The Settlers in Canada

"And so you perceive, Emma, instead of a wild turkey I have brought an Indian squaw," said Alfred.

"I love you better for your kindness, Alfred," replied Emma, "than if you had brought me a wagon-load of turkeys."

In the meantime, Martin and Henry brought in the poor Indian, and laid her down on the floor at some distance from the fire, for though she was nearly dead with the cold, too sudden an exposure to heat would have been almost equally fatal. Mr. Campbell examined her ankle, and with a little assistance reduced the dislocation. He then bound up her leg and bathed it with warm vinegar, as a first application. Mrs. Campbell and the two girls chafed the poor creature's limbs till the circulation was a little restored, and then they gave her something warm to drink. It was proposed by Mrs. Campbell that they should make up a bed for her on the floor of the kitchen. This was done in a corner near the fire-place, and in about an hour their patient fell into a sound sleep.

"It is lucky for her that she did not fall into that sleep before we found her," said Martin; "she would never have awoke again."

"Most certainly not," replied Mr. Campbell. "Have you any idea what tribe she is of, Martin?"

"Yes, sir; she is one of the Chippeways; there are many divisions of them, but I will find out when she awakes again to which she belongs; she was too much exhausted when we found her, to say much."

"It appears very inhuman leaving her to perish in that way," observed Mrs. Campbell.

"Well, ma'am, so it does; but necessity has no law. The Indians could not, if they would, have carried her, perhaps one hundred miles. It would have probably been the occasion of more deaths, for the cold is too great now for sleeping out at nights for any time, although they do contrive with the help of a large fire to stay out sometimes."

"Self-preservation is the first law of nature, certainly," observed Mr. Campbell; "but, if I recollect right the savage does not value the life of a woman very highly."

"That's a fact, sir," replied Martin; "not much more, I reckon, than you would a beast of burden."

"It is always the case among savage nations," observed Mr. Campbell; "the first mark of civilization is the treatment of the other sex, and in proportion as civilization increases, so are the women protected and well used. But your supper is ready, my children, and I think after your fatigue and fasting you must require it."

"I am almost too tired to eat," observed Alfred, "I shall infinitely more enjoy a good sleep under my bear skin. At the same time I'll try what I can do," continued he, laughing, and taking his seat at table.

Notwithstanding Alfred's observation, he contrived to make a very hearty supper, and Emma laughed at his appetite after his professing that he had so little inclination to eat.

"I said I was too tired to eat, Emma, and so I felt at the time; but as I became more refreshed my appetite returned," replied Alfred, laughing, "and notwithstanding your jeering me, I mean to eat some more."

"How long has John been away?" said Mr. Campbell.

"Now nearly a fortnight," observed Mrs. Campbell; "he promised to come here Christmas-day. I suppose we shall see him to-morrow morning."

"Yes, ma'am; and old Bone will come with him, I dare say. He said as much to me when he was going away the last time. He observed that the boy could not bring the venison, and perhaps he would if he had any, for he knows that people like plenty of meat on Christmas day."

"I wonder whether old Malachi is any way religious," observed Mary. "Do you think he is, Martin?"

"Yes, ma'am; I think he feels it, but does not show it. I know from myself what are, probably, his feelings on the subject. When I have been away for weeks and sometimes for months, without seeing or speaking to any one, all alone in the woods, I feel more religious than I do when at Quebec on my return, although I do go to church. Now old Malachi has, I think, a solemn reverence for the Divine Being, and strict notions of duty, so far as he understands it,—but as he never goes to any town or mixes with any company, so the rites of religion, as I may call them, and the observances of the holy feast, are lost to him, except as a sort of dream of former days, before he took to his hunter's life. Indeed, he seldom knows what day or even what month it is. He knows the seasons as they come and go, and that's all. One day is the same as another, and he can not tell which is Sunday, for he is not able to keep a reckoning. Now, ma'am, when you desired Master John to be at home on the Friday fortnight because it was Christmas-day, I perceived old Malachi in deep thought: he was recalling to mind what Christmas-day was; if you had not mentioned it, the day would have passed away like any other; but you reminded him, and then it was that he said he would come if he could. I'm sure that now he knows it is Christmas-day, he intends to keep it as such."

"There is much truth in what Martin says," observed Mr. Campbell; "we require the seventh day in the week and other stated seasons of devotion to be regularly set apart, in order to keep us in mind of our duties and preserve the life of religion. In the woods, remote from communion with other Christians, these things are easily forgotten, and when once we have lost our calculation, it is not to be recovered. But come, Alfred and Henry and Martin must be very tired, and we had better all go to bed. I will sit up a little while to give some drink to my patient, if she wishes it. Good-night, my children."

CHAPTER XXI

Christmas-day was indeed a change, as Emma had observed, from their former Christmas; but although the frost was more than usually severe, and the snow filled the air with its white flakes, and the north-east wind howled through the leafless trees as they rasped their long arms against each other, and the lake was one sheet of thick ice with a covering of snow which the wind had in different places blown up into hillocks, still they had a good roof over their heads, and a warm, blazing fire on the hearth: and they had no domestic miseries, the worst miseries of all to contend against, for they were a united family, loving and beloved; showing mutual acts of kindness and mutual acts of forbearance; proving how much better was "a dish of herbs where love is, than the stalled ox with hatred therewith." Moreover they were all piously disposed; they were sensible that they owed a large debt of gratitude to Heaven for all its daily mercies in providing them with food and raiment, for warding off from them sickness and sorrow, and giving them humble and contented hearts; and on this day, they felt how little were all worldly considerations, compared with the hopes which were held out to them through the great sacrifice which the goodness and mercy of God had made for them and all the world. It was, therefore, with cheerful yet subdued looks that they greeted each other when they met previous to the morning prayers.

