The Yemassee. A Romance of Carolina. By the Author of "Guy Rivers," "Martin Faber," &c. In Two Volumes:
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Simms, William Gilmore, 1806-1870
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Academic Affairs Library, UNC-Chapel Hill
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The Yemassee. A Romance of Carolina. In Two Volumes. By the Author of "Guy Rivers," "Martin Faber," &c.
New York, NY
Harper &
Brothers, 82 Cliff-St.
1844
The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-Chapel Hill digitization project, Documenting the American South
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Library of Congress Subject Headings
Languages Used:
- English
LC Subject Headings:
- Indians of North America -- South Carolina -- Fiction.
- South Carolina -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction.
- Frontier and pioneer life -- South Carolina -- Fiction.
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[Title Page Image for Volume I]
THE YEMASSEE.
A ROMANCE OF CAROLINA.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"GUY RIVERS,"
"MARTIN FABER,"
&c.
"Thus goes the empire down--the people shout, And perish. From the vanishing wreck, I save One frail memorial."
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
NEW-YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-ST.
1844
Page verso
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1835,
by HARPER & BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's office of the Southern District of New-York.
Page iv
TO
SAMUEL HENRY DICKSON, M. D.,
PROFESSOR OF THE INSTITUTES AND PRACTICE OF MEDICINE IN
THE MEDICAL COLLEGE OF THE STATE OF SOUTH CAROLINA -
This Romance, meant to illustrate a period of time, and portion of history, in a region, for which neither of us can feel other than a warm attachment, is affectionately inscribed, in proof of the esteem for his high character, and the regard for his approved friendship, entertained by
THE AUTHOR.
Summerville, South CarolinaPage v
ADVERTISEMENT.
I HAVE entitled this story a romance, and not novel--the reader will permit me to insist upon the distinction. I am unwilling that "THE YEMASSEE" should be examined by any other than those standards which have governed me in its composition; and unless the critic is willing to adopt with me, those leading principles, in accordance with which the materials of my book have been selected, the less we have to say to one another the better.
Supported by the authority of common sense and justice, not to speak of Pope--
"In every work regard the writers end,
Since none can compass more than they intend" -
I have surely a right to insist upon this particular. It is only when an author departs from his own standards, that he offends against propriety and deserves punishment. Reviewing "Atalantis," a fairy tale, full of machinery, and without a purpose save the imbodiment to the mind's eye of some of those
"Gay creatures of the element,
That in the colours of the rainbow live,
And play i' the plighted clouds" -
a distinguished writer of this country gravely remarks, in a leading periodical, - "Magic is now beyond
Page vi
the credulity of eight years" - and yet, the author set out to make a story of the supernatural, and never contemplated, for a moment, the deception of any good citizen!
The question briefly is, what are the standards of the modern romance - what is the modern romance itself? The reply is instant. Modern romance is the substitute which the people of to-day offer for the ancient epic. Its standards are the same. The reader, who, reading Ivanhoe, keeps Fielding and Richardson beside him, will be at fault in every step of his progress. The domestic novel of those writers, confined to the felicitous narration of common and daily occurring events, is altogether a different sort of composition; and if such a reader happens to pin his faith, in a strange simplicity and singleness of spirit, to such writers alone, the works of Maturin, of Scott, of Bulwer, and the rest, are only so much incoherent nonsense.
The modern romance is a poem in every sense of the word. It is only with those who insist upon poetry as rhyme, and rhyme as poetry, that the identity fails to be perceptible. Its standards are precisely those of the epic. It invests individuals with an absorbing interest - it hurries them through crowding events in a narrow space of time - it requires the same unities of plan, of purpose, and harmony of parts, and it seeks for its adventures among the wild and wonderful. It does not insist upon what is known, or even what is probable. It grasps at the possible; and, placing a human agent in hitherto untried situations, it exercises its ingenuity in extricating him from them, while describing his feelings and his fortunes in their
Page vii
progress. The task has been well or ill done, in proportion to the degree of ingenuity and knowledge which the romancer exhibits in carrying out the details, according to such proprieties as are called for by the circumstances of the story. These proprieties are the standards set up at his starting, and to which he is required religiously to confine himself.
The Yemassee is proposed as an American romance. It is so styled, as much of the material could have been furnished by no other country. Something too much of extravagance - so some may think, - even beyond the usual license of fiction - may enter into certain parts of the narrative. On this subject, it is enough for me to say, that the popular faith yields abundant authority for the wildest of its incidents. The natural romance of our country has been my object, and I have not dared beyond it. For the rest - for the general peculiarities of the Indians, in their un-degraded condition - my authorities are numerous in all the writers who have written from their own experience. My chief difficulty, I may add, has arisen rather from the discrimination necessary in picking and choosing, than from any deficiency of the material itself. It is needless to add that the leading events are strictly true, and that the outline is to be found in the several histories devoted to the region of country in which the scene is laid. A slight anachronism occurs in the first volume, but it has little bearing upon the story, and is altogether unimportant.
New-York, April 3, 1835.
Page viii
ADVERTISEMENT
TO
THE SECOND EDITION.
THE sudden call for a second edition of "The Yemassee," so soon after the first, renders it impossible for the author to effect more than a very few of the many corrections which he had meditated in the work. The first edition was a remarkably large one - twenty-five hundred copies - twice the member usually put forth, in this country, of similar European publications. This fact, so highly encouraging to native endeavour, is peculiarly so to him, as it imbodies an independently-formed opinion of his countrymen; which has not, in his case lingered in waiting for that customary guidance of foreign judgment which has been so frequently urged, as its weakness, against the character of native criticism.
New-York, April 23d, 1835.
Page 9
THE YEMASSEE.
CHAPTER 1.
A scatter'd race - a wild, unfetter'd tribe,
That in the forests dwelt - that send no ships
For commerce on the waters - rear no walls
To shelter from the storm, or shield from strife
And leave behind, in memory of their name,
No monument, save in the dim, deep woods,
That daily perish as their lords have done
Beneath the keen stroke of the pioneer.
Let us look back upon their forest homes,
As, in that earlier time, when first their foes,
The pale-faced, from the distant nations came,
They dotted the green banks of winding streams
THERE IS a small section of country now comprised
within the limits of Beaufort District, in the State of
South Carolina, which, to this day, goes by the name
of Indian Land. The authorities are numerous which
show this district, running along, as it does, and on its
southern side bounded by, the Atlantic Ocean, to have
been the very first in North America, distinguished by
an European settlement. The design is attributed to
the celebrated Coligni, Admiral of France,* who, in the
* Dr. Melligan, one of the historians of South Carolina, says farther,
that a French settlement, under the same auspices, was actually
made at Charleston, and that the country received the name of La
Caroline, in honour of Charles IX. This is not so plausible, however,
for as the settlement- was made by Huguenots, and under the auspices
of Coligni, it savours of extravagant courtesy to suppose that they
would pay so high a compliment to one of the most bitter enemies
of that religious toleration, in pursuit of which they deserted their
country. Charleston took its name from Charles II., the reigning
English monarch at the time. Its earliest designation was Oyster
Point town from the marine formation of its soil. Dr. Hewatt -
another of the early historians of Carolina, who possessed many
advantages in his work not common to other writers, having been a
careful gatherer of local and miscellaneous history - places the first
settlement of Jasper de Coligni, under the conduct of Jean Ribaud, at
the mouth of a river called Albemarle, which, strangely enough, the
narration finds in Florida. Here Ribaud is said to have built a fort,
and by him the country was called Carolina. May river, another
alleged place of original location for this colony, has been
sometimes identified with the St. John's and other waters of Florida or
Virginia; but opinion in Carolina settles down in favour of a stream
still bearing that name, and in Beaufort District, not far from the
subsequent permanent settlement. Old ruins, evidently French in their
origin, still exist in the neighborhood.
Page 10
reign of Charles IX., conceived the project with the ulterior view of securing a sanctuary for the Huguenots when they should be compelled, as he foresaw they soon would, by the anti-religious persecutions of the time, to fly from their native into foreign regions. This settlement, however, proved unsuccessful; and the events which history records of the subsequent efforts of the French to establish colonies in the same neighbourhood, while of unquestionable authority, have all the air and appearance of the most delightful romance.
It was not till an hundred years after, that the same spot was temporarily settled by the English under Sayle, who became the first governor, as he was the first permanent founder of the settlement. The situation was exposed, however, to the incursions of the Spaniards, who, in the meanwhile, had possessed themselves of Florida, and who, for a long time after, continued to harass and prevent colonization in this quarter. But perseverance at length triumphed over all these difficulties, and though Sayle, for farther security in the infancy of his settlement, had removed to the banks of the Ashley, other adventurers, by little and little, contrived to occupy the ground he had left, and in the year 1700, the birth of a white native child is recorded.
From the earliest period of our acquaintance with the country of which we speak, it was in the possession of a powerful and gallant race, and their tributary tribes, known by the general name of the Yemassees. Not so numerous, perhaps, as many of the neighbouring nations, they nevertheless commanded the respectful consideration of all. In valour they made up for any deficiencies of number, and proved themselves not only sufficiently strong to hold out defiance to invasion,
Page 11
but actually in most cases to move first in the assault. Their readiness for the field was one of their chief securities against attack; and their forward valour, elastic temper, and excellent skill in the rude condition of their warfare, enabled them to subject to their dominion most of the tribes around them, many of which were equally numerous with their own. Like the Romans, in this way they strengthened their own powers by a wise incorporation of the conquered with the conquerors; and, under the several names of Huspahs, Coosaws, Combahees, Stonoees, and Sewees, the greater strength of the Yemassees contrived to command so many dependants, prompted by their movements, and almost entirely under their dictation. Thus strengthened, the recognition of their power extended into the remote interior, and they formed one of the twenty-eight aboriginal nations among which, at its first settlement by the English, the province of Carolina was divided.
