The Oak Openings, Or, the Bee Hunter Read online

  Canada."

  "That may be; but American warriors are not plenty here. This country is a wilderness, and there are no soldiers hereabouts, to cut each other's throats."

  "What you t'ink him?" asked Pigeonswing, glancing at Gershom; who, unable to forbear any longer, had gone to the spring to mix a cup from a small supply that still remained of the liquor with which he had left home. "Got pretty good scalp?"

  "I suppose it is as good as another's—but he and I are countrymen, and we cannot raise the tomahawk on one another."

  "Don't t'ink so. Plenty Yankee, him!"

  Le Bourdon smiled at this proof of Pigeonswings sagacity, though he felt a good deal of uneasiness at the purport of his discourse.

  "You are right enough in THAT" he answered, "but I'm plenty of

  Yankee, too."

  "No, don't say so," returned the Chippewa—"no, mustn't say DAT.

  English; no Yankee. HIM not a bit like you."

  "Why, we are unlike each other, in some respects, it is true, though we are countrymen, notwithstanding. My great father lives at Washington, as well as his."

  The Chippewa appeared to be disappointed; perhaps he appeared sorry, too; for le Bourdon's frank and manly hospitality had disposed him to friendship instead of hostilities, while his admissions would rather put him in an antagonist position. It was probably with a kind motive that he pursued the discourse in a way to give his host some insight into the true condition of matters in that part of the world.

  "Plenty Breetish in woods," he said, with marked deliberation and point. "Yankee no come yet."

  "Let me know the truth, at once, Chippewa," exclaimed le Bourdon. "I am but a peaceable bee-hunter, as you see, and wish no man's scalp, or any man's honey but my own. Is there to be a war between America and Canada, or not?"

  "Some say, yes; some say, no," returned Pigeonswing, evasively, "My part, don't know. Go, now, to see. But plenty Montreal belt among redskins; plenty rifle; plenty powder, too."

  "I heard something of this as I came up the lakes," rejoined Ben; "and fell in with a trader, an old acquaintance, from Canada, and a good friend, too, though he is to be my enemy, according to law, who gave me to understand that the summer would not go over without blows. Still, they all seemed to be asleep at Mackinaw (Michilimackinac) as I passed there."

  "Wake up pretty soon. Canada warrior take fort."

  "If I thought that, Chippewa, I would be off this blessed night to give the alarm."

  "No—t'ink better of dat."

  "Go I would, if I died for it the next hour!"

  "T'ink better—be no such fool, I tell you."

  "And I tell you, Pigeonswing, that go I would, if the whole Ojebway nation was on my trail. I am an American, and mean to stand by my own people, come what will."

  "T'ought you only peaceable bee-hunter, just now," retorted the

  Chippewa, a little sarcastically.

  By this time le Bourdon had somewhat cooled, and he became conscious of his indiscretion. He knew enough of the history of the past, to be fully aware that, in all periods of American history, the English, and, for that matter, the French too, so long as they had possessions on this continent, never scrupled about employing the savages in their conflicts. It is true, that these highly polished, and, we may justly add, humane nations—(for each is, out of all question, entitled to that character in the scale of comparative humanity as between communities, and each if you will take its own account of the matter, stands at the head of civilization in this respect)—would, notwithstanding these high claims, carry on their AMERICAN wars by the agency of the tomahawk, the scalping-knife, and the brand. Eulogies, though pronounced by ourselves on ourselves, cannot erase the stains of blood. Even down to the present hour, a cloud does not obscure the political atmosphere between England and America, that its existence may not be discovered on the prairies, by a movement among the In-dians. The pulse that is to be felt there is a sure indication of the state of the relations between the parties. Every one knows that the savage, in his warfare, slays both sexes and all ages; that the door-post of the frontier cabin is defiled by the blood of the infant, whose brains have been dashed against it; and that the smouldering ruins of log-houses oftener than not cover the remains of their tenants. But what of all that? Brutus is still "an honorable man," and the American, who has not this sin to answer for among his numberless transgressions, is reviled as a semi-barbarian! The time is at hand, when the Lion of the West will draw his own picture, too; and fortunate will it be for the characters of some who will gather around the easel, if they do not discover traces of their own lineaments among his labors.

