of the painted warrior, to revenge her
supposed wrongs. And she had witnessed from
childhood those atrocious rites, the very mention
of which causes the white man's blood to curdle
with horror, and had grown familiar with scenes
of torture and murder,—with the slaughter of the
defenceless prisoner, and the shriek of the dying
victim. She had assisted in decking her warrior
husband for the battle field, and received him to
her arms, while the guilty flush of the midnight
massacre was still upon his cheek. She had
heard him recount his exploits. She had listened
to the boastful repetition of his warlike deeds,
wherein he spake of the stealthy march towards
the habitations of the white man—of the darkness
that hung around the settler's cabin—of the silence
and repose within—of the sudden onset—of the
anguish of that little family, aroused from slumber
by the flames curling over their heads, and the

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

yells of savages around them—of the children
clinging to their mother, and the wife slaughtered
upon her husband's bosom—with all the revolting
particulars of those demoniac scenes of carnage.
She had been an attentive and an approving auditor,
for her husband was the narrator and the
hero, and her children were destined to acquire
reputation by emulating his achievements.

It was enough to have met her in that hated
garb—to have seen her sallow cheek, her wary
eye, and her countenance veiled in the insipid
ignorance of an uncivilised woman—to have found
her the drudge of an Indian hunter—to have
learned that she had forgotten her brother, and
become estranged from the people of her blood—
but the conviction that she was the willing companion
of murderers, the wife of a trained assassin,
weighed down my heart with a pang of unutterable
anguish.

“But if they were murderers, what was I?”

I was startled. I looked around; for it seemed
as if a voice had addressed me. But there was
no one nigh—no form was to be seen, and not a
footstep rustled the grass. It was conscience that
asked that question. It was the inward moving
of my own spirit. There was nothing around me
to suggest it. I looked abroad upon the plain,
and all was silent, and beautiful, and bright. The
sun was shining in unclouded lustre over the

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

spacious lawn, the flowers bloomed in gaudy
splendour, the bee was busy, and the bird sang.
The face of nature was reposing in serene beauty,
and every living thing was cheerful, except myself.

And why was I unhappy? A blight had fallen
upon my youth, and every tie that bound me to
my race was severed. True: but others had
been thus bereaved, without becoming thus incurably
miserable. They had formed new ties, and
become re-united to humanity by other affections,
while I had refused to be comforted. They had
submitted to the will of God, while I had followed
the devices of my own heart.

These reflections were painful, and I tried to
resume my former train of thought. But conscience
had spoken, and no man can hush its
voice. We may wander long in error, the perverted
mind may grope for years in guilt or in
mistake, but there is a time when that faithful
monitor within, which is ever true, will speak.
That small still voice, which cannot be suppressed,
again and again repeated the appalling question:

“If they are murderers, what are you?”

The difference, I replied, is that between the
aggressor and the injured party. They burned
the home of my childhood, and murdered all my
kindred. I have revenged the wrong. They
made war upon my country, ravaged its borders,

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

and slew its people. I have struck them in retaliation.

But had they suffered no injury? Was it true
that they were the first agressors? I had never
examined this question. Revenge is a poor casuist;
and, for the first time in my life, I began to
think it possible, that mutual aggressions had
placed both parties in the wrong, and that either
might justly complain of the aggressions of the
other.

That which gave me the most acute pain, and
which was the immediate cause of the self-accusatory
train of reflection into which I had fallen,
was the conviction that nearly my whole life had
been passed in delusion. I had imagined the
death of a sister who was living—I had punished,
as her destroyers, those who had treated her with
kindness—I had spent years in a retaliating warfare,
which, so far as she was concerned, was
unjust. I had watched, and fought, and suffered
incredible hardships, for one who neither needed
my interference, claimed my protection, nor was
capable of feeling any gratitude for the sacrifices
which I had made. If, in respect to her, I had
been thus far deluded, might I not have been in
error in regard to other parts of my scheme?
Admitting that it was justifiable to revenge the
murder of my parents, had I not exceeded the
equitable measure of retaliation? It is one of the

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

strongest arguments against the principle of revenge,
that it is directed by no rule, and bounded
by no limit. The aggrieved party is the judge of
his own wrong, and the executioner of his own
sentence; and the measure of recompense is seldom
in proportion to the degree of offence.

When once the heart is disturbed by suspicions
of its own rectitude, and the work of repentance is
commenced, there is no longer any neutral ground
upon which it is satisfied to rest. It must smother
the suggestions of conscience, or carry them out
to complete conviction. Adopting the latter
course, I went mournfully home, resolved to study
my own heart. Resorting to that sublime code of
morals, some of whose precepts had been impressed
upon my infant mind by the careful solicitude
of a mother, and testing my conduct by its
unerring rules, I learned to look back with horror
upon the bloody path which I had trod through
life; and I determined, by the usefulness of my
future years, to endeavour to make some atonement
for my former guilty career of crime and
passion.

The garb I now wear, and the employment in
which you find me, sufficiently explain the result
of my reflections, and the extent of my reformation.

p116-101 THE FRENCH VILLAGE

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

On the borders of the Mississippi may be seen
the remains of an old French village, which once
boasted a numerous population of as happy and as
thoughtless souls as over danced to a violin. If
content is wealth, as philosophers would fain persuade
us, they were opulent; but they would have
been reckoned miserably poor by those who estimate
worldly riches by the more popular standard.
Their houses were scattered in disorder, like the
tents of a wandering tribe, along the margin of a
deep bayou, and not far from its confluence with
the river, between which and the town was a strip
of rich alluvion, covered with a gigantic growth
of forest trees. Beyond the bayou was a swamp,
which, during the summer heats, was nearly dry,
but in the rainy season presented a vast lake of
several miles in extent. The whole of this morass
was thickly set with cypress, whose interwoven

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

branches, and close foliage, excluded the sun, and
rendered this as gloomy a spot as the most melancholy
poet ever dreamt of. And yet it was not
tenantless—and there were seasons when its dark
recesses were enlivened by notes peculiar to itself.
Here the young Indian, not yet entrusted to wield
the tomahawk, might be seen paddling his light
canoe among the tall weeds, darting his arrows at
the paroquets that chattered among the boughs,
and screaming and laughing with delight as he
stripped their gaudy plumage. Here myriads of
musquitoes filled the air with an incessant hum,
and thousands of frogs attuned their voices in harmonious
concert, as if endeavouring to rival the
sprightly fiddles of their neighbours; and the owl,
peeping out from the hollow of a blasted tree,
screeched forth his wailing note, as if moved by
the terrific energy of grief. From this gloomy
spot, clouds of miasm rolled over the village,
spreading volumes of bile and dyspepsia abroad
upon the land; and sometimes countless multitudes
of musquitoes, issuing from the humid
desert, assailed the devoted village with inconceivable
fury, threatening to draw from its inhabitants
every drop of French blood which yet
circulated in their veins. But these evils by no
means dismayed, or even interrupted the gaiety of
this happy people. When the musquitoes came,
the monsieurs lighted their pipes, and kept up not

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

only a brisk fire, but a dense smoke, against the
assailants; and when the fever threatened, the
priest, who was also the doctor, flourished his
lancet, the fiddler flourished his bow, and the
happy villagers flourished their heels, and sang,
and laughed, and fairly cheated death, disease,
and the doctor, of patient and of prey.