A feeble colony of adventurers from a distant world had taken up its abode alongside of them. The weaknesses of the intruder were, at first, his only but sufficient protection with the unsophisticated savage. The white man had his lands assigned him, and he trenched his furrows to receive the grain on the banks of Indian waters. The wild man looked on the humiliating labour, wondering as he did so, but without fear, and never dreaming for a moment of his own approaching subjection. Meanwhile the adventurers grew daily more numerous, for their friends and relatives soon followed them over the ocean. They too had lands assigned them, in turn, by the improvident savage; and increasing intimacies, with uninterrupted security, day by day, won the former still more deeply into the bosom of the forests, and more immediately in connexion with their wild possessors; until, at length, we behold the log-house of the white man, rising up amid the thinned clump of woodland foliage, within hailing distance of the squat, clay hovel of the savage. Sometimes their smokes even united; and now and
Page 12
then the two, the "European and his dusky guide," might be seen, pursuing, side by side and with the same dog, upon the cold track of the affrighted deer or the yet more timorous turkey.
Let us go back an hundred years, and more vividly
recall this picture. In 1715, the Yemassees were in
all their glory. They were politic and brave - their
sway was unquestioned, and even with the Europeans,
then grown equal to their own defence along the coast,
they were ranked as allies rather than auxiliaries.
As such they had taken up arms with the Carolinians
against the Spaniards, who, from St. Augustine, perpetually
harassed the settlements. Until this period they
had never been troubled by that worst tyranny of all,
the consciousness of their inferiority to a power of
which they were now beginning to grow jealous.
Lord Craven, the governor and palatine of Carolina,
had done much in a little time, by the success of his
arms over the neighbouring tribes, and the admirable
policy which distinguished his government, to impress
this feeling of suspicion upon the minds of the
Yemassees. Their aid had ceased to be necessary to
the Carolinians. They were no longer sought or
solicited. The presents became fewer, the borderers
grew bolder and more incursive, and new territory,
daily acquired by the colonists in some way or other,
drove them back for hunting-grounds upon the waters of
the Edistoh and Isundiga.* Their chiefs began to show
signs of discontent, if not of disaffection, and the great
mass of their people assumed a sullenness of habit
and demeanour, which had never marked their conduct
heretofore. They looked, with a feeling of aversion
which as yet they vainly laboured to conceal, upon the
approach of the white man on every side. The thick
groves disappeared, the clear skies grew turbid with
the dense smokes rolling up in solid masses from the
burning herbage. Hamlets grew into existence, as it
were by magic, under their very eyes and in sight of
* Such is the beautiful name by which the Yemassees knew the
Savannah river.
Page 13
their own towns, for the shelter of a different people; and at length, a common sentiment, not yet imbodied perhaps by its open expression, prompted the Yemassees in a desire to arrest the progress of a race with which they could never hope to acquire any real or lasting affinity. Another and a stronger ground for jealous dislike, arose necessarily in their minds with the gradual approach of that consciousness of their inferiority which, while the colony was dependant and weak, they had not so readily perceived. But when they saw with what facility the new comers could convert even the elements not less than themselves into slaves and agents, under the guidance of the strong will and the overseeing judgment, the gloom of their habit swelled into ferocity, and their minds were busied with those subtle schemes and stratagems with which, in his nakedness, the savage usually seeks to neutralize the superiority of European armour.
The Carolinians were now in possession of the entire sea-coast, with a trifling exception, which forms the Atlantic boundary of Beaufort and Charleston districts. They had but few, and those small and scattered, interior settlements. A few miles from the seashore, and the Indian lands generally girdled them in, still in the possession as in the right of the aborigines. But few treaties had yet been effected for the purchase of territory fairly out of sight of the sea; those tracts only excepted which formed the borders of such rivers, as, emptying into the ocean and navigable to small vessels, afforded a ready chance of escape to the coast in the event of any sudden necessity. In this way, the whites had settled along the banks of the Combahee, the Coosaw, the Pocota-ligo, and other contiguous rivers; dwelling generally in small communities of five, seven, or ten families; seldom of more, and these taking care that the distance should be slight between them. Sometimes, indeed, an individual adventurer more fearless than the rest, drove his stakes, and took up his lone abode, or with a single family, in some boundless contiguity of shade, several miles from
Page 14
his own people, and over against his roving neighbour; pursuing in many cases the same errant life, adopting many of his savage habits, and this too, without risking much, if any thing, in the general opinion. For a long season, so pacific had been the temper of the Yemassees towards the Carolinians, that the latter had finally become regardless of that necessary caution which bolts a door and keeps a watch-dog.
On the waters of the Pocota-ligo,* or Little Wood
river, this was more particularly the habit of the
settlement. This is a small stream, about twenty-five
miles long, which empties itself into, and forms one of
the tributaries of, that singular estuary called Broad
river; and thus, in common with a dozen other streams of
similar size, contributes to the formation of the beautiful
harbour of Beaufort, which, with a happy propriety
the French denominated Port Royal. Leaving the yet
small but improving village of the Carolinians at Beaufort,
we ascend the Pocota-ligo, and still, at intervals,
their dwellings present themselves to our eye
occasionally on one side or the other. The banks, generally
edged with swamp and fringed with its low peculiar
growth, possess few attractions, and the occasional
cottage serves greatly to relieve a picture, wanting
certainly, not less in moral association than in the
charm of landscape. At one spot we encounter the
rude, clumsy edifice, usually styled the Block House,
built for temporary defence, and here and there holding
its garrison of five, seven, or ten men, seldom of
more, maintained simply as posts, not so much with
the view to war as of warning. In its neighbourhood
we see a cluster of log dwellings, three or four in
number, the clearings in progress, the piled timber
smoking or in flame, and the stillness only broken by
the dull, heavy echo of the axe, biting into the trunk of
the tough and long-resisting pine. On the banks the
* The Indian pronunciation of their proper names is eminently
musical; we usually spoil them. This name is preserved in Carolina,
but it wants the euphony and force which the Indian tongue gave it.
We pronounce it usually in common quantity. The reader will lay
the emphasis upon the penultimate, giving to the i the sound of e.
Page 15
woodman draws up his "dug-out" or canoe - a single cypress, hollowed out by fire and the hatchet; - around the fields the negro piles slowly the worming and ungraceful fence; while the white boy gathers fuel for the pot over which his mother is bending in the preparation of their frugal meal. A turn in the river unfolds to our sight a cottage, standing by itself, half finished, and probably deserted by its capricious owner. Opposite, on the other bank of the river, an Indian dries his bearskin in the sun, while his infant hangs in the tree, wrapped in another, and lashed down upon a board (for security, not for symmetry), while his mother gathers up the earth, with a wooden drag, about the young roots of the tender corn. As we proceed, the traces of the Indians thicken. Now a cot, and now a hamlet, grows up before the sight, until, at the very head of the river, we come to the great place of council and most ancient town of the Yemassees - the town of Pocota-ligo.*
CHAPTER II.
"Not in their usual trim was he arrayed,
The painted savage with a shaven head,
And feature, tortured up by forest skill,
To represent each noxious form of ill -
And seem the tiger's tooth, the vulture's ravening bill."
THE "great town" of Pocota-ligo, as it was called
by the Yemassees, was the largest in their occupation.
Its pretensions were few, however, beyond its population,
* It may be well to say that the Pocota-ligo river, as here described,
would not readily be recognised in that stream at present. The
swamps are now reclaimed, plantations and firm dwellings take the
place of the ancient groves; and the bald and occasional tree only
tells us where the forests have been. The bed of the river has been
narrowed by numerous encroachments; and, though still navigable
for sloop and schooner, its fair proportions have become greatly
contracted in the silent but successful operation of the last hundred
years upon it.
Page 16
to rank under that title. It was a simple collection of scattered villages, united in process of time by the coalition with new tribes and the natural progress of increase among them. They had other large towns, however, nor least among these was that of Coosaw-hatchie, or the "refuge of the Coosaws," a town established by the few of that people who had survived the overthrow of their nation in a previous war with the Carolinians. The "city of refuge" was a safe sanctuary, known among the greater number of our forest tribes, and not less respected with them than the same institutions among the Hebrews.* The refuge of the Coosaws, therefore, became recognised as such by all the Indians, and ranked, though of inferior size and population, in no respect below the town of Pocota-ligo. Within its limits - that is to say within the circuit of a narrow ditch, which had carefully prescribed the bounds around it - the murderer found safety; and the hatchet of his pursuer, and the club of justice, alike, were to him equally innocuous while he remained within its protection.
The gray, soft teints of an April dawn had scarcely
yet begun to lighten the dim horizon, when the low
door of an Indian lodge that lay almost entirely
imbowered in the thick forest, about a mile from
Pocota-ligo, was seen to unclose, and a tall warrior to
emerge slowly and in silence from its shelter, followed
by a handsome dog, something of a hound in his gaunt
person, but differing from the same animal in the possession
* These cities of refuge are, even now, said to exist among the
Cherokees. Certain rites, common to most of the Indian tribes, are
so clearly identical with many of those known to the Asiatics, that
an opinion has been entertained, with much plausibility and force,
which holds the North Americans to have come from the lost tribes
of Israel. Dr. Barton, in his Materia Medica, referring to some
traditions of the Carolina Indians respecting their medical knowledge
of certain plants, holds it to be sufficient ground for the conjecture.
The theorists on this subject have even pointed out the route of
emigration from the east, by the way of Kamtschatka, descending
south along the shores of the Pacific to cape Horn. The great
difficulty, however is in accounting for the rapid falling back of any
people into such extreme barbarism, from a comparative condition at
civilization.
Page 17
of a head exceedingly short and compact. The warrior was armed after the Indian fashion. The long straight bow, with a bunch of arrows, probably a dozen in number, suspended by a thong of deerskin, hung loosely upon his shoulders. His hatchet or tomahawk, a light weapon introduced by the colonists, was slightly secured to his waist by a girdle of the same material. His dress, which fitted tightly to his person, indicated a frequent intercourse with the whites; since it had been adapted to the shape of the wearer, instead of being worn loosely as the bearskin of preceding ages. Such an alteration in the national costume was found to accord more readily with the pursuits of the savage than the flowing garments which he had worn before. Until this improvement he had been compelled, in battle or the chase, to throw aside the cumbrous covering which neutralized his swiftness, and to exhibit himself in that state of perfect nudity, scarcely less offensive to the Indians than to more civilized communities. The warrior before us had been among the first to avail himself of the arts of the whites in the improvement of the costume; and though the various parts of the dress were secured together by small strings of the deer sinew, passed rudely through opposite holes, every two having their distinct tie, yet the imitation had been close enough to answer all purposes of necessity, and in no way to destroy the claim of the whites to the originating of the improvement. He wore a sort of pantaloons, the seams of which had been permanently secured in this manner, made of tanned buckskin of the brightest yellow, and of as tight a fit as the most punctilious dandy in modern times would insist upon. An upper garment, also of buckskin, made with more regard to freedom of limb, and called by the whites a hunting-shirt, completed the dress. Sometimes, such was its make, the wearer threw it as a sort of robe loosely across his shoulders; secured thus with the broad belt, either of woollen cloth or of the same material, which usually accompanied the garment.
