The Oak Openings, Or, the Bee Hunter Read online

  "Aye, but that's not a reg'lar callin'; only a likin'! Now a man may have a likin' to a hundred things in which he don't deal. I set nothin' down as a business, which a man don't live by."

  "Perhaps you're right, Waring. More die by whiskey than live by whiskey."

  Whiskey Centre seemed struck with this remark, which was introduced so aptly, and was uttered so quietly. He gazed earnestly at his companion for near a minute, ere he attempted to resume the discourse.

  "Blossom has often said as much as this," he then slowly rejoined; "and even Dolly has prophesized the same."

  The bee-hunter observed that an impression had been made, and he thought it wisest to let the reproof already administered produce its effect, without endeavoring to add to its power. Waring sat with his chin on his breast, in deep thought, while his companion, for the first time since they had met, examined the features and aspect of the man. At first sight, Whiskey Centre certainly offered little that was inviting; but a closer study of his countenance showed that he had the remains of a singularly handsome man. Vulgar as were his forms of speech, coarse and forbidding as his face had become, through the indulgence which was his bane, there were still traces of this truth. His complexion had once been fair almost to effeminacy, his cheeks ruddy with health, and his blue eye bright and full of hope. His hair was light; and all these peculiarities strongly denoted his Saxon origin. It was not so much Anglo-Saxon as Americo-Saxon, that was to be seen in the physical outlines and hues of this nearly self-destroyed being. The heaviness of feature, the ponderousness of limb and movement, had all long disappeared from his race, most probably under the influence of climate, and his nose was prominent and graceful in outline, while his mouth and chin might have passed for having been under the chisel of some distinguished sculptor. It was, in truth, painful to examine that face, steeped as it was in liquor, and fast losing the impress left by nature. As yet, the body retained most of its power, the enemy having insidiously entered the citadel, rather than having actually subdued it. The bee-hunter sighed as he gazed at his moody companion, and wondered whether Blossom had aught of this marvellous comeliness of countenance, without its revolting accompaniments.

  All that afternoon, and the whole of the night that succeeded, did the canoe float downward with the current. Occasionally, some slight obstacle to its progress would present itself; but, on the whole, its advance was steady and certain. As the river necessarily followed the formation of the land, it was tortuous and irregular in its course, though its general direction was toward the northwest, or west a little northerly. The river-bottoms being much more heavily "timbered"—to use a woodsman term—than the higher grounds, there was little of the park-like "openings" on its immediate banks, though distant glimpses were had of many a glade and of many a charming grove.

  As the canoe moved toward its point of destination, the conversation did not lag between the bee-hunter and his companion. Each gave the other a sort of history of his life; for, now that the jug was exhausted, Gershom could talk not only rationally, but with clearness and force. Vulgar he was, and, as such, uninviting and often repulsive; still his early education partook of that peculiarity of New England which, if it do not make her children absolutely all they are apt to believe themselves to be, seldom leaves them in the darkness of a besotted ignorance. As usually happens with this particular race, Gershom had acquired a good deal for a man of his class in life; and this information, added to native shrewdness, enabled him to maintain his place in the dialogue with a certain degree of credit. He had a very lively perception— fancied or real—of all the advantages of being born in the land of the Puritans, deeming everything that came of the great "Blarney Stone" superior to everything else of the same nature elsewhere; and, while much disposed to sneer and rail at all other parts of the country, just as much indisposed to "take," as disposed to "give." Ben Boden soon detected this weakness in his companion's character, a weakness so very general as scarce to need being pointed out to any observant man, and which is almost inseparable from half-way intelligence and provincial self-admiration; and Ben was rather inclined to play on it, whenever Gershom laid himself a little more open than common on the subject. On the whole, however, the communications were amicable; and the dangers of the wilderness rendering the parties allies, they went their way with an increasing confidence in each other's support. Gershom, now that he was thoroughly sober, could impart much to Ben that was useful; while Ben knew a great deal that even his companion, coming as he did from the chosen people, was not sorry to learn. As has been, already intimated, each communicated to the other, in the course of this long journey on the river, an outline of his past life.

