The Shagganappi Part 23

Young Wampum sat erect then. He knew the tale was going to be a good one.

Teasingly, old Fire-Flower took an unnecessarily long time to "light up," but his two auditors were Indians, like himself, and had patience with his whims. Then the great hunter settled himself, and began his story by shaking his head, boastingly, and chuckling:

"It was two white men, and, as usual, they knew nothing, but they had good guns, and a fine canoe, and they paddled many days to get to the 'Indian Bush' to hunt. I was up there, across from the island in the river, when I first saw them, and their faces were paler than any paleface I ever saw before or since. It seems they had pulled up on the sh.o.r.e, built a little campfire to make their tea and to eat, when out of the bush arose a big black bear, gruffing and grunting and eating berries. When they saw it they gave a worse war-whoop than the Cherokees ever did. They reached for their guns, then started to shake and tremble as though the bush ague were upon them. 'He's chewing!' yelled one.

'He's chewing at us, he'll eat us alive.' But the other put on a face like a great brave. 'We'll kill him,' he said with great boasting.

'That's what we came for, to kill bears.' But just then the bear came towards them, still eating his berries. They were too scared to fire.

One just struck him over the head with his gun, then they both turned and made for the canoe. The blow made the bear angry as the Thunder G.o.d, and before they could push off sh.o.r.e the bear got his claws on the edge of the canoe, and away they all went sailing into midstream, the palefaces paddling for all their lives, and the black bear clinging on to the canoe. In their fright they had left their guns ash.o.r.e, and while one paddled, the other beat the bear's head with the paddle blade.

It was then that I first saw them. I stood on the sh.o.r.e with a very sickness from laughter in all my bones." Here he ceased talking, for Fish-Carrier and Wampum had broken into such bursts of merriment that Fire-Flower was compelled to join them.

"Oh, that I could have seen them, that I could have seen it all!" moaned Fish-Carrier between gasps. "That must have been a thing to make men laugh for many moons." But Wampum said nothing; it was not the etiquette of his race that he should join in the talk of older men, unasked, but he, too, gulped down his uproarious laughter while Fire-Flower proceeded.

"The black bear was getting the best of them, for the beating on the head maddened him. He began to climb up the edge of the canoe, and his great weight was beginning to overbalance it. I called to them, but as I do not speak the white man's language, they did not understand. Fear gripped at their hearts, and, as the bear climbed into the canoe, they leaped into the river and swam for sh.o.r.e, while the canoe drifted slowly down stream, the big black bear seated proudly within it like some great brave who had scalped his enemies."

Another outburst of mirth shook his listeners.

"I am an old man," continued Fire-Flower, "but I have never seen anything which made me laugh so hard, so long, so loud. The palefaces swam back to their camp and their guns, calling out to me over and over to save their canoe for them. So I put out in my own dugout and gave chase. I caught their canoe, overturned it, and into the water rolled the bear. Then as he came at me, catching my canoe in his big claws, I just drowned him the old Indian way."*

[*The above incident really occurred on the Grand River, about the year 1850, the writer's father having witnessed it.]

More laughter greeted this. Then young Wampum made bold to speak. "My uncle," he addressed Fire-Flower, "I am but a boy, only beginning to hunt, though the great braves have been kind in giving me praise for what I have done already, but I am full of ignorance when compared to you and the great hunters; so, to help me in the days to come, will you not tell me how you drowned the bear, for I do not know all these things?"

"A fine boy, Wampum is. He knows whom to ask advice and learning from,"

said Fire-Flower pompously, greatly pleased at the boy's flattery. "It is an easy thing to do, to drown a bear," he said. "The frailest canoe is safe even in the clutches of the fiercest. Just lay your paddle lightly across the bear's neck, back of his ears. He will at once catch at it each side with his claws, and he will pull, pull his own head under water. The more he struggles the deeper he sinks."

"Yes, that is the Indian fas.h.i.+on of killing a bear in midstream," echoed Fish-Carrier, "and it is a great thing for a hunter to know."

"Thank you for telling me," said the boy, rising to take his leave. "I value all this wisdom I can learn from my own people."

"And where do you go now, Wampum?" asked Fire-Flower. "Will you not stay and learn more wise things? You are brave, and we like you to hear us talk."