Page 18
In the instance of which we speak, it sat upon the form of the wearer pretty much after the manner of a modern gentleman's frock. Buskins, or as named among them, mocquasins, also of the skin of the deer, tanned, or in its natural state, according to caprice or emergency, enclosed his feet tightly; and without any other garment, and entirely free from the profusion of gaudy ornaments so common to the degraded Indians of modern times, and of which they seem so extravagantly fond, the habit of our new acquaintance may be held complete. Ornament, indeed, of any description, would certainly have done little, if any thing, towards the improvement, in appearance, of the individual before us. His symmetrical person - majestic port - keen, falcon eye - calm, stern, deliberate expression, and elevated head - would have been enfeebled, rather than improved, by the addition of beads and gauds, - the tinsel and glitter so common to the savage now. His form was large and justly proportioned. Stirring event and trying exercise had given him a confident, free, and manly carriage, which the air of decision about his eye and mouth admirably tallied with and supported. He might have been about fifty years of age; certainly he could not have been less; though we arrive at this conclusion rather from the strong, acute, and sagacious expression of his features than from any mark of feebleness or age. Unlike the Yemassees generally, who seem to have been of an elastic and frank temper, the chief - for he is such - under our view, seemed one, like Cassius, who had learned to despise all the light employs of life, and now only lived in the constant meditation of deep scheme and subtle adventure. He moved and looked as one with a mind filled to overflowing with restless thought, whose spirit, crowded with impetuous feelings, kept up constant warfare with the more deliberate and controlling reason.
Thus appearing, and followed closely by his dog, advancing from the shelter of his wigwam, he drew tightly the belt about his waist, and feeling carefully
Page 19
the string of his bow, as if to satisfy himself that it was unfrayed and could be depended upon, prepared to go forth into the forest. He had proceeded but a little distance, however, when, as if suddenly recollecting something he had forgotten, he returned hurriedly to the dwelling, and tapping lightly upon the door which had been closed upon his departure, spoke as follows to some one within: -
"The knife, Matiwan, the knife."
He was answered in a moment by a female voice; the speaker, an instant after, unclosing the door and handing him the instrument he required - the long knife, something like the modern case-knife, which, introduced by the whites, had been at once adopted by the Indians, as of all other things that most necessary to the various wants of the hunter. Sometimes the name of the Long Knife was conferred by the Indians, in a complimentary sense, upon the English, in due acknowledgment of the importance of their gift. Protected, usually, as in the present instance, by a leathern sheath, it seldom or never left the person of its owner. The chief received the knife, and placed it along with the tomahawk in the belt around his waist. He was about to turn away, when the woman, but a glimpse of whose dusky but gentle features and dark eyes, appeared through the half-closed door, addressed him in a sentence of inquiry, in their own language, only remarkable for the deep respectfulness of its tone.
"Sanutee, - the chief, will he not come back with the night?"
"He will come, Matiwan - he will come. But the lodge of the white man is in the old house of the deer, and the swift-foot steals off from the clear water where he once used to drink. The white man grinds his corn with the waters, and the deer is afraid of the noise. Sanutee will hunt for him in the far swamps - and the night will be dark before he comes back to Matiwan."
"Sanutee - chief," she again spoke in a faltering accent, as if to prepare the way for something else,
Page 20
of the success of which she seemed more doubtful; but she paused without finishing the sentence.
"Sanutee has ears, Matiwan - ears always for Matiwan," was the encouraging response, in a manner and tone well calculated to confirm the confidence which the language was intended to inspire. Half faltering still, she however proceeded: -
"The boy, Sanutee - the boy, Occonestoga - "
He interrupted her, almost fiercely.
"Occonestoga is a dog, Matiwan; he hunts the slaves of the English in the swamp, for strong drink. He is a slave himself - he has ears for their lies - he believes in their forked tongues, and he has two voices for his own people. Let him not look into the lodge of Sanutee. Is not Sanutee the chief of the Yemassee?"
"Sanutee is the great chief. But Occonestoga is the son of Sanutee - "
"Sanutee has no son - "
"But Matiwan, Sanutee - "
"Matiwan is the woman who has lain in the bosom of Sanutee; she has dressed the venison for Sanutee when the great chiefs of the Charriquees* sat at his board. Sanutee hides it not under his tongue. The Yemassees speak for Matiwan - she is the wife of Sanutee."
"And mother of Occonestoga," exclaimed the woman hurriedly.
"No! Matiwan must not be the mother to a dog. Occonestoga goes with the English to bite the heels of the Yemassee."
"Is not Occonestoga a chief of Yemassee?" asked the woman.
"Ha! look, Matiwan - the great Manneyto has bad spirits that hate him. They go forth and they fear him, but they hate him. Is not Opitchi-Manneyto** a bad spirit?"
"Sanutee says."
* The name of the Cherokees is thus written in some of the old documents of South Carolina.
** The Yemassee Evil Principle.
Page 21
"But Opitchi-Manneyto works for the good spirit. He works, but his heart is bad - he loves not the work, but he fears the thunder. Occonestoga is the bad servant of Yemassee: he shall hear the thunder, and the lightning shall flash in his path. Go, Matiwan, thou art not the mother of a dog. Go - Sanutee will come back with the night."
The eye of the woman was suffused and full of appeal, as the chief turned away sternly, in a manner which seemed to forbid all other speech. She watched him silently as he withdrew, until he was hidden from sight by the interposing forest, then sunk back sorrowfully into the lodge to grieve over the excesses of an only son, exiled by a justly incensed father from the abode of which he had been the blessing and the pride.
Sanutee, in the meanwhile, pursued his way silently through a narrow by-path, leading to the town of Pocota-ligo, which he reached offer a brief period. The town lay in as much quiet as the isolated dwelling he had left. The sun had not yet arisen, and the scattered dwellings, built low and without closeness or order, were partly obscured from sight by the untrimmed trees, almost in the original forest, which shut them in. A dog, not unlike his own, growled at him as he approached one of the more conspicuous dwellings, and this was the only sound disturbing the general silence. He struck quickly at the door, and inquired briefly -
"Ishiagaska - he will go with Sanutee."
A boy came at the sound, and in reply, pointing to the woods, gave him to understand - while one hand played with the handle of the chief's knife, which he continued to draw from and thrust back into its sheath, without interruption from the wearer - that his father had already gone forth. Without farther pause or inquiry, Sanutee turned, and taking his way through the body of the town, soon gained the river. Singling forth a canoe, hollowed out from a cypress, and which lay with an hundred others drawn up upon the miry
Page 22
bank, he succeeded with little exertion in launching it forth into the water, and taking his place upon a seat fixed in the centre, followed by his dog, with a small scull or flap-oar, which he transferred with wonderful dexterity from one hand to the other as he desired to regulate his course, he paddled himself directly across the river, though then somewhat swollen and impetuous from a recent and heavy freshet. Carefully concealing his canoe in a clustering shelter of sedge and cane, which grew along the banks, he took his way, still closely followed by his faithful dog, into the bosom of a forest much more dense than that which he had left, and which promised a better prospect of the game which he desired.
CHAPTER III.
"The red-deer pauses not to crush
The broken branch and withered bush
And scarcely may the dry leaves feel
His sharp and sudden hoof of steel;
For, startled in the scattered wood,
In fear he seeks the guardian flood,
Then in the forest':s deepest haunt,
Finds shelter and a time to pant."
WHAT seemed the object of the chief Sanutee, the most wise and valiant among the Yemassees? Was it game - was it battle? To us objectless, his course nevertheless lay onward and alone. It was yet early day, and though here and there inhabited, no human being save himself seemed stirring in that dim region. His path wound about and sometimes followed the edge of a swamp or bayou, formed by a narrow and turbid creek, setting in from the river and making one of the thousand indentions common to all streams coursing through the level flats of the southern country. He occupied an hour or more in rounding this
Page 23
bayou; and then, with something of directness in his progress, he took his way down the river bank and towards the settlement of the whites. Yet their abodes or presence seemed not his object. Whenever, here and there, as he continued along the river, the larger clay hovel of the pioneer met his sight, shooting up beyond the limits of civilization, and preparing the way for its approach, the Indian chief would turn aside from the prospect with ill-concealed disgust.
"-- --He would the plain
Lay in its tall old groves again."