  The history of Gershom Waring was one of every-day occurrence. He was born of a family in humble circumstances in Massachusetts, a community in which, however, none are so very humble as to be beneath the paternal watchfulness of the State. The common schools had done their duty by him; while, according to his account of the matter, his only sister had fallen into the hands of a female relative, who was enabled to impart an instruction slightly superior to that which is to be had from the servants of the public. After a time, the death of this relative, and the marriage of Gershom, brought the brother and sister together again, the last still quite young. From this period the migratory life of the family commenced. Previously to the establishment of manufactories within her limits, New England systematically gave forth her increase to the States west and south of her own territories. A portion of this increase still migrates, and will probably long continue so to do; but the tide of young women, which once flowed so steadily from that region, would now seem to have turned, and is setting back in a flood of "factory girls." But the Warings lived at too early a day to feel the influence of such a pass of civilization, and went west, almost as a matter of course. With the commencement of his migratory life, Gershom began to "dissipate," as it has got to be matter of convention to term "drinking." Fortunately, Mrs. Waring had no children, thus lessening in a measure the privations to which those unlucky females were obliged to submit. When Gershom left his birthplace he had a sum of money exceeding a thousand dollars in amount, the united means of himself and sister; but, by the time he had reached Detroit, it was reduced to less than a hundred. Several years, however, had been consumed by the way, the habits growing worse and the money vanishing, as the family went further and further toward the skirts of society. At length Gershom attached himself to a sutler, who was going up to Michilimackinac, with a party of troops; and finally he left that place to proceed, in a canoe of his own, to the head of Lake Michigan, where was a post on the present site of Chicago, which was then known as Fort Dearborn.

  In quitting Mackinac for Chicago, Waring had no very settled plan. His habits had completely put him out of favor at the former place; and a certain restlessness urged him to penetrate still farther into the wilderness. In all his migrations and wanderings the two devoted females followed his fortunes; the one because she was his wife, the other because she was his sister. When the canoe reached the mouth of the Kalamazoo, a gale of wind drove it into the river; and finding a deserted cabin, ready built, to receive him, Gershom landed, and had been busy with the rifle for the last fortnight, the time he had been on shore. Hearing from some voyageurs who had gone down the lake that a bee-hunter was up the river, he had followed the stream in its windings until he fell in with le Bourdon.

  Such is an outline of the account which Whiskey Centre gave of himself. It is true, he said very little of his propensity to drink, but this his companion was enabled to conjecture from the context of his narrative, as well as from what he had seen. It was very evident to the bee-hunter, that the plans of both parties for the summer were about to be seriously deranged by the impending hostilities, and that some decided movement might be rendered necessary, even for the protection of their lives. This much he communicated to Gershom, who heard his opinions with interest, and a concern in behalf of his wife and sister that at least did some c
redit to his heart. For the first time in many months, indeed, Gershom was now PERFECTLY sober, a circumstance that was solely owing to his having had no access to liquor for eight-and-forty hours. With the return of a clear head, came juster notions of the dangers and difficulties in which he had involved the two self-devoted women who had accompanied him so far, and who really seemed ready to follow him in making the circuit of the earth.

  "It's troublesome times," exclaimed Whiskey Centre, when his companion had just ended one of his strong and lucid statements of the embarrassments that might environ them, ere they could get back to the settled portions of the country—"it's troublesome times, truly! I see all you would say, Bourdon, and wonder I ever got my foot so deep into it, without thinkin' of all, beforehand! The best on us will make mistakes, hows'ever, and I suppose I've been called on to make mine, as well as another."

  "My trade speaks for itself," returned the bee-hunter, "and any man can see why one who looks for bees must come where they're to be found; but I will own, Gershom, that your speculation lies a little beyond my understanding. Now, you tell me you have two full barrels of whiskey—"

  "Had, Bourdon—HAD—one of them is pretty nearly half used, I am afeared."

  "Well, HAD, until you began to be your own customer. But here you are, squatted at the mouth of the Kalamazoo, with a barrel and a half of liquor, and nobody but yourself to drink it! Where the profits are to come from, exceeds Pennsylvany calculations; perhaps a Yankee can tell."