Beyond the town, on the other side, was an
extensive prairie—a vast unbroken plain of rich
green, embellished with innumerable flowers of
every tint, and whose beautiful surface presented
no other variety than here and there a huge
mound—the venerable monument of departed ages—
or a solitary tree of stinted growth, shattered
by the blast, and pining alone in the gay desert.
The prospect was bounded by a range of tall
bluffs, which overlooked the prairie—covered at
some points with groves of timber, and at others
exhibiting their naked sides, or high, bald peaks,
to the eye of the beholder. Herds of deer might
be seen here at sunrise, slyly retiring to their coverts,
after rioting away the night on the rich
pasturage. Here the lowing kine lived, if not in
clover, at least in something equally nutritious;
and here might be seen immense droves of French
ponies, roaming untamed, the common stock of
the village, ready to be reduced to servitude by
any lady or gentleman who chose to take the
trouble.

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

With their Indian neighbours the inhabitants
had maintained a cordial intercourse, which had
never yet been interrupted by a single act of aggression
on either side. It is worthy of remark,
that the French have invariably been more successful
in securing the confidence and affection of
the Indian tribes than any other nation. Others
have had leagues with them, which, for a time,
have been faithfully observed; but the French
alone have won them to the familiar intercourse
of social life, lived with them in the mutual interchange
of kindness; and, by treating them as
friends and equals, gained their entire confidence.
This result, which has been attributed to the sagacious
policy of their government, is perhaps more
owing to the conciliatory manners of that amiable
people, and the absence among them of that insatiable
avarice, that boundless ambition, that reckless
prodigality of human life, that unprincipled
disregard of public and solemn leagues, which, in
the conquests of the British and the Spaniards,
have marked their footsteps with misery, and
blood, and desolation.

This little colony was composed, partly, of emigrants
from France, and partly of natives—not
Indians—but bona fide French, born in America;
but preserving their language, their manners, and
their agility in dancing, although several generations
had passed away since their first settlement.

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

Here they lived perfectly happy, and well they
might—for they enjoyed, to the full extent, those
three blessings on which our declaration of independence
has laid so much stress—life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness. Their lives, it is
true, were sometimes threatened by the miasm
aforesaid; but this was soon ascertained to be an
imaginary danger. For whether it was owing to
their temperance, or their cheerfulness, or their
activity, or to their being acclimated, or to the
want of attraction between French people and
fever, or to all these together—certain it is, that
they were blessed with a degree of health only
enjoyed by the most favoured nations. As to
liberty, the wild Indian scarcely possessed more;
for, although the “grand monarque” had not more
loyal subjects in his wide domains, he had never
condescended to honour them with a single act of
oppression, unless the occasional visits of the commandant
could be so called; who sometimes, when
levying supplies, called upon the village for its
portion, which they always contributed with many
protestations of gratitude for the honour conferred
on them. And as for happiness, they pursued nothing
else. Inverting the usual order, to enjoy
life was their daily business, to provide for its
wants an occasional labour, sweetened by its brief
continuance and its abundant fruit. They had a
large body of land around the village, held in

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

parcels by individuals, to whom it was granted by the
crown. Most of this was allowed to remain in
open pasturage; but a considerable tract, including
the lands of a number of individuals, was inclosed
in a single fence, and called the “common field,”
in which all worked harmoniously, though each
cultivated his own acres. They were not an agricultural
people, further than the rearing of a few
esculents for the table made them such; relying
chiefly on their large herds, and on the produce
of the chase, for support. With the Indians they
drove an amicable, though not extensive, trade
for furs and peltry; giving them in exchange merchandise
and trinkets, which they procured from
their countrymen at St. Louis. To the latter
place they annually carried their skins, bringing
back a fresh supply of goods for barter, together
with such articles as their own wants required;
not forgetting a large portion of finery for the
ladies, a plentiful supply of rosin and catgut for
the fiddler, and liberal presents for his reverence,
the priest.

If this village had no other recommendation, it
is endeared to my recollection as the birth-place
and residence of Monsieur Baptiste Menou, who
was one of its principal inhabitants when I first
visited it. He was a bachelor of forty, a tall,
lank, hard-featured personage, as straight as a
ramrod, and almost as thin, with stiff, black hair,

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

sunken cheeks, and a complexion a tinge darker
than that of the aborigines. His person was remarkably
erect, his countenance grave, his gait
deliberate; and when to all this be added an enormous
pair of sable whiskers, it will be admitted
that Mons. Baptiste was no insignificant person.
He had many estimable qualities of mind and
person, which endeared him to his friends, whose
respect was increased by the fact of his having
been a soldier and a traveller. In his youth he
had followed the French commandant in two campaigns;
and not a comrade in the ranks was better
dressed, or cleaner shaved, on parade than Baptiste,
who fought, besides, with the characteristic
bravery of the nation to which he owed his lineage.
He acknowledged, however, that war was not as
pleasant a business as is generally supposed. Accustomed
to a life totally free from constraint, the
discipline of the camp ill accorded with his desultory
habits. He complained of being obliged to
eat, and drink, and sleep, at the call of the drum.
Burnishing a gun, and brushing a coat, and polishing
shoes, were duties beneath a gentleman; and,
after all, Baptiste saw but little honour in tracking
the wily Indians through endless swamps. Besides,
he began to have some scruples as to the
propriety of cutting the throats of the respectable
gentry whom he had been in the habit of considering
as the original and lawful possessors of the

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

soil. He therefore proposed to resign, and was
surprised when his commander informed him that
he was enlisted for a term, which was not yet
expired. He bowed, shrugged his shoulders, and
submitted to his fate. He had too much honour
to desert, and was too loyal, and too polite, to
murmur; but he, forthwith, made a solemn vow
to his patron saint, never again to get into a scrape
from which he could not retreat whenever it suited
his convenience. It was thought that he owed
his celibacy, in some measure, to this vow. He
had since accompanied the friendly Indians on
several hunting expeditions, towards the sources
of the Mississippi, and had made a trading voyage
to New Orleans. Thus accomplished, he had
been more than once called upon by the commandant
to act as a guide, or an interpreter—
honours which failed not to elicit suitable marks
of respect from his fellow villagers, but which had
not inflated the honest heart of Baptiste with any
unbecoming pride; on the contrary, there was
not a more modest man in the village.

In his habits, he was the most regular of men.
He might be seen at any hour of the day, either
sauntering through the village, or seated in front
of his own door, smoking a large pipe formed of a
piece of buck-horn, curiously hollowed out, and
lined with tin; to which was affixed a short stem
of cane from the neighbouring swamp. This pipe

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

was his inseparable companion; and he evinced
towards it a constancy which would have immortalized
his name, had it been displayed in a better
cause. When he walked abroad, it was to stroll
leisurely from door to door, chatting familiarly
with his neighbours, patting the white-haired
children on the head, and continuing his lounge
until he had peregrinated the village. His gravity
was not a “mysterious carriage of the body
to conceal the defects of the mind,” but a constitutional
seriousness of aspect, which covered as
happy and as humane a spirit as ever existed. It
was simply a want of sympathy between his muscles
and his brains; the former utterly refusing to
express any agreeable sensation which might haply
titillate the organs of the latter. Honest Baptiste
loved a joke, and uttered many and good ones;
but his rigid features refused to smile even at his
own wit—a circumstance which I am the more
particular in mentioning, as it is not common.
He had an orphan niece, whom he had reared
from childhood to maturity,—a lovely girl, of
whose beautiful complexion a poet might say, that
its roses were cushioned upon ermine. A sweeter
flower bloomed not upon the prairie, than Gabrielle
Menou. But as she was never afflicted with weak
nerves, dyspepsia, or consumption, and had but
one avowed lover, whom she treated with uniform
kindness, and married with the consent of all

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

parties, she has no claim to be considered as the
heroine of this history. That station will be
cheerfully awarded, by every sensible reader, to
the more important personage who will be presently
introduced.