"And your talk is good," replied the boy, smiling. "You make me feel like the laughing loon bird, when you tell your tales and smile and laugh yourselves. But I must leave you. I am to drive the missionary to-day. He goes to the Delaware line once more."

"Ha! The Delawares!" sneered old Fire-Flower. "I like not those Delawares. They wors.h.i.+p idols. It is not good to dance around idols."

"Not good," again echoed Fish-Carrier.

"Still the Delawares are not really bad people," said Wampum. "I don't like their hideous idol, and some day I hope to see it cut down," he added earnestly.

"Then it will be a brave man who will do it," a.s.serted Fire-Flower. "The Delawares are a fierce tribe. Their eyes are too black. They cannot be trusted. We Mohawks are brave, but I know of none who would dare cut down that idol."

"I hope the Black Coat* won't try it himself," said Fish-Carrier.

"He is a good man. I don't want to see the Delawares kill him."

[*The Indians call missionaries "The Black Coats."]

"He certainly _will_ try it himself," said Wampum. "His heart is set on turning the dark Delaware to his Christianity."

Fire-Flower sneered. "How little those white men know, even such great white men as the Black-Coat!" he remarked loftily. "He thinks because the Mohawks all turned to his Christianity, that he can get the dark Delawares. He seems to think there is small difference in Indians, that they are all alike. He does not know that we Mohawks despise the Delawares because they wors.h.i.+p idols. Before we were Christians we wors.h.i.+pped the Great Spirit, the G.o.d of all good, but _never_ idols.

What good can come of people who dance round idols?" and the old hunter wrinkled his very nose in contempt.

Young Wampum knew his place too well to argue with the arrogant old hunter, so he smilingly said good-bye, and leaving them to their pipes and their memories, he set out for the Mission house, from whence he was to drive the Reverend James Nelson over to the "Delaware Line" to have one of his frequent talks with the stubborn old chief, "Single-Pine,"

who for ten years had held out against Christianity, clinging with determined loyalty to the religion of his forefathers, wors.h.i.+pping the repulsive wooden idol that, even in their old pagan state, the Mohawks so despised. Wampum was a great friend of Mr. Nelson's. He was only a boy of sixteen, but he helped in all the church work, translated Mr.

Nelson's speeches from English into Mohawk and the various other Indian dialects spoken on the Reserve, drove him about through the rough forest roads, paddled him down the river, and was the closest companion the good missionary had in all that wild, remote country. Even Wampum's parents were Christian church workers, but, kindly as their hearts were, they, too, shook their heads sorrowfully over the hopelessness of trying to Christianize the dark, idol-wors.h.i.+pping Delawares.

"Ah, Wampum, boy," greeted the missionary as the young Indian presented himself at the mission house, "we have good work before us to-day. I hear the Delawares are having a feast day. They have been dancing about that deplorable idol for two days and two nights. They tell me that old Chief Single-Pine danced eight hours without ceasing; that they have decorated the idol with silver brooches, wampum beads, every precious thing they possess. It is terrible, and my heart aches, boy, when I think how hopeless it seems. I fear they will be wors.h.i.+pping that wooden thing long after you and I have ceased working for Christ's kingdom."

"Mr. Nelson," said the boy, half-shyly. "I don't agree with you. I heard, not long ago, that old Chief Single-Pine said he only kept to the idol because his people did--that he dared not cross them, but that after these ten years of your talking with him, he himself believed in the white man's Christ."

"Oh, Wampum, if I could only believe that! If I could, I would die happy. Who told you this glorious thing?" cried the encouraged missionary.

"A Delaware boy," replied Wampum, "but when he told me he spat, like a snake does venom. He said he and all the tribe hated Single-Pine, for listening to you."

For a moment the missionary was silent, then he arose, the dawn of a majestic hope in his face. "They may hate him," he said, "but they will follow him. He is most powerful. They dare not rebel where he leads. If we have won Single-Pine to Christianity, we have won the whole tribe, Wampum. You have never failed me yet; will you stand by me now? Will you help me in this great work?"

"I will help you, sir," replied the boy, his young face glowing with zeal.