  "You forget the Injins. I met a man at Mackinaw, who only took out in his canoe ONE barrel, and he brought in skins enough to set up a grocery, at Detroit. But I was on the trail of the soldiers, and meant to make a business on't, at Fort Dearborn. What between the soldiers and the redskins, a man might sell gallons a day, and at fair prices."

  "It's a sorry business at the best, Whiskey; and now you're fairly sober, if you'll take my advice you'll remain so. Why not make up your mind, like a man, and vow you'll never touch another drop."

  "Maybe I will, when these two barrels is emptied—I've often thought of doin' some sich matter; and, ag'in and ag'in, has Dolly and Blossom advised me to fall into the plan; but it's hard to give up old habits, all at once. If I could only taper off on a pint a day, for a year or so, I think I might come round in time. I know as well as you do, Bourdon, that sobriety is a good thing, and dissipation a bad thing; but it's hard to give up all at once."

  Lest the instructed reader should wonder at a man's using the term "dissipation" in a wilderness, it may be well to explain that, in common American parlance, "dissipation" has got to mean "drunkenness." Perhaps half of the whole country, if told that a man, or a woman, might be exceedingly dissipated and never swallow anything stronger than water, would stoutly deny the justice of applying the word to such a person. This perversion of the meaning of a very common term has probably arisen from the circumstance that there is very little dissipation in the country that is not connected with hard drinking. A dissipated woman is a person almost unknown in America; or when the word is applied, it means a very different degree of misspending of time, from that which is understood by the use of the same reproach in older and more sophisticated states of society. The majority rules in this country, and with the majority excess usually takes this particular aspect; refinement having very little connection with the dissipation of the masses, anywhere.

  The excuses of his companion, however, caused le Bourdon to muse, more than might otherwise have been the case, on Whiskey Centre's condition. Apart from all considerations connected with the man's own welfare, and the happiness of his family, there were those which were inseparable from the common safety, in the present state of the country. Boden was a man of much decision and firmness of character, and he was clear-headed as to causes and consequences. The practice of living alone had induced in him the habits of reflection; and the self-reliance produced by his solitary life, a life of which he was fond almost to a passion, caused him to decide warily, but to act promptly. As they descended the river together, therefore, he went over the whole of Gershom Waring's case and prospects, with great impartiality and care, and settled in his own mind what ought to be done, as well as the mode of doing it. He kept his own counsel, however, discussing all sorts of subjects that were of interest to men in their situation, as they floated down the stream, avoiding any recurrence to this theme, which was possibly of more importance to them both, just then, than any other that could be presented.

  CHAPTER V.

  He was a wight of high renown,

  And thou art but of low degree;

  'Tis pride that pulls the country down—

  Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

  SHAKESPEARE.

  The canoe did not reach the mouth of the river until near evening of the third day of its navigation. It was not so much the distance, though that was considerable, as it was the obstacles that lay in the way, which brought the travellers to the end of their journey at so late a period. As they drew nearer and nearer to the place where Gershom had left his wife and sister, le Bourdon detected in his companion signs of an interest in the welfare of the two last, as well as a certain feverish uneasiness lest all might not be well with them, that said something in favor of his heart, whatever might be urged against his prudence and care in leaving them alone in so exposed a situation.

  "I'm afeard a body don't think as much as he ought to do, when liquor is in him," said Whiskey Centre, just as the canoe doubled the last point, and the hut came into view; "else I never could have left two women by them-selves in so lonesome a place. God be praised! there is the chiente at any rate; and there's a smoke comin' out of it, if my eyes don't deceive me! Look, Bourdon, for I can scarcely see at all."

  "There is the house; and, as you say, there is certainly a smoke rising from it"

  "There's comfort in that!" exclaimed the truant husband and brother, with a sigh that seemed to relieve a very loaded breast. "Yes, there's comfort in that! If there's a fire, there must be them that lighted it; and a fire at this season, too, says that there's somethin' to eat, I should be sorry, Bourdon, to think I'd left the women folks without food; though, to own the truth, I don't remember whether I did or not"

  "The man who drinks, Gershom, has commonly but a very poor memory."

