Bennett, Emerson - Prairie Flower 02

by Leni-Leoti or, Adventures In The Far West (lit)

  CHAPTER XXI.

  HAPPY MOMENTS—WINTER AMUSEMENTS— PREPARATIONS TO DEPART—THE WAH-SOCHEES— TEDDY'S IDEA OF DOUBLING OR QUITTING MY SERVICE—HOMEWARD BOUND— ARRIVE AT FORT LARAMIE.

  How sweetly time passes when with those we love. Moment then follows moment in unbroken succession, and commingling like drops of water, forms the great stream of Time, which, flowing past flowery banks and lulling us with its gentle murmur, glides swiftly and evenly away, bearing us on its broad bosom to the boundless and fathomless ocean of Eternity. It is when in sweet and constant communion with those we love, we forget the jars and discords of our past life, in the enrapturing harmony of the present. We then lose sight of the world as it is, and only behold it through that magic glass of inner joy, which shows all its beauties, but conceals its defects. These moments of earthly beatitude are most precious and evanescent. They are as so many golden sunbeams, streaming upon the otherwise gloomy path of the traveler, and showing him a thousand beauties, of whose existence so near him he had previously no conception. Thus it was with myself and friends. Time rolled away almost unnoted, and ere we had prepared ourselves to bid old hoary-headed Winter adieu, we found, to our surprise, he had gone, and that light-footed Spring was gaily tripping and smiling in his place. Although far in the wilderness, Oregon City was not without its attractions. Of the settlers, many were young people, who had been well brought up in the East, and had come hither to try their fortunes. They did no t believe in renouncing all their former amusements; and in consequence, gay parties, festivities, and balls succeeded one another in rapid succession. To these myself and friends were always invited, and a number of them we attended. They were rude in comparison to some in older settlements, it is true; but being in general conducted with great propriety, often proved very agreeable pastimes, and enlivened the otherwise rather dull monotony of the village. As spring advanced, we began gradually to prepare for our journey. The real estate previously purchased by Mrs. Huntly, was readily sold for cash, and the receipts doubled the purchase money. As we designed taking nothing with us but what was absolutely necessary, the furniture of both Mrs. Huntly and Madame Mortimer was also disposed of—possession to be given so soon as the premises should be vacated. As our party of itself was not strong, and as there were many here who designed going East—some to procure goods, some to remain, and others, who had come here in advance, to bring on their families— we decided to join them, and thus journey in comparative security. Great was the delight of Lilian and Eva, as the time drew near for our departure. In fact, toward the last, they could think of nothing, talk of nothing, but the plea sure of quitting their present abode, and what they would do when they should safely arrive at their destination. With Evaline it was different. In this journey she only saw a change of life and scene—which, if truth must be told, she rather regretted than rejoiced at — and a sad parting from her Indian friends. Where Lilian and Eva saw welcome faces and a thousand fascinations in the haunts of civilization, she beheld nothing but the cold gaze of strangers and the gossiping speculations of the worldly-minded. She was beautiful and fascinating in her personal appearance—refined, polished, and graceful in her manners—but withal, so excessively modest as to underrate her own powers, and fancy herself an awkward forest maiden, unfitted for the society in which she was destined more or less to mingle. Both Charles and I, as also the others, ever strove to eradicate this un pleasant impression, and we in part succeeded. But still she was diffident, sober minded, and without a particle of that en thusiasm so strongly manifested by her sister and Lilian. The Indian companions of Evaline had remained in the village through the winter, and by their quiet, unobtrusive manners, their steady, upright mode of life— so different from the drunken, brawling natives of the neighboring tribes, who occasionally visited the village—had won the respect and regard of the citizens, and, in fact, become decided favorites with all. While the former were sought for, the latter were shunned; and the widest distinction in all cases was ever drawn between the Wahsochees and their red brethren of other nations. But notwithstanding