CHAPTER IV.
AMONG THE DELAWARES.
Quindaro was a straggling but pretty little town built among thegroves of the west bank of the Missouri. Here the emigrants found astore or trading-post, well supplied with the goods they needed,staple articles of food and the heavier farming-tools being the firstrequired. The boys looked curiously at the big breaking-plough thatwas to be of so much consequence to them in their new life and labors.The prairies around their Illinois home had been long broken up whenthey were old enough to take notice of such things; and as they weretown boys, they had never had their attention called to the implementsof a prairie farm.
"It looks like a plough that has been sat down on and flattened out,"was Oscar's remark, after they had looked the thing over verycritically. It had a long and massive beam, or body, and big, stronghandles, suggestive of hard work to be done with it. "The nose," asSandy called the point of the share, was long, flat, and as sharp as aknife. It was this thin and knife-like point that was to cut into thevirgin turf of the prairie, and, as the sod was cut, the share was toturn it over, bottom side up, while the great, heavy implement wasdrawn along by the oxen.
"But the sod is so thick and tough," said Oscar, "I don't see how theoxen can drag the thing through. Will our three yoke of cattle doit?"
The two men looked at each other and smiled. This had been a subjectof much anxious thought with them. They had been told that they wouldhave difficulty in breaking up the prairie with three yoke of oxen;they should have four yoke, certainly. So when Mr. Howell explainedthat they must get another yoke and then rely on their being able to"change work" with some of their neighbors who might have cattle, theboys laughed outright.
"Neighbors!" cried Sandy. "Why, I didn't suppose we should have anyneighbors within five or ten miles. Did you, Oscar? I was in hopes wewouldn't have neighbors to plague us with their pigs and chickens, andtheir running in to borrow a cupful of molasses, or last week'snewspaper. Neighbors!" and the boy's brown face wore an expression ofdisgust.
"Don't you worry about neighbors, Sandy," said his uncle. "Even if wehave any within five miles of us, we shall do well. But if there is tobe any fighting, we shall want neighbors to join forces with us, andwe shall find them handy, anyhow, in case of sickness or trouble. Wecannot get along in a new country like this without neighbors, andyou bear that in mind, Master Sandy."
The two leaders of this little flock had been asking about theprospects for taking up claims along the Kansas River, or the Kaw, asthat stream was then generally called. To their great dismay, they hadfound that there was very little vacant land to be had anywhere nearthe river. They would have to push on still further westward if theywished to find good land ready for the pre-emptor. Rumors of fightingand violence came from the new city of Lawrence, the chief settlementof the free-State men, on the Kaw; and at Grasshopper Falls, stillfurther to the west, the most desirable land was already taken up, andthere were wild stories of a raid on that locality being planned bybands of Border Ruffians. They were in a state of doubt anduncertainty.
"There she is! There she is!" said Charlie, in a loud whisper, lookingin the direction of a tall, unpainted building that stood among thetrees that embowered the little settlement. Every one looked and saw ayoung lady tripping along through the hazel brush that still coveredthe ground. She was rather stylishly dressed, "citified," Oscar said;she swung a beaded work-bag as she walked.
"Who is it? Who is it?" asked Oscar, breathlessly. She was the firstwell-dressed young lady he had seen since leaving Iowa.
"Sh-h-h-h!" whispered Charlie. "That's Quindaro. A young fellowpointed her out to me last night, just after we drove into thesettlement. She lives with her folks in that tall, thin house upthere. I have been looking for her to come out. See, she's just goinginto the post-office now."
"Quindaro!" exclaimed Sandy. "Why, I thought Quindaro was a squaw."
"She's a full-blooded Delaware Indian girl, that's what she is, andshe was educated somewhere East in the States; and this town is namedfor her. She owns all the land around here, and is the belle of theplace."
"She's got on hoop-skirts, too," said Oscar. "Just think of an Indiangirl--a squaw--wearing hoops, will you?" For all this happened, myyoung reader must remember, when women's fashions were very differentfrom what they now are. Quindaro--that is to say, the young Indianlady of that time--was dressed in the height of fashion, but not inany way obtrusively. Charlie, following with his eyes the young girl'sfigure, as she came out of the post-office and went across the ravinethat divided the settlement into two equal parts, mirthfully said,"And only think! That is a full-blooded Delaware Indian girl!"
But, their curiosity satisfied, the boys were evidently disappointedwith their first view of Indian civilization. There were no blanketedIndians loafing around in the sun and sleeping under the shelter ofthe underbrush, as they had been taught to expect to see them. Outsideof the settlement, men were ploughing and planting, breaking prairie,and building cabins; and while our party were looking about them, aparty of Delawares drove into town with several ox-carts to carry awaythe purchases that one of their number had already made. It wasbewildering to boys who had been brought up on stories of Black Hawk,the Prophet, and the Sacs and Foxes of Illinois and Wisconsin. ADelaware Indian, clad in the ordinary garb of a Western farmer anddriving a yoke of oxen, and employing the same curious lingo used bythe white farmers, was not a picturesque object.
