by Zane Grey
Chapter X.
Once more out under the blue-black vault of heaven, with its myriadsof twinkling stars, the voyagers resumed their westward journey.Whispered farewells of new but sincere friends lingered in theirears. Now the great looming bulk of the fort above them faded intothe obscure darkness, leaving a feeling as if a protector hadgone--perhaps forever. Admonished to absolute silence by the sternguides, who seemed indeed to have embarked upon a dark and deadlymission, the voyagers lay back in the canoes and thought andlistened. The water eddied with soft gurgles in the wake of theracing canoes; but that musical sound was all they heard. Thepaddles might have been shadows, for all the splash they made; theycut the water swiftly and noiselessly. Onward the frail barks glidedinto black space, side by side, close under the overhanging willows.Long moments passed into long hours, as the guides paddledtirelessly as if their sinews were cords of steel.
With gray dawn came the careful landing of the canoes, a coldbreakfast eaten under cover of a willow thicket, and the beginningof a long day while they were lying hidden from the keen eyes ofIndian scouts, waiting for the friendly mantle of night.
The hours dragged until once more the canoes were launched, thistime not on the broad Ohio, but on a stream that mirrored no shiningstars as it flowed still and somber under the dense foliage.
The voyagers spoke not, nor whispered, nor scarcely moved, somenacing had become the slow, listening caution of Wetzel and Zane.Snapping of twigs somewhere in the inscrutable darkness delayed themfor long moments. Any movement the air might resound with thehorrible Indian war-whoop. Every second was heavy with fear. Howmarvelous that these scouts, penetrating the wilderness of gloom,glided on surely, silently, safely! Instinct, or the eyes of thelynx, guide their course. But another dark night wore on to thetardy dawn, and each of its fearful hours numbered miles past andgone.
The sun was rising in ruddy glory when Wetzel ran his canoe into thebank just ahead of a sharp bend in the stream.
"Do we get out here?" asked Jim, seeing Jonathan turn his canoetoward Wetzel's.
"The village lies yonder, around the bend," answered the guide."Wetzel cannot go there, so I'll take you all in my canoe."
"There's no room; I'll wait," replied Joe, quietly. Jim noted hislook--a strange, steady glance it was--and then saw him fix his eyesupon Nell, watching her until the canoe passed around thegreen-bordered bend in the stream.
Unmistakable signs of an Indian town were now evident. Dozens ofgraceful birchen canoes lay upon the well-cleared banks; a logbridge spanned the stream; above the slight ridge of rising groundcould be seen the poles of Indian teepees.
As the canoe grated upon the sandy beach a little Indian boy, whowas playing in the shallow water, raised his head and smiled.
"That's an Indian boy," whispered Kate.
"The dear little fellow!" exclaimed Nell.
The boy came running up to them, when they were landed, withpleasure and confidence shining in his dusky eyes. Save for tinybuckskin breeches, he was naked, and his shiny skin gleamedgold-bronze in the sunlight. He was a singularly handsome child.
"Me--Benny," he lisped in English, holding up his little hand toNell.
The action was as loving and trusting as any that could have beenmanifested by a white child. Jonathan Zane stared with a curiouslight in his dark eyes; Mr. Wells and Jim looked as though theydoubted the evidence of their own sight. Here, even in an Indianboy, was incontestable proof that the savage nature could be tamedand civilized.
With a tender exclamation Nell bent over the child and kissed him.
Jonathan Zane swung his canoe up-stream for the purpose of bringingJoe. The trim little bark slipped out of sight round the bend.Presently its gray, curved nose peeped from behind the willows; thenthe canoe swept into view again. There was only one person in it,and that the guide.
"Where is my brother?" asked Jim, in amazement.
"Gone," answered Zane, quietly.
"Gone! What do you mean? Gone? Perhaps you have missed the spotwhere you left him."
"They're both gone."
Nell and Jim gazed at each other with slowly whitening faces.
"Come, I'll take you up to the village," said Zane, getting out ofhis canoe. All noticed that he was careful to take his weapons withhim.
"Can't you tell us what it means--this disappearance?" asked Jim,his voice low and anxious.
