Читать книгу The Stolen Boy, an Indian Tale - Барбара Хофланд - Страница 6

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About midnight the whole party emerged from different paths, as it appeared, into an open glade, of considerable extent, through which a clear rivulet wound its way in a wavy line, the banks of which were covered with fine soft grass of the purest emerald hue. The moon was at this time high in the blue heavens, and the rays reflected in the stream, as it rippled over a bed of white pebbles, were so brilliant, that for a moment they roused the languid spirits of poor Manuel. He cast his eyes upwards, and said—"Surely there is a God in that beautiful heaven, who looks down on this earth, for it is very beautiful too, and he will take pity on me, and deliver me some time."

The Indians tied their horses to trees, and their prisoners also, in such a manner that the former could obtain food, but to the latter they did not offer any; neither were they observed to take any thing themselves, notwithstanding the many hours in which they must have been without, and the great fatigue they had encountered. Diego lamented this privation exceedingly, and dwelt pathetically on the comforts his supper was wont to afford him; but his wants were at this time not equally felt by Manuel, for his sorrow had completely taken away his appetite, and notwithstanding his extreme fatigue, his mind was actively employed in weighing the possibility of escape, whilst the Indians lay asleep around them. His ideas were revealed to Diego, who was not less alive to the subject; but they both soon perceived (with that dismay which can only be justly estimated by those who have suffered similar misfortunes) that although their ligaments did not appear strong, they were so ingeniously contrived, that it was impossible to unbind them, and also, that they were actually fastened to an Indian, whom on arising, they would inevitably awake. This discovery, of course, plunged them still deeper into affliction; and the night was spent by each in fruitless lamentations, which were, in one sense, solitary ones also, since they were at a considerable distance from each other; and this proof of the ability of the Indians led them to suspect that they might understand as much of their language as would render conversation unsafe; and the only consolation left to the unhappy prisoners was thus denied them.

Diego did, however, venture to hint to Manuel, that it would be advisable for him by no means to let the savages understand he had learnt any of their language from the Choctaws, as he observed—"That if he appeared to gain it from them, it would give them an idea of his extraordinary quickness, which would not fail to render them kind to him, and that during the time when he was supposed to be entirely ignorant of it, they would converse freely before him, and he might learn what they intended to do with their prisoners."

This advice proved to be very good, as it afterwards answered both these purposes. If it had not been given, poor Manuel would have acted precisely in a contrary manner, as it was his intention to beg the chief to release him, and restore him to his parents, in his own tongue, which he hoped would have a greater effect upon him than his supplications hitherto, and for that purpose he had been trying to recollect every word which could be supposed to move him. He now abandoned this idea, and determined to observe Diego's suggestions, remembering that the Indians were little likely to forego their intentions from any entreaties of his, as all he had learnt from their own people, or others, induced him to consider them inflexible: he was also persuaded, that his father would pursue them even to the Red River, on the banks of which he knew there were many settlers; and therefore, if they could gain time, they would eventually be restored to San Antonio.

The Indians, after a few hours' slumber, started up with celerity, liberated their horses and their prisoners, and after mounting and securing them as before, resumed their journey. It continued for about two hours longer, in the same woody kind of country, but after that, was continued over an immense plain, great part of which was exceeding swampy, and, of course, bad for the horses.

Diego observed—"That no European could have passed it with safety, nor indeed any other creature than an Indian, who, he firmly believed, was endued with more senses than his fellow-mortals, and therefore, in his opinion, akin to the devil."

When Manuel was enabled in any measure to overcome the severe grief which at this period might be said to bow him to the earth, he was more happy than his fellow-sufferer, in not thinking so ill of the persons by whom they were taken as he did. In fact, within a few months, Manuel had loved the Indians with enthusiasm, entered into their pursuits with pleasure, studied and extolled their virtues, excused their faults, and even fancied that he should enjoy their manner of living; so that it appeared possible, that if he were not destined for slaughter, he might exist amongst them happily enough. Far different was it with poor Diego; he was more than thirty years of age, his habits were all confirmed, and it had been no small trial for him to leave Europe at all, though his affection for his master had led him to a country which he considered uncivilized at the best—of course, the prospect before him was doubly appalling; and although he bore it like a man, and a Christian also, by lifting up his heart to God, and praying for resignation, yet his spirits were depressed with the deepest sorrow, and he would have been thankful for relief, even by the hands of death. He had heard of the cruelty of the Indians to their prisoners; and they never turned their eyes upon him but he expected they were about to scalp him; and it might be truly said—

"He died a thousand deaths in fearing one."