"I allow that sixty dollars is a big price to pay for a yoke ofcattle," said Mr. Howell, anxiously. He was greatly concerned aboutthe new purchase that must be made here, according to the latestinformation. "We might have got them for two-thirds of that money backin Illinois. And you know that Iowa chap only reckoned the price ofthese at forty-five, when we traded with him at Jonesville."
"It's no use worrying about that now, Aleck," said his brother-in-law."I know you thought then that we should need four yoke for breakingthe prairie; but, then, you weren't certain about it, and none of therest of us ever had any sod-ploughing to do."
"No, none of us," said Sandy, with delightful gravity; at whicheverybody smiled. One would have thought that Sandy was a veteran ineverything but farming.
"I met a man this morning, while I was prowling around the settlement,"said Charlie, "who said that there was plenty of vacant land, offirst-rate quality, up around Manhattan. Where's that, father--do youknow? _He_ didn't, but some other man, one of the New EnglandSociety fellows, told him so."
But nobody knew where Manhattan was. This was the first time they hadever heard of the place. The cattle question was first to be disposedof, however, and as soon as the party had finished their breakfast,the two men and Charlie sallied out through the settlement to look upa bargain. Oscar and Sandy were left in the camp to wash the dishesand "clean up," a duty which both of them despised with a heartyhatred.
"If there's anything I just fairly abominate, it's washing dishes,"said Sandy, seating himself on the wagon-tongue and discontentedlyeyeing a huge tin pan filled with tin plates and cups, steaming in thehot water that Oscar had poured over them from the camp-kettle.
"Well, that's part of the play," answered Oscar, pleasantly. "It isn'tboy's work, let alone man's work, to be cooking and washing dishes. Iwonder what mother would think to see us at it?" And a suspiciousmoisture gathered in the lad's eyes, as a vision of his mother's tidykitchen in far-off Illinois rose before his mind. Sandy looked verysolemn.
"But, as daddy says, it's no use worrying about things you can'thelp," continued the cheerful Oscar; "so here goes, Sandy. You wash,and I'll dry 'em." And the two boys went on with their disagreeablework so heartily that they soon had it out of the way; Sandy remarkingas they finished it, that, for his part, he did not like the businessat all, but he did not think it fair that they two, who could not dothe heavy work, should grumble over that they could do. "The worst ofit is," he added, "we've got to look forward to months and months ofthis sort of thing. Father and Uncle Charlie say that we cannot havet
he rest of the family come out until we have a house to put themin--a log-cabin, they mean, of course; and Uncle Charlie says that wemay not get them out until another spring. I don't believe he will bewilling for them to come out until he knows whether the Territory isto be slave or free. Do you, Oscar?"
"No, indeed," said Oscar. "Between you and me, Sandy, I don't want togo back to Illinois again, for anything; but I guess father will makeup his mind about staying only when we find out if there is to be afree-State government or not. Dear me, why can't the Missourians keepout of here and let us alone?"
"It's a free country," answered Sandy, sententiously. "That's whatUncle Charlie is always saying. The Missourians have just as good aright here as we have."
"But they have no right to be bringing in their slavery with 'em,"replied the other. "That wouldn't be a free country, would it, withone man owning another man? Not much."
"That's beyond me, Oscar. I suppose it's a free country only for thewhite man to come to. But I haven't any politics in me. Hullo! therecomes the rest of us driving a yoke of oxen. Well, on my word, theyhave been quick about it. Uncle Charlie is a master hand at hurryingthings, I will say," added Sandy, admiringly. "He's done all thetrading, I'll be bound!"
"Fifty-five dollars," replied Bryant, to the boys' eager inquiry as tothe price paid for the yoke of oxen. "Fifty-five dollars, and not sovery dear, after all, considering that there are more people who wantto buy than there are who want to sell."
"And now we are about ready to start; only a few more provisions tolay in. Suppose we get away by to-morrow morning?"
"Oh, that's out of the question, Uncle Aleck," said Oscar. "What makesyou in such a hurry? Why, you have all along said we need not get awayfrom here for a week yet, if we did not want to; the grass hasn'tfairly started yet, and we cannot drive far without feed for thecattle. Four yoke, too," he added proudly.
"The fact is, Oscar," said his father, lowering his voice and lookingaround as if to see whether anybody was within hearing distance, "wehave heard this morning that there was a raid on this place threatenedfrom Kansas City, over the border. This is the free-State headquartersin this part of the country, and it has got about that the store hereis owned and run by the New England Emigrant Aid Society. So they arethreatening to raid the place, burn the settlement, run off the stock,and loot the settlers. I should like to have a company of resolute mento defend the place," and Mr. Bryant's eyes flashed; "but this is notour home, nor our fight, and I'm willing to 'light out' right off, oras soon as we get ready."