Across the street, immediately opposite to Mons.
Baptiste, lived Mademoiselle Jeanette Duval, a lady
who resembled him in some respects, but in many
others was his very antipode. Like him, she was
cheerful, and happy, and single—but unlike him,
she was brisk, and fat, and plump. Monsieur was
the very pink of gravity; and Mademoiselle was
blessed with a goodly portion thereof,—but hers
was specific gravity. Her hair was dark, but her
heart was light; and her eyes, though black, were
as brilliant a pair of orbs as ever beamed upon the
dreary solitude of a bachelor's heart. Jeanette's
heels were as light as her heart, and her tongue
as active as her heels; so that, notwithstanding
her rotundity, she was as brisk a Frenchwoman
as ever frisked through the mazes of a cotillion.
To sum her perfections, her complexion was of a
darker olive than the genial sun of France confers
on her brunettes, and her skin was as smooth and
shining as polished mahogany. Her whole household
consisted of herself and a female negro servant.
A spacious garden, which surrounded her
house, a pony, and a herd of cattle, constituted, in
addition to her personal charms, all the wealth of

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

this amiable spinster. But with these she was
rich, as they supplied her table without adding
much to her cares. Her quadrupeds, according
to the example set by their superiors, pursued
their own happiness, without let or molestation,
wherever they could find it—waxing fat or lean,
as nature was more or less bountiful in supplying
their wants; and when they strayed too far, or
when her agricultural labours became too arduous
for the feminine strength of herself and her sable
assistant, every monsieur of the village was proud
of an occasion to serve Mam'selle. And well they
might be; for she was the most notable lady in
the village, the life of every party, the soul of
every frolic. She participated in every festive
meeting, and every sad solemnity. Not a neighbour
could get up a dance, or get down a dose of
bark, without her assistance. If the ball grew
dull, Mam'selle bounced on the floor, and infused
new spirit into the weary dancers. If the conversation
flagged, Jeanette, who occupied a kind of
neutral ground between the young and the old, the
married and the single, chatted with all, and loosened
all tongues. If the girls wished to stroll in
the woods, or romp on the prairie, Mam'selle was
taken along to keep off the wolves and the rude
young men; and, in respect to the latter, she
faithfully performed her office by attracting them
around her own person. Then she was the best

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

neighbour and the kindest soul! She made the
richest soup, the clearest coffee, and the neatest
pastry in the village; and, in virtue of her confectionary,
was the prime favourite of all the
children. Her hospitality was not confined to
her own domicil, but found its way, in the shape
of sundry savoury viands, to every table in the
vicinity. In the sick chamber she was the most
assiduous nurse, her step was the lightest, and her
voice the most cheerful—so that the priest must
inevitably have become jealous of her skill, had it
not been for divers plates of rich soup, and bottles
of cordial, with which she conciliated his favour,
and purchased absolution for these and other offences.

Baptiste and Jeanette were the best of neighbours.
He always rose at the dawn, and, after
lighting his pipe, sallied forth into the open air,
where Jeanette usually made her appearance at
the same time; for there was an emulation of long
standing between them, which should be the earliest
riser.

“Bon jour! Mam'selle Jeanette,” was his daily
salutation.

“Ah! bon jour! bon jour! Mons. Menou,” was
her daily reply.

Then, as he gradually approximated the little
paling which surrounded her door, he hoped Mam'selle
was well this morning; and she reiterated

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

the kind enquiry, but with increased emphasis.
Then Monsieur enquired after Mam'selle's pony,
and Mam'selle's cow, and her garden, and every
thing appertaining to her, real, personal, and
mixed; and she displayed a corresponding interest
in all concerns of her kind neighbour. These
discussions were mutually beneficial. If Mam'selle's
cattle ailed, or if her pony was guilty of
any impropriety, who so able to advise her as
Mons. Baptiste? and if his plants drooped, or his
poultry died, who so skilful in such matters as
Mam'selle Jeanette? Sometimes Baptiste forgot
his pipe, in the superior interest of the “tête à
tête,” and must needs step in to light it at Jeanette's
fire, which caused the gossips of the village
to say, that he purposely let his pipe go out, in
order that he might himself go in. But he denied
this; and, indeed, before offering to enter the
dwelling of Mam'selle on such occasions, he usually
solicited permission to light his pipe at Jeanette's
sparkling eyes—a compliment at which,
although it had been repeated some scores of
times, Mam'selle never failed to laugh and curtsey
with great good humour and good breeding.

It cannot be supposed that a bachelor of so much
discernment could long remain insensible to the
galaxy of charms which centred in the person of
Mam'selle Jeanette; and, accordingly, it was currently
reported that a courtship, of some ten years

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

standing, had been slyly conducted on his part,
and as cunningly eluded on hers. It was not
averred that Baptiste had actually gone the fearful
length of offering his hand, or that Jeanette
had been so imprudent as to discourage, far less
reject, a lover of such respectable pretensions.
But there was thought to exist a strong hankering
on the part of the gentleman, which the lady had
managed so skilfully as to keep his mind in a kind
of equilibrium, like that of the patient animal between
the two bundles of hay—so that he would
sometimes halt in the street, midway between the
two cottages, and cast furtive glances, first at the
one, and then at the other, as if weighing the
balance of comfort; while the increased volumes
of smoke, which issued from his mouth, seemed
to argue that the fire of his love had other fuel
than tobacco, and was literally consuming the inward
man. The wary spinster was always on the
alert on such occasions, manœuvring like a skilful
general according to circumstances. If honest
Baptiste, after such a consultation, turned on his
heel, and retired to his former cautious position at
his own door, Mam'selle rallied all her attractions,
and by a sudden demonstration drew him again
into the field; but if he marched with an embarrassed
air towards her gate, she retired into her
castle, or kept shy, and, by able evolutions, avoided
every thing which might bring matters to an issue.

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

Thus the courtship continued longer than the siege
of Troy, and Jeanette maintained her freedom,
while Baptiste, with a magnanimity superior to
that of Agamemnon, kept his temper, and smoked
his pipe in good humour with Jeanette and all the
world.

Such was the situation of affairs when I first
visited this village, about the time of the cession
of Louisiana to the United States. The news of
that event had just reached this sequestered spot,
and was but indifferently relished. Independently
of the national attachment which all men feel, and
the French so justly, the inhabitants of this region
had reason to prefer, to all others, the government
which had afforded them protection without constraining
their freedom, or subjecting them to any
burthens; and with the kindest feelings towards
the Americans, they would willingly have dispensed
with any nearer connection than that
which already existed. They, however, said little
on the subject; and that little was expressive of
their cheerful acquiescence in the honour done
them by the American people, in buying the country,
which the emperor had done them the honour
to sell.