About noon, the party again entered a mighty forest, to the great relief of poor Manuel, who had long suffered from the heat, and whose galled and wearied limbs, when at length they alighted, refused to sustain him when he was taken from the horse, so that he fell as if dead on the roots of a huge tree, beneath which the party were assembling. On seeing this, his new master gave him some water from a calibash, which was extremely refreshing to him, and afterwards some maize so prepared as to answer the purpose of bread, together with a small strip of dried venison. When the poor boy put it to his lips, he thought he could not swallow it, but when the first mouthful was gone, he found his appetite return to voraciousness, and he eagerly ate all that had been given to him. After this he dropped asleep, almost instantly, and doubtless continued unconscious of any thing many hours, since he was lifted upon the horse, and had travelled a long way, without being aware of his removal.

In two days afterwards, the troop arrived at the banks of a considerable river, where the wives and children of the party were waiting for them, furnished with plenty of provisions, which were now exceedingly wanted, also with canoes, by which they crossed the river.

After passing this boundary, their watchfulness over their prisoners greatly relaxed, being evidently unnecessary, since it was plain they had no chance for returning. Every thing now conspired to shew them that there was indeed a great gulf placed between them and the world behind them. All vestiges of civilized life had been lost to them nearly ever since they were carried away, and woods, almost equally impervious with the stream, to any but Indian feet, shut them out from all intercourse with their countrymen. They were surrounded by a new race of beings, who held them as enemies, though they had never offended them, and who, probably, only preserved them in order to make them a future sacrifice, and to whose imperious will they must in the mean time stoop, in the same slavery to which, it is true, they had seen many fellow-men (the negroes) devoted, but had never till now conceived that they could bend themselves.

Three days more elapsed before they reached the town, or settlement, of this Indian tribe; it lay on the banks of a stream which feeds the Red River (or Nachitoches), which, after passing through a great extent of country, scarcely known (even to the enterprising inhabitants of the United States), falls into the Mississippi in Louisiana. Here they were met by all the inhabitants, who came forth from their wigwams, or huts, to congratulate them on their safe return, and the success of their expedition, in which a valuable booty had been secured, without the loss of a single Indian. Manuel perceived that his master, who was called Tustanuggi, was held in high respect; but yet he learned that he was only a kind of second chief, the first being out with a troop of warriors, who were engaged in warfare against the nation of Alonquas.

Tustanuggi took Manuel to his hut, whilst another Indian made signs to Diego to follow him. This destination wrung the poor boy to the heart; he had no comfort on the face of the earth, but that of being near the faithful servant whom he had known from his cradle, and whom he well knew was willing to die in his behalf. Rushing forward, despite of his terrors, he threw himself into Diego's arms, clung round him, and sobbed on his bosom, in all that agony of sorrow and affection natural to his age and his situation.

On seeing this, one of the old Indians drew the young boys around, who were nearest the age of Manuel, and pointing out to them the weakness of this Christian youth, earnestly exhorted them never to give way to such weakness, especially before their enemies. He condemned tears, as a folly which belonged exclusively to women, and told them "the sons of their father should spurn it, as the proof of cowardice, and the companion of guilt." When the weeping boy heard this, he tried to wipe his eyes and look manful; but the grief of his heart was so great, it admitted not of control; he felt that he was torn from his last friend, for Diego was mother, sister, father, and friend, to him who was henceforward to be utterly desolate. His bitter sobs would have awakened compassion in the heart of any human being, save an Indian; but they are taught from infancy to quell all the natural feelings of the heart, and to despise that in which they disdain to sympathize.

Manuel was at length torn from Diego's bosom, but not before he had whispered to him an assurance of his love and watchfulness, and an exhortation "to attend to the words of all the Indians whom he should hear speaking of them."

Exhausted by the passion of sorrow he had undergone, Manuel now entered the wigwam of his enslaver, and after a short time, cast round his eyes to recognise his future situation. The wife of Tustanuggi was a woman apparently turned of thirty, and might be called a good-looking squaw; she was named Moscogi. They had two children, the eldest a boy about a year older than Manuel, the other a female child under two years; all were in the hut, and appeared anxious to pay all possible attention to the master of it, who received every mark of honour and affection in silence, neither encouraging their freedom, nor returning their caresses.

It is well known that the Spaniards are a proud people, of stately manners, and little given to that lively intercourse among strangers to which the French and other countries are subject. Within their own families this formality is entirely dispensed with, and there is a deep-seated affection towards those to whom they are attached by domestic ties, of the warmest description, and which displays itself by a thousand trifling attentions, indicative of what is passing in their hearts. When, therefore, Manuel perceived the coldness Tustanuggi displayed towards his own wife and children, after he had been so long divided from them (for Moscogi had not been one of the wives who attended on the river to forward their views), he could not help thinking, that to him he would be more severe than he had apprehended, and that his future life was devoted to a hard-hearted master, whom no submission could move, no service could soften.

