CHAPTER XIX.
THE INDIAN AMBUSH.
Fanny was the originator of the scheme by which it was expected to savethe party from the ferocity of the Indians, and enable the trapper tokeep his plighted faith with them. The exiles, accompanied by theirnew-found friend, were to descend the river in the bateau to Mankato.Wahena was to be taken with them to some point above their destination,where he was to be delivered to his friends, when his presence as ahostage was no longer necessary to the safety of his captors.
This was thought to be the only safe plan, for even Rattleshag did notpretend to believe that the Indians would not be treacherous whenWahena was no longer in peril. It was arranged that the trapper shouldreturn to Lean Bear, and inform him of the terms on which his son couldbe saved. He was instructed to tell the savage chief that Ethan couldfire eight shots a minute, and that Wahena would surely atone with hislife for any treachery on the part of the Indians.
Rattleshag put off on his raft again, and paddled towards thesettlement. It was late in the evening when he returned with theintelligence that Lean Bear had accepted the terms, though veryreluctantly, for they compelled him to send a party of his braves on ajourney of seventy miles to receive Wahena when he was delivered up.Rattleshag had been obliged to argue the point with him; but theassurance that the boy would certainly be shot if he did not yield,induced him to comply. Six Indian horsemen were deputed to follow theboat on the banks of the river, and insure them against any attack fromthe wandering savages whom the exiles might encounter.
The next morning the bateau was lowered from its position, rolled downto the lake, and launched. The muscular arm of the trapper renderedthis a comparatively easy task, and it was accomplished in a few hours.The mast was stepped, the sail bent on, and the rigging adjusted underthe direction of Fanny, who was more familiar with such matters thaneither of her companions. Such provisions as remained were stowed onboard, cooked ready for use.
At noon, with a fresh breeze from the westward, the party embarked,and, with Fanny at the helm, sailed for the outlet at the north-eastcorner of the lake. The party were very much fatigued after the hardwork required in making preparations for their departure, andindependently of the exciting circumstances of leaving the island home,and the prospect of soon being in a place of entire safety, theyenjoyed the rest afforded by the voyage.
"What we go'n to do when we get to Mankato, Fanny?" asked Ethan.
"I'm sure I don't know."
"We hain't got no friends thar."
"Nor anywhere," replied Fanny, sadly. "I have no near relations nowthat my uncle and aunt are gone."
"I never had none; but I s'pose I kin go to work, as I allers did,"added Ethan, cheerfully.
"I doubt not we shall find plenty of friends. I am sure that Woodville,where I have lived the last two years, will be open to me."
"I reckon we needn't borrow any trouble arter we git out of thisscrape. Ef we could stand what we've gone through with, we hain't gotnothin' to fear."
"I have no clothes but those I wear, and not a cent of money," addedFanny, rather disturbed by the prospect before her.
"I reckon 'twill be all right," said Ethan.
"I have no doubt it will. I do not mean to complain. We have so much tobe grateful for, that it would be wicked to repine at our lot."
"Thet's my notion; and we won't think what we're go'n to do till we getto Mankato."
This was a wise resolve, though it would be rather difficult to carryit out. In a short time the bateau arrived at the outlet of the lake,and on the bank of the river the exiles discovered their Indian escort,which had been waiting since the middle of the forenoon for them. Atthis point the serenity of the voyage was interrupted, for the riverwas crooked, and the navigation often very difficult. The boat did notdraw more than a foot of water, but in some places it was not easy tofind even this depth.
Fanny found that all her slender knowledge of boating was called intouse, for the bends in the river were so frequent that the boat washeaded towards nearly every point of the compass within a single hour.Her progress was necessarily very slow, and the Indians on the shoresoon began to manifest their impatience by grunting and growling. Asthe bateau proceeded, Fanny became more skilful in its management. Shesoon learned where the deepest water might be found, and instead ofattempting to cut across the bends, she followed the current round thebroadest sweep; but, with the best she could do, it was occasionallynecessary for Ethan and Rattleshag to resort to the poles to push herover the shoal places.
At dark the question came up whether the party should continue thevoyage during the night, or moor the boat, and sail only by daylight.Of course the Indians on the shore could not continue the journeywithout stopping to rest and feed their horses; but a consultation washad with them, and it was decided that the escort should divide intotwo parties, one on each side of the river, and ride forward ten orfifteen miles, then halt and await the coming of the boat. The riverhad received two or three large tributaries above the point they hadreached, and the navigation was less difficult as the stream becamebroader and deeper.
"Now, Fanny, I reckon I kin steer this boat," said Ethan, after thearrangements had been made, and the escort had gone forward. "I willmake up a bed for you for'ad, and you shall go to sleep. One on us kinsleep jest as well as not, all the time."