this partiality, the Wahsochees were evidently not contented in their present situation. To them, civilized customs had less attraction than the more rude and simple ones of their own tribe; and they were now anxious to depart and join their friends. It was arranged that all should proceed in company as far as Fort Laramie, whence Evaline could either accompany the Indians home, or let them go in advance to herald her approach, as circumstances might determine. In enumerating the different personages who have figured in this narrative, I must not forget Teddy. For the last five or six months he had been in his glory; and between taking care of our horses, spinning long yarns to the villagers, (whom, by the way, he ever succeeded in astonishing,) and making love to Molly Stubbs, he had, as the phrase goes, had "his hands full." Of his success in the last, I must let the reader judge by the following colloquy, which took place between us a week or so previous to the time fixed on for our departure. Approaching me with a rather timid step, hat in hand, and making a low obeisance, he said: "The top of the morning to your honor." "The same to you, Teddy." "Sure, your honor — (a pause and a rapid twirl of the hat) — sure, and is it thrue ye're after taking yoursilf and frinds from these diggins (as the spalpeens call the likes) in a week for that mather?" "All true, Teddy, nothing unforeseen preventing." "Troth! and ye'll be missed from this counthry when the likes of that happens." "I trust so, Teddy." Another pause, another twirl of the hat, and a scratching of the head. After some hesitation— "Sure, and it's me own mother's son, Teddy O'Lagherty, as 'ud like to be axing yees a question?" "Well, Teddy, say on!" "Faith! and it's mesilf as has been long in your honor's sarvice, now." "Some three or four years, I believe, off and on." "And it's not a bether masther I'd iver want, no it isn't." "Well?" "But ye's a-going home, now, and maybe does n't care for the likes of me inny longer?" "I see: you wish to be discharged?" Another twirl of the hat and scratch of the head. "Why, now, your honor—no offence at all — but — but to spaak the thruth, and make a claan breast of it, it's that same I'd ayther be axing for, or doubling the sarvice, jist." "Doubling the service, Teddy? I do not understand you. You mean I must double your wages, eh?" "Will, it's not exactly that—but—but but—ye sae—(Here the hat fell to the ground, and Teddy made an unsuccessful effort to recover it,) — "Murther take the luck, but I'll say it now if I dies for it betimes! Ye sae, your honor, I've axed Molly, and it's all settled, and there's a-going to be the pair of us, barring that the two counts one Scripter-wise." "So, so—I understand now—you are about to be married to Molly?" "Why yes, I may say that's the short way of saying the likes, your honor." "Exactly; and unless I wish to employ you both, you desire to quit my service?" "Troth! and your honor's a gintleman at guessing." "Well, Teddy, as I have no use for Molly at this time, I will give you an honorable discharge, and a handsome wedding present for your valuable services besides." "God bless ye for a gintleman, ivery inch of yees! and it's mesilf as'll niver forgit ye in me prayers," was the warmhearted response, as, grasping my hand, he shook it heartily, while his eyes filled with joyful tears. "God bless ye for a noble heart!" he added, as he turned away to communicate his success to her with whom his fortune was about to be linked. Suffice it here, that I kept my word with Teddy, who had no reason to regret having entered my service and secured my esteem. The long wished for day of our departure came at last, and being one of the brightest and most pleasant of the season, was hailed with delight as an omen of prosperity. Everything having been previously arranged, there was little to do but take leave of those who remained; and this being soon over, we were on the move at an early hour, a goodly company of thirty souls, two-thirds of whom were of the sterner sex. As much of importance is yet to be told, and as the reader has once or twice followed me over the ground now traversed, I will not trouble him with a detail of our journey from Oregon City to Fort Laramie Suffice, that we reached the latter place in safety, though much fatigued, about the middle of July, Anno D
omini 1844, and some four years subsequent to my former visit here, when I first beheld the beautiful Prairie Flower, otherwise Leni Leoti, now Evaline Mortimer, and soon to be— But let me not anticipate.

  CHAPTER XXII.