This surmise did not appear to be well founded; Tustanuggi demanded nothing more than it was easy to perform, and when a failure took place, he resorted to no mode of punishment beyond quiet reproof. His wife partook his manners; she displayed none of that pity towards the captive, which his too frequent tears and evident suffering might have awakened; neither was she petulant or exacting in her manners. Silent and collected, with a pensive aspect, but unrepining temper, she performed her allotted task in the management of her household, and seemed to find her reward in the smiles and caresses of her little girl; for the boy, although he obeyed her commands, appeared to have little affection for her person.

Often did Manuel look towards this boy, as if he hoped to find in him a friend and playmate, for so we find, in general, all children of the same age do look towards each other, whatever may be the difference of their country, their situation in life, or their education; for nature alike inclines them to play and to friendship. But his efforts towards conciliating the good will of this young Indian were fruitless; he felt, in the glances of his keen black eye, that he was a despised creature, whom the little savage would have delighted to destroy; and he learnt, by several questions put to his mother, that Manuel was expected by and by to form a subject of sport for the boys, who hoped they might be permitted to torture him to death. On hearing this, Manuel listened, it may be supposed, with terrible interest to every thing that was said, and became anxious to the greatest degree to recal every word he had obtained from the Choctaws.

The second night spent in the wigwam was disturbed by the loud shrieks of the infant, who was seized with some internal disorder, for which the mother appeared to have no remedy, and which evidently awoke all her feelings as such. Manuel had frequently looked at this child with great interest, for he felt that she could not be his enemy; and besides, he was a boy of a truly compassionate disposition towards every one; so that it was natural he should rise eagerly and offer his assistance, though he knew not in what way to be useful.

They had not hitherto taken his clothes from him, and in taking them up in the dark, he got hold the wrong way, in consequence of which, a few little sugared balls, of the nature of peppermint-drops, which had got into the crevices of his pockets, rolled out on the floor. He well remembered that they were given to him on his birthday, but he did not know that there were any left, and he gathered them up very eagerly, thinking that their sweetness would render them pleasant to the child, to whom he carried them immediately, using the most affectionate gestures he could, to induce her to take them. The father had by this time struck a light, and with much less apathy than usual, gazed upon his child, and suggested means for its relief, which, however, did not appear in the least availing. Very soon, however, after the little sufferer had swallowed the comfits given her by Manuel, a great change took place, for the disorder probably proceeding from flatulence, the peppermint was extremely good for it, by expelling the wind. In a short time those alarming shrieks (so rarely heard in an Indian cottage) had ceased, her eyes again shone brightly, her labouring chest ceased to heave, and, as if sensible to whom she owed her restoration, she held out her arms to Manuel, who, taking her fondly to his bosom, lay down with her, and had soon the satisfaction of seeing her fast asleep and perfectly restored.

This amendment, which appeared almost miraculous in the eyes of the squaw, as might be supposed, was very valuable to Manuel, not only by disposing the hearts of the family favourably to him, but by inspiring the idea that he was become exceedingly attached to them. They had no idea of the existence of a principle of humanity like that which really affected his mind, because with them no general virtue or affection can be said to exist, such feelings never passing the bounds of family or country. To these they are firmly, inviolably attached; what they want in vividness and acuteness, they make up in depth and perseverance; but never have the divine doctrines of forgiveness of enemies, universal love of their fellow-creatures, or pity for their misfortunes, been inculcated amongst them.

On the following morning, Tustanuggi convened a meeting of the chiefs and fathers of the settlement, which consisted of nearly three hundred huts, and afforded about thirty men of importance. To this meeting he took Manuel, and having placed him before them, declared "his intention of henceforth establishing him in his own household," in consequence of the talent which he protested he possessed of relieving sickness, and also in the belief of his management of horses, whom, in like manner, he expected him to cure.

Manuel heard this in silence, and with as much composure as he could assume; but his consciousness of total ignorance on those points, and his knowledge that not a single comfit remained now in his clothing, and of course that he had no power of cure in any future occurrence of the same nature as that of the preceding night, rendered him very unhappy. Earnestly did he desire to explain his situation, but the remembrance of Diego's advice had weight with him, and he studied to repress all emotion, even when the most aged man in the circle thus replied to his master—

"Son, thou hast spoken well; the Great Spirit hath doubtless sent this child amongst us, to preserve our children and our horses; see thou to him, that he become a man amongst men, and learn the usages of a true son of the Cumanches. The other Spaniard whom thou broughtest shall await the day when the warriors return; then shall he be brought to the feast, and the fire, and die with the enemies of the nation."

Every one present applauded this sentence of the aged chief, and in their self-gratulations observed not the situation of poor Manuel, whose blood was frozen with horror, when he thought on the fate which threatened his faithful Diego, whom, he apprehended, remained a prisoner in the house to which he had been taken, since he had never seen him since the time of their arrival.