Now and then, as - perched on some elevated bank, and plying the mysteries of his woodcraft, hewing his timber, clearing his land, or breaking the earth - the borderer rose before his glance, in the neighbourhood of his half-finished wigwam, singing out some cheery song of the old country, as much for the strengthening of his resolve as for the sake of the music, the warrior would dart aside into the forest, not only out of sight but out of hearing, nor return again to the road he was pursuing until fairly removed from the chance of a second contact. This desire, however, was not so readily indulged; for the progress of adventure and the long repose from strife in that neighbourhood had greatly encouraged the settlers; and it was not so easy for Sanutee to avoid the frequent evidences of that enterprise among the strangers, which was the chief cause of his present discontent. Though without any thing which might assure us of the nature or the mood at work within him, it was yet evident enough that the habitations and presence of the whites brought him nothing but disquiet. He was one of those persons, fortunately for the species, to be found in every country, who are always in advance of the masses clustering around them. He was a philosopher not less than a patriot, and saw, while he deplored, the destiny which awaited his people. He well knew that the superior must necessarily be the ruin of the race which is inferior - that the one must either sink its
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existence in with that of the other, or it must perish. He was wise enough to see, that in every case of a leading difference between classes of men, either in colour or organization, such difference must only and necessarily eventuate in the formation of castes, and the one conscious of any inferiority, whether of capacity or of attraction, so long as they remain in propinquity with the other, will tacitly become instruments and bondsmen. Apart from this foreseeing reflection, Sanutee had already experienced many of those thousand forms of assumption and injury on the part of the whites, which had opened the eyes of many of his countrymen, and taught them, not less than himself, to know, that a people, once conscious of their superiority, will never be found to hesitate long in its despotic exercise over their neighbours. An abstract standard of justice, independent of appetite or circumstance, has not often marked the progress of Christian (so called) civilization, in its proffer of its great good to the naked savage. The confident reformer, who takes sword in one hand and sacrament in the other, has always found it the surest way to rely chiefly on the former agent. Accordingly, it soon grew apparent to the Yemassees, that, while proposing treaties for the purchase of their lands, the whites were never so well satisfied, as when, by one subtlety or another, they contrived to overreach them. Nor was it always that even the show of justice and fair bargaining was preserved by the new comer to his dusky brother. The irresponsible adventurer, removed from the immediate surveillance of society, committed numberless petty injuries upon the property, and sometimes upon the person of his wandering neighbour, without being often subject to the penalties awarded by his own people for the punishment of such offenders. From time to time, as the whites extended their settlements, and grew confident in their increasing strength, did their encroachments go on; until the Indians, originally gentle and generous enough, provoked by repeated aggression, were not unwilling to change their habit for one of
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strife and hostility, at the first convenient opportunity. At the head of those of the Yemassees entertaining such a feeling, Sanutee stood pre-eminent. A chief and warrior, having influence with the nation, and once exercising it warmly in favour of the English, he had, however, come to see farther than the rest of his people the degradation which was fast dogging their footsteps. To the ultimate consequences his mind therefore gave itself up, and was now employed in the meditation of all those various measures of relief and redress, which would naturally suggest themselves to a resolute and thinking spirit, warmed by patriotism and desirous of justice. We shall see, in the sequel, how deeply he had matured the remedy, and how keenly he had felt the necessity calling for its application.
At length he came to a cottage more tastefully constructed than the rest, having a neat veranda in front, and half concealed by the green foliage of a thickly clustering set of vines. It was the abode of the Rev. John Matthews,* an old English Puritan, who had settled there with his wife and daughter, and officiated occasionally as a pastor, whenever a collection of his neighbours gave him an opportunity to exhort. He was a stern and strict, but a good old man. He stood in the veranda as Sanutee came in sight. The moment the chief beheld him, he turned away with a bitter countenance, and resolutely avoiding the house until he had gone around it, took no manner of heed of the friendly hail which the old pastor had uttered on seeing him approach.
Thus pursuing a winding route, and as much as
possible keeping the river banks, while avoiding the
* One of the express conditions upon which the original patent of
Charles II. was granted to the lord proprietors of Carolina, was their
promulgation of the gospel among the Indians. Upon this charitable
object the mission of Mr. Matthews was undertaken, though it
may be well to add, that one of the grounds of objection made
subsequently to the proprietary charter was the neglect of the duty.
An objection not so well founded when we consider the difficulties
which the roving habits of the savages must at all times and of
necessity throw in the way of such labours.
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white settlements, the Indian warrior had spent several hours since his first departure. He could not well be said to look for game, though, possibly, as much from habit as desire, he watched at intervals the fixed gaze of his keenly scented dog, as it would be concentrated upon the woods on either side - now hearing and encouraging his cry, as he set upon the track of deer or turkey, and pursuing digressively the occasional route of the animal whenever it seemed to the chief that there was any prospect of his success. As yet however, the chase, such as it was, had resulted in nothing. The dog would return from cover, forego the scent, and sluggishly, with drooping head and indolent spirit, silently trip along either before or behind his master.
It was about mid-day when the chief rested beside a brooklet, or, as it is called in the south, a branch, that trickled across the path; and taking from the leathern pouch which he carried at his side a strip of dried venison, and a small sack of parched Indian meal, he partook of the slight repast which his ramble had made grateful enough. Stooping over the branch, he slaked his thirst from the clear waters, and giving the residue of his eatables to the dog, who stood patiently beside him, he prepared to continue his forward progress.
It was not long before he reached the Block House of the settlers - the most remote garrison station of the English upon that river. It had no garrison at this time, however, and was very much out of repair. Such had been the friendship of the Yemassees heretofore with the Carolinians, that no necessity seemed to exist, in the minds of the latter, for maintaining it in better order. The Block House marked the rightful boundary of the whites upon the river. Beyond this spot, they had as yet acquired no claim of territory; and hitherto the Indians, influenced chiefly by Sanutee and other of their chiefs, had resolutely refused to make any farther conveyance, or enter into any new treaty for its disposal. But this had not deterred the settlers, many of whom had gone considerably
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beyond the limit, and suffered no interruption. All of these were trespassers, therefore, and in a matter of right would have been soon dispossessed; but in the event of such an effort, no treaty would have been necessary to yield sufficient sanction to the adventurers for a defence by arms of their possessions; and many of the borderers so obtruding were of a class to whom the contiguity of the Indians was quite as grateful, and probably as safe, as that of their own colour. In the neighbourhood of the Block House, however, the settlements had been much more numerous. The families, scattered about at a distance of two, three, or four miles from one another, could easily assemble in its shelter in the chance of any difficulty. The fabric itself was chiefly constructed for such uses; and could with comparative ease be defended by a few stout hearts and hands, until relief could reach them from their brethren on the coast. Though not upon the river, yet the distance of this fortress from it was in considerable - a mile or more, perhaps, and with an unobstructed path to a convenient landing. Retreat was easy, therefore, in this way, and succours by the same route could reach them, though all the woods around were filled with enemies. It was built after a prevailing fashion for such buildings at the time. An oblong square of about an acre was taken in by a strong line of pickets, giving an area upon either end of the building, but so narrow that the pickets in front and rear actually made up parts of the fabric, and were immediately connected with its foundation timbers. The house consisted of two stories, the upper being divided by a thick partition into two apartments, with a clumsy window of about three feet square in each. These two windows fronted either end of the building, and beyond these there were no other apertures than those provided for musket shooting. The lower story formed but a single hall, from which ladders ascended by distinct openings into the upper apartments. A line of small apertures, made at proper intervals in the walls below, served also for the use of
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muskets against an approaching enemy. The house was built of pine logs, put together as closely as the nature of the material and the skill of the artificers would permit; and, save through the apertures and windows described, was impervious to a musket bullet It was sufficiently spacious for the population of the country, as it then stood, and the barrier made by the high pickets on either side was itself no mean resistance in a sudden fray. A single entrance to the right area gave access to the building, through a door, the only one which it possessed, opening in that quarter. The gate was usually of oak, but in the present instance it was wanting entirely, having been probably torn off and carried away by some of the borderers, who found more use for it than for the fortress. In sundry respects besides, the friendly relations existing between the whites and Indians had contributed to its dilapidation, and the want of trifling occasional repairs had not immaterially helped its decay.
From the Block House, which Sanutee examined both within and without with no little attention and some show of discontent, he proceeded towards the river. A little duck-like thing - a sort of half schooner but of very different management and rigging, lay in the stream, seemingly at anchor. There was no show of men on board, but at a little distance from her a boat rowed by two sailors, and managed by a third, was pulling vigorously up stream The appearance of this vessel, which he had now seen for the first time, seemed to attract much of his attention; but as there was no mode of communication, and as she showed no flag, he was compelled to stifle his curiosity, from whatever cause it might have sprung. Leaving the spot, therefore, after a brief examination, he plunged once more into the forest, and as he took his way homeward, with more seeming earnestness than before, he urged his dog upon the scent, while unslinging his bow, and tightening the sinew until the elastic yew trembled at the slight pressure which he gave it; then
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choosing carefully the arrows, three in number, which he released from the string that bound the rest, he seemed now for the first time to prepare himself in good earnest for the hunt. In thus wandering from cover to cover, he again passed the greater number of the white settlements, and in the course of a couple of hours, had found his way to a spacious swamp, formed by the overflow of the river immediately at hand, and familiarly known to the warrior as a great hiding-place for game. He perceived at this point that the senses of the intelligent dog became quickened and forward, and grasping him by the slack skin of the neck, he led him to a tussock running along at the edge of the swamp, and in a zigzag course passing through it, and giving him a harking cheer common to the hunters, he left him and made a rapid circuit to an opposite point, where a ridge of land, making out from the bosom of the swamp, and affording a freer outlet, was generally known as a choice stand for the affrighted and fugitive deer. He had not long reached the point and taken cover, before, stooping to the earth, he detected the distant baying of the dog, in anxious scent, keeping a direct course, and approaching, as was the usual habit, along the little ridge upon the border of which he stood. Sinking back suddenly from sight, he crouched beside a bush and placing his shaft upon the string, and giving all ear to the sounds which now continued to approach, he stood in readiness for his victim. In another moment and the boughs gave way, the broken branches were whirled aside in confusion, and breaking forth with headlong bound and the speed of an arrow, a fine buck of full head rushed down the narrow ridge and directly on the path of the Indian. With his appearance the leg foot of the hunter was advanced, the arrow was drawn back until the barb chafed upon the elastic yew, then whizzing, with a sharp twang and most unerring direction, it penetrated in another instant the brown sides of the precipitate animal. A convulsive and upward leap testified the sudden and sharp pang which he felt, but he kept on, and just at the moment when
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Sanutee, having fitted another arrow, was about to complete what he had so well begun, a gunshot rung from a little copse directly in front of him, to which the deer had been flying for shelter; and, with a reeling stagger which completely arrested his unfinished leap, the victim sunk, sprawling forward upon the earth in the last agonies of death.
CHAPTER IV.
"This man is not of us - his ways are strange,
And his looks stranger. Wherefore does he come -
What are his labours here, his name, his purpose,
And who are they that know and speak for him?"