"I was thinking of that myself," replied Fanny. "We shall save a greatdeal of time if we can go by night as well as day."
"I reckon we shall; and the sooner we git to Mankato, the better weshall like it. The little Injin's gone to sleep now."
"Do you think you can steer the boat, Ethan?"
"I know I kin. I've been kinder watchin' the thing ever sence westarted, and I reckon I know sunthin' about it," replied Ethan, as hewent forward to prepare a bed for Fanny.
"Are you not tired, Rattleshag?" asked Fanny of the trapper, who satforward of her, gazing intently down the river, and seldom speaking aword.
"No, miss, I'm never tired," he replied.
"Where do you sleep when you are travelling over the broad prairies?"
"Sometimes in an Indian tepee, but generally allers on the ground."
"While the boat goes along so well, two of us might sleep, for it isonly necessary to have one at the helm."
"I kin stand it without much sleep, miss. I kin ketch a nap while I sethere. I've often slep standin' up agin a tree when the wolves was thickabout me. Old Rattleshag is tough and hard."
"Now your bed is ready, Fanny," said Ethan, coming aft.
"Thank you, Ethan; you are very kind, and I am tired enough to sleeplike a log. Now, if you will take the tiller, I will see what kind ofwork you make of it."
Ethan took the helm, and at first made the usual miscalculations of anunexperienced steersman; but Fanny soon instructed him so that hesteered very well, and she went forward to her couch. In a whisper shesaid the prayer which she never omitted, and covering herself withblankets, was soon fast asleep.
After dark, the wind was very light and baffling, but the river was notso tortuous in its course, and the progress of the boat was rather moresatisfactory than it had been during the afternoon. Ethan was veryconsiderate of his fair companion, and neglected her injunction to callher in a few hours. He had given the helm to Rattleshag in the middleof the night, and gone to sleep himself. At daylight the trapper was athis post, and both the young exiles were still sleeping away thefatigues of the preceding day. The boat had not yet come up with theescort, who had probably gone more than the fifteen miles agreed upon.
Rattleshag sat at the helm, gazing fixedly down the river. He lookedlike a statue, and he sat so still that it was hard to believe he everhad moved, or ever would do so. His long rifle lay at his side, at restlike himself.
The bateau was approaching a clump of trees which grew on the bank ofthe river, when the crack of a rifle was heard, and a bullet whizzedover the water. Rattleshag started, sprang to his feet, and grasped thetiller with his left hand, while the blood tri
nkled down the ends ofhis fingers from a wound in his right arm. He glanced hastily aroundhim, and then, putting the helm up, ran the boat alongside the shoreopposite that from which the shot had come. The bateau grounded in theshallow water, and her grating upon the gravel roused Ethan from hisslumber.
"The Injins is firin' on us," said Rattleshag, coolly, as he took uphis long rifle.
"Whar be they?" demanded Ethan, seizing his weapons.
"Over thar," replied the trapper, pointing to the clump of trees.
The first shot was now followed by a second, which fortunately hit noneof the party. By this time Fanny was awake; but Ethan peremptorily badeher lie still, so that the hostile Indians could not see her. Near thepoint where the boat had grounded there was a group of trees, whichpromised to afford the voyagers a partial shelter from the bullets ofthe enemy, and Rattleshag thought they had better take a positionthere.
"Now run for it," said Ethan to Fanny, as he gave her the revolver.
"I am not afraid," she replied, as she took the pistol and ran to thecovert of the trees.
Ethan and the trapper followed her; but the moment they showedthemselves, the report of several rifles was heard, followed by thewhistling of the bullets through the air, though the distance was sogreat that the shots were harmless.
"Now, we'll give 'em some," said Ethan.
"'Tain't no use," answered Rattleshag, seating himself on the groundbehind one of the trees. "Don't waste your lead for nothin'. You can'thit 'em."
"But they have hit you. Are you hurt much?"
"No; 'tain't wuth mindin'."
"Let me do up your wound, Rattleshag," interposed Fanny, tearing off apiece of her calico dress for the purpose.
"The blood kinder bothers me, and you may," said the trapper, as hebared his muscular arm.
The ball had ploughed through the fleshy part of the arm, inflicting asevere, though not dangerous, wound. Fanny bound it up as well as shecould, with lint made from her linen collar, and Rattleshag declaredthat it felt "fust rate."
Wahena was still in the boat, where Ethan had taken the precaution totie him to the mast, after first binding his arms behind him. He stilllay in the bottom of the boat, the consciousness of his own dangerpreventing him from showing himself.