  A JOURNEY TO THE BLACK HILLS—CAMP— SLIGHT ALARM—SLEEPLESS NIGHT—MEETING WITH THE TRIBE—JOY AND SORROW— THE FINAL FAREWELL — A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE — THE PROPOSED RIDE — A NEW CHARACTER INTRODUCED — UNHEEDED FOREBODINGS.

  To the great delight of Evaline, as well as those who sympathized with her, it was ascertained soon after our arrival at the fort, that some of the Mysterious Tribe had been seen quite recently in the vicinity; from which we drew the conclusion, that they were still at their winter quarters on the Black Hills. It being Evaline's desire to see them as soon as possible, it was finally arranged that her sister, Lilian, Charles and myself should bear her company, along with her Indian Friends, while her mother and Mrs. Huntly should await our return at the fort. On learning our determination some five or six of the party with whom we had crossed the mountains, volunteered to go with us—a favor which we gladly accepted, as this would strengthen our party, and render us less liable to attack, should we chance upon hostile savages. The rest of the company, after remaining over night at the fort, being anxious to proceed, bade us adieu, and resumed their journey on the morning following. Before starting for the Black Hills, we procured a couple of tents for the females, which we packed on mules, and then, mounting each on a good horse, with all the necessary equipments for defense, we set forth on the second day at an early hour For a number of miles we made rapid progress, but at length came to a stream, whose current being swift and banks precipitous, delayed us some time in seeking a place to ford. This crossed, we soon came to another where a similar delay awaited us. In short, our progress was so many times checked through the day, that when night at last began to draw her sable curtains, we found, to the best of our judgment, that hardly two-thirds of our journey had been gone over. Selecting a pleasant spot, we pitched our tents, liberated our animals and encamped. An hour or two was passed in a very agreeable manner, when the females, who appeared more fatigued than we of the sterner sex, withdrew to their quarters, leaving the rest of us squatted around a la rge fire, which we had started, not to warm ourselves by, for it was a sultry July night, but to keep off the wild animals, of whose proximity we were several times reminded by dismal howls. A couple of hours preceding midnight, our animals were driven in and picketed, and a guard set, more from caution than apprehension of danger. This done, the remainder of the party stretched themselves around the fire, and, with the exception of my friend and I, were soon in the enjoyment of that sweetest of all blessings, a sound and healthful sleep. For some time I lay musing on the singular events of my life, and then turned to Huntly. "Well, Charley," said I, "this seems like old times." "So I have been thinking," he rejoined, "with one exception, Frank." "The ladies, eh?" "Exactly. I trust nothing may occur to make us regret their presence," he added, seriously. "You and I have faced danger too often to fear it for our own sakes — but if anything should happen now—" "Surely you do not dream of danger here?" I interrupted. "Why, to tell you the truth, Frank," he replied, "I have my misgivings that we shall see trouble ere we again reach the fort." "God forbid! What makes you think so?" "I can give no reason. It is simply a presentiment of evil." "But from what source do you apprehend danger?" "From no particular one, Frank." "Merely a fancy of yours, probably, springing from your intense interest in those more dear to you than life." "God send it be only fancy!" he rejoined, gloomily. His words made me sad, and, added to the restlessness I had previously felt, kept me awake a long time. At last I fell into a feverish slumber, and was gradually progressing toward a state of utter forgetfulness, when a snorting and stamping of the animals aroused me, and together with Huntly I sprang to my feet in alarm. "What is it?" I cried to the guard, whom I found standing near me, pale as death, with his rifle pointed in the direction whence came the disturbance. "I do not know," he answered; "this is the first I have heard. Shall I give the alarm?" "No! remain quiet a moment where you are, and I will steal in among the animals and ascertain the cause. I do not think it proceeds from savages, or we should have had an onset ere this." "What then, Frank?" asked Huntly, taking his position by the tents, rifle in hand. "Most likely some wild beast, which, urged on by hunger, has ventured a little nearer than usual." My conjecture this time proved correct; for on cautiously approaching the frightened animals, I discovered a small wolf in the act of gnawing a tether rope of buffalo hide. I could have shot