"They're gone, canoe and all. I knew Wetzel was going, but I didn'tcalkilate on the lad. Mebbe he followed Wetzel, mebbe he didn't,"answered the taciturn guide, and he spoke no more.
In his keen expectation and wonder as to what the village would belike, Jim momentarily forgot his brother's disappearance, and whenhe arrived at the top of the bank he surveyed the scene witheagerness. What he saw was more imposing than the Village of Peacewhich he had conjured up in his imagination. Confronting him was alevel plain, in the center of which stood a wide, low structuresurrounded by log cabins, and these in turn encircled by Indianteepees. A number of large trees, mostly full-foliaged maples,shaded the clearing. The settlement swarmed with Indians. A fewshrill halloes uttered by the first observers of the newcomersbrought braves, maidens and children trooping toward the party withfriendly curiosity.
Jonathan Zane stepped before a cabin adjoining the large structure,and called in at the open door. A short, stoop-shouldered white man,clad in faded linsey, appeared on the threshold. His serious, linedface had the unmistakable benevolent aspect peculiar to mostteachers of the gospel.
"Mr. Zeisberger, I've fetched a party from Fort Henry," said Zane,indicating those he had guided. Then, without another word, neverturning his dark face to the right or left, he hurried down the lanethrough the throng of Indians.
Jim remembered, as he saw the guide vanish over the bank of thecreek, that he had heard Colonel Zane say that Jonathan, as well asWetzel, hated the sight of an Indian. No doubt long years of war andbloodshed had rendered these two great hunters callous. To themthere could be no discrimination--an Indian was an Indian.
"Mr. Wells, welcome to the Village of Peace!" exclaimed Mr.Zeisberger, wringing the old missionary's hand. "The years have notbeen so long but that I remember you."
"Happy, indeed, am I to get here, after all these dark, dangerousjourneys," returned Mr. Wells. "I have brought my nieces, Nell andKate, who were children when you left Williamsburg, and this youngman, James Downs, a minister of God, and earnest in his hope for ourwork."
"A glorious work it is! Welcome, young ladies, to our peacefulvillage. And, young man, I greet you with heartfelt thankfulness. Weneed young men. Come in, all of your, and share my cabin. I'll haveyour luggage brought up. I have lived in this hut alone. With somelittle labor, and the magic touch women bring to the making of ahome, we can be most comfortable here."
Mr. Zeisberger gave his own room to the girls, assuring them with asmile that it was the most luxurious in the village. The apartmentcontained a chair, a table, and a bed of Indian blankets and buffalorobes. A few pegs driven in the chinks between the logs completedthe furnishings. Sparse as were the comforts, they appealed warmlyto the girls, who, weary from their voyage, lay down to rest.
"I am not fatigued," said Mr. Wells, to his old friend. "I want tohear all about your work, what you have done, and what you hope todo."
"We have met with wonderful success, far beyond our wildest dreams,"responded Mr. Zeisberger. "Certainly we have been blessed of God."
Then the missionary began a long, detailed account of the MoravianMission's efforts among the western tribes. The work lay chieflyamong the Delawares, a noble nation of redmen, intelligent, andwonderfully susceptible to the teaching of the gospel. Among theeastern Delawares, living on the other side of the AlleghenyMountains, the missionaries had succeeded in converting many; and itwas chiefly through the western explorations of Frederick Post thathis Church decided the Indians of the west could as well be taughtto lead Christian lives. The first attempt to convert the westernredmen took place upon the upper Allegheny, wh
ere many Indians,including Allemewi, a blind Delaware chief, accepted the faith. Themission decided, however, it would be best to move farther west,where the Delawares had migrated and were more numerous.
In April, 1770, more than ten years before, sixteen canoes, filledwith converted Indians and missionaries, drifted down the Alleghenyto Fort Pitt; thence down the Ohio to the Big Beaver; up that streamand far into the Ohio wilderness.