Mr. Campbell had already visited his patient and readjusted the bandage: her ankle was better, but still very much swelled; the poor creature made no complaints, she looked grateful for what was done and for the kindness shown to her. They were all arrayed in their best Sunday dresses, and as soon as prayers were over had just wished each other the congratulations so general, so appropriate, and yet too often so thoughtlessly given upon the anniversary, when Malachi Bone, his little squaw the Strawberry, and John, entered the door of the hut, laden with the sports of the forest, which they laid down in the corner of the kitchen, and then saluted the party.

"Here we are all together on Christmas-day," said Emma, who had taken the hand of the Strawberry.

The Indian girl smiled, and nodded her head.

"And, John, you have brought us three wild turkeys; you are a good boy, John," continued Emma.

"If we only had Captain Sinclair here now," said Martin to Emma and Mary Percival, who was by Emma's side, shaking hands with the Strawberry.

Mary colored up a little, and Emma replied, "Yes, Martin, we do want him, for I always feel as if he belonged to the family."

"Well, it's not his fault that he's not here," replied Martin; "it's now more than six weeks since he has left, and if the Colonel would allow him, I'm sure that Captain Sinclair–"

"Would be here on this day," said Captain Sinclair, who with Mr. Gwynne, his former companion, had entered the door of the house without being observed; for the rest of the party were in conversation with Malachi Bone and John.

"Oh, how glad I am to see you," cried Emma; "we only wanted you to make our Christmas party complete; and I'm very glad to see you too, Mr. Gwynne," continued Emma, as she held out a hand to each.

"We had some difficulty in persuading the Colonel to let us come," observed Captain Sinclair to Mary; "but as we have heard nothing further about the Indians, he consented."

"You have nothing more to fear from the Indians this winter, Captain, and you may tell the Colonel so from me," said Malachi. "I happened to be on their hunting ground yesterday, and they have broken up and gone westward, that is, Angry Snake and his party have; I followed their track over the snow for a few miles just to make sure; they have taken every thing with them, but somehow or other, I could not find out that the squaw was with them,—and they had one in their party. They carried their own packs of fur, that I'll swear to, and they had been thrown down several times; which would not have been the case, if they had not been carried by men; for you see, the Injun is very impatient under a load, which a squaw will carry the whole day without complaining. Now that party is gone, there is no other about here within fifty miles, I'll be bound for."

"I'm very glad to hear you say so," replied Captain Sinclair.

"Then, perhaps, this poor woman whom you succored, Alfred, is the squaw belonging to the party," observed Mr. Campbell. Mr. Campbell then related to Malachi Bone what had occurred on the day before; how the hunting party had brought home the woman, whom he pointed to in the corner where she had remained unnoticed by the visitors.

Malachi and the Strawberry went up to her; the Strawberry spoke to her in the Indian tongue in a low voice, and the woman replied in the same, while Malachi stood over them and listened.

"It's just as you thought, sir; she belongs to the Angry Snake, and she says that he has gone with his party to the westward, as the beaver were very scarce down here; I could have told him that. She confirms my statement, that all the Indians are gone, but are to meet at the same place in the spring, to hold a council."

"Is she of the same tribe as the Strawberry?" inquired Henry.

"That's as may be," replied Malachi; "I hardly know which tribe the Strawberry belongs to."

"But they speak the same language."

"Yes; but the Strawberry learned the tongue from me," replied Malachi.

"From you!" said Mrs. Campbell; "how was that?"

"Why, ma'am, it's about thirteen or fourteen years back, that I happened to come in upon a skirmish which took place on one of the small lakes between one of the tribes here and a war party of Hurons who were out. They were surprised by the Hurons, and every soul, as far as I could learn, was either scalped or carried away prisoner. The Hurons had gone about an hour or two, when I came up to the place where they fought, and I sat down looking at the dead bodies, and thinking to myself what creatures men were to deface God's image in that way, when I saw under a bush two little sharp eyes looking at me; at first, I thought it was some beast, a lynx, mayhap, as they now call them, and I pointed my rifle toward it; but before I pulled the trigger, I thought that perhaps I might be mistaken, so I walked up to the bush, and there I discovered that it was an Indian child, which had escaped the massacre by hiding itself in the bush. I pulled it out; it was a girl about two years old, who could speak but a few words. I took her home to my lodge, and have had her with me ever since, so I don't exactly know what tribe she belongs to, as they all speak the same tongue. I called her the 'Strawberry,' because I found her under a bush close to the ground, and among strawberry plants which were growing there."

"And then you married her," said Percival.

"Married her! no, boy, I never married her; what has an old man of near seventy to do with marrying? They call her my squaw, because they suppose she is my wife, and she does the duty of a wife to me; but if they were to call her my daughter, they would be nearer the mark, for I have been a father to her."

"Well, Malachi, to tell you the truth, I did think that she was too young to be your wife," said Emma.

"Well, miss, you were not far wrong," replied the old man. "I do wish I could find out her tribe, but I never have been able, and indeed, from what I can learn, the party who were surprised came a long way from this, although speaking the same language; and I don't think there is any chance now, for even if I were to try to discover it, there have been so many surprises and so much slaughter within these last twenty years, that it's scarcely possible the search would be attended with success."

"But why do you wish to find out her tribe?" said Mary.

"Because I'm an old man, miss, and must soon expect to be gathered to my fathers, and then this poor little girl will be quite alone, unless I can marry her to some one before I die: and if I do marry her, why then she will leave me alone; but that can't be helped, I'm an old man, and what does it matter?"

"It matters a great deal, Malachi," said Mr. Campbell; "I wish you would live with us; you would then be taken care of if you required it, and not die alone in the wilderness."