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Файл:The Oak Openings; or, the Bee-Hunter
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
“Dat true – dat right, too – nobody grumble at DAT – but
who enemy? pale-face or red-skin?”
“This time it was a red-skin – a Chippewa – one of your
own nation, though not of your own tribe. A warrior called
Pigeonswing, whom you had in thongs, intending to torture
him in the morning. He cut his thongs, and shot your young
man – after which he took his scalp.”
“How know dat?” demanded the Cloud, a little fiercely.
“You ‘long, and help kill Pottawattamie, eh?”
“I know it,” answered le Bourdon, coolly, “because medicine-men know most of what happens. Do not be so hasty,
chief, for this is a medicine spot – whiskey GROWS here.”
A common exclamation escaped all of the red men, who
comprehended the clear, distinct, and oracular-like language
and manner of the bee-hunter. He intended to make an impression on his listeners, and he succeeded admirably; perhaps
as much by means of manner as of matter. As has been said, all
who understood his words – some four or five of the party –
grunted forth their surprise at this evidence of their guest’s
acquaintance with the secrets of the place, in which they were
joined by the rest of their companions, as soon as the words of
the pale-face had been translated. Even the experienced and
wary old chiefs, who had more than half conjectured the truth,
in connection with this mysterious odor of whiskey, were
much unsettled in their opinions concerning the wonder, and
got to be in that condition of mind when a man does not know
what to think of any particular event. The bee-hunter, quickwitted, and managing for his life, was not slow to perceive the
advantage he had gained, and he proceeded at once to clinch
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
the nail he had so skilfully driven. Turning from Cloud to the
head-chief of the party, a warrior whom he had no difficulty
in recognizing, after having so long watched his movements
in the earlier part of the night, he pushed the same subject a
little further.
“Yes; this place is called by the whites Whiskey Centre,” he
added – “which means that it is the centre of all the whiskey
of the country round about.”
“Dat true,” said Cloud, quickly – “I hear so’ger at Fort
Dearborn call him Whiskey Centre!”
This little circumstance greatly complicated the mystery,
and le Bourdon perceived that he had hit on a lucky explanation.
“Soldiers far and near – soldiers drunk or sober – soldiers
with scalps, and soldiers without scalps – all know the place
by that name. But you need not believe with your eyes shut
and noses stopped, chief, since you have the means of learning for yourselves the truth of what I tell you. Come with me,
and I will tell you where to dig in the morning for a whiskey
spring.”
This communication excited a tremendous feeling among
the savages, when its purport came to be explained to the
whole party. Apart from the extraordinary, miraculous nature
of such a spring, which in itself was sufficient to keep alive expectation and gratify curiosity, it was so comfortable to have an
inexhaustible supply of the liquor running out of the bowels of
the earth, that it is no wonder the news spread infinite delight
among the listeners. Even the two or three of the chiefs who
had so shrewdly divined the manner in which the liquor had
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
been spilled, were staggered by the solemnity and steadiness of
the bee-hunter’s manner, and perhaps a little carried away by
sympathy with those around them. This yielding of the human
mind to the influence of numbers is so common an occurrence
as scarcely to require explanation, and is the source of half the
evils that popular associations inflict on themselves. It is not
that men capable of SEEING the truth are ever wanting; but
men capable of MAINTAINING it, in the face of clamor and
collected power.
It will be readily conceived that a medicine-man who is
supposed to possess the means of discovering a spring that
should overflow with pure whiskey, would not be left without
urgent demands for a speedy exercise of this art. This was now
the case with le Bourdon, who was called on from all sides
to point out the precise spot where the young men were to
commence digging in order to open on the treasure. Our hero
knew that his only hope of escape was connected with his
steadily maintaining his assumed character; or of maintaining
this assumed character, with his going on, at once, to do something that might have the effect, temporarily at least, of satisfying the impatience of his now attentive listeners. Accordingly,
when the demand was made on him to give some evidence of
his power, he set about the task, not only with composure, but
with a good deal of ingenuity.
Le Bourdon, it will be remembered, had, with his own
hands, rolled the two barrels of whiskey down the declivity.