"We mought hev to stop here all day," said the trapper, after they hadwaited some time for a further demonstration on the part of theIndians.
"As long as we are safe, we need not mind that," replied Fanny.
"I reckon we ain't safe much," added Ethan.
He had scarcely uttered the words before a savage yell was heard fromthe enemy on the other side of the river.
"They're jumpin' inter the water to kim over here," said Rattleshag. "Idon't like to shoot 'em, but I s'pose I must."
"I like it," replied Ethan, who had not yet conquered his hatred of theredskins.
"Don't be 'n a hurry, boy. Don't waste your lead," interposed thetrapper, as Ethan was taking aim. "There ain't no more 'n six on 'em inthe water, and we kin afford to wait till they git a little nearer. Wekin fire shots enough to kill the whole on 'em without loadin' up."
"Who be they?" asked Ethan, trying to be as cool as the hardy trapper.
"I dunno."
"Be they Lean B'ar's men?"
"I reckon they ain't."
"I was afeerd the redskins that kim down to keep us safe had turnedagin us."
"I reckon they hain't. They'd be afeerd we'd shoot the boy."
The half dozen savages in the water were wading across the rivertowards the bateau, evidently in the belief that the party had desertedher. They continued to hoot and yell, while they advanced, as thoughthey intended to storm a garrisoned fortress, instead of capturing adeserted bateau.
"I reckon thet'll do now," said Rattleshag, as he raised his long rifleto his shoulder, and aimed at one of the savages. "Don't you fire,Ethan, till I've done."
He discharged his piece, and fully sustained his reputation as a deadshot, for the foremost of the Indians dropped, and was carried down thestream by the current.
CHAPTER XX.
CONCLUSION.
"Don't you fire, Ethan," repeated the trapper, as the enthusiastic boyraised his gun. "No need o' killin' no more on 'em."
The remaining Indians in the water had discovered their mistake, andwere making towards the opposite shore with all possible haste. Theyhad not expected such a reception, and appeared to be glad to escapewith no greater loss.
"Ho, ho, ho!" shouted other Indians on the shore.
"We are gittin' into a bad scrape," said Ethan, dissatisfied becauseRattleshag had prevented him from firing at the savages. "There's more'n a million on 'em over thar."
"Them's Lean B'ar's Injins that's yellin'. Don't you see 'em? They wasnigh enough to hear the shootin' and the yellin', and they've kim backto keep them redskins from hurtin' on us--don't you see?" addedRattleshag, pointing over at the three mounted savages who had justdashed up to the bank on the other side of the stream.
"So they be; and hyer kims the rest on 'em."
At this instant the other three of the escort galloped wildly over theprairie, and before the voyagers could reach the boat the Indiansintercepted them. Like those on the other side, they uttered wildyells, and seemed to be as much excited as though they had beenactually engaged in battle.
The exiles had not intended to hold any communication with theirescort, dreading the treacherous nature of the savages; and when thethree Indians approached, Ethan promptly placed himself in a defensiveattitude. Though the escort continued to yell, they did not offer toattack the voyagers. They stopped on the bank of the river, where thebateau lay. One of them dismounted, and leaped into the boat. With hisscalping-knife he cut the bonds of Wahena, and taking the boy in hisarms, bounded to the shore again.
Ethan's heart sank within him, when he saw that the captive, upon whosepresence he had relied for the safety of the party, was wrested fromthem. Rushing forward with his rifle, he took aim at Wahena,disregarding the earnest remonstrances of Rattleshag.
"No shoot! no shoot!" exclaimed one of the savages--the one who hadbefore acted as Lean Bear's messenger. "No kill, no hurt."
"Don't fire," pleaded Fanny. "If you should kill Wahena, they wouldbutcher us all."
The Indian boy saw her as she stepped forward, and immediately began totalk in the most earnest manner to the savage who held him.
"No hurt!" shouted the spokesman of the Indians. "You go--no kill; nokill, no hurt."
Wahena, after struggling for some time with the brawny savage who heldhim, escaped from his grasp, and, to the surprise of the voyagers,rushed over to the spot where Fanny stood. Seizing her hand, he shookit warmly, and then began a series of violent gesticulations, whichwere at first unintelligible. He dropped on his knees, clasped hishands, looked up to the sky, and then beat his breast. He pointed tothe boat, intimating by his signs that she was to go on board. Sheobeyed, and was followed by Ethan and the trapper. The party stepped onboard, and to the astonishment of all, Wahena followed them, and tookthe seat he had occupied during the voyage.
