The Prairie (66 page)

A little disappointed, the young partisan stepped modestly back, making
way for the recent comers to approach. Middleton took one of the meagre
hands of the trapper, and struggling to command his voice, he succeeded
in announcing his presence. The old man listened like one whose thoughts
were dwelling on a very different subject, but when the other had
succeeded in making him understand, that he was present, an expression
of joyful recognition passed over his faded features—"I hope you have
not so soon forgotten those, whom you so materially served!" Middleton
concluded. "It would pain me to think my hold on your memory was so
light."

"Little that I have ever seen is forgotten," returned the trapper: "I
am at the close of many weary days, but there is not one among them all,
that I could wish to overlook. I remember you with the whole of your
company; ay, and your grand'ther, that went before you. I am glad, that
you have come back upon these plains, for I had need of one, who speaks
the English, since little faith can be put in the traders of these
regions. Will you do a favour to an old and dying man?"

"Name it," said Middleton; "it shall be done."

"It is a far journey to send such trifles," resumed the old man, who
spoke at short intervals, as strength and breath permitted; "a far and
weary journey is the same; but kindnesses and friendships are things not
to be forgotten. There is a settlement among the Otsego hills—"

"I know the place," interrupted Middleton, observing that he spoke with
increasing difficulty; "proceed to tell me, what you would have done."

"Take this rifle, and pouch, and horn, and send them to the person,
whose name is graven on the plates of the stock,—a trader cut the
letters with his knife,—for it is long, that I have intended to send
him such a token of my love."

"It shall be so. Is there more that you could wish?"

"Little else have I to bestow. My traps I give to my Indian son; for
honestly and kindly has he kept his faith. Let him stand before me."

Middleton explained to the chief what the trapper had said and
relinquished his own place to the other.

"Pawnee," continued the old man, always changing his language to suit
the person he addressed, and not unfrequently according to the ideas
he expressed, "it is a custom of my people for the father to leave his
blessing with the son, before he shuts his eves for ever. This blessing
I give to you; take it, for the prayers of a Christian man will never
make the path of a just warrior, to the blessed prairies, either longer,
or more tangled. May the God of a white man look on your deeds with
friendly eyes, and may you never commit an act, that shall cause Him to
darken His face. I know not whether we shall ever meet again. There are
many traditions concerning the place of Good Spirits. It is not for one
like me, old and experienced though I am, to set up my opinions against
a nation's. You believe in the blessed prairies, and I have faith in the
sayings of my fathers. If both are true, our parting will be final; but
if it should prove, that the same meaning is hid under different words,
we shall yet stand together, Pawnee, before the face of your Wahcondah,
who will then be no other than my God. There is much to be said in
favour of both religions, for each seems suited to its own people, and
no doubt it was so intended. I fear, I have not altogether followed the
gifts of my colour, inasmuch as I find it a little painful to give up
for ever the use of the rifle, and the comforts of the chase. But then
the fault has been my own, seeing that it could not have been His. Ay,
Hector," he continued, leaning forward a little, and feeling for the
ears of the hound, "our parting has come at last, dog, and it will be
a long hunt. You have been an honest, and a bold, and a faithful hound.
Pawnee, you cannot slay the pup on my grave, for where a Christian dog
falls, there he lies for ever; but you can be kind to him, after I am
gone, for the love you bear his master."

"The words of my father are in my ears," returned the young partisan,
making a grave and respectful gesture of assent.

"Do you hear, what the chief has promised, dog?" demanded the trapper,
making an effort to attract the notice of the insensible effigy of his
hound. Receiving no answering look, nor hearing any friendly whine, the
old man felt for the mouth and endeavoured to force his hand between
the cold lips. The truth then flashed upon him, although he was far from
perceiving the whole extent of the deception. Falling back in his seat,
he hung his head, like one who felt a severe and unexpected shock.
Profiting by this momentary forgetfulness, two young Indians removed the
skin with the same delicacy of feeling, that had induced them to attempt
the pious fraud.

"The dog is dead!" muttered the trapper, after a pause of many minutes;
"a hound has his time as well as a man and well has he filled his days!
Captain," he added, making an effort to wave his hand for Middleton, "I
am glad you have come; for though kind, and well meaning according to
the gifts of their colour, these Indians are not the men, to lay the
head of a white man in his grave. I have been thinking too, of this dog
at my feet; it will not do to set forth the opinion, that a Christian
can expect to meet his hound again; still there can be little harm in
placing what is left of so faithful a servant nigh the bones of his
master."

"It shall be as you desire."

"I'm glad, you think with me in this matter. In order then to save
labour, lay the pup at my feet, or for that matter put him, side by
side. A hunter need never be ashamed to be found in company with his
dog!"

"I charge myself with your wish."

The old man made a long, and apparently a musing pause. At times he
raised his eyes wistfully, as if he would again address Middleton, but
some innate feeling appeared always to suppress his words. The other,
who observed his hesitation, enquired in a way most likely to encourage
him to proceed, whether there was aught else that he could wish to have
done.

"I am without kith or kin in the wide world!" the trapper answered:
"when I am gone, there will be an end of my race. We have never been
chiefs; but honest and useful in our way, I hope it cannot be denied,
we have always proved ourselves. My father lies buried near the sea, and
the bones of his son will whiten on the prairies—"

"Name the spot, and your remains shall be placed by the side of your
father," interrupted Middleton.