him from where I stood; but this I did not care to do, as it would only create unnecessary alarm. Retreating a few paces and selecting a good sized club, I informed the guard and Huntly there was no cause for alarm, and returning with a stealthy pace, got close to the hungry beast without making him aware of my presence. His head was from me, and he was eagerly engaged in getting a morsel to eke out a half-famished existence. I believe I could have killed the poor creature with a single blow, and raised my club for the purpose; but pity gained power over my resolution, and I gave him only a gentle tap, which rather scared than hurt him, and he ran away howling. This little incident, though nothing in itself, tended so to increase the nervousness of both Huntly and myself, that we did not fall soundly asleep till the first sign of daybreak streamed up golden in the east. An hour later we were all on our feet, and having partaken a slight repast, and laughed over our fears of the departed night, we mounted our horses and again proceeded on our journey. No more delays occurred, and ere the sun gained the meridian, we came in sight of the village, when our Indian companions, unable to restrain themselves longer, uttered shouts of delight, and darted away in advance of us. I turned to Evaline, and beheld her seated quietly on her little pony, her gaze rivetted upon the village, but apparently laboring under no excitement. A closer scrutiny convinced me I was mistaken. There was little outward display of her feelings; but I perceived in her ashen cheeks and absent stare, that thoughts, mighty in their power, were stirring the soul within. For a short time she seemed unconscious of anything around her, and it was not until Eva had addressed her thrice that she received an answer to her question: "Is this the spot, sister?" On the second repetition, Evaline started, turned to the fair querist and sighed: "This is the spot." Then covering her face with her hands, she remained silent until addressed again. "Why are you so sad, Evaline?" inquired Lilian. "Ay, sister, tell us!" added Eva. "I am thinking of the past and the future," was the answer, in a low, tremulous tone. "Oh, my friends!" she continued, "you cannot know my feelings. I am about to bid farewell to those who have been to me as brothers and sisters. I am about to leave—to see them no more—to go far away to the land of the stranger. True, you will say, I go not alone; I shall have with me a kind mother and sister, and other dear friends; but still you know not what it is to suddenly and utterly tear yourself away from old ties and old associations. You know not the fascinations of the wilderness, to one who, like myself, has never known aught else. Even danger has a charm to those who are bred to it; and it is hard, with all the inducements before me, to break the spell of unlimited freedom with which I have roamed over thousands of miles of uncultivated territory. But I feel it my duty to go with you. I cannot think of parting from my dear mother again in life. As she has suggested, the tie binding me to her I acknowledge to be stronger than that of mere association. "And have you no other inducement to part from the Mysterious Tribe?" asked Huntly, a little reproachfully. Evaline looked up, her eye met his, a slight flush colored her pale features, and frankly taking his hand, she replied, in a sweet, timid voice: "Yes, dear Charles, there is more than one." "God bless you, Evaline!" was the hearty response. "We will all strive to make you happy; and in the joy of the future, you will ere long forget the past." "Forget, say you?" she repeated, looking earnestly in his face. "Forget the past?" — forget my old friends? Nay," she continued, "you know not yet the heart of Prairie Flower, if you think she can ever forget." "No, no,
not exactly forget," returned Huntly, endeavoring to recover from his mistake: "Not exactly forget: I do not mean that, Evaline—but rather that you will cease to regret this change of life." "Perhaps so," she sighed. "See!" I exclaimed, "the Indians have nearly gained the village, and the inhabitants are already flocking down the hill to meet them. Let us quicken our pace;" and galloping forward, we soon drew rein in the center of the crowd. "Leni Leoti!" "Prairie Flower!" was the universal cry on every hand, as Evaline leaped from her saddle and sprang to the embrace of her Indian friends, who pressed around her as children around a parent—old and young—men, women and children—each eager to be first to greet her with a hearty welcome. For some time the rest of us remained wholly unnoticed. At length, the first joyful excitement over, Evaline pointed to us, and bade the Indians give us welcome, which they did in a hearty manner. Approaching Eva, Evaline took her by the hand and said: "In this lady, my friends, you