  The feeling engendered by the character of such a warfare is the secret of the deeply seated hostility which pervades the breast of the WESTERN American against the land of his ancestors. He never sees the Times, and cares not a rush for the mystifications of the Quarterly Review; but he remembers where his mother was brained, and his father or brother tortured; aye, and by whose instrumentality the foul deeds were mainly done. The man of the world can understand that such atrocities may be committed, and the people of the offending nation remain ignorant of their existence, and, in a measure, innocent of the guilt; but the sufferer, in his provincial practice, makes no such distinction, confounding all alike in his resentments, and including all that bear the hated name in his maledictions. It is a fearful thing to awaken the anger of a nation; to excite in it a desire for revenge; and thrice is that danger magnified, when the people thus aroused possess the activity, the resources, the spirit, and the enterprise of the Americans. We have been openly derided, and that recently, because, in the fulness of our sense of power and sense of right, language that exceeds any direct exhibition of the national strength has escaped the lips of legislators, and, perhaps justly, has exposed them to the imputation of boastfulness. That derision, however, will not soon be repeated. The scenes enacting in Mexico, faint as they are in comparison with what would have been seen, had hostilities taken an other direction, place a perpetual gag in the mouths of all scoffers. The child is passing from the gristle into the bone, and the next generation will not even laugh, as does the present, at any idle and ill-considered menaces to coerce this republic; strong in the consciousness of its own power, it will eat all such fanfaronades, if any future statesman should be so ill-advised as to renew them, with silent indifference.

  Now, le Bourdon was fully aware that one of the surest pulses of approaching hostilities between England and America was to be felt in the far West. If the Indians were in movement, some power was probably behind the scenes to set them in motion. Pigeonswing was well known to him by reputation; and there was that about the man which awakened the most unpleasant apprehensions, and he felt an itching desire to learn all he could from him, without betraying any more of his own feelings, if that were possible.

  "I do not think the British will attempt Mackinaw," Ben remarked, after a long pause and a good deal of smoking had enabled him to assume an air of safe indifference.

  "Got him, I tell you," answered Pigeonswing, pointedly.

  "Got what, Chippewa?"

  "Him—Mac-naw—got fort—got so'gers—got whole island. Know dat, for been dere."

  This was astounding news, indeed! The commanding officer of that ill-starred garrison could not himself have been more astonished, when he was unexpectedly summoned to surrender by an enemy who appeared to start out of the earth, than was le Bourdon, at hearing this intelligence. To western notions, Michilimackinac was another Gibraltar, although really a place of very little strength, and garrisoned by only one small company of regulars. Still, habit had given the fortress a sort of sanctity among the adventurers of that region; and its fall, even in the settled parts of the country, sounded like the loss of a province. It is now known that, anticipating the movements of the Americans, some three hundred whites, sustained by more than twice that number of Indians, including warriors from nearly every adjacent tribe, had surprised the post on the
17th of July, and compelled the subaltern in command, with some fifty odd men, to surrender. This rapid and highly military measure, on the part of the British, completely cut off the post of Chicago, at the head of Lake Michigan, leaving it isolated, on what was then a very remote wilderness. Chicago, Mackinac, and Detroit, were the three grand stations of the Americans on the upper lakes, and here were two of them virtually gone at a blow!

  CHAPTER III.

  —Ho! who's here?

  If anything that's civil, speak; if savage,

  Take, or lend—

  Cymbeline

  Not another syllable did le Bourdon utter to the Chippewa, or the Chippewa to him, in that sitting, touching the important event just communicated. Each carefully avoided manifesting any further interest in the subject, but the smoking continued for some time after the sun had set. As the shades of evening began to gather, the Pottawattamie arose, shook the ashes from his pipe, gave a grunt, and uttered a word or two, by way of announcing his disposition to retire. On this hint, Ben went into the cabin, spread his skins, and intimated to his guests that their beds were ready for them. Few compliments pass among border men on such occasions, and one after another dropped off, until all were stretched on the skins but the master of the place. He remained up two hours later, ruminating on the state of things; when, perceiving that the night was wearing on, he also found a nest, and sought his repose.

