Nattie Nesmith/Chapter 12

by Sophia Homespun

 

Chapter XII.

Flagging.

OR several weeks Nattie remained in her half-dazed state. Some days she was quite herself, and could assist in the house work, or join the group in the lighter work of basket-making. Bead embroidery was, by command of the old chief, entirely put aside; for Nattie could not even behold others at work on it without directly seeing white beads everywhere, and imagining her eyes to be full of them.

But she gained, visibly, as cool weather came on, more through rest and recreation, probably, than from the remedies administered by the hand of the old chief, who had not much skill, though a strong desire to heal the young Tulip,—the Great Spirit's gift, as he invariably styled her.

Old North Wind stayed at home now, week after week. He made new bows, pointed his arrows, and patched the wigwam. He was gloomy and taciturn much of the time. Something seemed to weigh heavily on his mind. But Nat tie had never felt so bright and cheery since her capture as she did for weeks after her interview with Augustus Reid. She marveled that he did not come again to the wigwam, as he had said that he would do, and wondered if he had not called, on some of the days when her head had been dazed, so that she had forgotten his visit, or, perhaps, not been aware of it. She at length concluded to see what information Fox Heart could give her, and began to question him one night, when Black-bird and her mother were abroad in the forest, gathering nuts, and the old chief sleeping on his mat.

"We don't have much company, do we, Fox Heart?" she asked.

"You know as well as I that we don't," said the boy, who was trimming a little basket which he had just made, by cutting off, with a pair of dull shears, the projecting sticks around the rim.

"Black-bird said once, that, when the chiefs got home to their families there would be visiting," said Nattie, trying to help Fox Heart at his work.

Light-foot and little Sweet Fern were near by, to pick up the sticks as they fell, and form of them what they called trees, wigwams, animals and men. This was a favorite amusement with the two young papooses.

"I wish that somebody would come," continued Nattie, "for I get lonesome."

"Pappy is troubled," said Fox Heart, "and the sight of folks makes him worse, so they don't come to see him."

"What is the matter with him?" asked Nattie, in a whisper, and with a cautious glance toward the sleeping chief. She had still a very decided fear of the stern-faced man.

"He mourns for Torch Eye," answered Fox Heart; "but mammy don't, nor Black-bird. I guess they are glad."

"Is his son dead?" asked Nattie, experiencing, in spite of herself, a feeling of relief.

"Not so," said Fox Heart; "but he has gone afar."

"Will he not return?"

"That pappy doesn't know; nor can he tell where the youth has fled. When he came home, some moons ago, Torch Eye and a band of warriors were with him, but they soon left, and Torch Eye has been here but once since."

"Did he see me?" asked Nattie, quickly.

"Yes; but your head was wrong that day, and you didn't seem to mind him at all. Pappy tried to have you, but it was no use; your eyes were shut up and wouldn't open. Black-bird laughed, and so did mammy. Then pappy scowled, and they laughed no more. I can't tell why he scowled."

"Do you like Torch Eye?" asked Nattie.

"Yes; but not so much, because mammy don't want me to. He isn't but half her boy, so she says that he don't like us, and we needn't mind about him."

"How does he look?"

"Most as tall as pappy, and he wears black clothes."

"And a blanket?"

"Yes, sometimes; and feathers in his cap."

"Is his face like Black-bird's?"

"No."

"Like yours?"

"No."

"Like his father's?"

"Not much."

"Like whose, then?"

"I don't know, perhaps like his white mother's was; and she has been dead more moons than I know. I can not count so many on all my fingers, if I try."

"Has anybody else been here when I was sick and stupid?" asked Nattie.

"No," said Fox Heart; "not anybody. Torch Eye looked at you that day, very sober. Then he and pappy went off in the woods and talked ever so long. When they came back, Torch Eye said good-bye to us all, and told us that he was going along journey; but we didn't care much about that. Pappy has been as you see him ever since."

Nattie looked again toward the old Indian. His head was bowed on his broad breast, and his whole attitude was one of dejection and grief. It made Nattie feel sad to see him thus, for he was kinder to her than any of the rest of the wild people by whom she was surrounded, and she thought within herself:

"I'll remember poor old North Wind when I pray."