Feeling the great importance of effectually destroying them,
he had watched their descent, from the top to the bottom of
the hill, and the final disappearance of the staves, etc., into the
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
torrent which brawled at its foot. It had so happened that the
half-filled cask broke and let out its liquor at a point much
more remote from the stream, than the filled. The latter had
held together until it went over the low rocky precipice, already mentioned, and was stove at its base, within two yards of
the torrent, which received all its fragments and swept them
away, including most of the liquor itself; but not until the last
had been spilled. Now, the odorous spot which had attracted
the noses of the savages, and near which they had built their
fire, was that where the smallest quantity of the whiskey had
fallen. Le Bourdon reasoned on these circumstances in this
wise: – if half a barrel of the liquor can produce so strong a
scent, a barrel filled ought to produce one still stronger; and I
will manifest my medicine-character, by disregarding for the
present moment the spot on the hill-side, and proceed at once
to that at the foot of the rocks. To this latter point, therefore,
did he direct all the ceremony, as well as his own footsteps,
when he yielded to the solicitations of the Pottawattamies, and
undertook to point out the position of the whiskey spring.
The bee-hunter understood the Indian character too well
to forget to embellish his work with a proper amount of jugglery and acting. Luckily, he had left in the canoe a sort of
frock of mottled colors that he had made himself, to wear in
the woods in the autumn as a hunting-dress, under the notion that such a covering would conceal his approach from his
game, by blending its hues with those of the autumn leaf. This
dress he now assumed, extorting a good deal of half-suppressed
admiration from the younger warriors, by the gay appearance
he made. Then he drew out his spy-glass to its greatest length,
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
making various mysterious signs and gestures as he did so. This
glass proved to be a great auxiliary, and possibly alone kept the
doubters in awe. Le Bourdon saw at once that it was entirely
new, even to the oldest chief, and he felt how much it might
be made to assist him. Beckoning to Cloud, and adjusting the
focus, he directed the small end of his glass to the fire, and
placed the large end to that Indian’s eye. A solitary savage, who
loved the scent of whiskey too much to tear himself away from
the spot, was lingering within the influence of the rays, and
of course was seen by the chief, with his person diminished to
that of a dwarf, and his form thrown to a seeming distance.
An eloquent exclamation followed this exhibition of the
medicine-man’s power; and each of the chiefs, and most of the
other warriors, were gratified with looks through the glass.
“What dat mean?” demanded Cloud, earnestly. “See Wolfeye well ‘nough – why he so little? – why he so far off, he?”
“That is to show you what a medicine-man of the pale-faces
can do, when he is so minded. That Indian is named Wolfseye,
and he loves whiskey too well. That I know, as well as I know
his name.”
Each of these exhibitions of intelligence extorted exclamations of wonder. It is true, that one or two of the higher chiefs
understood that the name might possibly have been obtained
from Cloud; but how was the medicine-man to know that
Wolfseye was a drunkard? This last had not been said in terms;
but enough had been said, to let those who were aware of the
propensity feel that more was meant than had been expressed.
Before there was time, however, to deliberate on, or to dissect
this specimen of mysterious knowledge, le Bourdon reversed
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
the glass, and applied the small end to the eye of Cloud, after
having given it its former direction. The Indian fairly yelled,
partly with dread, and partly with delight, when he saw Wolfseye, large as life, brought so near him that he fancied he might
be touched with his own hand.
“What dat mean?” exclaimed Cloud, as soon as surprise and
awe enabled him to find his voice. “Fuss he little, den he big –
fuss he great way, den he close by – what dat mean, eh?”
“It means that I am a medicine-man, and this is a medicineglass, and that I can see with it into the earth, deeper than the
wells, or higher than the mountains!”
These words were translated, and explained to all three.
They extorted many ejaculations of wonder, and divers grunts
of admiration and contentment. Cloud conferred a moment
with the two principal chiefs; then he turned eagerly to the
bee-hunter, saying –
“All good, but want to hear more – want to l’arn more –
want to SEE more.”
“Name your wants freely, Pottawattamie,” answered le
Bourdon, with dignity, “they shall be satisfied.”
“Want to see – want to TASTE whiskey spring – see won’t
do – want to TASTE”
“Good – you shall smell first; then you shall see; after that
you shall taste. Give me room, and be silent; a great medicine
is near.”
Thus delivering himself, le Bourdon proceeded with his
necromancy.
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CHAPTER IX
He turned him round, and fled amain With
hurry and dash to the beach again; He twisted
over from side to side, And laid his cheek to the
cleaving tide; The strokes of his plunging arms
are fleet, And with all his might he flings his feet,
But the water-sprites are round him still,
To cross his path and work him ill.
– The Culprit Fay.