It was on the first day of the Carnival that I
arrived in the village, about sunset, seeking shelter
only for the night, and intending to proceed on my
journey in the morning. The notes of the violin,

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

and the groups of gaily attired people who thronged
the street, attracted my attention, and induced me
to enquire the occasion of this merriment. My
host informed me that a “king ball” was to be
given at the house of a neighbour, adding the
agreeable intimation, that strangers were always
expected to attend without invitation. Young and
ardent, little persuasion was required to induce me
to change my dress, and hasten to the scene of
festivity. The moment I entered the room, I felt
that I was welcome. Not a single look of surprise,
not a glance of more than ordinary attention,
denoted me as a stranger or an unexpected
guest. The gentlemen nearest the door bowed as
they opened a passage for me through the crowd,
in which for a time I mingled, apparently unnoticed.
At length a young gentleman, adorned
with a large nosegay, approached me, invited
me to join the dancers, and, after enquiring my
name, introduced me to several females, among
whom I had no difficulty in selecting a graceful
partner. I was passionately fond of dancing, so
that, readily imbibing the joyous spirit of those
around me, I advanced rapidly in their estimation.
The native ease and elegance of the females, reared
in the wilderness and unhacknied in the forms of
society, surprised and delighted me as much as
the amiable frankness of all classes. By and by
the dancing ceased, and four young ladies of

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

exquisite beauty, who had appeared during the evening
to assume more consequence than the others,
stood alone on the floor. For a moment their
arch glances wandered over the company who
stood silently around, when one of them, advancing
to a young gentleman, led him into the circle,
and, taking a large bouquet from her own bosom,
pinned it upon the left breast of his coat, and pronounced
him “KING!” The gentleman kissed his
fair elector, and led her to a seat. Two others
were selected almost at the same moment. The
fourth lady hesitated for an instant, then advancing
to the spot where I stood, presented me her hand,
led me forward, and placed the symbol on my
breast, before I could recover from the surprise
into which the incident had thrown me. I regained
my presence of mind, however, in time to
salute my lovely consort; and never did king
enjoy, with more delight, the first fruits of his
elevation—for the beautiful Gabrielle, with whom
I had just danced, and who had so unexpectedly
raised me, as it were, to the purple, was the freshest
and fairest flower in this gay assemblage.

This ceremony was soon explained to me. On
the first day of the Carnival, four self-appointed
kings, having selected their queens, give a ball, at
their own proper costs, to the whole village. In
the course of that evening the queens select, in
the manner described, the kings for the ensuing

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

day, who choose their queens, in turn, by presenting
the nosegay and the kiss. This is repeated
every evening in the week;—the kings, for the
time being, giving the ball at their own expense,
and all the inhabitants attending without invitation.
On the morning after each ball, the kings
of the preceding evening make small presents to
their late queens, and their temporary alliance is
dissolved. Thus commenced my acquaintance
with Gabrielle Menou, who, if she cost me a few
sleepless nights, amply repaid me in the many
happy hours for which I was indebted to her
friendship.

I remained several weeks at this hospitable village.
Few evenings passed without a dance, at
which all were assembled, young and old; the
mothers vying in agility with their daughters,
and the old men setting examples of gallantry to
the young. I accompanied their young men to
the Indian towns, and was hospitably entertained.
I followed them to the chase, and witnessed the
fall of many a noble buck. In their light canoes
I glided over the turbid waters of the Mississippi,
or through the labyrinths of the morass, in pursuit
of water fowl. I visited the mounds, where the
bones of thousands of warriors were mouldering,
overgrown with prairie violets and thousands of
nameless flowers. I saw the mocasin snake basking
in the sun, the elk feeding on the prairie; and

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

returned to mingle in the amusements of a circle,
where, if there was not Parisian elegance, there
was more than Parisian cordiality.

Several years passed away before I again visited
this country. The jurisdiction of the American
government was now extended over this immense
region, and its beneficial effects were beginning to
be widely disseminated. The roads were crowded
with the teams, and herds, and families of emigrants,
hastening to the land of promise. Steamboats
navigated every stream, the axe was heard
in every forest, and the plough broke the sod
whose verdure had covered the prairie for ages.

It was sunset when I reached the margin of the
prairie on which the village is situated. My horse,
wearied with a long day's travel, sprung forward
with new vigour when his hoof struck the smooth,
firm road which led across the plain. It was a
narrow path, winding among the tall grass, now
tinged with the mellow hues of autumn. I gazed
with delight over the beautiful surface. The
mounds and the solitary trees were there, just
as I had left them, and they were familiar to my
eye as the objects of yesterday. It was eight
miles across the prairie, and I had not passed
half the distance when night set in. I strained
my eyes to catch a glimpse of the village, but
two large mounds, and a clump of trees which
intervened, defeated my purpose. I thought of

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

Gabrielle, and Jeanette, and Baptiste, and the
priest—the fiddles, dances, and French ponies;
and fancied every minute an hour, and every foot
a mile, which separated me from scenes and persons
so deeply impressed on my imagination.

At length I passed the mounds, and beheld the
lights twinkling in the village, now about two
miles off, like a brilliant constellation in the horizon.
The lights seemed very numerous—I thought
they moved, and at last discovered that they were
rapidly passing about. “What can be going on
in the village?” thought I—then a strain of music
met my ear—“they are going to dance,” said I,
striking my spurs into my jaded nag, “and I shall
see all my friends together.” But as I drew near
a volume of sounds burst upon me, such as defied
all conjecture. Fiddles, flutes and tambourines,
drums, cow-horns, tin trumpets, and kettles, mingled
their discordant notes with a strange accompaniment
of laughter, shouts, and singing. This
singular concert proceeded from a mob of men
and boys who paraded through the streets, preceded
by one who blew an immense tin horn, and
ever and anon shouted, “Cha-ri-va-ry! Charivary!”
to which the mob responded, “Charivary!” I
now recollected to have heard of a custom which
prevails among the American French, of serenading,
at the marriage of a widow or widower, with
such a concert as I now witnessed; and I rode

[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]

towards the crowd, who had halted before a well-known
door, to ascertain who were the happy
parties.

“Charivary!” shouted the leader.

“Pour qui?” said another voice.

“Pour Mons. Baptiste Menou, il est marié?”

“Avec qui?”

“Avec Mam'selle Jeanette Duval—Charivary!”

“Charivary!” shouted the whole company, and
a torrent of music poured from the full band—tin
kettles, cow-horns and all.

The door of the little cabin, whose hospitable
threshold I had so often crossed, now opened, and
Baptiste made his appearance—the identical, lank,
sallow, erect personage, with whom I had parted
several years before, with the same pipe in his
mouth. His visage was as long and as melancholy
as ever, except that there was a slight tinge of
triumph in its expression, and a bashful casting
down of the eye—reminding one of a conqueror,
proud but modest in his glory. He gazed with an
embarrassed air at the serenaders, bowed repeatedly,
as if conscious that he was the hero of the
night, and then exclaimed—

“For what you make this charivary?”

“Charivary!” shouted the mob; and the tin
trumpets gave an exquisite flourish.

“Gentlemen!” expostulated the bridegroom,
“for why you make this charivary for me? I

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

have never been marry before—and Mam'selle
Jeanette has never been marry before!”

Roll went the drum!—cow-horns, kettles, tin
trumpets, and fiddles, poured forth volumes of
sound, and the mob shouted in unison.

“Gentlemen! pardonnez-moi—” supplicated the
distressed Baptiste. “If I understan dis custom,
which have long prevail vid us, it is vat I say—
ven a gentilman, who has been marry before, shall
marry de second time—or ven a lady have de
misfortune to loose her husban, and be so happy
to marry some odder gentilman, den we make de
charivary—but 'tis not so wid Mam'selle Duval
and me. Upon my honour we have never been
marry before dis time!”

“Why, Baptiste,” said one, “you certainly have
been married, and have a daughter grown.”

“Oh, excuse me, sir! Madame St. Marie is
my niece; I have never been so happy to be marry,
until Mam'selle Duval have do me dis honneur.”

“Well, well! it's all one. If you have not been
married, you ought to have been, long ago:—and
might have been, if you had said the word.”

“Ah, gentilmen, you mistake.”

“No, no! there's no mistake about it. Mam'selle
Jeanette would have had you ten years ago,
if you had asked her.”