  Nothing occurred to disturb the occupants of "Castle Meal," as le Bourdon laughingly called his cabin, until the return of day. If there were any bears scenting around the place, as often occurred at night, their instinct must have apprised them that a large reinforcement was present, and caused them to defer their attack to a more favorable opportunity. The first afoot next morning was the bee-hunter himself, who arose and left his cabin just as the earliest streaks of day were appearing in the east. Although dwelling in a wilderness, the "openings" had not the character of ordinary forests. The air circulates freely beneath their oaks, the sun penetrates in a thousand places, and grass grows, wild but verdant. There was little of the dampness of the virgin woods; and the morning air, though cool, as is ever the case, even in midsummer, in regions still covered with trees, was balmy; and, at that particular spot, it came to the senses of le Bourdon loaded with the sweets of many a wide glade of his favorite white clover. Of course, he had placed his cabin near those spots where the insect he sought most abounded; and a fragrant site it proved to be, in favorable conditions of the atmosphere. Ben had a taste for all the natural advantages of his abode, and was standing in enjoyment of its placid beauties when some one touched his elbow. Turning, quick as thought, he perceived the Chippewa at his side. That young Indian had approached with the noiseless tread of his people, and was now anxious to hold a private communication with him.

  "Pottawattamie got long ear—come fudder—" said Pigeonswing; "go cook-house—t'ink we want breakfast."

  Ben did as desired; and the two were soon side by side at the spring, in the outlet of which they made their ablutions—the redskin being totally without paint. When this agreeable office was performed, each felt in better condition for a conference.

  "Elkfoot got belt from Canada fadder," commenced the Chippewa, with a sententious allusion to the British propensity to keep the savages in pay. "KNOW he got him KNOW he keep him."

  "And you, Pigeonswing—by your manner of talking I had set you down for a king's Injin, too."

  "TALK so—no FEEL bit so. MY heart Yankee."

  "And have you not had a belt of wampum sent you, as well as the rest of them?"

  "Dat true—got him—don't keep him."

  "What! did you dare to send it back?"

  "Ain't fool, dough young. Keep him; no keep him. Keep him for Canada fadder; no keep him for Chippewa brave."

  "What have you then done with your belt?"

  "Bury him where nobody find him dis war. No—Waubkenewh no hole in heart to let king in."

  Pigeonswing, as this young Indian was commonly called in his tribe, in consequence of the rapidity of his movement when employed as a runner, had a much more respectable name, and one that he had fairly earned in some of the forays of his people, but which the commonalty had just the same indisposition to use as the French have to call Marshal Soult the Duc de Dalmatie. The last may be the most honorable title, but it is not that by which he is the best known to his countrymen. Waubkenewh was an appellation, notwithstanding, of which the young Chippewa was justly proud; and he often asserted his right to use it, as sternly as the old hero of Toulouse asserted his right to his duchy, when the Austrians wished to style him "le Marechal DUC Soult,"

  "And you are friendly to the Yankees, and an enemy to the red- coats?"

  Waubkenewh grasped the hand of le Bourdon, and squeezed it firmly.

  Then he said, warily:

  "Take care—Elkfoot friend of Blackbird; like to look at Canada belt. Got medal of king, too. Have Yankee scalp, bye'm by. Take care—must speak low, when Elkfoot near."

  "I begin to understand you, Chippewa; you wish me to believe that YOU are a friend to America, and that the Pottawatamie is not. If this be so, why have you held the speech that you did last night, and seemed to be on a war-path AGAINST my countrymen?"

  "Dat good way, eh? Elkfoot den t'ink me HIS friend dat very good in war-time."

  "But is it true, or false, that Mackinaw is taken by the British?"

  "Dat true too—gone, and warrior all prisoner. Plenty Winnebago, plenty Pottawatamie, plenty Ottowa, plenty redskin, dere."

  "And the Chippewas?"

