The Forest King

by Hervey Keyes

  CHAPTER X.

  The three that remained at the cottage retired to rest. As the blaze ofthe fire in front of the cottage died away, young Mayall discovered thatthe Indian chief became restless and uneasy, and would suddenly awakefrom sleep and grasp his rifle and then peer out into the darksurrounding forest, as if some monster of the wood was about to make adeadly leap towards him. After straining his eyes for naught he wouldagain resume his rustic bed.

  As soon as sleep began to steal over his troubled brain he would springfrom his bed and grasp his weapons of war. The night gradually woreaway, and the great luminary of the world began to light up the East.Esock Mayall and the Indian chief rose from their restless beds andfinished dressing their bears, and got the wagon and goods, with hisfather, mother and the three children that wore on the opposite side ofthe creek, over to the cottage, whilst the young bride was preparingtheir breakfast.

  Breakfast being over, the Indian chief said he must be up and awaybefore the sun licked up the morning dew. He had lodged in that cottagethe first and last night; that thrice in his sleep he had dreamed ofdeath and a dishonored tomb, when no phantom of the night was near, noteven the sound of waters or the whisper of the breeze was heard amongthe lonely trees; and yet the dream was thrice repeated. Esock Mayalltold him he must wait a short time, and his wife would prepare him someprovisions, and he would let him have a horse to ride as far as theMohawk River, and that would carry him beyond danger. The chiefconsented to wait a short time for the horse and provisions, but saidthere was danger in delay.

  Whilst the young bride was preparing her father's provision, Wolf-huntercast his keen eye up the creek in the direction of the bear fight, andsaw three strange Indian hunters approaching with their silver-mountedrifles, armed with tomahawks and hunting-knives. They came rapidlyforward until they reached the place where they killed the mammoth bear,then halted, viewed the meat that hung on the branches of some trees,and then came directly towards the cottage. The Indian chief began toretreat, when Wolf-hunter cried out:

  "No danger. Face the music."

  This Esock Mayall understood to mean, "Never fear, but be ready," andsat his gun down by his side, and Wolf-hunter did the same. The threeIndians came near the fire, when Wolf-hunter addressed them in theOneida tongue:

  "Good-morning, brothers."

  They replied: "Good-morning, brother. We have followed the trail ofthree bears, and we find you have killed them, and we want some of themeat."

  Wolf-hunter told them to be seated near the fire and they would bringthem some; the three Indians sat down their rifles and came near thefire. As the young bride came out of the cottage with a large piece ofbear's meat in a long handled pan, and placed it over the fire, thethree Indians stared at her in amazement, and then turned and looked ateach other. One of the Indians said: "She looks just as her mother didbefore she was murdered. She is a Wan-nut-ha."[2]

  [Footnote 2: A beauty.]

  They paused a while, and one of the Indians called her Dora, to whichshe made no reply. He then called her Dora in a louder tone. To whichthe maiden replied:

  "My name is Blanche."

  "Well," said the Indian, "your name was Dora. Twelve years have passedaway since I saw your sunny face, and looked upon your silky flaxenhair; you have changed to a graceful young lady squaw, and when I nowlook upon you--

  "Your sparkling eyes and glossy flaxen hair Seem the same your mother used to wear When the lake lay calm with silver breast Beneath pale Luna's beams at rest. And when the lurid morn arose, And flashed her light on land and sea, The silvery foam beat on the lonely shore Where Dora and her mother used to roam. Death had hushed the voice of her fond mother, The Indian's war-axe parted her fair locks, The bloody tide ran down her snowy neck, Her ivory bosom dyed with crimson gore, Then fled with Dora to the forest wild. There a captive in the chieftain's tent, Whilst twelve successive years went by; But now a hunter's young and lovely bride, And cooks the savory venison, night and morn, Upon the streamlet's flow'ry banks, Where the woodland choir with melody of song Chant the praise of God that watch'd o'er all, And saw the sparrow in his lonely fall. When spring, with balmy air, bids vegetation rise, And all the flowers put on their bloom; The emerald reeds, along the sandy bay Washed by the blue waves, beat upon the shore, Then Dora, with her loving mate, Will walk in summer's golden days, By Cynthia's evening silver light, And call to mind those infant days When her fond mother led her by the hand, And her little feet made impress on the sand; And plant a flower beside the monumental stone In yonder church-yard, o'er her mother's tomb, Then ramble o'er the green and flow'ry lawn, Leaning fondly on her lover's buoyant arm, The valiant, happy man, who Fate ordained To write his name, in love, upon her heart And fondly claim her for his own."