behold the sister of Prairie Flower." "Another Prairie Flower!" "Another Leni Leoti!" was the almost simultaneous exclamation; and instantly collecting around, they gazed upon her in surprise, and began talking to each other in their own dialect. Then, one after another, they approached and took her hand, and said, in broken English, that they were most happy to see her, and that she was welcome, as the sister of Prairie Flower, to a share in all they possessed. This reception over, they invited us to the village, where everything in their power was done to make us comfortable and contented. Our animals were taken in charge and liberated, and three or four lodges assigned us during our stay among them. On learning that Evaline had only returned to bid them a final farewell, the Wahsochees one and all became very sad, and a gloom pervaded the village, as on the funeral day of one universally beloved. The women and children wept at the thought, and some of them begged of her in piteous tones not to leave them. Evaline could not witness these sincere manifestations of lasting affection unmoved, and in consequence her eyes were continually filled with tears. As it had been arranged that we should leave on the following morning, she was kept busy through the day in making preparations therefor. Her costume for different occasions, which had been procured for her by Great Medicine, and which she had preserved with great care, together with sundry other articles and trinkets, some of which she had purchased in Oregon City and brought with her, she now proceeded to distribute one by one, giving something to each as a remembrance. This occupied her time and attention till night, when a conference of the nation was called, to which none of our party save Evaline was admitted. This conference lasted till midnight, and long before it broke up, I, as well as most of my companions, was sound asleep. At an early hour in the morning, our horses were caught and saddled, our two mules packed, and everything prepared for our immediate departure. Evaline was silent and sad, and her features showed traces of having passed a feverish, restless night. Thinking she might feel a diffidence in having us present at her last interview , I approached her and said: "Evaline, the time has come to take our final leave." "I know it," she faltered. "As there are some strangers in our party, perhaps it were better, all things considered, that we should go on before, and await your coming at a proper distance?" "Thank you!" she replied; "the very favor I would have asked, had I dared." "It shall be so. There is a little hill you see yonder, somewhat out of the direct course to the fort, whither we will ride, merely for the view it affords of the prairie beyond, and there remain till you join us." She again expressed her thanks, and I returned to the others and informed them of the new arrangement. We then proceeded to shake hands with each of the wibe, which occupied us some ten minutes, and mounting our horses, rode slowly away down the mountain, crossed the little streamlet, and galloped over a short level to the hill in question, on whose summit we came to a halt as preconcerted. It was a warm day, and the sun, about an hour above the horizon, streamed down his golden, mellow rays, beautifying each object, by giving it that soft and dreamy appearance, which, in the poetic mind, awakens those sweet fancies that fill the soul with holy meditation and make earth seem a paradise. A heavy dew had fallen during the night, and its crystalline drops, still hanging on leaf, blade, and flower, sparkled in the morning sunbeams like so many diamonds. Above us gay plumaged birds flittered from branch to branch, and poured forth their morning carols in a variety of strains, or flapping their wings, darted up and away through the deep blue ether. Around and about us bees, beetles and insects of divers kinds were buzzing or basking in the sunlight, now dipping into the flower to sip its sweets, now alighting on the leaf to take a dainty morsel, now plunging to the ground with no apparent design, and then each and all up and away, filling the air with a drowsy, pleasing hum. Not the least enchanting of all was the beautiful landscape that here lay spread to our view. Behind us was the little valley we had just crossed over, carpeted with green and variegated with bright flowers, through which wound a silvery streamlet, and beyond which, like some mighty barrier, the Black Hills lifted their heads far heavenward. To the right and left, at some little distance, was a wood, over the top of which loomed hills one above another, but gradually retreating, till the last one, far, far in the distance, either showed the fleecy-like palace of eternal snow, or gently blended with the cerulean blue. But before us was the scene which fixed our