  "Some Ojebway, too"—answered Pigeonswing, after a reluctant pause. "Can't all go on same path this war. Hatchets, somehow, got two handle—one strike Yankee; one strike King George."

  "But what is your business here, and where are you now going if you are friendly to the Americans? I make no secret of my feelings—I am for my own people, and I wish proof that you are a friend, and not an enemy."

  "Too many question, one time," returned the Chippewa, a little distastefully. "No good have so long tongue. Ask one question, answer him—ask anoder, answer HIM, too."

  "Well, then, what is your business, here?"

  "Go to Chicago, for gen'ral."

  "Do you mean that you bear a message from some American general to the commandant at Chicago?"

  "Just so—dat my business. Guess him, right off; he, he, he!"

  It is so seldom that an Indian laughs that the bee-hunter was startled.

  "Where is the general who has sent you on this errand?" he demanded.

  "He at Detroit—got whole army dere—warrior plenty as oak in opening."

  All this was news to the bee-hunter, and it caused him to muse a moment, ere he proceeded.

  "What is the name of the American general who has sent you on this path?" he then demanded.

  "Hell," answered the Ojebway, quietly.

  "Hell! You mean to give his Indian title, I suppose, to show that he will prove dangerous to the wicked. But how is he called in our own tongue?"

  "Hell—dat he name—good name for so'ger, eh?"

  "I believe I understand you, Chippewa—Hull is the name of the governor of the territory, and you must have mistaken the sound—'is it not so?"

  "Hull—Hell—don't know—just same—one good as t'other."

  "Yes, one will do as well as the other, if a body only understands you. So Governor Hull sent you here?"

  "No gubbernor—general, tell you. Got big army—plenty warrior—eat

  Breesh up!"

  "Now, Chippewa, answer me one thing to my likin', or I shall set you down as a man with a forked tongue, though you do call yourself a friend of the Yankees. If you have been sent from Detroit to Chicago, why are you so far north as this? Why are you here, on the banks of the Kalamazoo, when your path ought to lead you more toward the St. Joseph's?"

  "Been to Mackinaw. Gen'ral says, first go to Mackinaw and see wid own eye how garrison do—den go to Chicago, and tell warrior dere wha
t happen, and how he best manage. Understan' dat, Bourdon?"

  "Aye, it all sounds well enough, I will acknowledge. You have been to Mackinaw to look about you, there, and having seen things with your own eyes, have started for Chicago to give your knowledge to the commandant at that place. Now, redskin, have you any proof of what you say?"

  For some reason that the bee-hunter could not yet fathom, the Chippewa was particularly anxious either to obtain his confidence, or to deceive him. Which he was attempting, was not yet quite apparent; but that one or other was uppermost in his mind, Ben thought was beyond dispute. As soon as the question last named was put, however, the Indian looked cautiously around him, as if to be certain there were no spectators. Then he carefully opened his tobacco-pouch, and extricated from the centre of the cut weed a letter that was rolled into the smallest compass to admit of this mode of concealment, and which was encircled by a thread. The last removed, the letter was unrolled, and its superscription exposed. The address was to "Captain—Heald, U. S. Army, commanding at Chicago." In one corner were the words "On public service, by Pigeonswing." All this was submitted to the bee-hunter, who read it with his own eyes.

  "Dat good"-asked the Chippewa, pointedly-"dat tell trut'-b'lieve

  HIM?"

  Le Bourdon grasped the hand of the Indian, and gave it a hearty squeeze. Then he said frankly, and like a man who no longer entertained any doubts:

  "I put faith in all you say, Chippewa. That is an officer's letter, and I now see that you are on the right side. You play'd so deep a game, at first, hows'ever, that I didn't know exactly what to make of you. Now, as for the Pottawattamie—do you set him down as friend or foe, in reality?"

  "Enemy—take your scalp—take my scalp, in minute only can't catch him. He got belt from Montreal, and it look handsome in his eye."

  "Which way d'ye think he's travelling? As I understood you, he and you fell into the same path within a mile of this very spot. Was the meeting altogether friendly?"