The hunter's cabin

Chapter I. An Incident Of The Forest

" The trees are stained with colors of all hues : The maple blazes in the morning sun, the stalwart oak Flaunts crimson dashes midst the leaves of green, The beech flares yellow, and the graceful elm Purples and flashes in its royal robes. The ash shakes out its scarlet berries to the breeze, And the wild grape turns its frosted clusters to the sun. The evergreens alone retain their summer garb ; The velvet moss which cling to those old trunks, Have changed their sober grays to rainbow dyes ; And the stern rocks, of late so bare and cold, Grown warm, and wrapped themselves in lichens gay. A silvery mist infects the atmosphere, Hangs o'er the shadowy lake, creeps up the stately hills, And, changing to purple as it winds adown the vale, Hovers a moment on the horizon's bounds, And then pales into nothingness."

The Indian summer, that most pleasant and delightful season of the year, had commenced. All day the green hills, the somber woods, flecked here and there with the leaves of bright yellow or red, that twinkled like eyes of fire among the branches, and the shimmering river, were wrapped in that peculiar, smoky atmosphere which seemed borne thither from some great conflagration. The sky was as blue as the azure of Italy, except in the horizon, where a few clouds, like aerial snow-drifts, rested languidly, as if they had floated there for ages. The broad, rolling Ohio was as smooth as a mirror, save when the paddle of some canoe sent the tiny circles eddying from shore to shore, or some fish lunged above the surface with his scales flashing in the sunlight like burnished silver. Now and then, some huge box-like flat-boat came drifting silently downward, the long guidiug-oars resting

6 tiie hunter's cabin.

lazily in the water, unrippled by the passage of the vessel. A delicious languor pervaded every thing, and nature, animate and inanimate, beneath the mild noon-day sun seemed lulled to repose.

Several miles back from the Ohio, in the midst of a clearing, stood a common settler's cabin, such as were beginning to dot the wilderness in many places, at the time of which we write. It was two stories, or, more properly, one story and a half in height, made of ponderous logs, with one door of " puncheon " slabs, which, when closed, was impregnable against the efforts of man to open it. Several loop-holes were visible in the upper story, and a glance would have shown any person that the hand which had constructed the cabin had not been insensible to the dangers which might menace it. The clearing in front of the house showed that it had been turned to account, for a goodly harvest of vegetables and domestic productions had been gathered from it, and the rich virgin soil needed but be tasted to prove that inexhaustible richness lay within it. An air of thrift and comfort pervaded the cabin that would have made it a welcome sight to any wanderer who might chance upon it.

The inmates of this cabin were but two in number— Sylvester and Annie Stanton. The former was a man about fortj'-five years of age, dark-haired, heavy-browed, stronglimbed and muscular. An inveterate hunter, he possessed all the skill, daring and peculiarities of that class. He spent days in wandering through the woods with no companion save his dog and gun, sleeping by his lonely camp-fire with no roof but the blue canopy of heaven, with no sentinel but his faithful brute. Miles and miles he wandered off in pursuit of the deer, oblivious to the peril that threatened both himself and his child. Ten years before he had emigrated to this spot with his young wife and lovely child, both of whom he loved with the fondest affection. Cheered by them, and with the pleasant consciousness of his responsibility, the cabin rose rapidly under his hands, the space around it was cleared and put under cultivation ; and the settler in his forest-home envied the happiness of no man in the broad world, for he was contented and happy himself.

But, a few years later, the beloved partner of his joys was

ANNIE STANTON 7

taken from Mm. He buried lier in the woods, whose shadow j »-,i,os. i^ loved so well, and, for many a day, he moistened the earth above i._ w^ ^g tears. From that hour, Sylvester Stanton was a changed man. liv^ni the merry, genial-hearted wood-chopper, whose laugh chimed witn u«, ring of his ax, as he swung it aloft, and sunk its keen blade into the solid trunk of the oak, he became the silent, moody hunter, whose home was the woods, and who loved naught beside them save his child and dog.

Annie Stanton was about eighteen years of age, the image of what her mother had been before her. Her figure was graceful but rather petite. Her hair was of a light brown ; her eyes full and of a deep blue; her nose small and slightly Roman, and her teeth as white and smooth as pearls. Hei complexion was as rich and luxurious as the crimson side of a peach. Her hands and feet, so symmetrically moulded, would have set a sculptor in rapture.

About ten miles distant, on the banks of the Ohio, was a thriving settlement, which, at the time our narrative commences, had attained a considerable size. It boasted of its tavern, school-house and church, and was quite a resort for travelers in that neighborhood. No flat-boat went down the river without tying to for a while at the " wharf," and its name was the same as one of the most ancient and celebrated cities of the East.

