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Файл:The Oak Openings; or, the Bee-Hunter
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
hero now listened to a degree that kept his faculty of hearing
at a point of painful attention. The voices and plashes on the
water receded, and what was startling, a sound was heard resembling that which as produced by a paddle when struck incautiously against the side of a canoe. Was it then possible that
the Chippewa was out, or had the Pottawattamies one boat
that had escaped his attention? The last was not very probable, as he had several times counted their little fleet, and was
pretty sure of having taken it all to the other side of the river.
The sound of the paddle was repeated, however; then it occurred to the bee-hunter, that Pigeonswing might be on the
scent for another scalp.
Although the conjecture just mentioned was exceedingly
unpleasant to le Bourdon, the chase of the strange canoe gave
him an opportunity to drag his own light craft ahead, penetrating deeper and deeper among the wild rice, which now spread
itself to a considerable distance from the shore, and grew so
thick as to make it impossible to get through the waving mass.
At length, wearied with his exertions, and a little uncertain as
to his actual position, our hero paused, listening intently, in
order to catch any sounds that might direct his future movements.
By this time the savages ceased to call to each other; most
probably conscious of the advantage it gave the fugitive. The
bee-hunter perfectly understood that his pursuers must be
aware of its being entirely out of his power to get to windward, and that they would keep along the shore of the river,
as he did himself, expecting to see his canoe sooner or later
driven by the wind on the beach. This had made him anxious
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
to drag his boat as much toward the outer edge of the rice as
he could get it, and by the puffs of wind that he occasionally
felt, he hoped he had, in a great measure, effected his purpose.
Still he had his apprehensions of the savages; as some would
be very apt to swim quite out into the stream, not only to look
for him, but to avoid being entangled among the plants. It was
only in the natural channels of the rice, of which there were a
good many, that a swimmer could very readily make his way,
or be in much safety. By waiting long enough, moreover, the
bee-hunter was sure he should tire out his pursuers, and thus
get rid of them.
Just as le Bourdon began to think this last-mentioned purpose had been accomplished, he heard low voices directly to
windward, and the splashing of water, as if more than one man
was coming down upon him, forcing the stalks of the plants
aside. He grasped the rifle, and let the canoe drift, which it did
slowly, under the power of the wind, notwithstanding the protection of the cover. The swimmers forced their way through
the stalks; but it was evident, just then, that they were more
occupied by their present pursuit than in looking for him.
Presently a canoe came brushing through the rice, forced by
the wind, and dragged by two savages, one of whom swam on
each bow. The last did not see the bee-hunter, or his canoe, the
one nearest having his face turned in the opposite direction;
but they were distinctly seen by the former. Surprised that a
seizure should be made with so little fracas, le Bourdon bent
forward to look the better, and, as the stern of the strange canoe came almost under his eyes, he saw the form of Margery
lying in its bottom. His blood curdled at this sight; for his first
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
impression was, that the charming young creature had been
killed and scalped; but there being no time to lose, he sprang
lightly from one canoe to the other, carrying the rifle in his
hand. As he struck in the bottom of the boat of Gershom, he
heard his name uttered in a sweet female voice, and knew that
Margery was living. Without stopping, however, to inquire
more, he moved to the head of the canoe, and, with a sharp
blow on the fingers, made each of the savages release his grasp.
Then, seizing the rice-plants, he dragged the little craft swiftly
to windward again. All this was done, as it might be, in an instant; the savages and the canoe being separated some twenty
feet, in much less time than is required to relate the occurrence.
“Bourdon, are you injured?” asked Margery, her voice trembling with anxiety.
“Not in the least, dear Margery – and you, my excellent
girl?”
“They caught my canoe, and I almost died of fright; but
they have only dragged it toward the shore.”
“God be praised! Is there any paddle in the canoe?”
“There are several – one is at your feet, Bourdon – and
here, I have another.”
“Then, let us search for my canoe, and get out of the rice.
If we can but find my canoe, we shall be safe enough, for the
savages have nothing in which to cross the river. Keep your
eyes about you, Margery, and look among the rice for the other
boat.”