Upon a tributary of the Muskingong, called the Tuscarwawas, asettlement was founded. Near and far the news was circulated. Redmenfrom all tribes came flocking to the new colony. Chiefs andwarriors, squaws and maidens, were attracted by the new doctrine ofthe converted Indians. They were astonished at the missionaries'teachings. Many doubted, some were converted, all listened. Greatexcitement prevailed when old Glickhican, one of the wisest chiefsof the Turtle tribe of the Delawares, became a convert to thepalefaces' religion.
The interest widened, and in a few years a beautiful, prosperoustown arose, which was called Village of Peace. The Indians of thewarlike tribes bestowed the appropriate name. The vast forests wererich in every variety of game; the deep, swift streams were teemingwith fish. Meat and grain in abundance, buckskin for clothing, andsoft furs for winter garments were to be had for little labor. Atfirst only a few wigwams were erected. Soon a large log structurewas thrown up and used as a church. Then followed a school, a mill,and a workshop. The verdant fields were cultivated and surrounded byrail fences. Horses and cattle grazed with the timid deer on thegrassy plains.
The Village of Peace blossomed as a rose. The reports of the loveand happiness existing in this converted community spread from mouthto mouth, from town to town, with the result that inquisitivesavages journeyed from all points to see this haven. Peaceful andhostile Indians were alike amazed at the change in their brethren.The good-fellowship and industry of the converts had a widespreadand wonderful influence. More, perhaps, than any other thing, thegreat fields of waving corn, the hills covered with horses andcattle, those evidences of abundance, impressed the visitors withthe well-being of the Christians. Bands of traveling Indians,whether friendly or otherwise, were treated with hospitality, andnever sent away empty-handed. They were asked to partake of theabundance and solicited to come again.
A feature by no means insignificant in the popularity of the villagewas the church bell. The Indians loved music, and this bell charmedthem. On still nights the savages in distant towns could hear atdusk the deep-toned, mellow notes of the bell summoning theworshipers to the evening service. Its ringing clang, so strange, sosweet, so solemn, breaking the vast dead wilderness quiet, hauntedthe savage ear as though it were a call from a woodland god.
"You have arrived most opportunely," continued Mr. Zeisberger. "Mr.Edwards and Mr. Young are working to establish other missionaryposts. Heckewelder is here now in the interest of this branchingout."
"How long will it take me to learn the Delaware language?" inquiredJim.
"Not long. You do not, however, need to speak the Indian tongue, forwe have excellent interpreters."
"We heard much at Fort Pitt and Fort Henry about the danger, as wellas uselessness, of our venture," Jim continued. "The frontiersmendeclared that every rod of the way was beset with savage foes, andthat, even in the unlikely event of our arriving safely at theVillage of Peace, we would then be hemmed in by fierce, vengefultribes."
"Hostile savages abound here, of course; but we do not fear them. Weinvite them. Our work is to convert the wicked, to teach them tolead good, useful lives. We will succeed."
Jim could not help warming to the minister for his unswervablefaith, his earnest belief that the work of God could not fail;nevertheless, while he felt no fear and intended to put all hisheart in the work, he remembered with disquietude Colonel Zane'swarnings. He thought of the wonderful precaution and eternalvigilance of Jonathan and Wetzel--men of all men who most understoodIndian craft and cunning. It might well be possible that these goodmissionaries, wrapped up in saving the souls of these children ofthe forest, so full of God's teachings as to have little mind foraught else, had no knowledge of the Indian nature beyond what thenarrow scope of their work invited. If what these frontiersmenasserted was true, then the ministers' zeal had struck them blind.
Jim had a growing idea of the way in which the savages could be besttaught. He resolved to go slowly; to study the redmen's natures; notto preach one word of the gospel to them until he had mastered theirlanguage and could convey to their simple minds the real truth. Hewould make Christianity as clear to them as were the deer-trails onthe moss and leaves of the forest.
"Ah, here you are. I hope you have rested well," said Mr.Zeisberger, when at the conclusion of this long recital Nell andKate came into the room.
"Thank you, we feel much better," answered Kate. The girls certainlylooked refreshed. The substitution of clean gowns for their formertravel-stained garments made a change that called forth theminister's surprise and admiration.
"My! My! Won't Edwards and Young beg me to keep them here now!" heexclaimed, his pleased eyes resting on Nell's piquant beauty andKate's noble proportions and rich coloring. "Come; I will show youover the Village of Peace."