For several years it had been the habit of Annie Stanton to remain in the village during the winter months, where she received the benefit of the school and the best " society " of the place. Through the summer, she remained with her father in his cabin, superintending his household arrangements, frequently walking to the village and back again and not infrequently receiving visits from her friends who dwelt there.

It was near noon. Annie stood at the door, talking with her father, who had just completed his arrangements for starting out upon one of his hunts. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, his bullet-pouch and powder-horn hanging at his side, while Lion, a large, powerful and intelligent dog, sat at his feet, looking up in the face of the daughter as if to remind her that there was no necessity of prolonging the interview by any more words. Annie, as she gazed fondly in her parent's face, seemed loth to have him depart, and he still lingered, willing that she should yet delav him - a-« minutes more.

" WhP" — ™j r expect you back, father ?" she asked, laying ner hand on his huge, brawny shoulder.

" Not before two days at least, and it may be that I shall be absent for nearly a week."

" Why, what will detain you that long ?"

" You see it is a beautiful season for hunting, and this Indian summer will not last long. So I must improve it, my child, while I have the opportunity. You're not afraid to remain here alone ?"

" Afraid ? No, no ; I have been left alone too often."

Stanton hung his head as if musing upon something.

" If I thought the least danger threatened you, nothing in the world would induce me to leave the cabin for an hour. But, it seems to me there can be no cause for fear. The Indians are on good terms with the whites, and there lives not a red-man who has ever applied at my door to be turned away. There surely can be no danger hanging over us."

" Of course not ; do not think of it. I expect a visit from some of the girls down at the village this afternoon or to-morrow, and, as I shall return their call, I promise myself some pleasure while you are gone."

" I have no doubt you will enjoy 3rourself. You have a rifle and plenty of ammunition, and," added the father with a smile, " I guess you know how to use that weapon."

" I should think I had proved to you that I do, when I brought down that bear at the spring last autumn, who appeared to have no fear at all of me."

" Besides I am going to leave Lion to watch over you."

" Let me beg of you, father, not to do it. You need him while hunting, and he is too great a help for you to spare him without cause. What do I want of him ?"

" I think you would feel safer with some companion, and that is why I offered him to you."

" I will feel just as safe without him."

" I will take him along with me then. Should any thing happen," added the parent, after a moment's pause, and in a lower tone, " you know what to do. Fasten the door, and

DIIEAMS. 9

stand it out until I return. Fire your gun occasional^, and if I am not further away from you than I expect to be, I shall hear it and will lose no time in returning."

" Why, father, you talk as if you really did suspect something. What is it ? Do not keep me in ignorance."

" Does my little girl suppose I would keep any thing from her ?" asked the parent, in a reproving tone. " Does she think I would leave her at a time when any thing like danger threatened ?"

" No, no ; but then you talk so strangely, and you look so troubled, that I can not help noticing it. You have been in such good spirits during the last few days, that I do not want to see you become different."

The father smiled. Placing his hand upon the head of his child, he said :

" You must not be too apprehensive. I think it would be a good idea, if you do not feel perfectly at ease here, to go down to the village and remain there until I call for you."

" There is hardly any need of that, I guess, as you know I shall soon go there to remain during the winter. Have no fear of me, and do not let me keep you any longer, for I see Lion is getting impatient already."

The father stooped and kissed his daughter, and then turned and walked across the clearing, with his dog prancing and frolicking beside him, while the daughter watched him until he was hid from sight by the trees and undergrowth. Then she turned and busied herself with her household duties. She had eaten an early dinner, and was now occupied for a few moments in clearing away the remains, after which she brought her wheel forth, and taking a seat by the door, employed herself with spinning.

The monotonous hum of the wheel, the regular motion of the foot-board, and the task made easy and light by the skillful fingers employed at it, imparted a dreamy yet pleasant feeling, and it was not long before Annie Stanton yielded to the mood and was lost in a reverie which rendered her unconscious of place and time.

First she thought of her expected company from the village, a couple of girls of about her own age, some distant relation to her, with whom she remained when sojourning through the winter at the settlement. And she counted greatly upon the pleasure their visit would give. She intended to have a ramble through the woods with them, and perhaps would heed the suggestion of her father, and return to their homes until he should call for her. Annie Stanton was a girl naturally imbued with a deep religious feeling, and the happiest moments of her life were those when she sat thus alone communing with herself and her Maker. She was a member of the church in the village, and unless some storm prevented, was rarely, if ever, absent from the Sabbath-day service. She was meek and n\odest iu her deportment, and was known in the village as a " sweet girl," — an expressive deal when said by every villager of both sexes.