“You flatter too much,” said Baptiste, shrugging
his shoulders;—and finding there was no

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

means of avoiding the charivary, he, with great
good humour, accepted the serenade, and, according
to custom, invited the whole party into his
house.

I retired to my former quarters, at the house of
an old settler—a little, shrivelled, facetious Frenchman,
whom I found in his red flannel night-cap,
smoking his pipe, and seated like Jupiter in the
midst of clouds of his own creating.

“Merry doings in the village!” said I, after we
had shaken hands.

“Eh, bien! Mons. Baptiste is marry to Mam'selle
Jeanette.”

“I see the boys are making merry on the occasion.”

“Ah, sacre! de dem boy! they have play hell
to night.”

“Indeed! how so?”

“For make dis charivary—dat is how so, my
friend. Dis come for have d' Americain government
to rule de countrie. Parbleu! they make
charivary for de old maid and de old bachelor!”

I now found that some of the new settlers, who
had witnessed this ludicrous ceremony without
exactly understanding its application, had been
foremost in promoting the present irregular exhibition,
in conjunction with a few degenerate French,
whose love of fun outstripped their veneration for
their ancient usages. The old inhabitants,

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

although they joined in the laugh, were nevertheless
not a little scandalised at the innovation. Indeed,
they had good reason to be alarmed; for their
ancient customs, like their mud-walled cottages,
were crumbling to ruins around them, and every
day destroyed some vestige of former years.

Upon enquiry, I found that many causes of discontent
had combined to embitter the lot of my
simple-hearted friends. Their ancient allies, the
Indians, had sold their hunting grounds, and their
removal deprived the village of its only branch of
commerce. Surveyors were busily employed in
measuring off the whole country, with the avowed
intention, on the part of the government, of converting
into private property those beautiful regions
which had heretofore been free to all who trod
the soil or breathed the air. Portions of it were
already thus occupied. Farms and villages were
spreading over the country with alarming rapidity,
deforming the face of nature, and scaring the elk
and the buffalo from their long frequented ranges.
Yankees and Kentuckians were pouring in, bringing
with them the selfish distinctions and destructive
spirit of society. Settlements were planted
in the immediate vicinity of the village; and the
ancient heritage of the ponies was invaded by the
ignoble beasts of the interlopers. Certain pregnant
indications of civil degeneration were alive
in the land. A county had been established, with

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

a judge, a clerk, and a sheriff; a court-house and
jail were about to be built; two lawyers had
already made a lodgment at the county site; and
a number of justices of the peace, and constables,
were dispersed throughout a small neighbourhood
of not more than fifty miles in extent. A brace
of physicians had floated in with the stream of
population, and several other persons of the same
cloth were seen passing about, brandishing their
lancets in the most hostile manner. The French
argued very reasonably from all these premises—
that a people who brought their own doctors expected
to be sick, and that those who commenced
operations in a new country, by providing so many
engines and officers of justice, must certainly intend
to be very wicked and litigious. But when the
new comers went the fearful length of enrolling
them in the militia; when the sheriff, arrayed in
all the terrors of his office, rode into the village,
and summoned them to attend the court as jurors;
when they heard the judge enumerate to the grand
jury the long list of offences which fell within their
cognizance;—these good folks shook their heads,
and declared that this was no longer a country for
them.

From that time the village began to depopulate.
Some of its inhabitants followed the footsteps of
the Indians, and continue, to this day, to trade
between them and the whites—forming a kind of

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

link between civilised and savage men. A larger
portion, headed by the priest, floated down the
Mississippi, to seek congenial society among the
sugar plantations of their countrymen in the south.
They found a pleasant spot on the margin of a
large bayou, whose placid stream was enlivened
by droves of alligators, sporting their innocent
gambols on its surface. Swamps, extending in
every direction, protected them from further intrusion.
Here a new village arose, and a young
generation of French was born, as happy and as
careless as that which is passing away.

Baptiste alone adhered to the soil of his fathers,
and Jeanette, in obedience to her marriage vow,
cleaved to Baptiste. He sometimes talked of following
his clan, but when the hour came he could
never summon fortitude to pull up his stakes. He
had passed so many happy years of single blessedness
in his own cabin, and had been so long accustomed
to view that of Jeanette with a wistful eye,
that they had become necessary to his happiness.
Like other idle bachelors, he had had his day-dreams,
pointing to future enjoyment. He had
been, for years, planning the junction of his domains
with those of his fair neighbour; had
arranged how the fences were to intersect, the
fields to be enlarged, and the whole to be managed
by the thrifty economy of his partner. All these
plans were now about to be realised; and he wisely

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

concluded that he could smoke his pipe, and talk
to Jeanette, as comfortably here as elsewhere;
and as he had not danced for many years, and
Jeanette was growing rather too corpulent for
that exercise, he reasoned that even the deprivation
of the fiddles and king balls could be borne.
Jeanette loved comfort too; but having, besides,
a sharp eye for the main chance, was governed
by a deeper policy. By a prudent appropriation
of her own savings, and those of her husband, she
purchased from the emigrants many of the fairest
acres in the village, and thus secured an ample
property.

A large log house has since been erected in the
space between the cottages of Baptiste and Jeanette,
which form wings to the main building, and
are carefully preserved in remembrance of old
times. All the neighbouring houses have fallen
down, and a few heaps of rubbish, surrounded by
corn fields, show where they stood. All is changed,
except the two proprietors, who live here in ease
and plenty, exhibiting, in their old age, the same
amiable character, which, in early life, won for
them the respect and love of their neighbours and
of each other.

p116-128 THE SPY. A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION.

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

Although the title which we have chosen for
this volume, would seem to confine us, in the
selection of our scenes, to an imaginary line
which forms the boundary of our settled population,
yet, in fact, the limit which it imposes refers
rather to time than place, for ours is a moving
frontier, which is continually upon the advance.
What is now the border, has but recently assumed
that character, and if we trace back the
history of our country to its earliest period, in
search of the stirring scenes attendant upon a
state of war, we shall find ourselves rapidly travelling
towards the shores of the Atlantic. There
has been a point in the history of every state in
the Union, when a portion of its territory was a
wilderness, and a part, at least of its settlements,
subjected to invasion; and there have been more

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

recent and longer periods, when every state contained
extensive districts which were thinly settled,
and but little frequented by strangers, and
where all the vicissitudes and adventures of the
border life were experienced by the inhabitants.
It is this circumstance which renders the whole of
our broad empire so rich in materials for the
novelist—for every part of it has been the seat of
war, or the scene of border conflict, and there is
scarcely a spot where some tradition of a romantic
character may not be gathered. I hope, therefore,
that the following legend will not be considered
as inappropriately grouped with the others
which form this little collection.

In a secluded neighbourhood, on the banks of
the romantic Susquehanna, stands a large old-fashioned
brick house, which, at a period previous
to the revolutionary war, was a very important
mansion, but has now a mean and dilapidated
appearance. It was, when erected, the only respectable
building in the whole region of country
in which it stands, and was thought to be a noble
specimen of architectural skill and magnificence.
It was surrounded by a very large plantation, appropriated
chiefly to the culture of tobacco and
corn, and studded in every direction with little
cabins inhabited by negroes. A fine garden, an
extensive orchard, and a meadow, in which a
number of high-bred horses sported their graceful

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

limbs, showed the proprietor to be a gentleman of
easy fortune.