The search was not long, but it was intently anxious. At
length Margery saw the lost canoe just as it was drifting past
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
them, and it was secured immediately. In a few minutes, le Bourdon succeeded in forcing the two craft into open water, when
it was easy for him to paddle both to windward. The reader can
readily imagine that our hero did not permit many minutes to
elapse, ere he questioned his companion on the subject of her
adventures. Nor was Margery reluctant to tell them. She had
become alarmed at le Bourdon’s protracted absence, and taking advantage of Pigeonswing lying down, she unloaded her
brother’s canoe, and went out into the river to look for the absent one. As a matter of course – though so feminine and far removed from all appearance of coarseness, a true American girl
in this respect – Margery knew perfectly well how to manage
a bark canoe. The habits of her life for the last few years, made
her acquainted with this simple art; and strength being much
less needed than skill, she had no difficulty in going whither
she wished. The fires served as beacons, and Margery had been
a distant witness of the bee-hunter’s necromancy as well as of
his escape. The instant the latter was effected, she endeavored
to join him; and it was while incautiously paddling along the
outer edge of the rice, with this intention, that her canoe was
seized by two of the swimmers. As soon as these last ascertained
that they had captured a “squaw,” they did not give themselves
the trouble to get into the canoe – a very difficult operation
with one made of bark, and which is not loaded – but they set
about towing the captured craft to the shore, swimming each
with a single hand and holding on by the other.
“I shall not soon forget this kindness of yours, Margery,”
said le Bourdon, with warmth, when the girl had ended her
simple tale, which had been related in the most artless and
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
ingenuous manner. “No man could forget so generous a risk
on the part of a young woman in his behalf.”
“I hope you do not think it wrong, Bourdon – I should be
sorry to have you think ill of me!”
“Wrong, dear Margery! – but no matter. Let us get ourselves out of present difficulties, and into a place of safety; then
I will tell you honestly what I think of it, and of you, too. Was
your brother awake, dear Margery, when you left the family?”
“I believe not – he sleeps long and heavily after drinking.
But he can now drink no more, until he reaches the settlements.”
“Not unless he finds the whiskey spring,” returned the
bee-hunter, laughing.
The young man then related to his wondering companion
the history of the mummery and incantations of which she
had been a distant spectator. Le Bourdon’s heart was light, after his hazards and escape, and his spirits rose as his narrative
proceeded. Nor was pretty Margery in a mood to balk his humor. As the bee-hunter recounted his contrivances to elude
the savages, and most especially when he gave the particulars
of the manner in which he managed to draw whiskey out of
the living rock, the girl joined in his merriment, and filled the
boat with that melody of the laugh of her years and sex, which
is so beautifully described by Halleck.
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CHAPTER X
The things that once she loved are still the same;
Yet now there needs another name
To give the feeling which they claim,
While she the feeling gives;
She cannot call it gladness or delight;
And yet there seems to be a richer, lovelier light
On e’en the humblest thing that lives.
– Washington Allston
The history given by le Bourdon lasted until the canoes
reached the south shore. Glad enough was Dorothy to see
them both safe back, for neither of her companions had yet
awoke. It was then midnight, and all now retired to seek the
rest which might be so needful to prepare them for the exertions of the next day. The bee-hunter slept in his canoe, while
Margery shared the buffalo-skin of her sister.
As perfect security, for the moment at least, was felt by
the sleepers, their slumbers were sound, and reached into the
morning. Then le Bourdon arose, and withdrawing to a proper
distance, he threw off his clothes and plunged into the stream,
in conformity with a daily practice of his at that genial season of the year. After bathing, the young man ascended a hill,
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
whence he might get a good view of the opposite shore, and
possibly obtain some notion of what the Pottawattamies were
about. In all his movements, however, the bee-hunter had an
eye to the concealment of his person, it being of the last importance that the savages should not learn his position. With
the intention of concealment, the fire had been suffered to go
down, a smoke being a sign that no Indian would be likely to
overlook. As for the canoe and the bivouac of the party, the
wild rice and an intermediate hill formed a perfect cover, so
long as nothing was shown above them.
From the height to which he ascended, the bee-hunter,
aided by his glass, got a very clear view of Whiskey Centre and
the parts adjacent. The savages were already stirring, and were
busy in the various avocations of the red man on a war-path.
One party was disposing of the body of their dead companion.