  Dora was delighted with her new name, believing it to be the name givenher by her parents, whom she had so often seen in her dreams, whilstsleeping in the Indian's tent. And then it seemed so familiar to her--itseemed like the voice of her mother floating in music-tones upon themorning air. And the Indians seemed to her sent by the Great Spirit toinform her of the place of her birth, of the Eden of her childhood, andthe path that would conduct her to her once-loved home, which now cameup in grand review before her youthful mind, as the Indians related thesad story of the death of her mother, the capture of her lovely child,and the curling flames that consumed their earthly home.

  The picture set forth by the Indians was forcibly impressed upon themind of Dora, and she persuaded her husband to accompany her on footthrough a dense forest, for more than a hundred miles, following a blindIndian war-path which she had been trained to follow through otherforests by her tutors, in other days. This war-path led them to the lakeshore, where they obtained a boat, with a skillful oarsman, to land themon the shore of that lovely bay which Dora had so often seen in herdreams, whilst sleeping in the Indian chief's wigwam. When they arrivedat the birthplace and youthful home of Dora, she could only find theplace by the remains of part of the burnt and cracked walls of thefoundation, and a few trees that had escaped the fury of the flames.

  Here Dora called to mind the scene that occurred when the Indian'swar-axe parted the fair forehead of her mother. She seemed to see thecrimson tide run down her neck, her ivory bosom stained, as her parentallife-blood ebbed away. She wept long and loud for her fond mother. Shelingered round the fatal spot until the sinking sun began to cast herlast rays in lengthened shade over the waters of the lake below. Shethen hurried to the nearest house with her husband, where her neighborrecognized her and called her Dora. Like the Indian, he said he knew herby the hair her mother used to wear, and her being the exact likeness ofher mother.

  Here she first learned of the death of her father, who, feeling theheavy loss of his wife and the unknown fate of his darling child,grieved so immoderately over their loss that Disease laid her fatalhands upon him, and in one short year they laid him down gently to sleepby her mother, until Gabriel's trump shall awake them again at theresurrection morn. Here they tarried for the night--but the nightappeared long and sleepless to Dora--and in the early morn wasaccompanied by their friend and neighbor to the church-yard where laythe remains of her father and mother, unmarked, except by a rude stone,to guide them to the place where their kind neighbors had gently laidthem down to rest from the turmoil of life's uneven ways. The summermonths were spent among strangers and the scenes of her early childhood,and visiting the burial-place of her parents weekly, to water themoss-rose and the eglantine she had planted on their graves, and scatterthe most beautiful flowers that bloomed in that region upon their gravesat the hour of falling dews, to wanton and perfume the surrounding air.

  As summer wore away Dora and her husband became tired of fashionablelife, and longed to return to the shades of forest life, for which theyhad a fondness--to feast again on the rich and savory dishes of venison,wild fowls and fish, and rest in tranquillity at
their own cottage home,surrounded by shady bowers. Dora had paid the last debt of gratitude toher deceased parents at the earliest opportunity, and then started withher husband by the same route they came for their forest home, again toretrace their steps, guided by a blind Indian war-path, long sinceabandoned by the Indians.

  After a weary march of several days they arrived at their forest home,and were warmly greeted by the elder Mayall and his learned andaccomplished wife, who received them more warmly on account of some goodbooks Esock Mayall had purchased for his mother, to repay her for hisearly education, which she had superintended in her own cottage, whenher husband was absent on the chase. When they arrived at their foresthome, Autumn, with all her charms, with yellow and crimson loaf andfalling fruit, charmed the young hunter and his faithful and devotedwife, as they looked with pride upon their forest home, surrounded withall the charms which Nature has so wisely lavished upon the untarnishedworks of his adorable hand. They came to the conclusion that Contentmentand Modesty were two beautiful flowers that flourished only in secretand retired places, where the God of Nature reigned.

  "Dora again, in her wild forest home, Where, in wavy masses fondly flowing Droops the graceful mountain vine, And the yellow sunbeams, glowing Cross the shadows line on line; Where the zephyrs, softly sighing, Woo the gently pearling rills; Where the feathered songsters, vieing, Each a different measure trills; Where the echoes, now replying, Die amid the distant hills; Where the skies are ever changing; Where the slanting moonbeams quiver On the noisy mountain streams: Where the placid flowing river Like a thread of silver gleams. Oh, my heart is ever yearning For the sweet, remembered ones, Where magic roses blossom In the evening golden light, And tender, enchanting songs Float on the balmy breeze at night."

  THE END.

  [Transcriber's Note: The original edition of this book did not contain aTable of Contents. A Table of Contents has been created for thiselectronic edition.]