THE incident just narrated had scarcely taken place when the dog of the Indian chief bounded from the cover, and made toward the spot where the deer lay prostrate. At the same instant, emerging from the copse whence the shot had proceeded, and which ran immediately alongside the victim, came forward the successful sportsman. He was a stout, strange looking person, rough and weather-beaten, had the air and wore a dress fashioned something like that of the sailor. He was of middle stature, stout and muscular, and carried himself with the yawing, see-saw motion, which marks the movements generally upon land of that class of men. Still, there was some thing about him that forbade the idea of his being a common seaman. There was a daring insolence of look and gesture, which, taken in connexion with the red, full face, and the watery eye, spoke of indulgences and a habit of unrestraint somewhat inconsistent with one not accustomed to authority. His dress, though that of the sailor - for even at that early period the style of garment worn by this, differed from that of all other classes - was yet clean, and made of the
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finest material. He wore a blue jacket, studded thickly with buttons that hung each by a link, and formed so many pendent knobs of solid gold; and there was not a little ostentation in the thick and repeated folds of the Spanish chain, made of the same rich material, which encircled his neck. His pantaloons, free like the Turkish, were also of a light blue cloth, and a band of gold lace ran down upon the outer seam of each leg, from the hip to the heel. A small dirk, slightly curved, like that worn by the young officers of our navy in modern times, was the only apparent weapon which he carried, beyond the short, heavy Dutch fusil he had just used so successfully.
The deer had scarcely fallen when this personage advanced toward him from the wood. The shot had been discharged at a trifling distance from the object, which was pushing for the direct spot where the stranger had been stationed. It had penetrated the breast, and was almost instantly fatal. A few moments served to bring him to his victim, while Sanutee from the other end of the copse also came forward. Before either of them had got sufficiently nigh to prevent him, the dog of the chief, having reached the deer, at once, with the instinct of his nature, struck his teeth into his throat, tearing it voraciously for the blood, which the Indian sportsmen invariably taught him to relish. The stranger bellowed to him with the hope to arrest his appetite, and prevent him from injuring the meat, but, accustomed as the dog had been to obey but one master, and to acknowledge but a single language, he paid no attention to the cries and threats of the seaman, who now, hurrying forward with a show of more unequivocal authority, succeeded only in transferring the ferocity of the dog from his prey to himself. Lifting his gun, he threatened but to strike, and the animal sprang furiously upon him. Thus assailed, the stranger, in good earnest, with a formidable blow from the butt of his fusil, sent the enemy reeling; but recovering in an instant, without any seeming abatement of vigour, with a ferocity duly increased from
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his injury, he flew with more desperation than ever to the assault, and, being a dog of considerable strength, threatened to become a formidable opponent. But the man assailed was a cool, deliberate person, and familiar with enemies of every description. - Adroitly avoiding the dash made at his throat by the animal, he contrived to grapple with him as he reached the earth and by a single hand, with an exercise of some of the prodigious muscle which his appearance showed him to possess, he held him down, while with the other hand he deliberately released his dirk from its sheath. Sanutee, who was approaching, and who had made sundry efforts to call off the infuriated dog, now cried out to the seaman in broken English, "Knife him not, white man - it is good dog, knife him not." But he spoke too late and in spite of all the struggles of the animal, with a fierce laugh of derision, the sailor passed the sharp edge of the weapon over his throat; then releasing his hold upon him which all the while he had maintained with the most iron inflexibility of nerve, he left the expiring flog, to which the stroke had been fatal, to perish on the grass.
It was fortunate for himself that he was rid of the one assailant so soon; for he had barely returned his knife to its sheath, and resumed his erect posture, when Sanutee, who had beheld the whole struggle - which indeed, did not occupy but a few minutes - plunged forward as furiously as the animal had done, and the next instant was upon the stranger. The Indian had hurried forward to save his dog; and his feeling, roused into rage by what he had witnessed, took from him much of that cautious consideration, at the moment, which an Indian commonly employs the more securely to effect his revenge; and with a cry of ferocious indignation, throwing aside the bow which rather impeded his movements, he grappled the seaman with an embrace which might have compelled even the native bear to cry quarter. But the sailor was bold and fearless, and it was soon evident that Sanutee, though muscular and admirable built, but tall and less compact,
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laboured of necessity under a disadvantage in the close struggle which ensued, with one so much shorter and more closely set. The conditions of the combat seemed to be perfectly well understood by both parties, for, with the exception of an occasional exclamation from one or the other in the first movements of the struggle, no words passed between them. Their arms were interlaced, and their bodies closely locked for a desperate issue, without parley or preparation. At first it would have been difficult to say which of the two could possibly prove the better man. The symmetry of the Indian, his manly height, and free carriage, would necessarily incline the spectator in his favour; but there was a knotted firmness, a tough, sinewy bulk of body in the whole make of his opponent, which, in connexion with his greater youth, would bring the odds in his favour. If the sailor was the stronger, however, the Indian had arts which for a time served to balance his superiority; but Sanutee was exasperated, and this was against him. His enemy had all the advantage of perfect coolness, and a watchful circumspection that seemed habitual, still defeated in great part the subtleties of his assailant. The error of Sanutee was in suffering impulse to defeat reflection, which necessarily came too late, once engaged in the mortal struggle. The Indian, save in the ball-play, is no wrestler by habit. There he may and does wrestle, and death is sometimes the consequence of the furious emulation;* but such exercise is otherwise unpractised with the aborigines. To regret his precipitation, however, was now of little avail - to avoid its evils was the object.
One circumstance now gave a turn to the affair,
which promised a result decisive on one side or the
other. So close had been the grasp, so earnest the
struggle, that neither of them could attempt to free
and employ his knife without giving a decided
* In a fair struggle, engaged in this manly exercise, to kill the
antagonist is legitimate with the Indians generally; all other forms
of murder call for revenge and punishment.
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advantage to his enemy; but in one of those movement which distorted their bodies, until the ground was nearly touched by the knees of both, the knife of the Indian warrior fell from its sheath, and lay beside them upon the turf. To secure its possession was the object, upon which, simultaneously as it were their eyes were cast; but duly with the desire came the necessity of mutual circumspection, and so well aware were they both of this necessity, that it is probable, but for an unlooked-for circumstance, the battle must have been protracted sufficiently long, by exhausting both parties, to have made it a drawn one. The affair might then have ended in a compromise; but it so happened. that in the perpetual change of ground and position by the combatants, the foot of Sanutee at length became entangled with the body of his dog. As he felt the wrinkling skin glide, and the ribs yield beneath him, an emotion of tenderness, a sort of instinct, operated at once upon him, and as if fearing to hurt the object, whose utter insensibility he did not seem at that moment to recollect, he drew up the foot suddenly, and endeavoured to throw it over the animal. By separating his legs with this object he gave his adversary an advantage, of which he did not fail to avail himself. With the movement of Sanutee, he threw one of his knees completely between those of the warrior, and pressing his own huge body at the same time forward upon him, they both fell heavily, still interlocked, upon the now completely crushed carcass of the dog. The Indian chief was partially stunned by the fall, but being a-top, the sailor was unhurt. In a moment, recovering himself from the relaxed grasp of his opponent, he rose upon his knee, which he pressed down heavily upon Sanutee's bosom; the latter striving vainly to possess himself of the tomahawk sticking in his girdle. But his enemy had too greatly the advantage, and was quite too watchful to permit of his succeeding in this effort. The whole weight of one knee rested upon the instrument, which lay in the belt innocuous. With a fearful
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smile, which spoke a ferocious exultation of spirit, in the next moment the sailor drew the dirk knife from his own side, and flourishing it over the eyes of the defenseless Indian, thus addressed him: -
"And what do you say for yourself now, you red-skinned devil? Blast your eyes, but you would have taken off my scalp for little or nothing - only because of your confounded dog, and he at my throat too. What if I take off yours?"
"The white man will strike," calmly responded the chief, while his eyes looked the most savage indifference, and the lines of his mouth formed a play of expression the most composed and natural.
"Ay, damme, but I will. I'll give you a lesson to keep you out of mischief, or I've lost reckoning of my own seamanship. Hark ye now, you red devil - wherefore did you set upon me? Is a man's blood no better than a dog's?"
"The white man is a dog. I spit upon him," was the reply; accompanied, as the chief spoke, with a desperate struggle at release, made with so much earnestness and vigour as almost for a few moments to promise to be successful. But failing to succeed, the attempt only served seemingly to confirm the savage determination of his conqueror, whose coolness at such a moment, more perhaps than any thing beside, marked a character to whom the shedding of blood seemed a familiar exercise. He spoke to the victim he was about to strike fatally, with as much composure as if treating of the most indifferent matter.
"Ay, blast you, you're all alike - there's but one way to make sure of you, and that is, to slit your gills whenever there's a chance. I know you'd cut mine soon enough, and that's all I want to know to make me cut yours. Yet, who are you - are you one of these Yemassees? Tell me your name; I always like to know whose blood I let."
"Does the white man sleep? - strike, I do not shut my eyes to your knife."
"Well, d-n it, red-skin, I see you don't want to
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get off, so here's at you," making a stroke of his knife, seemingly at the throat of his victim. Sanutee threw up his arm, but the aim in this quarter had been a feint; for, turning the direction of the weapon, he passed the sharp steel directly upon the side of the warrior, and almost immediately under his own knee. The chief discovered the deception, and feeling that all hope was over, began muttering, with a seeming instinct, in his own language, the words of triumphant song, which every Indian prepares beforehand for the hour of his final passage. But he still lived. The blow was stayed: his enemy, seized by some one from behind, was dragged backward from the body of his victim by another and a powerful hand. The opportunity to regain his feet was not lost upon the Indian, who, standing erect with his bared hatchet, again confronted his enemy, without any loss of courage, and on a more equal footing.
CHAPTER V.
"His eye hath that within it which affirms
The noble gentleman. Pray you, mark him well;
Without his office we may nothing do
Pleasing to this fair company."