"But," hesitated the missionary, "remember, it is dangerous. They are a fierce, savage tribe, these Delawares. Suppose--" and the good man's voice ceased. He thought of his wife and his two baby girls. Then he shuddered.

Wampum seemed to catch that thought, and instantly a strange inspiration lighted up his wonderful dark face. He set his strong white teeth together, but kept his determination to himself.

As they prepared to leave the Mission house, Wampum hung back a little, and when Mr. Nelson was not looking, he slipped into the woodshed, got the axe, and adroitly hid it under the wagon-seat. He told himself that in case of trouble he would at least have some weapon with which to defend the missionary's life, and fight for his own. Had the man of peace known this, he would have remonstrated, but Wampum, although a Christian, had good fighting Indian blood in his veins, and had no such horror of battle. He was like one of the old Crusaders, ready to fight for his faith, even if the fighting had to be done with an axe.

Long before they reached the Delaware Line, they could hear the sounds of feasting and dancing. It was growing dark, and the great heathen ceremonies were at their height. Many a time had the good old missionary attended these dances, always putting in a word for Christianity whenever he saw a fitting opening, always hoping that the day would come when the hideous idol would be laid low, and these darkened souls brought to the Light of the World. But to-night he felt strangely fearful, almost cowardly, for the whole tribe had gathered to pay tribute to their G.o.d, and it is a dangerous thing to belittle the G.o.d or the faith of any nation that is in earnest in its belief.

Old Chief Single-Pine welcomed the missionary and Wampum graciously, but his people scowled and looked menacingly at the sight of "The Black Coat," then continued their dancing. The great Delaware idol was there in all its hideousness, life size, in the form of a woman, and carved from one solid block of wood, then painted and stained the Indian copper color. It stood on a slight elevation in the centre of the big log "church," grotesque and repulsive as an image could well be made. Wampum hated the thing, and found it difficult not to hate these people who wors.h.i.+pped it. His own ancestors had been pagans, but never heathen.

They had wors.h.i.+pped a living G.o.d, not a wooden one, and the boy turned in sadness, and some horror, from the spectacle of these idolatrous Delawares. Then his eyes lighted with pleasure, for there, near the door, stood Fire-Flower and Fish-Carrier. True, they were not now telling their boastful but harmless tales of mighty hunting and prowess, but their friendly faces still looked laughter-loving and genial, and Wampum moved quickly towards them. "I did not know you ever came here,"

he said.

"Not often," said Fire-Flower. "But you said you were to bring the missionary, so we came."

Something in his voice gave Wampum a hint that perhaps the loyal old hunters expected trouble, and so had come in case they were needed.

"Thank you," was all the boy replied, but they knew he understood.

Meanwhile, Mr. Nelson was talking with Single-Pine, who, exhausted with dancing, was allowing himself a brief rest and smoke. "My friend," began the missionary, "do you really believe in the power of that G.o.d of wood?"

The old chief glanced about cautiously, then, lowering his voice, said:

"I am tired, oh, Black Coat, of this thing! I would come to the Christian's G.o.d if I could, but my people will not let me."

Mr. Nelson grasped the dark fingers resting near his own. "Chief Single-Pine," he said excitedly, "will you yourself give me leave to do away with this idol? Will you promise me that if I cut it down you will make no outcry--that you will not defend it; that you will not urge your people to rise against me; that you will sit silently, wordlessly; that you will take my part?"

For a moment the old Indian wavered, hesitated, then said desperately, "I promise."

The missionary arose, removed his hat, and lifting his white face to heaven, prayed aloud, "G.o.d help me, make me strong and fearless to do this thing." But at his side was Wampum, his clinging brown fingers clutching the black-coated arm. He had overheard all the conversation, and his young face took on grayish shadows and lines of anxiety as he said, "No, no, Mr. Nelson, _not you_! They may kill you. Your wife, your girl babies--remember them. Think of them. This is _my_ work, not yours." Instantly he dashed outside, returning with the axe he had hidden in the wagon. Without a glance in any direction, he strode into the centre of the log lodge, the dark wors.h.i.+ppers fell aside, surprised into silence, and the slender Mohawk boy braced his shoulders, lifted his head, and--

"Don't, don't, Wampum, boy!" choked the missionary, "It is wild, it is useless. Stop, oh, stop!"