Nattie had, also, of late, mentioned Augustus Reid in her prayers. She asked that he might return and free her from her wearisome captivity. She had become discouraged in praying for her father's coming; but this brave-looking youth had inspired her with a fresh faith, so she had formed the habit of naming him in her nightly prayers.

As the winter drew near, the Indians began to speak of leaving their home in the forest, to journey into the land of the whites, after their usual custom. But what was to be done with Nattie? She was not able to take the journey, nor could she be left behind, alone. There were many consultations; and at last they concluded to take her to the wigwam of a neighboring Indian, who was obliged to tarry at home, owing to his age and infirmities. His hut was on the borders of the forest, a few miles distant. Poor Nattie wished to go the journey, for she thought that the Indians might take their former route, and that she could gain her native village once more. But Black-bird said that they would never again go that way. They would travel north this time, over the Canada border, perhaps.

Many days were spent in making preparations. The old squaw scrubbed and packed in a bag the little stock of utensils necessary for cooking. The tasteful willow baskets, in many varieties of form and finish, were put in as compact form as possible. The beaded moccasins and pin-cushions, on which Nattie had wrought so patiently and so much to her own detriment, were brought forth, carefully wrapped, and packed in leathern portmanteaus.

Nattie watched the process in sadness. It had been the wish of her heart, when her fingers were making those names and mottoes, that some of them might reach her mother's hand, and find a place on the work-table at which she was accustomed to sit, when not too feeble, and sew for her family. She almost thought, too, that some instinct might reveal to her mother's heart that the pin-cushion was the work of her little, lost daughter's hand, or that some familiar turn of the letters might arrest her attention, and cause her to exclaim:

"Thus Nattie used to write."

But the Indians were not going in the direction of Nattie's old home; and, even had they been, how could Nattie know that she still had a mother there? This was hardly likely, as the poor woman was so low at the time of her little girl's loss.

"We shall have rare, good times," said Fox Heart, when things were nearly ready for a start; "we shall see all the pale-faces. It is most too bad that you can't go; but white girls aren't fit to march. Pappy had to bring you on his back all the way here, and you was dreadful tired, and slept, and slept. White squaws are not much worth. I guess pappy will bring you home a bright handkerchief, and, perhaps, a red gown, because you worked at the beads so well. I shall have some money, too, when I sell my little baskets, and what shall Fox Heart buy for the Tulip?"

"If you could get a spelling book," answered Nattie, "I might teach you to read."

"I know all the letters that you do, now," said Fox Heart, "and what is the use for me to learn any more? No, I think I shall get you a long wampum, or a red feather for your head."

"I don't want either of those," said Nattie; "for why should I look like a wild Indian?"

"Then, what shall I buy for you?" asked Fox Heart, getting discouraged.

"If you could find a pair of thick, woolen mittens or gloves, to save my hands when I pick fuel in the forest on cold days, I would like them well," returned Nattie; "though, if they cost very much, it is no matter."

"What sick hands the pale-faces have!" said the boy, contemptuously. "I would not have such things on me; though, if you want them, I'll try and not forget."

The day on which the company were intending to set out on their journey, Nattie's head had a turn, and the old chief concluded to bring the Indian family, in whose charge's he was to be left, tohis own wigwam. Accordingly, this was done.

"Be wary and careful of this young maiden," said the old chief, "my Tulip, the gift of the Great Spirit for my son Torch Eye, when he shall come to be of his father's mind, and return to claim her. Youth hath not the wisdom of the head that many moons have shone upon, but the Great Spirit is overall. Farewell, Tulip. When the sun comes again from his winter house, and brings the buds and birds with him, the old chief hopes to greet thee at his cabin door; and he will bring in his hand an offering from thy former people, the pale-faces."

All the little papooses shouted good-bye; and even the old squaw and Black-bird, who had shown least regard for Nattie, turned a regretful look toward her as they went out from the wigwam, equipped for their long journey into the land of the whites.

It was the last of November when they went away, andthe ground was already covered with snow.