THE sailor turned fiercely, dirk in hand, upon the person who had thus torn him from his victim; but he met an unflinching front, and a weapon far more potent than his own. The glance of the new comer, not less than his attitude, warned him of the most perfect readiness; while a lively expression of the eye, and the something of a smile which slightly parted his lips, gave a careless, cavalier assurance to his air, which left it doubtful whether, in reality, he looked upon a contest as even possible at that moment. The stranger was about thirty years old, with a rich European complexion, a light blue eye, and features moulded
Page 37
finely, so as to combine manliness with so much of beauty as may well comport with it. He was probably six feet in height, straight as an arrow, and remarkably well and closely set. He wore a dress common among the gentlemen of that period and place - a sort of compound garb, in which the fashion of the English cavalier of the second Charles had been made to coalesce in some leading particulars with that which, in the American forests, seemed to be imperatively called for by the novel circumstances and mode of life prevailing in that region. The over-coat was of a dark blue stuff, usually worn open at the bosom, and displaying the rich folds of the vest below, of a colour suited to the taste of the wearer, but which on the present occasion was of the purest white. The underclothes were of a light gray, fitting closely a person which they happily accommodated and served admirably to display. His buskins were like those worn by the Indians, but coming higher up the leg; and with a roll just above the ankle, rather wider, but not unlike that common to the modern boot. A broad buckskin belt encircled his waist, and secured the doublet which came midway down his thigh. In his hand he carried a light musketoon, or smoothbore, of peculiarly graceful make for that period, and richly ornamented with drops of silver let in tastefully along the stock, so as to shape vaguely a variety of forms and figures. The long knife stuck in his belt was the only other weapon which he appeared to carry; and forming, as it does, one of the most essential implements of woodcraft, we may scarcely consider it under that designation. A white Spanish hat, looped broadly up at one of the sides, and secured with a small button of gold, rested slightly upon his head, from which, as was the fashion of the time, the brown hair in long clustering ringlets depended about the neck.
The sailor, as we have said, turned immediately upon the person who, so opportunely for Sanutee, had torn him from the body of the Indian; but he encountered the presented rifle, and the clicking of the cock assured
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him of the readiness of him who held it to settle all farther strife. Apart from this, he saw that the newcomer was no child - that he was of not less powerful make than the Indian, and with fewer years to subtract from it. The single effort, too, by which he had been drawn away from his victim, indicated the possession of a degree of strength which made the sailor pause and move cautiously in his advance upon the intruder.
"Well, master," said the seaman, "what is this matter to you, that you must meddle in other men's quarrels? Have you so many lives to spare that you must turn my knife from the throat of a wild savage to your own?"
"Put up your knife, good Pepperbox - put it up while you have permission," said the person so addressed, very complaisantly, "and thank your stars that I came in time to keep you from doing what none of us might soon undo. Know you not the chief - would you strike the great chief of the Yemassees - our old friend Sanutee - the best friend of the English?"
"And who the devil cares whether he be a friend to the English or not? I don't; and would just as lief cut his throat as yours, if I thought proper."
"Indeed - why you are a perfect Trojan - pray who are you, and where did you come from?" was the cavalier's response to the brutal speech of the sailor, whom every word of the last speaker seemed to arouse into new fury, which he yet found it politic to restrain, for a sense of moral inferiority, in breeding or in station, seemed to have the effect of keeping down and quelling in some sort the exhibitions of a temper which otherwise would have prompted him again to blows. The pause which he made before responding to the last direct inquiry, seemed given to reflection. His manner became suddenly more moderate, and his glance rested frequently and with an inquiring expression upon the countenance of the Indian. At length, giving a direct reply to the interrogatory which seemed a yielding of the strife, he replied,
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"And suppose, fair master, I don't choose to say who I am, and from whence I came. - What then?"
"Why then let it alone, my Hercules. I care little whether you have a name or not. You certainly cannot have an honest one. For me you shall be Hercules or Nebuchadnezzar - you shall be Turk, or Ishmaelite, or the devil - it matters not whence a man comes when it is easily seen where he will go."
The countenance of the sailor grew black with rage at the language of the speaker, not less than at his cool, laughing, contemptuous manner. But the process of thinking himself into composure and caution going on in his mind for necessary purposes, seemed to teach him consideration, and leisurely proceeding to reload his fusil he offered no interruption to the Englishman, who now addressed himself to the Indian.
"You have suffered a loss, Sanutee, and I'm sorry for it, chief. But you shall have another - a dog of mine, - a fine pup which I have in Charlestown. When will you go down to see your English brother at Charlestown?"
"Who is the brother of Sanutee?"
"The governor - you have never seen him, and he would like to see you. If you go not to see him, he will think you love him not, and that you lie on the same blanket with his enemies."
"Sanutee is the chief of the Yemassees - he will stay at Pocota-ligo with his people."
"Well, be it so. I shall bring you the dog to Pocota-ligo."
"Sanutee asks no dog from the warrior of the English. The dog of the English hunts after the dark-skin of my people."
"No, no - chief. I don't mean to give you Dugdale. Dugdale never parts with his master, if I can help it; but you say wrong. The dog of the English has never hunted the Yemassee warrior. He has only hunted the Savannahs and the Westoes, who were the enemies of the English."
"The eyes of Sanutee are good - he has seen the dog of the English tear the throat of his brother."
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"Well, you will see the dog I shall bring you to Pocota-ligo."
"Sanutee would not see the young brave of the English at Pocota-ligo. Pocota-ligo is for the Yemassees. Let the Coosaw-killer come not."
"Hah! What does all this mean, Sanutee? Are we not friends? Are not the Yemassee and the English two brothers, that take the same track, and have the same friends and enemies? Is it not so, Sanutee?"
"Speaks the young chief with a straight tongue - he says."
"I speak truth; and will come to see you in Pocota-ligo."
"No - the young brave will come not to Pocota-ligo. It is the season of the corn, and the Yemassee will gather to the festival."
"The green corn festival! I must be there, Sanutee, and you must not deny me. You were not wont to be so inhospitable, chief; nor will I suffer it now. I would see the lodge of the great chief. I would partake of the venison - some of this fine buck, which the hands of Matiwan will dress for the warrior's board at evening."
"You touch none of that buck, either of you; so be not so free, young master. It's my game, and had the red-skin been civil, he should have had his share of it; but, as it is, neither you nor he lay hands on it; not a stiver of it goes into your hatch, d-n me."
The sailor had listened with a sort of sullen indifference to the dialogue which had been going on between Sanutee and the new comer, but his looks indicated impatience not less than sullenness, and he took the opportunity afforded him by the last word of the latter, to gratify, by the rude speech just given, the malignity of his excited temper.
"Why, how now, churl?" was the response of the Englishman, turning suddenly upon the seaman, with a haughty indignation as he spoke - "how now, churl? is this a part of the world where civility is so plenty that you must fight to avoid a surfeit. Hear you,
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sirrah; these woods have bad birds for the unruly, and you may find them hard to get through if you put not more good-humour under your tongue. Take your meat, for a surly savage as you are, and be off as quick as you can; and may the first mouthful choke you. Take my counsel, Bully-boy, and clear your joints, or you may chance to get more of your merits than your venison."
"Who the devil are you, to order me off? I'll go at my pleasure; and as for the Indian, and as for you - "
"What, Hercules?"
"I'll mark you both, or there's no sea-room."
"Well, as you please," coolly replied the Englishman to the threat, - "as you please; and now that you have made your speech, will you be good-natured for a moment, and let your absence stand for your civility?"
"No - I'll be d-d if I do, for any man."
"You'll be something more than d-d, old boy, if you stay. We are two, you see; and here's my Hector, who's a little old to be sure, but is more than your match now" - and as the Englishman spoke, he pointed to the figure of a sturdy black, approaching the group from the copse.
"And I care not if you were two dozen. You don't capsize me with your numbers, and I shan't go till it suits my pleasure, for either red-skin, or white skin, or black skin; no, not while my name is - "
"What?" was the inquiry of the Englishman, as the speaker paused at the unuttered name; but the person addressed smiled contemptuously at the curiosity which the other had exhibited, and turned slightly away. As he did so, the Englishman again addressed Sanutee, and proposed returning with him to Pocota-ligo. His anxiety on this point was clearly enough manifest to the Indian, who replied sternly,
"The chief will go alone. He wants not that the Coosaw-killer should darken the lodge of Matiwan. Let Harrison" - and as he addressed the Englishman by his name, he placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder, and his tones were more conciliatory - "let
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Harrison go down to his ships - let him go with the pale-faces to the other lands. Has he not a mother that looks for him at evening?"
"Sanutee," said Harrison, fixing his eye upon him curiously - "wherefore should the English go upon the waters?"
"The Yemassees would look on the big woods, and call them their own. The Yemassees would be free."
"Old chief - " exclaimed the Englishman, in a stern but low tone, while his quick, sharp eye seemed to explore the very recesses of the Indian's soul - "Old chief - thou hast spoken with the Spaniard."
The Indian paused for an instant, but showed no signs of emotion or consciousness at a charge, which, at that period, and under the then existing circular stances, almost involved the certainty of his hostility towards the Carolinians, with whom the Spaniards of Florida were perpetually at war. He replied, after an instant's hesitation, in a calm, fearless manner: -
"Sanutee is a man - he is a father - he is a chief - the great chief of the Yemassee. Shall he come to the Coosaw-killer, and ask when he would loose his tongue? Sanutee, when the swift hurricane runs along the woods, goes into the top of the tall pine, and speaks boldly to the Manneyto - shall he not speak to the English - shall he not speak to the Spaniard? Does Harrison see Sanutee tremble, that his eye looks down into his bosom? Sanutee has no fear."
"I know it, chief - I know it - but I would have you without guile also. There is something wrong chief, which you will not show me. I would speak to you of this, therefore I would go with you to Pocota-ligo."
"Pocota-ligo is for the Manneyto - it is holy ground - the great feast of the green corn is there. The white man may not go when the Yemassee would be alone."
"But white men are in Pocota-ligo - is not Granger there, the fur trader?"
"He will go," replied the chief, evasively, and turning
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away, as he did so, to depart; but suddenly, with an air of more interest, returning to the spot where Harrison stood seemingly meditating deeply, he again touched his arm, and spoke -
"Harrison will go down to the great lakes with his people. Does the Coosaw-killer hear? Sanutee is the wise chief of Yemassee."
"I am afraid the wise chief of Yemassee is about to do a great folly. But, for the present, Sanutee, let there be no misunderstanding between us and our people. Is there any thing of which you complain?"
"Did Sanutee come on his knees to the English? He begs not bread - he asks for no blanket."
"True, Sanutee, I know all that - I know your pride, and that of your people; and because I know it, if you have had wrong from our young men, I would have justice done you."
"The Yemassee is not a child - he is strong, he has knife and hatchet - and his arrow goes straight to the heart. He begs not for the justice of the English."
"Yet, whether you beg for it or not, what wrong have they done you, that they have not been sorry?"
"Sorry - will sorry make the dog of Sanutee to live?"