"Are all these Indians Christians?" asked Jim.
"No, indeed. These Indians you see here, and out yonder under theshade, though they are friendly, are not Christians. Our convertsemploy themselves in the fields or shops. Come; take a peep in here.This is where we preach in the evenings and during inclementweather. On pleasant days we use the maple grove yonder."
Jim and the others looked in at the door of the large log structure.They saw an immense room, the floor covered with benches, and araised platform at one end. A few windows let in the light. Spaciousand barn-like was this apartment; but undoubtedly, seen through thebeaming eyes of the missionary, it was a grand amphitheater forworship. The hard-packed clay floor was velvet carpet; the rudeseats soft as eiderdown; the platform with its white-oak cross, analtar of marble and gold.
"This is one of our shops," said Mr. Zeisberger, leading them to acabin. "Here we make brooms, harness for the horses, farmingimplements--everything useful that we can. We have a forge here.Behold an Indian blacksmith!"
The interior of the large cabin presented a scene of bustlingactivity. Twenty or more Indians bent their backs in earnestemployment. In one corner a savage stood holding a piece of red-hotiron on an anvil, while a brawny brave wielded a sledge-hammer. Thesparks flew; the anvil rang. In another corner a circle of bravessat around a pile of dried grass and flags. They were twisting andfashioning these materials into baskets. At a bench three Indiancarpenters were pounding and sawing. Young braves ran back andforth, carrying pails, rough-hewn boards and blocks of wood.
Instantly struck by two things, Jim voiced his curiosity:
"Why do these Indians all wear long hair, smooth and shiny, withoutadornment?"
"They are Christians. They wear neither headdress, war-bonnet, norscalp-lock," replied Mr. Zeisberger, with unconscious pride.
"I did not expect to see a blacksmith's anvil out here in thewilderness. Where did you procure these tools?"
"We have been years getting them here. Some came by way of the OhioRiver; others overland from Detroit. That anvil has a history. Itwas lost once, and lay for years in the woods, until some Indiansfound it again. It is called the Ringing Stone, and Indians comefrom miles around to see and hear it."
The missionary pointed out wide fields of corn, now growing yellow,and hillsides doted with browsing cattle, droves of sturdy-limbedhorses, and pens of fat, grunting pigs--all of which attested to thegrowing prosperity of the Village of Peace.
On the way back to the cabin, while the others listened to andquestioned Mr. Zeisberger, Jim was silent and thoughtful, for histhoughts reverted to his brother.
Later, as he walked with Nell by the golden-fringed stream, he spokeof Joe.
"Joe wanted so much to hunt with Wetzel. He will come back; surelyhe will return to us when he has satisfied his wild cravin
g foradventure. Do you not think so?"
There was an eagerness that was almost pleading in Jim's voice. Whathe so much hoped for--that no harm had befallen Joe, and that hewould return--he doubted. He needed the encouragement of his hope.
"Never," answered Nell, solemnly.
"Oh, why--why do you say that?"
"I saw him look at you--a strange, intent glance. He gazed long atme as we separated. Oh! I can feel his eyes. No; he will never comeback."
"Nell, Nell, you do not mean he went away deliberately--because, oh!I cannot say it."
"For no reason, except that the wilderness called him more than lovefor you or--me."
"No, no," returned Jim, his face white. "You do not understand. Hereally loved you--I know it. He loved me, too. Ah, how well! He hasgone because--I can't tell you."
"Oh, Jim, I hope--he loved--me," sobbed Nell, bursting into tears."His coldness--his neglect those--last few days--hurt me--so. If hecared--as you say--I won't be--so--miserable."
"We are both right--you when you say he will never return, and Iwhen I say he loved us both," said Jim sadly, as the bittercertainty forced itself into his mind.
As she sobbed softly, and he gazed with set, stern face into thedarkening forest, the deep, mellow notes of the church bell pealedout. So thrilled, so startled were they by this melody wondrouslybreaking the twilight stillness, that they gazed mutely at eachother. Then they remembered. It was the missionary's bell summoningthe Christian Indians to the evening service.
