Nattie Nesmith/Chapter 14

by Sophia Homespun

 

Chapter XIV.

Disaster.

HILE the three squaws were abroad in the forest, searching for nuts in places where the snow had drifted away, they talked together concerning the hardships of their lives at the wigwam.

"Woe was the day we left our own cabin and came to this side of the forest," said Pink Ear. "At home we could smoke, and eat, and take our ease, but here we are driven about by the white papoose, so that there is no rest for the poor squaw by day nor night, for when she lies down to sleep, she thinks of the toils of the morrow, and her dreams are made bitter, and she wakes in the morning scared and weary."

"When I think of the buckets of water which I bear, each day, from the spring at the foot of the beech-tree," said Brown Wren, "for the scalding of the wooden bowls and the washings of the towels, I am like to wish the sun had never risen that saw me leave my own hut for the wigwam of the great chief, and I pray that the Great Spirit may soon relieve us all from this wretched way of life."

"I would not cry so bitterly," said Blue Top, "at the toils of sweeping, and the lifting of the heavy mats and blankets each morning and night, if our father, the poor, old, bowed-down Cat-head, were well treated. But he is hooted at, and his pains are doubled by his privations; for he can not have his mat or blankets by day, but he must sit or lie on the damp earth; nor can he have a bath of herbs for his cough, because the smell does not happen to please the nose of the proud, white squaw. Sisters, it is often in my mind that we take our insulted father, and return to our own cabin beyond the wilderness."

"He can not walk," said Brown Wren; "how could we get him there?"

"We could make a small sledge and draw him," said Blue Top; "our brother, the young Cat—head, would help us with his brave arm."

Brown Wren looked toward Pink Ear, who had found a handful of nuts under the leaves, and sat down on a fallen tree to eat them. But the old squaw shook her head, slowly.

"The young white squaw would not suffer us to depart in peace," she said.

"We will go in the night, when she is asleep," said Brown Wren; "and she does not know the way that we go, so she can not follow our path."

"Yes, we will steal away under cover of darkness," said Blue Top, her dark, stupid face brightening at the prospect of escaping from her present life of toil and servitude.

"We can not get away without the pale-face's knowledge; she hath sharp eyes and quick ears," said Pink Ear; "besides, if we left her alone, and she came to harm, then the old chief, who bade us stay by her, saying that he would reward us on his return, will be very angry, and we shall all perish by his tomahawk. Nay, sisters, there is no way for us to do but bide patiently the old chief's coming. The time of his absence is half expired already, so let us take courage."

"I don't see how old North Wind can think so high of the hateful, young white squaw," said Brown Wren.

"No more do I," added Blue Top; "she seems to me the Bad Spirit's own papoose."

"If I could see her brought down to bite dust, I would not fret for the water I now carry to scald the wooden bowl from which she eats," said Brown Wren; and a lowering vengeance gleamed in her murky eye.

A ringing sound, as of an ax laid stoutly to the root of a tree, was now heard. The three squaws gathered close together and listened. Similar sounds soon followed, and human voices also were heard, at intervals, in the distance.

"The ax of the white man!" said Brown Wren.

"The voices of the Frenchmen!" said Blue Top.

"Woe! woe! we are lost," cried Pink Ear, starting hastily toward the wigwam. "The Canaders have come to cut down the forest; they will burn our cabins, and kill or banish us from the hunting grounds of our fathers."

While the three frighted women tried to make good their escape, the crash of falling trees resounded through the forest, followed by shouts of exultation from what seemed a score of rough throats. They were, indeed, those Canadian French that Black-bird had once told Nattie were settling at Sibley's corner, a small town six or eight miles distant, and were, so the Indian girl had represented, much more to be dreaded than the red man. The surrounding forest had come into the possession of a company of Yankee pioneers, who were moving in these French to cut it down, and help transport the lumber to market.

Before the squaws could escape from the woods, they were seen by a scout of French, sent out to make a circuit in that direction. The men at once set up a cry of:

"Indian squaws! Indian squaws! Come on, boys; there is a wigwam somewhere not far off. Let us give them a call, and get some hot succotash to go with our cold lunch."

The party of Canadians rushed on, at the top of their speed, and gained the opening before the cabin just as the squaws were disappearing within the doors. Nattie was sitting at the table where Augustus Reid had left her half an hour before. She had taken from a drawer some strips of cloth, and was thinking which color to select for the printing of the young man's name. A skein of horse hair and a bowl of white beads were placed near. She was just smoothing a strip of rich, purple cloth on her knee, being the color chosen, while her dark eyes wore an expression of pleasure, when the terrified shrieks of the three squaws, bursting rudely into the enclosure, caused her to start to her feet, and face them with an angry aspect.