whole attention. Here, for miles upon miles, stretched away a vast prairie, whose tail, rank grass, gently touched by a light breeze, undulated like the swelling of the sea in a calm, over which fluttered and hovered myriads of birds and insects, now dipping down, skimming along the surface and disappearing altogether, or soaring upward, cleaving the balmy air, and displaying their little bodies as mere specks upon the blue background. To relieve the monotony otherwise attendant, here and there, at long intervals, rose little knolls, clustered with trees, resembling islands pushing up from the glassy surface of a tranquil ocean. And away, and away, and away to the dim distance stretched this same sealike prairie, till the eye, unable to trace it farther, saw nothing but the soft blending of earth and sky. For some moments we all remained silent, gazing upon the scene with feelings peculiar to each. Lilian was the first to speak: "O, how beautiful!" she exclaimed, rapturously. "How beautiful and how sublime is this great ocean of earth!" "Ay, sublime indeed!" rejoined Eva. "It is just such a scene as ever fills me with rapture—inspires me with the sacred feeling of poesy. O, that like one of those gay birds, I could wing my way above it! Would it not be delightful, Lilian?" "Charming!" answered the other. "But can we not skim its surface on our fleet steeds? Come! for a ride! a ride! What say you, gentleman?" she added, appealing to us. "So pleasant a request, from so fair a petitioner, must needs be complied with," returned one of the party, gallantly, bowing gracefully to Eva. The speaker was a young man, some twenty-five years of age, of fine person and good address, with a handsome and prepossessing countenance, whereon was legibly stamped frankness, generosity and nobleness of soul. There was an eloquence in his soft, dark eye, and a loftiness of purpose on his clear, open brow, which would have ranked him far above the herd, had even a finished education, of which he was-possessed, been wanting. To be brief in my remarks, he was the only son of one of the merchants who had emigrated from the State of New York to Oregon City during the previous summer, and one of the party who had so far been our companions of the long journey. He was now on his way East, to arrange some unsettled affairs and purchase more goods for his father, with the design of returning to Oregon the following season. During the past winter, Elmer Fitzgerald (so he was named) had once or twice met with Eva Mortimer; but no acquaintance had been formed with each other previous to both parties setting forth on the present journey, where, being daily and hourly thrown together, sharing alike the hardships and perils of the wilderness, it was but natural, that between two such individuals of refined manners and cultivated tastes, there should gradually spring up an intimacy, which time and circumstances might ripen to something more. But, as I have said before, let me not anticipate. As Elmer spoke, I noted that both his own and the countenance of Eva slightly f
lushed, and quickly turning to me, the latter said: "And what say you, Francis?" "I shall echo the words of Mr. Fitzgerald." "Then we will go!" said Lilian, joyfully. "But brother," she added, turning to Charles, "you appear gloomy, and dejected. Do you object to this arrangement?" "Why, to speak candidly," he answered seriously, "I do." "For what reason?" I inquired. "I can give you no other than what I told you last night—a presentiment of danger." "Pshaw! Charley," I rejoined, "there is no danger here. The sadness of Evaline has made you gloomy, and a brisk ride over this prairie will set you right again." "And it will be beneficial to dear sister Evaline also," chimed in Eva, "by diverting her thoughts from her present cause of grief." "Suit yourselves in the matter," rejoined Huntly. "I shall of course do as the rest. I merely spoke my apprehensions, which, after all, may only be foolish fancies." "Lo! yonder Evaline comes!" cried Lilian; and looking toward the village, a part of which was visible from where we stood, we beheld her rapidly descending the mountain on her little pony. Charles instantly wheeled his horse and rode away to meet her, and presently returned in her company. She was sad and silent, and her eyes were red with weeping, while her features generally, showed traces of having recently passed through a very trying scene. On being informed of our present design, she silently acquiesced; and liberating our mules, that they might not suffer in our absence, we rode slowly down to the prairie, and set off at a gallop, most of us in gay spirits, with the understanding that, in case we became separated, we should all meet again at the starting point. Man plans and God performs. That meeting, for some of the party, was destined never to take place.