He was indeed, as I learned from tradition, a
very wealthy and excellent old gentleman. His
portrait, which I used to gaze at with admiration
in my childhood, still hangs in the ancient hall,
and sufficiently denotes the character of the original.
It is that of an elderly robust man, with a
fine high forehead, and a mild, though firm expression
of countenance. One would pronounce
him to have been an unsophisticated man, who
had mingled but little with the world, but whose
natural understanding was strong. He was a
grave, taciturn person, of even temper, and of
benevolent and hospitable feelings. His eye was
remarkably fine—a large blue orb, full of mildness
and love—but with a quiet self-command about it,
and a dash of something which said that the owner
was accustomed to be obeyed. He was dressed
in a snuff-coloured suit, of goodly dimensions; the
coat single-breasted, and without a collar, and the
wrists ornamented with hand-ruffles.

The portrait of the good lady, which hung by
that of her lord, exhibited a stately and very
beautiful woman, dressed in all the formal finery
of that age. Her complexion was delicately fair,
her mouth exquisitely sweet, and her eye proud—
but whether that pride arose from the consciousness
of her own beauty, or of her dominion over

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

the handsome gentleman whose name she bore, I
cannot, at this distance of time, pretend to determine.
It is whispered, however, that although
Mr. B.—for this designation will serve our present
purpose—ruled his dependents with absolute
authority, and influenced the affairs of the neighbourhood,
yet Mrs. B. usually carried her points.
I shall not attempt to describe the lady's dress, as
I am unlearned in those matters. If Mrs. Hale,
or Mrs. Child, or Mrs. Sigourney, or Mrs. Hentz,
or Miss Leslie, or Miss Sedgewick, or Miss Gould,
or any other of the hundred and one Mistresses or
Misses of our country, who
“Grace this latter age with noble deeds” in the way of authorship, had the handling of this
delicate subject, it might be treated with ability,
and the fair writer would luxuriate among the
folds and ruffles of that curious specimen of the
ancient costume; suffice it, however, to say that
the venerable matron in question wore the hoop,
the stays, the close sleeves, and the high head-dress
ornamented with trinkets, which were common,
among well-born dames, in those aristocratic
times. There was altogether, in addition to her
surpassing beauty, an air of pride, a lady-like elegance,
and a matronly dignity, about this lady,
which showed that she thought, and had a right
to think, well of herself; and which gave her a

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

well founded claim to the obedience of her husband,
and all others who might choose to submit
to her sway.

But to our story. It was during the most
stormy period of the revolution, and Squire B.—
for he was a magistrate—and Mrs. B. were both
stanch whigs. Net “young whigs,” nor modern
whigs—but the good old republican rebellious
whigs of the revolution. They had given two
gallant sons to their country, who were then fighting
under the banners of Washington; and were
training up the remainder of a large progeny in
the hatred of tyranny, and the love of independence.
The neighbourhood in which they lived
was obscure, and thinly settled; there was no public
house of any description within many miles;
and genteel strangers, who happened to pass along
towards night-fall, were generally, on enquiring
for lodgings, directed to the house of Squire B.,
where they were always sure of a cordial reception,
and a gratuitous and most hospitable entertainment.
So far from considering such a call as
an intrusion, this worthy couple deemed it a great
compliment; and would have thought themselves
slighted, had a reputable stranger visited the
neighbourhood without making their house his
home. And a most agreeable home it was to a
weary wayfarer. There was kindness without
bustle, and profusion without any affectation of

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

display. The self-invited guest was treated as an
honoured friend, and an invitation to remain another
and another day, was usually accorded to
him. Indeed, when one of these chance guests
happened to be more agreeable than ordinary, the
hospitable Marylander never allowed him to depart
in less than a week, nor then without a present of
a bridle, a saddle, or perhaps a horse.

It was, as we remarked before, during a perilous
time of the revolution, when the hearts of our patriot
ancestors were filled with doubt and anxiety,
that a solitary traveller rode up one evening to the
door of Mr. B. Several negro boys ran to meet
him; one opened the gate, another took his horse
by the bridle, and a third prepared to seize upon
his saddlebags. The stranger hesitated, looked
cautiously around, and enquired timidly for Mr. B.

“Ole massa in de house, readen he book;” answered
one of the young Africans.

“Do you think I can get permission to spend
the night here?”

“Oh yes, massa, for sartin. All de quality
stops here.”

The stranger still paused, and then alighted
slowly, and paused again, as if conscious of the
awkwardness of intruding without invitation into
the house of one to whom he was entirely unknown.
The appearance of the portly owner of
the mansion, who now presented himself at the

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

door, seemed to increase his embarrasment, and
he began, rather bashfully, to make the explanations
which appeared to be necessary.

“I have ridden far to-day,” said he, “I am
tired, and my horse almost broken down—I am
told there is no tavern in the neighbourhood—and
was directed here—but I fear I intrude.”

“Glad to see you,” interrupted Mr. B. “come,
sir, walk in—the boys will take care of your
horse—you are quite welcome; do ye hear, boys,
rub down that nag, and feed him well—no apologies
are necessary, sir—make my house your
home, while you stay in the country—come, sir,
walk in”—and so the old gentleman talked on
until he had got his guest fairly housed, stripped
of his overcoat and spurs, and seated by the fire,
on one side of which sat the lady of the house, enthroned
in suitable state, in a high-backed arm
chair, while her consort placed himself in a
cushioned seat in the other corner. A group of
handsome daughters were clustered round the
worthy dame, like the bright satellites of a
brighter planet—seated on low stools, that they
might learn to sit upright without leaning, and
sewing away industriously under the supervision
of the experienced matron. In the back ground,
immediately behind the ladies of the family, sat a
number of neatly dressed negro girls, carding,
knitting, and sewing—in the process of being

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

trained up in the way that they should go, in
order that, when old, they should not depart from
it. These were intended for household domestics,
or for personal attendants upon the young ladies,
and were carefully taught all the thrifty arts of
female industry. Not the least remarkable circumstance
which was calculated to attract the eye
of a stranger, was the scrupulous neatness of the
apartment, the stainless purity of the uncarpeted
floor, which was as polished, and shining, and almost
as slippery, as ice, with other evidences
which attested the vigilant administration of an
admirable system of internal police.

The arrival of an unexpected guest caused no
disturbance in the well regulated household of
Mrs. B., whose ample board was always spread
with such a profusion of eatables, that the addition
of a company of grenadiers, to her already numerous
family, would hardly have been an inconvenience.
But there were certain little hospitalities
requisite for the honour of the house, and to teach
the traveller that he was welcome; the good lady,
therefore, very formally laid aside her knitting
and retired, while a servant added several logs to
the fire. Mr. B. produced a pipe, in which he
sometimes indulged, and having filled it with
tobacco, presented it to the stranger, who, being a
contemner of the poisonous weed, declined smoking;
and the host, for want of something to say,

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

lighted it for himself. A negro girl now entered
with a basket of apples, fresh from the orchard,
for it was October, and this fine fruit was in its
perfection; and presently the lady of the mansion
made her appearance, followed by a servant bearing
upon a waiter a curiously ornamented silver
bowl, filled with toddy, made by her own fair
hands—for no other less dignified personage than
herself was ever permitted to discharge this most
sacred of all the functions of hospitality. Squire
B., as was the invariable custom, approached the
bowl, and having stirred the delicious beverage
with a spoon, tasted it, in order that he might
have an opportunity of complimenting his good
dame, as he called her, and of remarking, with a
wink, that it “was made strong to suit the ladies.”
Then taking the bowl in both hands, he presented
it first, with a formal bow, to his lady-wife, who
touched her fair lips to the brim, then to each of
his daughters, beginning with the oldest, who
successively “kissed the bowl,” as Goldsmith
hath it, and lastly to the guest, who did ample
honour to its refreshing contents. Such was the
ceremony invariably observed by this worthy
couple, towards their most cherished friends, and
as invariably extended to the stranger who sought
a shelter at their fireside. Such were the primitive
and courteous habits of our venerable forefathers
and foremothers, in those days when there

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

were no temperance societies, and when a cordial
reception always included a social cup. They had
no newspapers, nor periodicals, neither albums, nor
scrap-books, nor any of the modern devices for destroying
the monotony of an idle hour; and the
bowl must have been found an able auxiliary in
dispelling the dullness of a country fireside.