  "That's true—yes, I'll own that; and I wish it warn't as true as it is; but reason and strong drink do NOT travel far in company—"

  Gershom suddenly ceased speaking; dropping his paddle like one beset by a powerless weakness. The bee-hunter saw that he was overcome by some unexpected occurrence, and that the man's feelings were keenly connected with the cause, whatever that might be. Looking eagerly around in quest of the explanation, le Bourdon saw a female standing on a point of land that commanded a view of the river and its banks for a considerable distance, unequivocally watching the approach of the canoe.

  "There she is," said Gershom, in a subdued tone—"that's Dolly; and there she has been, I'll engage, half the time of my absence, waitin' to get the first glimpse of my miserable body, as it came back to her. Sich is woman, Bourdon; and God forgive me, if I have ever forgotten their natur', when I was bound to remember it. But we all have our weak moments, at times, and I trust mine will not be accounted ag'in' me more than them of other men."

  "This is a beautiful sight, Gershom, and it almost makes me your friend! The man for whom a woman can feel so much concern—that a woman—nay, women; for you tell me your sister is one of the family- -but the man whom DECENT women can follow to a place like this, must have some good p'ints about him. That woman is a-weepin'; and it must be for joy at your return."

  "'Twould be jist like Dolly to do so—she's done it before, and would be likely to do so ag'in," answered Gershom, nearly choked by the effort he made to speak without betraying his own emotion. "Put the canoe into the p'int, and let me land there. I must go up and say a kind word to poor Dolly; while you can paddle on, and let Blossom know I'm near at hand."

  The
bee-hunter complied in silence, casting curious glances upward at the woman while doing so, in order to ascertain what sort of a female Whiskey Centre could possibly have for a wife. To his surprise, Dorothy Waring was not only decently, but she was neatly clad, appearing as if she had studiously attended to her personal appearance, in the hope of welcoming her wayward and unfortunate husband back to his forest home. This much le Bourdon saw by a hasty glance as his companion landed, for a feeling of delicacy prevented him from taking a longer look at the woman. As Gershom ascended the bank to meet his wife, le Bourdon paddled on, and landed just below the grove in which was the chiente. It might have been his long exclusion from all of the other sex, and most especially from that portion of it which retains its better looks, but the being which now met the bee-hunter appeared to him to belong to another world, rather than to that in which he habitually dwelt. As this was Margery Waring, who was almost uniformly called Blossom by her acquaintances, and who is destined to act an important part in this legend of the "openings," it may be well to give a brief description of her age, attire, and personal appearance, at the moment when she was first seen by le Bourdon.

  In complexion, color of the hair, and outline of face, Margery Waring bore a strong family resemblance to her brother. In spite of exposure, and the reflection of the sun's rays from the water of the lake, however, HER skin was of a clear, transparent white, such as one might look for in a drawing-room, but hardly expect to find in a wilderness; while the tint of her lips, cheeks, and, in a diminished degree, of her chin and ears, were such as one who wielded a pencil might long endeavor to catch without succeeding. Her features had the chiselled outline which was so remarkable in her brother; while in HER countenance, in addition to the softened expression of her sex and years, there was nothing to denote any physical or moral infirmity, to form a drawback to its witchery and regularity. Her eyes were blue, and her hair as near golden as human tresses well could be. Exercise, a life of change, and of dwelling much in the open air, had given to this unusually charming girl not only health, but its appearance. Still, she was in no respect coarse, or had anything in the least about her that indicated her being accustomed to toil, with some slight exception in her hands, perhaps, which were those of a girl who did not spare herself, when there was an opportunity to be of use. In this particular, the vagrant life of her brother had possibly been of some advantage to her, as it had prevented her being much employed in the ordinary toil of her condition in life. Still, Margery Waring had that happy admixture of delicacy and physical energy, which is, perhaps, oftener to be met in the American girl of her class, than in the girl of almost any other nation; and far oftener than in the young American of her sex, who is placed above the necessity of labor.