As she sat spinning, she accompanied the buzz of the wheel by her own voice, singing in subdued tones parts of familiar hymns, sometimes repeating the same verse over and over again, hardly conscious of what she was doing. Then she would pause, reflecting a moment on her lonely situation, and lift up her heart to God in earnest prayer for a few moments ; then resume her singing again. Gradually other thoughts occupied her mind — thoughts that, even as she sat there alone by the door of her own cabin, brought the crimson glow to her cheek, and the sparkle to her blue eye. She was thinking of an acquaintance she had formed in the village during the preceding winter in a young hunter, or, more properly, a soldier, stationed at a post some miles to the south. He had piloted a flat-boat down to the settlement, where he had disembarked and remained several clays, during which she had met him. He was a frank, genial-hearted fellow, exactly, she thought, what her father must have been when a young man. His name was George Ferrington. He was known to several of the villagers, all of whom spoke in praise of his fearlessness, skill and modesty. As duty called him away, he was unable to tarry for any length of time at the settlement, but he remained long enough to form an affection for Annie Stanton ; and although it had not yet been confessed, enough advance in the sweet campaign of love's passion had been made to awaken in her own breast longings for another than a father's love. She gave him an invitation to visit her at the wildwood — an invitation he was hut. ton pno-er tn o^r-ont

TXE HURON WARRIOR. 11

He was heartily -welcomed by Mr. Stanton, and remained several days at the cabin. The two hunted together; and Stanton, after his departure, pronounced him a " fine hunter and a man who was always welcome to his house." This was gratifying in the highest degree to Annie, who felt that she could never have an acquaintance of which her father disapproved. Her invitation for him to repeat his visit was cordial, while his acceptance was equally frank. Thus, in this case, the course of true love was running as smoothly as fond hearts could wish.

The sun had reached the meridian and passed it, and was an hour or two on the decline ; still Annie Stanton sat and mused. She would probably have remained thus until nightfall had she not suffered an interruption. Her eyes were resting mechanically upon that part of the floor covered by the sunlight which streamed in through the door, when it was darkened by a shadow — a grotesque and hideous shadow. She sprung from her seat to behold an intoxicated Indian, steadying himself as best he could, and glaring in with a drunken leer upon her. He was dressed like a common Indian, and was in his war-paint, or a part of it, for, by some means or other, it had become partly rubbed from his face. He rested a beautifully ornamented rifle against the door, while he engaged both hands in maintaining the upright position. In his belt was a knife and tomahawk, and five scalps hung from his girdle, the hair long, black and wiry showing that none of them had been torn from the head of a white person. His features, despite his repulsive plight, were even and handsome for an Indian, while his form was as symmetrical and graceful as it is possible for the human form to be. His eyes were as black as midnight, and, when in his right mind, were as bright as diamonds ; but their light was now obscured — they were vacant of all expression.

He stood, swaying slowly backward and forward, hiccuping, and endeavoring to concentrate his gaze upon the girl before him, before the latter was aware of his presence. Tlieu, as if startled from a dream, she sprung up and exclaimed :

" Heavens ! who are you ?"

" Me— me is a great chief— big Injin," he answered, as he managed to blink at her, having succeeded in directing his gaze, much the same as an infant manages in time to fix its look upon the candle.

" Where did you come from ?" asked Annie, hardly conscious for the time of what she was doing.

" Where come from, eh ? Come from good ■ways— on war-path— got plenty scalp — take yours, mebbe !"

Annie retreated a step or two at this dreadful hint, endeav oring to collect her thoughts in order to decide upon some course of action. It frequently happened that the Indians halted at the cabin ; she had thus met with a great number, ail of whom she remembered, or was remembered by them ; but, she had no recollection of having seen this savage before, and was certain that he must be a stranger. Her first project was to approach him and shove him from the door and fasten him out ; but she gave up the idea after a moment's thought. There was danger in approaching him while in his present mood, although she was too brave a girl to be deterred by this. She understood the Indian character too well, however, to show any rudeness, or to insult him. He would never forget it, but, beyond question, would endeavor to avenge it ; while, if she was kind and considerate, intoxicated as he was, he would never fail to remember the kindness ; and unless actuated by some grievance at the hands of the whites, he would prove a firm and faithful friend. Such was Indian nature.

" What is your name ?" she asked, still keeping her distance.