"What do you mean by this uproar? What uncivilized savages you are!" she cried.

Before she had finished speaking, the face of a white man showed itself at the door.

"The French have come to burn and murder us," cried Pink Ear, while she and her sisters began to pull down the pile of mats with which to hide themselves from the eyes of their enemies.

The old Indian, Cat-head, cast a glance behind him, and seeing three white men entering, dropped his head on his breast, and commenced a dismal howl.

Nattie alone seemed undismayed. To her, the sight of a white face was cheering. She eame forward to greet them, but their manners soon convinced her that they had not come as friends. They winked at each other, and talked in a language which Nattie could not understand. Only now and then a few words were intelligible, and from these Nattie gathered that they were profane, reckless men, who would delight in lawlessness and cruelty.

Pretty soon one of them swaggered up to the fire, and gave the old Indian a rude kick, at which he cried out with fear and pain. Next he grabbed the kettle of succotash, and jerked it from its place, spilling a part of the contents on the ground. He made signs to Nattie to bring him some dishes, which she either did not understand or did not choose to heed; so the man seized the water buckets, dashed their contents on the floor, turned the broth into them, and then, calling his companions, they drew some large spoons from their vests, and commenced eating, jabbering in their strange dialect, and laughing in loud, hoarse voices.

Nattie began to tremble with apprehension of coming evil. She went softly back to the table, and put in her pocket the purple cloth and white beads on which she was about to commence work when so rudely interrupted. She had hardly done this when one of the three intruders approached her, and said, in imperfect English:

"Is you Indian gal?"

Nattie knew not what response to make.

"You'd best tell," the man continued.

"Do I look like one?" Nattie asked.

"I has seen most as white squaws as you," returned the man. "What say? Indian, or no Indian?"

Nattie was silent from fear.

"Oh, well," he answered, turning away, "no matter; all be alike to-morrow."

Then he and his companions drank from a great, black bottle which he produced from his pocket, and soon they became like furious fiends, tearing and rending through the wigwam. The squaws were dragged from their hiding places, the old man and boy were pelted with huge, hard snow-balls, the mats and blankets were thrown on the fire, the willow baskets and the moccasins with which Nattie had purposed to buy herself finery, soon followed, and when she screamed and ran forward as if to rescue them from the flames, she received a blow which sent her reeling to the ground.

They kept up their work of destruction till night came on; and then, firing the wigwam in a dozen different places, they fled away by the light of it. In five minutes it was all in a glow. The poor Indians, stupefied with terror, made no efforts to escape, and perished miserably in the flames.

When the great moon came up above the eastern horizon, it shone on the blackened ruins of the wigwam, and on a lone, hapless, disfigured girl, who dipped her smarting hands in the cold spring at the foot of the beech tree, and with them bathed her fiery lips and eyelids. This was Nattie. Her clothing was more than half consumed. The anguish of the burns was maddening; and the dreadful scenes through which she had passed had almost frozen her soul with terror. It seemed as if the poor child had fled from the fire to perish from cold and hunger in the forest, even if the unfeeling foes did not return to devote her to a fate yet more hapless and cruel. Winter and wilderness surrounded her; not a friend to help, and the Frenchmen sure to return to their work of felling trees on the morrow.

"They will finish me then," thought Nattie; "and it would have been better for me to stay in the fire, as the poor squaws did."

These words caused her to remember the hardness which she had exercised toward the ignorant savages. The pain of her burns, which were deep and severe, brought to mind the light scald which she had received from the steaming potato kettle at home, over which she had made such unnecessary ado, and in jealous anger fled away to give her friends trouble, because her slight hurts did not receive the largest share of attention, although the illness occasioned by her disobedient conduct was threatening her mother's life. Conscience had never spoken so loudly to Nattie as on this woful night, when she seemed bereft of all human help.

"I am an awful wretch," she said to herself; "and it is no wonder that God has not answered my prayers. I wonder now that I ever dared to pray to him, when I have been so wicked. I don't think I shall any more. It is likely that I shall starve and freeze here alone, and never see home, or the old chief, or Augustus Reid again."

Nattie sank down on the cold stones by the spring, and tried to bear the pain of the burns as patiently as she could. But the sharp, wintry atmosphere seemed to pierce her through and through. She was burning and freezing at the same moment. It soon became intolerable; she rose to her feet, and ran wildly down the path which the squaws had taken that afternoon, when they were sent out by her to gather nuts to roast for the evening meal.

Nattie thought how Biddy had often told her that the ghosts of the dead would haunt the spot which they last knew on earth; and at every strange object that she saw, she increased her speed, lest it should prove the unquiet spirit of poor Pink Ear, or one of her sisters, come to haunt the one who made their last days so heavy and toilsome.