"Will they come to-night, do you think?" asked Sandy, and his big blueeyes looked very big indeed. "Because we can't get off until we haveloaded the wagon and fixed the wheels; you said they must be greasedbefore we travelled another mile, you know."
It was agreed, however, that there was no immediate danger of theraid--certainly not that night; but all felt that it was the part ofprudence to be ready to start at once; the sooner, the better. Whenthe boys went to their blankets that night, they whispered to eachother that the camp might be raided and so they should be ready forany assault that might come. Sandy put his "pepper-box" under hispillow, and Charlie had his trusty rifle within reach. Oscar carrieda double-barrelled shot-gun of which he was very proud, and thatweapon, loaded with buckshot, was laid carefully by the side of hisblankets. The two elders of the party "slept with one eye open," asthey phrased it. But there was no alarm through the night, except oncewhen Mr. Howell got up and went out to see how the cattle were gettingon. He found that one of the sentinels who had been set by theQuindaro Company in consequence of the scare, had dropped asleep onthe wagon-tongue of the Dixon party. Shaking him gently, he awoke thesleeping sentinel, who at once bawled, "Don't shoot!" to the greatconsternation of the nearest campers, who came flying out of theirblankets to see what was the matter. When explanations had been made,all laughed, stretched themselves, and then went to bed again to dreamof Missouri raiders.
The sun was well up in the sky next day, when the emigrants, havingcompleted their purchases, yoked their oxen and drove up through thesettlement and ascended the rolling swale of land that lay beyond thegroves skirting the river. Here were camps of other emigrants who hadmoved out of Quindaro before them, or had come down from the point onthe Missouri opposite Parkville, in order to get on to the road thatled westward and south of the Kaw. It was a beautifully woodedcountry. When the lads admired the trees, Mr. Howell somewhatcontemptuously said: "Not much good, chiefly black-jacks andscrub-oaks"; but the woods were pleasant to drive through, and whenthey came upon scattered farms and plantations with comfortablelog-cabins set in the midst of cultivated fields, the admiration ofthe party was excited.
"Only look, Uncle Charlie," cried Sandy, "there's a real flower-gardenfull of hollyhocks and marigolds; and there's a rose-bush climbingover that log-cabin!" It was too early to distinguish one flower fromanother by its blooms, but Sandy's sharp eyes had detected the leavesof the old-fashioned flowers that he loved so well, which he knew wereonly just planted in the farther northern air of their home inIllinois. It was a pleasant-looking Kansas home, and Sandy wonderedhow it happened that this cosey living-place had grown up so quicklyin this new Territory. It looked as if it were many years old, hesaid.
"We are still on the Delaware Indian reservation," replied his uncle."The Government has given the tribe a big tract of land here and awayup to the Kaw. They've been here for years, and they are good farmers,I should say, judging from the looks of things hereabouts."
Just then, as if to explain matters, a decent-looking man, dressed inthe rude fashion of the frontier, but in civilized clothes, came outof the cabin, and, pipe in mouth, stared not unkindly at the passingwagon and its party.
"Howdy," he civilly replied to a friendly greeting from Mr. Howell.The boys knew that "How" was a customary salutation among Indians, but"Howdy" struck them as being comic; Sandy laughed as he turned awayhis face. Mr. Bryant lingered while the slow-moving oxen plodded theirway along the road, and the boys, too, halted to hear what thedark-skinned man had to say. But the Indian--for he was a "civilized"Delaware--was a man of very few words. In answer to Mr. Bryant'squestions, he said he was one of the chiefs of the tribe; he had beento Washington to settle the terms of an agreement with the Government;and he had lived in that cabin six years, and on the presentreservation ever since it was established.
All this information came out reluctantly, and with as little use ofvital breath as possible. When they had moved on out of earshot, Oscarexpressed his decided opinion that that settler was no more like JamesFenimore Cooper's Indians than the lovely Quindaro appeared to be."Why, did you notice, father," he continued, "that he actually had onhigh-heeled boots? Think of that! An Indian with high-heeled boots!Why, in Cooper's novels they wear moccasins, and some of them gobarefoot. These Indians are not worthy of the name."
"You will see more of the same sort before we get to the river," saidhis father. "They have a meeting-house up yonder, by the fork of theroad, I am told. And, seeing that this is our first day out of camp onthe last stage of our journey, suppose we stop for dinner at IndianJohn's, Aleck? It will be a change from camp-fare, and they say thatJohn keeps a good table."