In the meanwhile, the female part of the company
were endeavouring to read something of the
stranger's character in his countenance; and as
they were too well-bred to stare him in the face,
adopted the feminine expedient of stealing a
glance occasionally, when his attention was turned
another way. In this hasty perusal they found
more to excite, than to satisfy, their curiosity; for
the person before them possessed a set of features,
in which different emotions were so strangely
blended, as to baffle the penetration of such inexperienced
observers. He was so young as to
render it doubtful whether he had more than
merely reached the years of manhood. He was
tall and raw-boned; his large ill-shaped limbs
were loosely hung together, and his manners were
awkward. His face was singularly ugly, being a
collection of angular prominences, in which the
chin, nose, cheek-bones, and forehead, seemed
each to be ambitious of obtruding beyond the
other. But it was an intelligent face, with lines
of thought and observation too strongly drawn

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

upon it to be mistaken. There was, however,
about the muscles of the mouth, and the corners of
the eye, a lurking expression of humour, which
showed itself, particularly when a local phrase, or
a word susceptible of a different meaning from
that in which it was intended to be used, dropped
in his hearing. Under an assumed gravity, and
an affected air of unconcern, there was a watchfulness
which could not be wholly concealed, though
it betrayed itself only in his eye, which rolled suspiciously
about, like that of a cur, who, having,
contrary to a standing rule of the house, intruded
into the parlour, gazes in every face to learn if he
is welcome, and watches every movement as if
under a sense of danger. Every attempt to draw
him into conversation upon subjects connected
with the politics or news of the day, was fruitless;
he seemed to be entirely ignorant, or stupidly
careless, in relation to the principles and the
events of the great controversy which agitated the
colonies. On other subjects, of less dangerous
import, he spoke well and freely, uttering his
opinions in brief, pointed, and sententious remarks,
sometimes dropping a sly joke, but always relapsing
immediately into his gravity; and shortly after
a plentiful supper, he begged permission to retire,
which was cheerfully accorded by those who began
to be weary of vain efforts to entertain one, who
seemed determined to commune only with himself.

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

The next morning the stranger's stiff and jaded
horse was pronounced to be unfit to travel, and he
cheerfully accepted an invitation to spend the remainder
of the day with his kind entertainers;
and when, on the following day, his host again
pressed him to remain, he again acquiesced. During
all this time he had but little intercourse with
the family. Mrs. B. was provoked at his taciturnity,
the young ladies were out of patience with
his want of gallantry, and the worthy squire was
puzzled what to make of him. The man was
quiet and inoffensive, but had not disclosed either
his name, his business, or his destination. He
sallied forth on each morning, and spent the whole
day in roaming about the woods, or along the picturesque
borders of the Susquehanna; and when
the negroes happened to encounter him, he was
usually perched on a log, or lying at his length on
the brow of a hill, with a pencil and paper in his
hand. These employments, so different from those
of their young masters, struck the honest blacks
with astonishment; and they failed not to report
what they had seen in the kitchen, from which,
the tale, with suitable exaggerations, soon found
its way to the hall, where the whole family agreed
in opinion that their guest was a most incomprehensible
and mysterious person.

When, therefore, on the third morning, he announced
his intention to depart, no polite obstacle

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was thrown in his way; the worthy squire contenting
himself with thanking his guest for the
honour of his visit, and urging him to call again
whenever he should revisit the country. He took
leave with his characteristic awkwardness, and
was no sooner out of hearing than the whole
family united in pronouncing him a disagreeable,
unsocial, ill-dressed, incomprehensible, ugly, ill-mannered
person, who had no pretensions to the
character of a gentleman. An hour was spent in
this discussion, when a servant girl came grinning
into the hall with a pair of shabby, black-looking
saddlebags in her hand, which the stranger had
left in his chamber. Mrs. B. took them in her
hands, wiped her spectacles, and examined them
carefully, while her husband proposed to send a
boy on horseback to restore the property to its
owner. But Mrs. B. continued to gaze uneasily
at the saddlebags, turning them over, and pressing
them, to ascertain the character of the contents.

“Mr. B.,” said she, at length, “as sure as you
live, there are papers in these saddlebags.”

“Well, what then?” said the squire composedly.

“You are a magistrate, and this man is a suspicious
character.”

“What have I to do with his character, my
dear?”

“You are a justice of the peace, a whig, and a
friend to your country—this man is perhaps a spy,

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or a bearer of despatches, and it is your duty to
open these saddlebags.”

The squire seemed startled, but shook his head.

“Well, my dear,” pursued the lady, “you
always think you know best—but how can you
tell that there is not another Arnold plot among
these papers? You know, Mr. B., that you hold
a responsible office.”

“I know, too, that I am a gentleman.”

“We all know that, my dear.”

“And did you ever know a gentleman to rob
the baggage of his guest?”

The lady looked disconcerted, for the last was a
home argument; her pride was even greater than
that of her husband, and her regard for the rites
of hospitality equal to his.

But what could a man be doing with papers in
his saddlebags, unless he was a spy, or some incendiary
agent of the royal cause? The fellow
had a hang-dog look, the saddlebags were suspicious
in their appearance, and the papers had a
dishonest rustle. There was treason in all his
actions, and tyranny in every tone of his voice.
Even the negroes had noticed that he was a bad
horseman, which was a sure sign of an English-man,—
and that he was mounted on a wretched
nag, which was evidence enough that the animal
was not his own, or else that he was not a gentleman.

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The lady turned these matters in her mind, as
she tossed the saddlebags about in her hands.

“You may depend upon it, my dear,” said she,
“that this is a more serious matter than you have
any idea of.”

“Very likely,” replied the worthy man.

“What shall we do?” she exclaimed.

“Let one of the boys gallop after the gentleman
with his saddlebags,” replied the husband, composedly.

“I am surprised at you, Mr. B. You know
not what treason may be in them.”

“If the devil was in them, or Arnold himself,”
replied the squire, with more than usual vehemence,
“he might stay there for me. The gentleman
asked the hospitality of my roof, he came
as a friend, and it shall not be said that I treated
him as an enemy.”

“Then, Mr. B., if you have no objection, I will
open them myself.”

“None in the world, my dear, if you will take
the shame upon yourself.”

The worthy lady dropped the penknife with
which she was preparing to rip open the seams of
the unlucky saddlebags, and asked, “Do you
really think it would be wrong?”

“Decidedly so,” replied the husband.

At this juncture, the negro girl, who had been
prying about the leathern receptacle, discovered

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that the padlock was unfastened, and pointed out
the fact to her mistress, who exclaimed,

“Nay, then, I will see the inside! And as no
lock is to be broken, nor any breach committed,
we may serve our country, and, at the same time,
save the honour of our house.”

In a moment, the contents of the travelling convenience
were spread on the floor. From one end
was produced a scanty wardrobe, consisting of but
few articles; from the other, several handfuls of
manuscript. The eyes of the worthy lady glistened
as the suspicious papers came to light, and
her handsome cheek, on which the pencil of time
had not yet drawn a wrinkle, was flushed with
patriotism and curiosity.