Ethan and Rattleshag pushed off, and when the bateau began to move downthe river, Wahena shouted to the Indians, and pointed down the river,indicating that they were to follow, as they had done before. TheIndian boy's signs on shore were now interpreted to be an expression ofhis gratitude to Fanny for her kindness to him, and a prayer to theGreat Spirit for her safety.
If the party in the boat were surprised at the singular conduct ofWahena, the Indians on shore were still more astonished; but he spoke alanguage which they could understand, and they sullenly resumed theirmarch down the river.
The captive was now treated as a friend. Though he could not have knownwhat the contract between his father and the voyagers had been, exceptso far as he had learned it from the subsequent events, he hadvoluntarily surrendered himself, and insisted upon seeing Fannyconveyed to a place of safety. Almost every day while they had been onthe island, she had sung her sweet songs
to Wahena, and he had listenedto them with rapt attention. As the boat slowly went its way, he beggedher by signs to sing, and she complied. He expressed his pleasure,which was shared by Ethan and Rattleshag, by the most eloquent signs.
During the day, Ethan and Rattleshag slept, while Fanny steered theboat. Wahena, no longer in bonds, kept close to her. He intimated inhis dumb language that he wanted to take the helm, and gently took thetiller from her. He was soon proficient in steering, for there was nownothing to do but keep the boat in the middle of the river, andoccasionally to trim the sail.
At night Fanny and Wahena went to sleep again, and the management ofthe boat was divided between Ethan and the trapper. The next morningthe bateau had entered the Big Woods, and the sail was nearly useless,for the forest obstructed the wind, and the voyagers were mainlydependent upon the current of the river for the little progress theymade; but on the afternoon of the third day of the journey, they camein sight of a town, which Rattleshag said was not more than twelvemiles from Mankato. The Indian escort then hailed the boat.
"No go more," said the spokesman.
"I reckon 'twon't be safe for 'em to go any further," added Rattleshag.
Fanny ran the boat up to the shore, and Ethan, always dreading thetreachery of the savages, kept his gun and revolver in readiness forimmediate use. The time had come for Wahena to take leave of the party.He was profoundly affected at the thought of bidding adieu to Fanny; hedid not appear to like Ethan or the trapper. He pressed her hand,looked very sad, and made his demonstrative gestures. She kissed him onthe cheek, pointed up to the sky, and laid her hands upon his head. Ifshe could have spoken to him, she would have expressed the wish that hewould abandon the savage life of his people, and become a true man; andshe would have been glad to teach him the religion of the Saviour, nowso dear to her, and to show him how to _hope and have_.
Wahena turned slowly and sadly away from her, and walked to the Indianswho were waiting for him. A stout fellow lifted him on the horse infront of him, and dashed away; but Fanny could see him trying to obtaina last view of her, as the savages entered the forest. She missed himvery much as the boat continued on her course. The Indian boy was muchattached to her, and she found herself much interested in him. She hasnot seen him since they parted, and probably they never will meet againin this world; but her blessing will go with him, and perhaps hergentle influence will soften his savage nature, and be reflected in hiskindness to the white people with whom he may come in contact.
At sundown the bateau passed into the Minnesota, and at dark the partylanded at Mankato, only three miles below the mouth of the Blue Earth,on which the last part of the voyage had been made.
We need not say that the party found plenty of warm friends; for whenit was known that they were fugitives from the Indian massacre, everyhouse and every heart was open to them. Troops in large numbers hadgone forward for the suppression of the insurrection, and confidencewas in a great measure restored. The place was full of people who hadescaped, and the savages were being captured and sent hither for trial.
The party were accommodated at the house of a trader, who supplied themwith all they wanted, both of food and clothing. It was now time tothink of the future. By the merciful interposition of Providence, theexiles had been saved from death and captivity; but they had no home,and no relations. Fanny knew what a warm welcome awaited her atWoodville, and she was desirous of going there; but she had no money topay for such a long journey. She mentioned her wish to the trader, andhe promptly offered to advance her a sufficient sum to enable her andEthan to reach their destination.
"Where are you going, Rattleshag?" asked Fanny, when her own andEthan's future movements had been arranged.
"I dunno."
"Why don't you join the sogers, and help put down the Injins?" askedEthan. "You are a dead shot, and they'd like to hev you."
"I can't do thet," replied Rattleshag, shaking his head.
"Why not? They want all the good men they kin git, and you'd be wuth aheap to 'em, for you know all about the Injins,--whar to find 'em, andhow to trap 'em," added Ethan, with considerable warmth; and he was alittle inclined to offer his own services.
"The Injins hes allers ben my friends, and I don't want to help kill'em. They've ben abused, and thet's what made 'em rise up agin thewhites. They've ben cheated out of their land, and then cheated out ofthe money they ought to hev fur it. I pity 'em, and I shan't help kill'em. I shall go back to the woods when the fightin' 's over, and livelike I allers did."