To the delight of the lads, it was agreed that they should make thehalt as suggested, and noon found them at a very large and comfortable"double cabin," as these peculiar structures are called. Twolog-cabins are built, end to end, with one roof covering the two. Thepassage between them is floored over, and affords an open shelter fromrain and sun, and in hot weather is the pleasantest place about theestablishment. Indian John's cabin was built of hewn logs, nicelychinked in with slivers, and daubed with clay to keep out the wintryblasts. As is the manner of the country, one of the cabins was usedfor the rooms of the family, while the dining-room and kitchen were inthe other end of the structure. Indian John regularly furnished dinnerto the stage passengers going westward from Quindaro; for a publicconveyance, a "mud-wagon," as it was called, had been put on this partof the road
.
"What a tuck-out I had!" said Sandy, after a very bountiful andwell-cooked dinner had been disposed of by the party. "And who wouldhave supposed we should ever sit down to an Indian's table and eatfried chicken, ham and eggs, and corn-dodger, from a regular set ofblue-and-white plates, and drink good coffee from crockery cups? Itjust beats Father Dixon's Indian stories all to pieces."
Oscar and Charlie, however, were disposed to think very lightly ofthis sort of Indian civilization. Oscar said: "If these red men wereeither one thing or the other, I wouldn't mind it. But they have shedthe gaudy trappings of the wild Indian, and their new clothes do notfit very well. As Grandfather Bryant used to say, they are neitherfish nor flesh, nor good red herring. They are a mighty uninterestinglot."
"Well, they are on the way to a better state of things than they haveknown, anyhow," said Charlie. "The next generation will see themhigher up, I guess. But I must say that these farms don't look verythrifty, somehow. Indians are a lazy lot; they don't like work. Didyou notice how all those big fellows at dinner sat down with us andthe stage passengers, and the poor women had to wait on everybody?That's Indian."
Uncle Charlie laughed, and said that the boys had expected to findcivilized Indians waiting on the table, decked out with paint andfeathers, and wearing deerskin leggings and such like.
"Wait until we get out on the frontier," said he, "and then you willsee wild Indians, perhaps, or 'blanket Indians,' anyhow."
"Blanket Indians?" said Sandy, with an interrogation point in hisface.
"Yes; that's what the roving and unsettled bands are called by whitefolks. Those that are on reservations and earning their own living, ora part of it,--for the Government helps them out considerably,--arecalled town Indians; those that live in wigwams, or tepees, and rovefrom place to place, subsisting on what they can catch, are blanketIndians. They tell me that there are wild Indians out on the westernfrontier. But they are not hostile; at least, they were not, at lastaccounts. The Cheyennes have been rather uneasy, they say, since thewhite settlers began to pour into the country. Just now I am moreconcerned about the white Missourians than I am about the redaborigines."
They were still on the Delaware reservation when they camped thatevening, and the boys went into the woods to gather fuel for theirfire.
They had not gone far, when Sandy gave a wild whoop of alarm, jumpingabout six feet backward as he yelled, "A rattlesnake!" Sure enough, animmense snake was sliding out from under a mass of brush that the boyhad disturbed as he gathered an armful of dry branches and twigs.Dropping his burden, Sandy shouted, "Kill him! Kill him, quick!"
The reptile was about five feet long, very thick, and of a darkmottled color. Instantly, each lad had armed himself with a big stickand had attacked him. The snake, stopped in his attempt to get away,turned, and opening his ugly-looking mouth, made a curious blowingnoise, half a hiss and half a cough, as Charlie afterward describedit.
"Take care, Sandy! He'll spring at you, and bite you in the face! See!He's getting ready to spring!"
And, indeed, the creature, frightened, and surrounded by the agile,jumping boys, each armed with a club, seemed ready to defend his lifewith the best weapons at his command. The boys, excited and alarmed,were afraid to come near the snake, and were dancing about, waitingfor a chance to strike, when they were startled by a shot from behindthem, and the snake, making one more effort to turn on himself,shuddered and fell dead.
Mr. Howell, hearing the shouting of the boys, had run out of the camp,and with a well-directed rifle shot had laid low the reptile.
"It's only a blow-snake," he said, taking the creature by the tail andholding it up to view. "He's harmless. Well! Of course a dead snake isharmless, but when he was alive he was not the sort of critter to beafraid of. I thought you had encountered a bear, at the very least, bythe racket you made."
"He's a big fellow, anyhow," said Oscar, giving the snake a kick, "andSandy said he was a rattlesnake. I saw a rattler once when we lived inDixon. Billy Everett and I found him down on the bluff below therailroad; and he was spotted all over. Besides, this fellow hasn't anyrattles."
"The boys have been having a lesson in natural history, Charlie," saidMr. Howell to his brother-in-law, as they returned with him to camp,loaded with firewood; Sandy, boy-like, dragging the dead blow-snakeafter him.
Boy Settlers: A Story of Early Times in Kansas Page 5