"Not so, not so, Captain. Let me sleep, where I have lived, beyond the
din of the settlements! Still I see no need, why the grave of an honest
man should be hid, like a Red-skin in his ambushment. I paid a man
in the settlements to make and put a graven stone at the head of my
father's resting place. It was of the value of twelve beaver-skins, and
cunningly and curiously was it carved! Then it told to all comers that
the body of such a Christian lay beneath; and it spoke of his manner
of life, of his years, and of his honesty. When we had done with the
Frenchers in the old war, I made a journey to the spot, in order to see
that all was rightly performed, and glad I am to say, the workman had
not forgotten his faith."

"And such a stone you would have at your grave?"

"I! no, no, I have no son, but Hard-Heart, and it is little that an
Indian knows of White fashions and usages. Besides I am his debtor,
already, seeing it is so little I have done, since I have lived in his
tribe. The rifle might bring the value of such a thing—but then I know,
it will give the boy pleasure to hang the piece in his hall, for many is
the deer and the bird that he has seen it destroy. No, no, the gun must
be sent to him, whose name is graven on the lock!"

"But there is one, who would gladly prove his affection in the way
you wish; he, who owes you not only his own deliverance from so many
dangers, but who inherits a heavy debt of gratitude from his ancestors.
The stone shall be put at the head of your grave."

The old man extended his emaciated hand, and gave the other a squeeze of
thanks.

"I thought, you might be willing to do it, but I was backward in
asking the favour," he said, "seeing that you are not of my kin. Put no
boastful words on the same, but just the name, the age, and the time of
the death, with something from the holy book; no more no more. My name
will then not be altogether lost on 'arth; I need no more."

Middleton intimated his assent, and then followed a pause, that was only
broken by distant and broken sentences from the dying man. He appeared
now to have closed his accounts with the world, and to await merely for
the final summons to quit it. Middleton and Hard-Heart placed themselves
on the opposite sides of his seat, and watched with melancholy
solicitude, the variations of his countenance. For two hours there was
no very sensible alteration. The expression of his faded and time-worn
features was that of a calm and dignified repose. From time to time he
spoke, uttering some brief sentence in the way of advice, or asking
some simple questions concerning those in whose fortunes he still took
a friendly interest. During the whole of that solemn and anxious period
each individual of the tribe kept his place, in the most self-restrained
patience. When the old man spoke, all bent their heads to listen; and
when his words were uttered, they seemed to ponder on their wisdom and
usefulness.

As the flame drew nigher to the socket, his voice was hushed, and there
were moments, when his attendants doubted whether he still belonged
to the living. Middleton, who watched each wavering expression of his
weather-beaten visage, with the interest of a keen observer of human
nature, softened by the tenderness of personal regard, fancied he could
read the workings of the old man's soul in the strong lineaments of his
countenance. Perhaps what the enlightened soldier took for the delusion
of mistaken opinion did actually occur, for who has returned from that
unknown world to explain by what forms, and in what manner, he was
introduced into its awful precincts? Without pretending to explain what
must ever be a mystery to the quick, we shall simply relate facts as
they occurred.

The trapper had remained nearly motionless for an hour. His eyes, alone,
had occasionally opened and shut. When opened, his gaze seemed fastened
on the clouds, which hung around the western horizon, reflecting the
bright colours, and giving form and loveliness to the glorious tints
of an American sunset. The hour—the calm beauty of the season—the
occasion, all conspired to fill the spectators with solemn awe.
Suddenly, while musing on the remarkable position, in which he was
placed, Middleton felt the hand, which he held, grasp his own with
incredible power, and the old man, supported on either side by his
friends, rose upright to his feet. For a moment, he looked about him, as
if to invite all in presence to listen (the lingering remnant of human
frailty), and then, with a fine military elevation of the head, and with
a voice, that might be heard in every part of that numerous assembly the
word—

"Here!"

A movement so entirely unexpected, and the air of grandeur and humility,
which were so remarkably united in the mien of the trapper, together
with the clear and uncommon force of his utterance, produced a short
period of confusion in the faculties of all present. When Middleton and
Hard-Heart, each of whom had involuntarily extended a hand to support
the form of the old man, turned to him again, they found, that the
subject of their interest was removed for ever beyond the necessity of
their care. They mournfully placed the body in its seat, and Le Balafre
arose to announce the termination of the scene, to the tribe. The voice
of the old Indian seemed a sort of echo from that invisible world, to
which the meek spirit of the trapper had just departed.

"A valiant, a just, and a wise warrior has gone on the path, which will
lead him to the blessed grounds of his people!" he said. "When the voice
of the Wahcondah called him, he was ready to answer. Go, my children;
remember the just chief of the Pale-faces, and clear your own tracks
from briars."

The grave was made beneath the shade of some noble oaks. It has been
carefully watched to the present hour by the Pawnees of the Loop, and
is often shown to the traveller and the trader as a spot where a just
Whiteman sleeps. In due time the stone was placed at its head, with the
simple inscription, which the trapper had himself requested. The only
liberty, taken by Middleton, was to add—"May no wanton hand ever
disturb his remains!"

[1]
The Mississippi is thus termed in several of the Indian languages. The reader will gain a more just idea of the importance of this stream, if he recalls to mind the fact, that the Missouri and the Mississippi are properly the same river. Their united lengths cannot be greatly short of four thousand miles.