“Now you see, Mr. B.,” she exclaimed, with a
kind of wife-ish exultation, “you see it is well to
listen to advice sometimes. Here's a pretty discovery,
truly!”

She now proceeded to open one of the manuscripts,
which was folded and stitched into the
form of a small book, and read aloud, “one
hundred and nineteenth psalm,”—“dear me,
what's all this?” “The beautiful and pathetic
passage which I have selected, my Christian
friends, for your edification”—“Why it's a sermon!”

“The devil can quote scripture, you know, my
dear,” said the squire, sarcastically,—“perhaps,

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as your hand is in, you had better examine a little
further.”

The remainder of the papers seemed to be of a
similar character; and the worthy couple were
fully satisfied of the clerical vocation of their late
visiter, when the lady inquisitor picked up a loose
sheet containing a copy of verses.

“A hymn, no doubt,” quoth the lady, “which
the worthy man has composed in his solitary rambles.”

“Read it for our edification,” returned the
squire.

“Do, mamma!” cried all the girls at once.

So the old lady began:
“Hail, beauteous shade! secure from eye profane,
Where chaste Diana, with her vestal train”—

Here the door opened, and, to the utter confusion
of the whole company, the stranger stood
before them. It was a scene for a painter. There
sat the lady of the mansion, on a low chair, with
the unlucky saddlebags at her feet, and the contents
thereof piled up in her lap. Three beautiful
girls leaned on the back of her chair, looking
eagerly over her shoulder. The head of the
family, who sat on the opposite side of the fire,
had taken the pipe from his mouth, dropped his
elbows upon his knees, and was gazing and listening
with as much interest as any of the circle;

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while a half dozen young blacks, with eyes and
mouth open, surveyed the scene with surprise. In
the open door stood the stranger, quite as much
embarrassed as any of the party, who, on discovering
him, gazed at each other in mute dismay.
The dismal looks of the host and hostess, when
thus caught in the fact, were really pitiable.
They were a virtuous, honourable couple; above
fear, but keenly sensitive of shame. The lady
was of gentle blood and nurture, and was proud of
herself, her husband, and her family. The gentleman,
though he despised, and never practised
the little affectations and stratagems of pride,
valued himself on his gentility, and on never
doing any act beneath the dignity of a gentleman.
This truly respectable pair had travelled through
life together, and neither of them had ever before
had cause to blush for the act of the other; and
now, when they stood detected in the disgraceful
fact of opening the private papers of a guest, they
were covered with confusion. Squire B. was the
first to recover his composure; nor did he, like
our great progenitor, attempt to excuse his own
fault by saying “it was the woman.” On the
contrary, being a plain spoken man, and a lover of
truth, he at once disclosed the whole of the reasons
which led to this ludicrous procedure, only placing
himself in the position which had, in fact, been
occupied by his wife. He alluded to the perilous

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state of the country, to the fact that treason had
more than once threatened its liberties, to his own
duty as a magistrate, and to the suspicious conduct
of the stranger—“Considering all these things,”
continued he, “our guest will not think it strange,
that we have pryed a little more curiously into his
private concerns, than would, under other circumstances,
have become our wonted respect for the
rites of hospitality.

“And yet,” resumed the old man, “I am grieved
particularly that a clergyman should have been
treated uncivilly in my house”—for the squire
and his dame were pillars of the church, and
revered the clergy.

The stranger, happy in recovering his property,
most cheerfully admitted that his kind entertainers
had acted for the best.

“And now,” said the squire, “to complete our
reconciliation, I insist on your spending a week or
two with us. On Sunday next you shall preach
in our church, and in the meanwhile there are
several couples to be married, who have been
waiting until they could procure the services of a
minister.”

This invitation the stranger civilly but peremptorily
declined, and taking a hasty leave, retreated
to his horse.

Mr. B. accompanied him across the little lawn
in front of the house, and the stranger, before he

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mounted, addressed him thus:—“We are now
alone, sir, and some explanation is due to you. I
am not, as you at first supposed, a spy, but a native
born American, as true to my country as any
patriot who fights her battles. Neither am I a
clergyman, though I confess, to my shame, that I
have assumed that character. I am a student,
preparing for the profession of law, but the country
wants men in her armies; and although I have
removed from town to town, and from one neighbourhood
to another, I cannot escape the importunity
of recruiting officers, or the ridicule of my
friends, for not devoting these sturdy limbs of mine
to the common cause.”

“Really, young man, I cannot see why you wish
to evade military duty in such times as these.”

“The gifts of Providence are various,” said the
young man; “Washington was born a soldier,
and I was born—a coward!”

The elder gentleman drew back as if he had
seen a rattlesnake in his path.

“It is a melancholy truth,” resumed the young
man; “I have had a liberal education, my talents
are thought to be respectable, and I am gifted
with a fund of humour which enables me to mimic
whatever I see, and to convulse the gravest company
with laughter. Yet I am not happy; for
the fear of bodily harm is continually before my
eyes. I have an instinctive dread of death; the

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

report of a cannon causes me to shudder; war is
my abhorrence; I covet fame; but the idea of
having a knife drawn across my throat, or a rusty
bayonet thrust through my body, curdles every
drop of blood in my veins.”

“This is an uncommon case.”

“It is uncommon, and therefore I bear it with
composure; courage is so ordinary a quality, that
it is no disgrace to want it. Cowardice is an
extraordinary gift, bestowed on susceptible minds,—
courage is a quality which man shares with the
bull-dog and the tiger. I was born a timid creature,
and no reasoning can cure my sensibility of
danger, and my abhorrence of death. I shrink at
the idea of pain, and suffer anguish in the contemplation
of personal exposure.”

“But why assume the character of a preacher?”

“Partly because I am willing to serve my country,
according to the nature of my gifts; but
chiefly, to be exempt from military duty, and safe
from danger. My garb protects me from my
enemies, as well as from my friends—from that
side which would make me a hero, as well as from
the others who would hang me up like a dog. To
avoid being a soldier, I have become a saint. I
go from camp to camp, and preach up rebellion to
our troops. I can declaim with fervour about
liberty, for I love it; and I can exhort others to
fight bravely, for none can talk so big as a coward.”

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

“But what if you fall in with the enemy?”

“To them I preach peace and good will towards
all men—with a secret prayer that they will practise
it especially towards myself. I carry a few
orthodox sermons with me, such as you have seen,
that suit any emergency. Those I make use of
when my auditors belong to the royal party; and,
if I do them no good, I am sure that I am doing
my country no evil. My patriotic efforts are all
extemporaneous. My ambition does not point to
martyrdom, any more than to military glory, and
I carry no seditious manuscripts. The recent
course of liberal studies, through which I have
passed, has imbued my mind with arguments in
favour of patriotism and military glory. I take
my text from the scripture, my sermon from the
classics. He who would disseminate the gospel of
peace, or promote the happiness of man, must imbibe
wisdom from the oracles of God; but for him
whose purpose is to promote bloodshed and perpetuate
war, the elegant productions of enlightened
Greece, and cultivated Rome, afford a copious
stream of reasoning and illustration.”

The young man extended his hand to his host,
thanked him heartily for his hospitable treatment,
mounted his horse, and rode slowly away—leaving
the whole family amused and puzzled with the
events of this singular visit.

p116-150 THE CAPUCHIN.

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[There is a tradition preserved among the French of a
celebrated missionary of their nation, who was one of the
earliest of the explorers of the Mississippi and its tributaries,
and who died at some spot which is now unknown.
We have endeavoured to preserve some of the circumstances,
which are related as having attended his death, in
the following lines.]

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