The next day Ethan and Fanny shook hands with Rattleshag, and biddinghim a cordial good by, started upon their long journey to the eastward.The prairie boy was greatly excited at the prospect of seeing the greatcities of the country through which he was to pass. On cars andsteamers where it was known that the boy and girl were refugees fromthe great Indian massacre, they were the lions of the hour. They wereoften called upon to tell their story of peril and death, and every onewas kind and generous to them. They were frequently invited to privatehouses on the journey; but they declined all invitations, and hurriedon as fast as steam could convey them to their destination, and arrivedat Woodville without even stopping to sleep a night on the way.
Mrs. Green gave the exiles a motherly welcome. The fact that themassacre had extended to the settlement where Fanny's uncle resided hadbeen published in the newspapers, and the housekeeper and servantsbelieved that she had been one of its victims. She was welcomed,therefore, as one who had come from the grave. Ethan was regarded as ahero at the mansion and in its vicinity, and became a person of nolittle distinction.
Ethan French was a young man of no little manliness and independence.After he had spent a week in idleness, and had told the story of hisescape from the Indians till it had become tiresome to him, he began tolook about him for a situation in which he could earn his own living.But Mrs. Green induced him to remain at Woodville until the return ofMr. Grant; and he worked in the garden and stable.
Without waiting for instructions from Mr. Grant, the housekeeperforwarded to the kind-hearted trader the sum of money which he hadadvanced to pay the expenses of Fanny and Ethan from Mankato toWoodville. The money was accompanied by a letter of thanks from Fanny.
In November, the family returned from Europe. Mrs. Green had alreadyinformed them by letter of the safety, and of the arrival at Woodville,of Fanny Jane, as she was called in the house. Mr. Grant and hisdaughters had suffered a great deal of anxiety on her account, afterthey read the intelligence of the massacre, and they were heartilyrejoiced to meet her again, after believing for months that she wasdead, or worse than dead--a captive in the hands of the barbarousIndians.
Ethan, awkward and unaccustomed to good society, was overwhelmed by thekindness of what he called the "grand people." He was invited into thedrawing-room, and from him and Fanny a very correct account of theiradventures was obtained.
"Fanny Jane, I can hardly believe you are the same girl I had in mycharge," exclaimed Miss Fanny, when both stories had been told anddiscussed.
"But I am," said the orphan girl, with a blush.
"I am sure none of us would have behaved so well in the midst of suchtrials," added Mrs. Sherwood. "It is terrible to think of."
"You cannot tell how thankful I am that all this happened after myvisit to New York," continued the returned wanderer. "I could not, if Iwould, banish from my thoughts the image of Jenny Kent, who led me tobelieve in truth and goodness, and to strive to live for them."
"I should hev been skeered to death ef't hadn't been for Fanny. She wasso good that she made me feel strong."
"And this is our Fanny Jane!" added Mr. Grant.
"I have tried to be good all the time," replied Fanny, wiping away atear she could not repress.
"And you hev been!" ejaculated Ethan, with emphasis. "Creation hokee!nobody couldn't do no better, nohow!"
The family could not help laughing at the earnestness of Ethan.
"She's been the makin' o' me, ef I ever do come out anyw
here," hecontinued.
"I have taught him to believe in goodness, to hope for it, and thenlabor to have it," said Fanny Jane.
"Hope and have," added Miss Fanny.
Mr. Grant promptly decided that Ethan's greatest need was a bettereducation, and the prairie boy went to school with Fanny during thefollowing winter. In the spring he talked like a civilized being; didnot say "hyer" for _here_, nor "kim" for _come_, and has banished"creation hokee" from the list of his pet phrases. In the summer hewent to learn the trade of a machinist, for which he has decided tasteand ability, and the prospect is, that he will become a good and usefulman, if not a brilliant one.
Mrs. Kent's husband returned home during Fanny's absence, having been"sick and in prison" in the rebel country. When he had drawn his pay,he insisted upon returning to Mr. Grant the sums advanced to his wifeby her kind friends; but they persistently refused to accept them. Hewept over his lost child, and thanked God for raising up such friendsfor her while he was absent.
Fanny still resides at Woodville; and having now completed her schoolcourse, she assists Mrs. Green in the management of the house. She isstill true to her high resolves; still wears the emblematic anchor, andstrives to be as pure and good as Jenny was. She occasionally visitsthe grave of her departed young friend, and always gathers newinspiration and new strength for the battle of life, as she reads onthe marble tablet her dying words--HOPE AND HAVE.
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