The first step in the conjuration of the bee-hunter was, to
produce an impression on the minds of his untutored observers, by resorting to a proper amount of mummery and mystical
action. This he was enabled to do with some effect, in consequence of having practised as a lad in similar mimicry, by way
of pastime. The Germans, and the descendants of Germans in
America, are not of a very high class, as respects education,
taken as a body, and they retain many of the most inveterate of the superstitions of their Teutonic ancestors. Although
the bee-hunter himself was of purely English descent, he came
from a State that was in part peopled by these Germans and
their descendants; and, by intercourse with them, he had acquired a certain knowledge of their notions on the subject of
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
necromancy, that he now found was of use. So far as gravity
of mien, solemn grimaces, and unintelligible mutterings were
concerned, le Bourdon played his part to admiration; and by
the time he had led the party half the distance he intended to
go, our necromancer, or “medicine-man,” had complete possession of the imaginations of all the savages, the two or three
chiefs already mentioned alone excepted. At this stage of the
proceedings occurred a little incident, which goes to prove the
disposition of the common mind to contribute in deceiving
itself, and which was of considerable assistance to le Bourdon,
in maintaining his assumed character.
It will be remembered that the place where the Indians had
found their strongest scent was on the hill-side, or the spot
where the half-filled barrel had let out most of its contents.
Near this spot their new fire was still brightly blazing, and
there Wolfseye remained, regaling one of his senses, at least,
with an odor that he found so agreeable. But the bee-hunter
knew that he should greatly increase the wonder of the savages
by leading them to a NEW scent-spot, one to which there was
no visible clew, and where the odor was probably much stronger than on the hill-side. Accordingly he did not approach the
fire, but kept around the base of the hill, just enough within
the influence of the light to pick his way readily, and yet so
distant from it as to render his countenance indistinct and
mysterious. No sooner, however, had he got abreast of the
scent-spot known to the savages, than the crowd endeavored
to lead him toward it, by gestures and hints, and, finally, by
direct intimations that he was going astray. All this our “medicine-man” disregarded; he held his way steadily and solemnly
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
toward that place at the foot of the hill where he knew that
the filled barrel had let out its contents, and where he, reasonably enough, expected to find sufficient traces of the whiskey
to answer his purposes. At first, this pertinacity provoked the
crowd, which believed he was going wrong; but a few words
from Crowsfeather, the principal chief, caused the commotion
to cease. In a few more minutes le Bourdon stopped, near the
place of his destination. As a fresh scent of whiskey was very
perceptible here, a murmur of admiration, not unmixed with
delight, passed among the attendants.
“Now, let the young men build a fire for ME” said the beehunter, solemnly – “not such a fire as that which is burning
on the hill, but a medicine-fire. I SMELL the whiskey spring,
and want a medicine-light to SEE it.”
A dozen young men began to collect the brush; in a minute
a pile of some size had been accumulated on a flat rock, within
twenty feet of the spot where le Bourdon knew that the cask
had been dashed to pieces. When he thought the pile sufficiently large, he told Crowsfeather that it might be lighted by
bringing a brand from the other fire.
“This will not be a medicine-light, for that can come only
from ‘medicine-matches,’” he added; “but I want a fire to see
the shape of the ground. Put in the brand, brothers; let us have
a flame.”
The desire of the bee-hunter was gratified, and the whole
of the base of the hill around the spot where the filled cask
had broken, was illuminated.
“Now, let all the Pottawattamies stand back,” added le
Bourdon, earnestly. “It might cost a warrior his life to come
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
forward too soon – or, if not his life, it might give a rheumatism that can never be cured, which is worse. When it is time
for my red brothers to advance, they will be called.”
As the bee-hunter accompanied this announcement by
suitable gestures, he succeeded in ranging all of the silent, but
excited savages on three sides of his fire, leaving that next his
mysterious spring to himself, alone. When all was arranged,
le Bourdon moved slowly, but unaccompanied, to the precise
spot where the cask had broken. Here he found the odor of the
whiskey so strong, as to convince him that some of the liquor
must yet remain. On examining more closely, he ascertained
that several shallow cavities of the flat rock, on which the cask
had been dashed, still contained a good deal of the liquor;
enough to prove of great assistance to his medicine character.
All this while the bee-hunter kept one portion of his faculties on the alert, in order to effect his escape. That he might
deceive for a time, aided as he was by so many favorable circumstances, he did not doubt; but he dreaded the morning
and the results of a night of reflection and rest. Crowsfeather,
in particular, troubled him; and he foresaw that his fate would
be terrible, did the savages once get an inkling of the deception he was practising. As he stood there, bending over the
little pools of whiskey, he glanced his eyes toward the gloom
which pervaded the northern side of the hill, and calculated
the chances of escape by trusting to his speed. All of the Pottawattamies were on the opposite side, and there was a thicket
favorably placed for a cover, so near that the rifle would scarce
have time to perform its fatal office, ere he might hope to bury
himself within its leaves. So tempting did the occasion appear,
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