Several were cooking, or cleaning the wild-fowl shot in the
bay, while a group was collected near the spot of the wishedfor spring, reluctant to abandon the hopes to which it had given birth, at the very moment they were plotting to obtain the
scalp of the “medicine-man.” The beloved “fire-water,” that
seduces so many to their destruction, who have enjoyed the
advantages of moral teaching, and which has been a withering
curse on the red man of this continent, still had its influence;
and the craving appetites of several of the drunkards of the
party brought them to the spot, as soon as their eyes opened
on the new day. The bee-hunter could see some of this cluster
kneeling on the rocks, lapping like hounds at the scattered
little pools of the liquor, while others scented around, in the
hope of yet discovering the bird that laid the golden egg. Le
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
Bourdon had now little expectation that his assumed character could be maintained among these savages any longer, did
accident again throw him in their way. The chiefs, he saw, had
distrusted him all along, but had given him an opportunity
to prove what he could do, in order to satisfy the more vulgar
curiosity of their young men. He wisely determined, therefore,
to keep out of the hands of his enemies.
Although le Bourdon could hold a conversation in the
tongue of the Ojebways, he was not fond of so doing. He comprehended without difficulty nearly all of what was said by
them, and had observed the previous night that the warriors
made many allusions to a chief whom they styled Onoah, but
who he himself knew was usually called Scalping Peter among
the whites of that frontier. This savage had a fearful reputation
at all the garrisons, though he never showed himself in them;
and he was now spoken of by the Pottawattamies present, as
if they expected to meet him soon, and to be governed by his
commands or his advice. The bee-hunter had paid great attention whenever this dreaded name was mentioned, for he
was fully aware of the importance of keeping clear of an enemy who bore so bad a reputation that it was not considered
prudent for a white man to remain long in his company even
in a time of peace. His English sobriquet had been obtained
from the circumstances of its being reputed that this chief,
who seemed to belong to no tribe in particular, while he had
great influence with all, had on divers occasions murdered the
palefaces who fell in his way, and then scalped them. It was
added, that he had already forty notches on his pole, to note
that number of scalps taken from the hated whites. In short,
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THE OAK OPENINGS; OR, THE BEE-HUNTER
this Indian, a sort of chief by birth, though of what tribe no
one exactly knew, appeared to live only to revenge the wrongs
done his color by the intruders, who had come from toward
the rising sun to drive his people into the great salt lake on
the other side of the Rocky Mountains. Of course there was a
good deal that was questionable in these reports; a rumor in
the “openings” and on the prairies, having this general resemblance to those that circulate in town, and in drawing-rooms,
and at feasts, that no one of them all can be relied on as rigidly
exact. But le Bourdon was still young, and had yet to learn how
little of that which we all hear is true, and how very much
is false. Nevertheless, as an Indian tradition is usually more
accurate than a white man’s written history, so is a rumor of
the forest generally entitled to more respect than the ceaseless
gossipings of the beings who would be affronted were they not
accounted civilized.
The bee-hunter was still on the elevated bit of ground,
making his observations, when he was joined by Margery. The
girl appeared fresh and handsome, after a night of sleep, and
coming from her dressing-room in a thicket, and over a stream
of sweet running water; but she was sad and thoughtful. No
sooner had le Bourdon shaken her hand, and repeated his
thanks for the succor of the past night, than the full heart of
Margery poured out its feelings, as the swollen stream overflows its banks, and began to weep.
“Brother is awake,” she said, as soon as her sobs were quieted by a powerful effect; “but, as is usual with him after hard
drinking, so stupid, that Dolly cannot make him understand
our danger. He tells her he has seen too many Injins to be
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
afraid of these, and that they will never harm a family that has
brought so much liquor into their country.”
“His senses must be at a low ebb, truly, if he counts on Injin
friendship because he has sold fire-water to the young men!”
answered le Bourdon, with a nice understanding of not only
Indian nature, but of human nature. “We may like the sin,
Margery, while we detest the tempter. I have never yet met
with the man, pale-face or red-skin, who did not curse, in his
sober moments, the hand that fed his appetite while intoxicated.”
“I dare say that may be very true,” returned the girl, in a
low voice; “but one has need of his reason to understand it.
What will become of us now, it is hard to say.”
“Why, now, Margery, more than yesterday, or the day before?”
“Yesterday there were no savages near us, and Gershorn
had all along told us he intended to start for the garrison at
the head of the lake, as soon as he got back from his visit to the
openings. He is back; but not in a state to protect his wife and
sister from the red man, who will be looking for us as soon as
they can build a canoe, or anything that will do to cross the
river with.”
“Had they even a canoe,” returned le Bourdon, coolly, “they
would not know where to look for us. Thank Heaven! that will
be a job that would take some time; nor is a bark canoe built
in a minute. But, Margery, if your brother be a little dull and
heavy, after his debauch, I am sober, and as much awake as
ever I was in my life.”
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