" Me Huron — great warrior — Oonomoo."

She reflected a moment, but could not recollect ever having heard the name.

" Are you hungry ?"

" Dry — want drink— want fire-water, rum, whisky— die if don't get it. Got any for Oonomoo ? Take scalp if don't give him some."

Annie's heart was in her throat. She knew at that moment that there was standing in the next room (her own bedroom) a bottle of Madeira wine which had been in the house ever since her mother's death. She could not deceive the Indian without telling a falsehood ; still, she was resolved that he should not have it. He was already drunk, and the wine ■would only render him crazv.

Annie's guest. 13

" Got any fire-water ? Git him quick."

" I will see," she replied, moving into her bedroom. The instant she caught sight of the bottle, she opened a small window over her bed, which was ordinarily closed, so as to be as impregnable as the logs themselves, and threw it out. She heard it strike a stone or stump, and the crack and jingle of glass proved that its contents were irrecoverably gone. Then she came back and confronted the Huron, who stood patiently blinking and waiting for his " fire-water."

" Where is he ?" he asked, seeing that she did not hand it to him.

" There is not a drop in the house," she replied.

" Big lie — fetch him out — take scalp if don't," he exclaimed, rising to the upright position, seemingly from the force of the words he uttered.

" I tell you the truth when I say there is not a drop in the house. If you do not believe me, search for yourself."

It required several minutes before the intoxicated savage could fully comprehend the whole force of this answer, but it gradually worked its way through his skull, and he evidently reached the conclusion that he was in rather a poor condition just then to take upon himself the task of searching the house. The frank offer of Annie convinced him, too, that she had spoken the truth, and he made no more demands for " fire-water."

" Would you like something to eat ?" she asked, a few minutes later.

The Huron answered in the affirmative by a nod so vigorously made that he barely saved himself from falling forward on his face. He then stumbled in the door, and aimed for a chair, into which he dropped, much in the same manner as if some one had held him aloft and dropped him in it.

"Fetch sunken to eat," he said, in his sullen, emphatie tones.

Annie was already busily engaged in doing so, and in a few momeuts she had their humble table prepared, and sitting a chair by it, she overcame her repugnance sufficiently to help the staggering Indian to it.

" Ain't cal hunerv ? Eat with Oonomoo," said he.

11 THE HUNTBK'S CABIN.

" No, I ate dinner only a few minutes ago. I could not eat a mouthful," she answered, speaking the literal truth.

The savage instantly fell to work, and ate as voraciously as a wild beast for a while. Annie was very attentive to him, pressing upon him different articles of food, until he was gorged, and was forced to decline any thing more. She then assisted him away from the table, and immediately busied herself in removing the dishes and the remains of the food.

" "White gal kind to Injin," said the Huron.

Annie was pleased, for she felt that she had made an impression upon the heart of the poor savage.

" I am no kinder than I ought to be," she replied.

" Very kind — very kind — very kind," muttered the savage, slowly to himself.

" Where did you get your strong drink ?" she asked, feeling less and less fear of him.

" Got him down to the village— Dutchman give him to me —make fool of Injin — give Oonomoo jug."

"Where is the jug?"

" Tumble over log and smash it — run over ground— smell strong— tried to pick him up — slip through fingers."

" Do you like the drink that takes away your senses ?"

" Hate him — like drunk come, dough— stir debbil up in Oonomoo — feel queer — like to scalp white gal."

A shiver of apprehension ran through Annie as the partially sobered Indian glared like a ferocious beast at her. She began to fear that, as the effects of the liquor passed off, the demon nature of the savage would enter, and she would be in greater danger than ever. He being a total stranger, the poor I girl knew not what designs he might entertain against her, ibut she did realize how completely she was in his power. He professed to be a Huron, and he undoubtedly was. This nation — which, two hundred and fift}^ years ago, was one of the most numerous and powerful on the North American continent — was, at the time of our narrative, completely broken and scattered, a fragment only remaining in tha vicinity of Detroit. Annie, therefore, judged that her visitoi was from that section.

" Have you ever been at Detroit ?" she asked.

"Been dere offln — lib dere once — don't lib dere now."

ALARM. 1&

" Where do you live ?'

" In cle woods — all over— go where please — Oonomoo ain't fraid nobody— take scalp when want to— take yours, rnebbe." " Why would you take mine ?" asked Annie, in a calm voice.

" Got long hair— like Injin— come off." " Is Oonomoo such a warrior that he takes the scalp of women, and of those who have fed him ?"