"There you are wrong, Sanutee; the dog assaulted the stranger, and though he might have been more gentle, and less hasty, what he did seems to have been done in self-defence. The deer was his game."
"Ha, does Harrison see the arrow of Sanutee?" and he pointed to the broken shaft still sticking in the side of the animal.
"True, that is your mark, and would have been fatal after a time, without the aid of gunshot. The other was more immediate in effect."
"It is well. Sanutee speaks not for the meat, nor for the dog. He begs no justice from the English, and their braves may go to the far lands in their canoes, or they may hold fast to the land which is the Yemassee's. The sun and the storm are brothers - Sanutee has said."
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Harrison was about to reply, when his eye caught the outline of another person approaching the scene. He was led to observe him, by noticing the glance of the sailor anxiously fixed in the same direction. That personage had cooled off singularly in his savageness of mood, and had been a close and attentive listener to the dialogue just narrated. His earnestness had not passed unobserved by the Englishman, whose keenness of sense, not less than of vision, had discovered something more in the manner of the sailor than was intended for the eye. Following closely his gaze, while still arguing with Sanutee, he discovered in the new comer the person of one of the most subtle chiefs of the Yemassee nation - a dark, brave, collected malignant, by name Ishiagaska. A glance of recognition passed over the countenance of the sailor, but the features of the savage were immoveable. Harrison watched both of them, as the new comer approached, and he was satisfied from the expression of the sailor that they knew each other. Once assured of this, he determined in his own mind that his presence should offer no sort of interruption to their freedom; and, with a few words to Ishiagaska and Sanutee, in the shape of civil wishes and a passing inquiry, the Englishman, who, from his past conduct in the war of the Carolinians with the Coosaws, had acquired among the Yemassees, according to the Indian fashion, the imposing epithet, so frequently used in the foregoing scene by Sanutee, of Coosah-moray-te - or, as it has been Englished, the killer of the Coosaws - took his departure from the scene, followed by the black slave Hector. As he left the group he approached the sailor, who stood a little apart from the Indians and with a whisper, addressed him in a sentence which he intended should be a test.
"Hark ye, Ajax; take safe advice, and be out of the woods as soon as you can, or you will have a long arrow sticking in your ribs."
The blunt sense of the sailor did not see farther than the ostensible object of the counsel thus conveyed,
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and his answer confirmed, to some extent, the previous impression of Harrison touching his acquaintance with Ishiagaska.
"Keep your advice for a better occasion, and be d-d to you, for a conceited whipper-snapper as you are. You are more likely to feel the arrow than I am, and so look to it."
Harrison noted well the speech, which in itself had little meaning; but it conveyed a consciousness of security on the part of the seaman, after his previous combat with Sanutee, greatly out of place, unless he possessed some secret resources upon which to rely. The instant sense of Harrison readily felt this; but apart from that, there was something so sinister and so assured in the glance of the speaker, accompanying his words, that Harrison did not longer doubt the justice of his conjecture. He saw that there was business between the seaman and the last-mentioned Indian. He had other reasons for this belief, which the progress of events will show. Contenting himself with what had been said, he turned away with a lively remark to the group at parting, and, followed by Hector, was very soon deeply buried in the neighbouring forest.
CHAPTER VI.
"Go - scan his course, pursue him to the last,
Hear what he counsels, note thou well his glance.
For the untutored eye hath its own truth,
When the tongue speaks in falsehood."
HARRISON, followed closely by his slave, silently entered the forest, and was soon buried in subjects of deep meditation, which, hidden as yet from us, were in his estimation of paramount importance. His elastic temper and perceptive sense failed at this
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moment to suggest to him any of those thousand objects of contemplation in which he usually took delight. The surrounding prospect was unseen - the hum of the woods, the cheering cry of bird and grasshopper, equally unheeded; and for some time after leaving the scene and actors of the preceding chapter, he continued in a state of mental abstraction, perfectly mysterious to his attendant. Hector, though a slave, was a favourite, and his offices were rather those of the humble companion than of the servant. He regarded the present habit of his master with no little wonderment. In truth, Harrison was not often in the mood to pass over and disregard the varieties of the surrounding scenery, in a world so new, as at the present moment. On the contrary, he was one of those men, of wonderful common sense, who could readily, at all times, associate the mood of most extravagance and life with that of the most every-day concern. Cheerful, animated, playfully and soon excited, he was one of those singular combinations we do not often meet with, in which constitutional enthusiasm and animal life, in a development of extravagance sometimes little short of madness, are singularly enough mingled up with a capacity equal to the most trying requisitions of necessity, and the most sober habits of reflection. Unusually abstracted as he now appeared to the negro, the latter, though a favourite, knew better than to break in upon his mood, and simply kept close at hand, to meet any call that might be made upon his attention. By this time they had reached a small knoll of green overlooking the river, which, swollen by a late freshet, though at its full and falling, had overflowed its banks, and now ran along with some rapidity below them. Beyond and down the stream, a few miles off, lay the little vessel to which we have already given a moment's attention. Her presence seemed to be as mysterious in the eye of Harrison, as in a previous passage it had appeared to that of Sanutee. Dimly outlined in the distance, a slender shadow darkening an otherwise clear and
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mirror-like surface, she lay sleeping, as it were, upon the water, not a sail in motion, and no gaudy ensign streaming from her tops.
"Hector," said his master, calling the slave, while he threw himself lazily along the knoll, and motioned the negro near him: "Hector."
"Sa - Mossa."
"You marked that sailor fellow, did you?"
"Yes, Mossa."
"What is he; what do you think of him?"
"Me tink noting about 'em, sa. - Nebber see 'em afore - no like he look."
"Nor I, Hector - nor I. He comes for no good, and we must see to him."
"I tink so, Mossa."
"Now - look down the river. When did that strange vessel come up?"
"Nebber see 'em till dis morning, Mossa, but speck he come up yesserday. Mass Nichol, de doctor, wha' talk so big - da him fuss show 'em to me dis morning."
"What said Nichols?"
"He say 'twas English ship; den he say 'twas no English, 'twas Dutch - but he soon change he mind, and say 'twas little Dutch and little Spaniard: after dat he make long speech to young Mass Grayson."
"What said Grayson?"
"He laugh at de doctor, make de doctor cross, and den he cuss me for a dam black rascal."
"That made you cross too, eh?"
"Certain, Mossa; 'cause Mass Nichol hab no respectability for nigger in 'em, and talk widout make proper observation."
"Well, no matter. But did Grayson say any thing of the vessel?"
"He look at 'em well, Mossa, but he no say noting; but wid long stick he write letters in de sand. Dat young Grayson, Mass Charles - he strange gentleman - berry strange gentleman."
"How often must I tell you, Hector, not to call me
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by any name here but Gabriel Harrison? will you never remember, you scoundrel?"
"Ax pardon, Mossa - 'member next time."
"Do so, old boy, or we quarrel: - and now, hark you, Hector, since you know nothing of this vessel, I'll make you wiser. Look down over to Moccasin Point - under the long grass at the edge, and half-covered by the canes, and tell me what you see there?"
"Da boat, Mossa. - I swear da boat. Something dark lie in de bottom."
"That is a boat from the vessel, and what you see lying dark in the bottom, are the two sailors that rowed it up. That sailor-fellow came in it, and he is the captain. Now, what does he come for, do you think?"
"Speck, sa, he come for buy skins from de Injins."
"No: - that craft is no trader. She carries guns, but conceals them with box and paint. She is built to run and fight, not to carry. I looked on her closely this morning. Her paint is Spanish, not English. Besides, if she were English, what would she be doing here? Why run up this river, without stopping at Charlestown or Port Royal - why keep from the landing here, avoiding the whites; and why is her officer pushing up into the Indian country beyond our purchase?"
"He hab 'ting for sell de Injins, I speck, Mossa."
"Scarcely - they have nothing to buy with; it is only a few days since Granger came up from Port Royal, where he had carried all the skins of their last great hunt, and it will be two weeks at least before they go on another. No - no. They get from us what we are willing to sell them; and this vessel brings them those things which they cannot get from us - fire-arms and ammunition, Hector."
"You tink so, Mossa."
"You shall find out for both of us, Hector. Are your eyes open?"
"Yes Mossa, I can sing -
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" 'Possum up a gum-tree,
Racoon in de hollow,
In de grass de yellow snake,
In de clay de swallow.' "
"Evidence enough - now, near me. This sailor fellow comes from St. Augustine, and brings arms to the Yemassees. I know it, else why should he linger behind with Sanutee and Ishiagaska, after his quarrelling with the old chief, unless he knew of something which must secure his protection? I saw his look of recognition to Ishiagaska, although the savage, more cunning than himself, kept his eye cold - and - yes, it must be so. You shall go," said his master, half musingly, half direct. "You shall go. When did Granger cross to Pocota-ligo?"
"Dis morning, Mossa."
"Did the commissioners go with him?"
"No, Mossa - only tree gentlemans gone wid him."
"Who were they?"
"Sir Edmund Bellinger, sa - lib close 'pon Ashee-poh - Mass Stephen Latham, and nodder - I no hab he name."
"Very well - they will answer well enough for commissioners. Where have you left Dugdale?"
"I leff um wid de blacksmith, Mossa - him dat lib down pass de Chief Bluff."
"Good; and now, Hector, you must take track after this sailor."
"Off hand, Mossa?"
"Yes, at once. Take the woods here, and make the sweep of the cypress, so as to get round them. Keep clear of the river, for that sailor will make no bones of carrying you off to St. Augustine, or to the West Indies. Watch if he goes with the Indians. See all that you can of their movements, and let them see you. Should they find you out, be as stupid as a pine stump."
"And whay I for find you, Mossa, when I come back? At de parson's, I speck." - The slave smiled
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knowingly as he uttered the last member of the sentence, and looked significantly into the face of his master, with a sidelong glance, his mouth at the same time showing his full white tuscular array from ear to ear.
"Perhaps so," said his master, quietly and without seeming to observe the peculiar expression of his servant's face - "perhaps so, if you come back soon. I shall be there for a while, but to-night you will probably find me at the Block House. Away now, and see that you sleep not with your eye open till they trap you."
"Ha, Mossa. Dat eye must be bright like de moon for trap Hector."
