Nattie Nesmith/Chapter 10

by Sophia Homespun

 

Chapter X.

Return.

ONSTANT looking upon white beads, in glittering contrast with their dark ground, had affected Nattie's brain. Her head was unsteady and full of rushing sounds, and her eyes saw double, or saw all things in a confused glimmer. She wandered about, pressing her hand to her forehead, rubbing her eyes, or plucking at her ears.

"How strange I feel!" she said, one day. "Black-bird, I wish that you would let me take that little piece of a looking-glass which you carry in your pocket, and are so much afraid that somebody will get a sight of, so that I can look at myself, and see if I can't tell what is the matter with my head. It must be that it looks very queer."

The Indian girl started at these words. Nattie had never addressed her so boldly since the first night of her coming among them, and she thought that the girl's mind must be getting unsettled, so she answered:

"Your head looks just as it always does, Tulip; but if you want to look in my little glass, you can."

She held it out. Nattie had had no view of herself since the discoloring of her skin by the hand of the old Indian, save the very imperfect one which she could obtain by looking in the spring at the foot of the beech tree, where she went each day to draw water. When she took the glass, she screamed aloud, at the first glance, and said:

"Oh, how could you say that I looked as I always did? I knew I must look strange, to feel so bad, but I never once dreamed that I looked half as frightful as I do."

The old squaw glanced toward her daughter, and murmured:

"She has forgotten."

Black-bird nodded.

"What do you see about yourself that looks so frightful?" asked the squaw.

"My skin," answered Nattie; "it used to be fair and white; now it is almost black. My blood must be turning to ink."

Black-bird laughed, and said

"Why, have you forgotten that pappy painted you so as to have you the true Indian color? Do you think that we would have a white girl around in our cabin so long? Somebody might have asked whence she came."

Nattie had indeed forgotten, in the first surprise and dismay at her appearance, that her skin had been stained to a swarthy hue; nor had she ever supposed that the tinge was so deep, or that it could be so lasting. She had hoped to see it gradually and finally disappear.

"Won't it ever wear off?" she said, in a broken voice.

"No," answered Black-bird; "and why should you wish it to? I think that Torch Eye would not fancy a white face."

Nattie was looking at the names which she had worked on crimson, green and purple strips of cloth, which were still pinned to a white beam. She dropped the bit of looking-glass hastily, and ran toward the door.

"Take them down!" she cried. "I can see white beads everywhere, my eyes are full of them; so is my head. I shall turn into a pile of white beads, directly. Can't anything save me from turning into white beads?"

Black-bird picked up her looking-glass rather angrily, but Nattie's wild words turned her thoughts in her direction.

"Put away the pieces of cloth with the names worked on them," said the squaw, "and see to Tulip while I go out in the forest and gather some herbs that will calm her brain. I wish that she had not worked quite so long on the beads; though I think she will be better when she has taken some of my cooling drink. I would not like to have your father see her as she is now."

Nattie was sitting on her mat, slowly swaying to and fro. Black-bird took a seat near. The old squaw tied a wampum on her head and went forth.

After a short silence, Nattie asked:

"Aren't there any Indians living near here?"

"There are some families on the other side of the forest," was the answer.

"Why don't they come to visit you?"

"They do, when their chiefs are at home; but now, I suppose, the women and children are alone, and have been bidden to stay at home and work, as we have."

"Don't your father want you to go abroad when he is away?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Something might happen, without a chief to protect us. There are animals in the forest that nuight kill women and children."

"Gh!" said Nattie, "that would be dreadful. But don't any white folks live near here?"

"No," answered Black-bird, quickly; "not any."

"Yes, there is, Black-bird," said Fox Heart, starting up from the bowl of broth which he was eating by the fire; "ever so many at Sibley's Corner. They are building houses there, and are going to cut the woods down, one of these days."

"Where did you hear so many lies as that?" asked Black-bird.

"My pappy knew it before he went off, and said that perhaps we should have to move to new hunting grounds before many moons."