This question cut the Huron like a dagger. He really had entertained no intention of violence toward the girl, but he had been just maudlin enough to be rambling and heedless in what he said ; but, this direct question had considerably sobered him. He looked intently at Annie a moment, and then said :

" Oonomoo sleepy — like to sleep."

" Let me get you a blanket," said she, moving away to her room.

"Don't want none — sleep on floor," he replied, getting down and over on his back, with about as much preparation as a horse would use in lying down. Annie insisted upon his using a pillow, at least, but he would not, and with his head upon the bare floor, in a few minutes he was sound asleep.

It was now about the middle of the afternoon, and Annie began to reflect seriously upon her situation. She was alone with a drunken Indian in the house. It was not to be supposed that he would awaken before night, when she believed the crisis of her peril would be upon her. She had thought, up to the last few minutes, that her kindness to him had had some good effect ; but the broken sentences which he had uttered when partially sobered filled her with the most dreadful apprehensions. There must be evil designs in his heart, or he never would have spoken as he did.

Her eyes rested upon the rifle, hanging against the wall. Nothing would have been easier in the world than for her to take it down and shoot the sleeping Indian, and yet nothing was further from her intentions. The bare thought was revolting. It was cold-blooded murder, and Annie Stanton was a girl who, resolute as she was, could never raise her hand against a fellow-creature, unless it was absolutely

16 THE HUNTER'S CABCS.

required in self-defense. She might have retired to her room barricaded the door, and kept the savage from reaching her • but, after a moment's reflection, she decided against doing this. Were he so disposed, he might fire the building, and thus destroy her.

The only plausible plan that offered itself was for her to step quietly out of the door, and make her way to the village. The harvest moon would give all the necessary light when the sun went down, and she was too well acquainted with the path to experience any difficulty in finding the way. The Indian had lain clown directly across the door, so that she could neither shut it, nor pass out without stepping over him. She supposed that in sleep the Huron would become perfectly sober, and knowing how wakeful was the slumber of his kindred, she dreaded to make the least movement, fearful that he would spring up and assault her.

As the sun went down, and the twilight gathered over the clearing, and the bright, round harvest-moon rose above the wilderness, Annie still maintained her seat in the middle of the room, still too apprehensive to attempt her escape. As she looked out in the clearing, she felt as though she would give worlds, did she possess them, to be there. How quick she would fly across it, and speed through the woods to the settlement ! She was only prevented by that dark shadow which lay across the doorway. The moonlight, shining full upon his painted features, softened their forbidding expression, and gave him the appearance of a corpse, and for such he might have been taken, had not the regular rise and fall of his breast shown that he was breathing. Now and then he moved his hand uneasily, or a limb twitched, and once or twice his lips moved, as though his sleep was broken and disturbed.

Annie watched for several hours, until the moon had risen so high that the shadow had crept nearer and nearer the door, and the sleeping Huron was enveloped in its obscurity. She did not deem it prudent to attempt to pass over him, feeling certain that he would awaken and seize her. Her imagination had now become so acutely alive, that it seemed as if she would die if he touched her. Once, indeed, she arose, with the half-formed resolve of springing over him, and speeding

FAITH. 17

icross the clearing ; but, at that instant, the Indian started in las sleep, and she cowered back in her seat, fearful that the beating of her own heart would awaken him.

A.s the hours progressed, she became aware that a drowsiness was stealing over her, and that ere long she would be compelled to succumb to it. Then came the question : Would the Indian sleep until morning ? Suppose he should awaken while she slept ? What then ?

She debated a while with herself, and, at last, resolved to go to her own room, and retire as usual, leaving her safety wholly in the hands of Providence. She believed if the Indian meditated her death, he would find means to accomplish it sooner or later. She, therefore, resolved to do nothing until the critical moment arrived. She arose, passed lightly over the floor, pushed the inner door softly open, and entered lier apartment. It had always been her custom to read a chapter in her Bible before retiring ; she now paused, undetermined whether to omit this duty or not. She debated but a moment, however. Taking the candle, she passed to the family room where the Huron was lying, where, blowing a coal into a blaze, she lit it, returned to her room, and sat down. By accident, her Bible opened to that sublime Psalm, the one hundred and fourth. She had often read it, but never had its grandeur and beauty so impressed her as then. Twice it was read through, and some of the passages were dwelt upon until the pious mind had committed them to memory. She felt indeed that God's protecting care was over her — that, great as was her peril, she was safe. Extinguishing the light, and kneeling by the bedside, she poured forth her soul in prayer. Had she then heard the approach of the savage, she would not have arisen from her knees until that prayer was ended.