"I hope so - keep watchful, for if that sailor fellow puts hands upon you, he will cut your throat as freely as he did the dog's, and probably a thought sooner."
Promising strict watchfulness, the negro took his way back into the woods, closely following the directions of his master. Harrison, in the meanwhile, having despatched this duty so far, rose buoyantly from the turf, and throwing aside the air of sluggishness which for the last half hour had invested him, darted forward in a fast walk in the direction of the white settlements; still, however, keeping as nearly as he might to the banks of the river, and still with an eye that closely scanned at intervals the appearance of the little vessel which, as we have seen, had occasioned so much doubt and inquiry. It was not often that a vessel of her make and size had been seen up that little, insulated river; and as, from the knowledge of Harrison, there could be little or no motive of trade for such craft in that quarter - the small business intercourse of the whites with the Indians being soon transacted, and through mediums far less imposing - the suspicions of the Englishman were not a little excited, particularly as he had known for some time the increasing discontent of the savages. The fact, too, that the vessel was a stranger, and that her crew
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and captain had kept studiously aloof from the whites, and had sent their boat to land at a point actually within the Indian boundary, was of itself enough to instigate such surmises. The ready intelligence of Harrison at once associated the facts and inferences with a political object: and being also aware by previous information that Spanish guarda-costas, as the cutters employed at St. Augustine for the protection of the coast were styled, had been seen to put into almost every river and creek in the English territory from St. Mary's to Hatteras, and within a short period of time, the connected circumstances were well calculated to excite the scrutiny of all well-intentioned citizens.
The settlement of the English in Carolina, though advancing with wonderful rapidity, was yet in its infancy; and the great jealousy which their progress occasioned in the minds of their Indian neighbours, was not a little stimulated in its tenour and development by the artifices of the neighbouring Spaniards, as well of St. Augustine as of the Island of Cuba. The utmost degree of caution against enemies so powerful and so acted upon was absolutely necessary, and we shall comprehend to its full the extent of this consciousness, after repeated sufferings had taught them providence, when we learn from the historians that it was not long from this period when the settlers upon the coast were compelled to gather oysters for their subsistence with one hand, while carrying firearms in the other for their protection. At this time, however, unhappily for the colony, such a degree of watchfulness was entirely unknown. Thoughtless as ever, the great mass is always slow to note and prepare against those forewarning evidences of that change which is at all times going on around them. The counsellings of nature and of experience are seldom heeded by the inconsiderate many until their promises are realized, and then beyond the control which would have converted them into agents with the almost certain prospect of advantageous results. It is fortunate, perhaps, for mankind. that there are some few
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minds always in advance, and for ever preparing the way for society, perishing freely themselves that the species may have victory. Perhaps, indeed, patriotism itself would lack something of its stimulating character if martyrdom did not follow its labours and its love for man.
Harrison, active in perceiving, decisive in providing against events, with a sort of intuition, had traced out a crowd of circumstances, of most imposing character and number, in the coming hours, of which few if any in the colony beside himself had any idea. He annexed no small importance to the seeming trifle; and his mind was deeply interested in all the changes going on in the province. Perhaps it was his particular charge to note these things - his station, pursuit - his duty, which, by imposing upon him some of the leading responsibilities of the infant society in which he lived, had made him more ready in such an exercise than was common among those around him. On this point we can now say nothing, being as yet quite as ignorant as those who go along with us. As we proceed we shall probably all grow wiser.
As Harrison thus rambled downward along the river's banks, a friendly voice hallooed to him from its bosom, where a pettiauger, urged by a couple of sinewy rowers, was heaving to the shore.
"Halloo, captain," cried one of the men - "I'm glad to see you."
"Ah, Grayson," he exclaimed to the one, "how do you fare?" - to the other, "Master Grayson, I give you courtesy."
The two men were brothers, and the difference made in Harrison's address between the two, simply indicated the different degrees of intimacy between them and himself.
"We've been hunting, captain, and have had glorious sport," said the elder of the brothers, known as Walter Grayson - "two fine bucks and a doe - shall we have you to sup with us to-night?"
"Hold me willing, Grayson, but not ready. I have
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labours for to-night will keep me from you. But I shall tax your hospitality before the venison's out. Make my respects to the old lady, your mother; and if you can let me see you at the Block House to-morrow, early morning, do so, and hold me indebted."
"I will be there, captain, God willing, and shall do as you ask. I'm sorry you can't come to-night."
"So am not I," said the younger Grayson, as making his acknowledgments and farewell, Harrison pushed out of sight and re-entered the forest. The boat touched the shore, and the brothers leaped out, pursuing their talk, and taking out their game as they did so.
"So am not I," repeated the younger brother, gloomily: - "I would see as little of that man as possible."
"And why, Hugh? In what does he offend you?" was the inquiry of his companion.
"I know not - but he does offend me, and I hate him, thoroughly hate him."
"And wherefore, Hugh? what has he done - what said? You have seen but little of him to judge. Go with me to-morrow to the Block House - see him - talk with him. You will find him a noble gentleman."
And the two brothers continued the subject while moving homeward with the spoil.
"I would not see him, though I doubt not what you say. I would rather that my impressions of him should remain as they are."
"Hugh Grayson - your perversity comes from a cause you would blush that I should know - you dislike him, brother, because Bess Matthews does not."
The younger brother threw from his shoulder the carcass of the deer which he carried, and with a broken speech, but a fierce and fixed gesture, confronted the speaker.
"Walter Grayson - you are my brother - you are my brother; - but do not speak on this subject again. I am perverse - I am unreasonable - be it so - I cannot be other than I am; and, as you love me, bear with it while you may. But urge me no more in this
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matter. I cannot like that man for many reasons, and not the least of these is, that I cannot so readily as yourself acknowledge his superiority, while, perhaps, not less than yourself, I cannot help but know it. My pride is to feel my independence - it is for you to desire control, were it only for the connexion and sympathy which it brings to you. You are one of the million who make tyrants. Go - worship him yourself, but do not call upon me to do likewise."
"Take up the meat, brother, and be not wroth; above all things try and remember, in order that your mood may be kept in subjection - try and remember our old mother."
A few more words of sullen dialogue between them, and the two brothers passed into a narrow pathway leading to a cottage, where, at no great distance, they resided.
CHAPTER VII.
"Ye may not with a word define
The love that lightens o'er her face,
That makes her glance a glance divine,
Fresh caught from heaven its native place -
And in her heart, as in her eye,
A spirit lovely as serene -
Makes of each charm some deity,
Well worshipp'd, though perhaps unseen."
THE soft sunset of April, of an April sky in Carolina, lay beautifully over the scene that afternoon. Imbowered in trees, with a gentle esplanade, running down to the river, stood the pretty yet modest cottage, in which lived the pastor of the settlement, John Matthews, his wife, and daughter Elizabeth. The dwelling was prettily enclosed with sheltering groves - through which, at spots here and there, peered forth its well whitewashed veranda. The river, a few hundred yards in front, wound pleasantly along, making
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a circuitous sweep just at that point, which left the cottage upon something like an isthmus, and made it a prominent object to the eye in an approach from either end of the stream. The site had been felicitously chosen; and the pains taken with it had sufficiently improved the rude location to show how much may be effected by art, when employed in arranging the toilet, and in decorating the wild beauties of her country cousin. The house itself was rude enough - like those of the region generally, having been built of logs, put together as closely as the material would permit, and affording only a couple of rooms in front, to which the additional shed contributed two more, employed as sleeping apartments. Having shared, however, something of the whitewash which had been employed upon the veranda, the little fabric wore a cheerful appearance, which proved that the pains taken with it had not been entirely thrown away upon the coarse material of which it had been constructed. We should not forget to insist upon the porch or portico of four columns, formed of slender pines decapitated for the purpose, which, having its distinct roof, formed the entrance through the piazza to the humble cottage. The clustering vines, too, hanging fantastically over the entrance, almost forbidding ingress, furnished proof enough of the presence and agency of that sweet taste, which, lovely of itself, as yet an added attraction when coupled with the beauty and the purity of woman.
Gabriel Harrison, as our new acquaintance has been pleased to style himself, was now seen emerging from the copse which grew alongside the river, and approaching the cottage. Without scruple lifting the wooden latch which secured the gate of the little paling fence running around it, he slowly moved up to the entrance. His approach, however, had not been entirely unobserved. A bright pair of eyes, and a laughing, young, even girlish face were peering through the green leaves which almost covered it in. As the glance met his own, the expression of sober
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gravity and thoughtfulness departed from his countenance; and he now seemed only the playful, wild, thoughtless, and gentle-natured being she had been heretofore accustomed to regard him.
"Ah, Bess, dear Bess - still the same, my beauty; still the laughing, the lovely, the star-eyed - "
"Hush, hush, you noisy and wicked - not so loud; mother is busily engaged in her evening nap, and that long tongue of yours will not make it sounder."
"A sweet warning, Bess - but what then - if we talk not, we are like to have a dull time of it."
"And if you do, and she wakes without having her nap out, we are like to leave a cross time of it, and so, judge for yourself which you would best like."
"I'm dumb, - speechless, my beauty, as a jay on a visit; and see then what you'll lose."
"What?"
"My fine speeches - your own praise - no more dears, and loves, and beauties. My tongue and your ears will entirely forget their old acquaintance; and there will be but a single mode of keeping any of our memories alive."
"How is that - what mode?"
"An old song tells us -
" 'The lips of the dumb may speak of love,
Though the words may die in a kiss -
And - ' "
"Will you never be quiet, Gabriel?"
"How can I, with so much that is disquieting near me? Quiet, indeed, - why Bess, I never look upon you - ay, for that matter, I never think of you, but my heart beats, and my veins tingle, and my pulses bound, and all is confusion in my senses. You are my disquiet, far and near - and you know not, dear Bess, how much I have longed, during the last spell of absence, to be near, and again to see you."
"Oh, I heed not your flattery. Longed for me, indeed, and so long away. Why, where have you
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been all this while, and what is the craft, Gabriel, which keeps you away? - am I never to know the secret?"
"Not yet, not yet, sweetest; but a little while, my most impatient beauty; but a little while, and you shall know all and every thing."
"Shall I? but, ah! how long have you told me so - years, I'm sure - "
"Scarcely months, Bess - your heart is your book-keeper."
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