Nattie could hardly refrain from smiling at what she now heard. Black-bird saw it, and said:

"You needn't smile at this news, Tulip; these white folks are Canada Frenchmen, as much worse than Indians as one can tell. You had better turn into white beads than fall into their hands."

"Why should they touch me?" said Nattie.

"I thought that you was thinking of going to them," responded Black-bird, with a sharp glance, "and only wanted to tell you that you had better stay where you are."

The squaw now came in, bringing the herbs. As she stripped them into the earthern pot, a sweet odor was diffused through the cabin, which quieted Nattie so much that she fell asleep.

While she slept, a horn rang loudly through the neighboring forest, followed by a succession of warlike whoops. All the family flew to the door. The old chief, his son, and several other Indians were just emerging from the woods. They soon filled the wigwam with their tall, dark forms.

"Where is Tulip, that she comes not to meet Torch Eye?" demanded the old Indian, gazing around.

"The pale-face daughter is ill to-night," said the squaw. "She has a troubled brain, and I am boiling herbs, to ease it."

"She is not going to be a sickly weed, I hope," said the chief. "She seemed likely to make a smart, active squaw, when I left her. If any of you have done her harm, woe be on you," he said, raising his arm, fiercely. She was a gift to me from the Great Spirit, for my brave son, as I have told you before. Torch Eye, be not cast down because the Tulip is pale and sorry to-night. My skill shall make her blooming and fair before the moon shall wane."

The young man thus addressed, who was standing by Black-bird, looking at her basket-work, made a courtly bow, but gave no answer to his father. He was, perhaps, eighteen years old, tall, straight as an arrow, with a smooth, olive skin, thick, black locks, and eyes of the same hue. His dress was better than that of the savages in his company, and he wore it with the air of a gentleman. In truth, his looks plainly showed that he was no more than a half brother to Black-bird and the young papooses. The old chicf, North Wind, was his father, but he had had a white mother. The squaw had a jealousy of him, because she thought that the Indian preferred him to her children. This was true. North Wind doted on the child of his white wife, and coveted for him a companion from the same race.

When they sat down on the ground around the fire, to eat their bowls of succotash, Torch Eye looked about for a stool. He would not sit on the floor, nor did he eat with his fingers, but made use of a broad-bladed knife, which he drew from his side pocket.

My son has lived among the whites, and got some of their fashions," said the old Indian, seeing that these movements were watched, with no very approving eyes, by the group of savages on the floor; "but he is a brave, true warrior, and few can shoot the arrow with him."

After supper, pipes were produced, but Torch Eye did not smoke. He walked back to the stand where Black-bird was at her basket-making again. Fox Heart came along with the strips of cloth on which Nattie had wrought their names with beads.

"Here is writing," said the boy, holding them forth.

Touch Eye took them in his hand.

"I know all the letters," said Light-foot.

"They is our names," lisped little Sweet Fern.

Torch Eye read them. The last that he came to was "Nathalie Norton."

"Who is that?" he asked.

"That is Tulip," said Fox Heart. "It was her white name. She made the letters; but now her head is wrong, and she thinks that it is full of white beads."

"Don't talk more than you know, Fox Heart," said the old squaw, sharply.

Torch Eye looked toward his step mother, and she turned her head away.

When the Indians who were visitors had withdrawn to their tent, which they had pitched close by, and Torch Eye had gone with them, the old Indian went up to Nattie, who was still sleeping on her mat, and looked at her attentively. He then took a vial from his pocket, poured half its contents into a basin of water, and laved her face, neck and arms several times. She grew whiter at each laving. The old squaw brought the herbs which she had cooked. He told her to drink the dose herself, for he had a draught of his own choosing for Tulip.

"Why don't you give it to her, then?" she said, looking sullen.

"I shall wait till she can talk to me and tell me her ills," he said.

Then, taking some fresh water, he poured into it the remaining contents of the vial, and bathed Nattie's face three times.