Spinning-Wheel Story by Louisa M. Alcott
Onawandah
"What in the world have _I_ chosen?" exclaimed Geoff, as he drew out amanuscript in his turn and read the queer name.
"A story that will just suit you, I think. The hero is an Indian, and abrave one, as you will see. I learned the little tale from an old womanwho lived in the valley of the Connecticut, which the Indians called theLong River of Pines."
With this very short preface, Aunt Elinor began to read, in her bestmanner, the story of
ONAWANDAH.
Long ago,--when hostile Indians haunted the great forests, and everysettlement had its fort for the protection of the inhabitants,--in oneof the towns on the Connecticut River, lived Parson Bain and his littleson and daughter. The wife and mother was dead; but an old servant tookcare of them, and did her best to make Reuben and Eunice good children.Her direst threat, when they were naughty, was, "The Indians will comeand fetch you, if you don't behave." So they grew up in great fear ofthe red men. Even the friendly Indians, who sometimes came for food orpowder, were regarded with suspicion by the people. No man went to workwithout his gun near by. On Sundays, when they trudged to the rudemeeting-house, all carried the trusty rifle on the shoulder; and whilethe pastor preached, a sentinel mounted guard at the door, to givewarning if canoes came down the river or a dark face peered from thewood.
One autumn night, when the first heavy rains were falling and a coldwind whistled through the valley, a knock came at the minister's door,and, opening it, he found an Indian boy, ragged, hungry, and foot-sore,who begged for food and shelter. In his broken way, he told how he hadfallen ill, and been left to die by enemies who had taken him from hisown people, months before; how he had wandered for days till almostsinking; and that he had come now to ask for help, led by the hospitablelight in the parsonage window.
"Send him away, master, or harm will come of it. He is a spy, and weshall all be scalped by the murdering Injuns who are waiting in thewood," said old Becky, harshly; while little Eunice hid in the oldservant's ample skirts, and twelve-year-old Reuben laid his hand on hiscross-bow, ready to defend his sister if need be.
But the good man drew the poor lad in, saying, with his friendly smile:"Shall not a Christian be as hospitable as a godless savage? Come in,child, and be fed: you sorely need rest and shelter."
Leaving his face to express the gratitude he had no words to tell, theboy sat by the comfortable fire and ate like a famished wolf, whileBecky muttered her forebodings and the children eyed the dark youth at asafe distance. Something in his pinched face, wounded foot, and eyesfull of dumb pain and patience, touched the little girl's tender heart,and, yielding to a pitiful impulse, she brought her own basin of newmilk and, setting it beside the stranger, ran to hide behind her father,suddenly remembering that this was one of the dreaded Indians.
"That was well done, little daughter. Thou shalt love thine enemies, andshare thy bread with the needy. See, he is smiling; that pleased him,and he wishes us to be his friends."
But Eunice ventured no more that night, and quaked in her little bed atthe thought of the strange boy sleeping on a blanket before the firebelow. Reuben hid his fears better, and resolved to watch while othersslept; but was off as soon as his curly head touched the pillow, anddreamed of tomahawks and war-whoops till morning.
Next day, neighbors came to see the waif, and one and all advisedsending him away as soon as possible, since he was doubtless a spy, asBecky said, and would bring trouble of some sort.
"When he is well, he may go whithersoever he will; but while he is toolame to walk, weak with hunger, and worn out with weariness, I willharbor him. He cannot feign suffering and starvation like this. I shalldo my duty, and leave the consequences to the Lord," answered theparson, with such pious firmness that the neighbors said no more.
But they kept a close watch upon Onawandah, when he went among them,silent and submissive, but with the proud air of a captive prince, andsometimes a fierce flash in his black eyes when the other lads tauntedhim with his red skin. He was very lame for weeks, and could only sit inthe sun, weaving pretty baskets for Eunice, and shaping bows and arrowsfor Reuben. The children were soon his friends, for with them he wasalways gentle, trying in his soft language and expressive gestures toshow his good-will and gratitude; for they defended him against theirruder playmates, and, following their father's example, trusted andcherished the homeless youth.
When he was able to walk, he taught the boy to shoot and trap the wildcreatures of the wood, to find fish where others failed, and to guidehimself in the wilderness by star and sun, wind and water. To Eunice hebrought little offerings of bark and feathers; taught her to makemoccasins of skin, belts of shells, or pouches gay with porcupine quillsand colored grass. He would not work for old Becky,--who plainly showedher distrust,--saying: "A brave does not grind corn and bring wood; thatis squaw's work. Onawandah will hunt and fish and fight for you, but nomore." And even the request of the parson could not win obedience inthis, though the boy would have died for the good man.
"We can not tame an eagle as we can a barnyard fowl. Let him rememberonly kindness of us, and so we turn a foe into a friend," said ParsonBain, stroking the sleek, dark head, that always bowed before him, witha docile reverence shown to no other living creature.
Winter came, and the settlers fared hardly through the long months, whenthe drifts rose to the eaves of their low cabins, and the stores,carefully harvested, failed to supply even their simple wants. But theminister's family never lacked wild meat, for Onawandah proved himself abetter hunter than any man in the town; and the boy of sixteen led theway on his snow-shoes when they went to track a bear to its den, chasethe deer for miles, or shoot the wolves that howled about their homes inthe winter nights.
But he never joined in their games, and sat apart when the young folkmade merry, as if he scorned such childish pastimes and longed to be aman in all things. Why he stayed when he was well again, no one couldtell, unless he waited for spring to make his way to his own people. ButReuben and Eunice rejoiced to keep him; for while he taught them manythings, he was their pupil also, learning English rapidly, and provinghimself a very affectionate and devoted friend and servant, in his ownquiet way.
"Be of good cheer, little daughter; I shall be gone but three days, andour brave Onawandah will guard you well," said the parson, one Aprilmorning, as he mounted his horse to visit a distant settlement, wherethe bitter winter had brought sickness and death to more than onehousehold.
The boy showed his white teeth in a bright smile as he stood beside thechildren, while Becky croaked, with a shake of the head:--
"I hope you mayn't find you've warmed a viper in your bosom, master."
Two days later, it seemed as if Becky was a true prophet, and that theconfiding minister _had_ been terribly deceived; for Onawandah went awayto hunt, and that night the awful war-whoop woke the sleeping villagers,to find their houses burning, while the hidden Indians shot at them bythe light of the fires kindled by dusky scouts. In terror and confusionthe whites flew to the fort; and, while the men fought bravely, thewomen held blankets to catch arrows and bullets, or bound up the hurtsof their defenders.
It was all over by daylight, and the red men sped away up the river,with several prisoners, and such booty as they could plunder from thedeserted houses. Not till all fear of a return of their enemies wasover, did the poor people venture to leave the fort and seek theirruined homes. Then it was discovered that Becky and the parson'schildren were gone, and great was the bewailing, for the good man wasmuch beloved by all his flock.
Suddenly the smothered voice of Becky was heard by a party of visitors,calling dolefully:--
"I am here, betwixt the beds. Pull me out, neighbors, for I am half deadwith fright and smothering."
The old woman was quickly extricated from her hiding-place, and withmuch energy declared that she had seen Onawandah, disguised withwar-paint, among the Indians, and that he had torn away the childrenfrom her arms before she could fly from the house.
"He chose his time well, when they were defenceless, dear lambs! Spiteof all my warnings, master trusted him, and this is the thanks we get.Oh, my poor master! How can I tell him this heavy news?"
There was no need to tell it; for, as Becky sat moaning and beating herbreast on the fireless hearth, and the sympathizing neighbors stoodabout her, the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard, and the parson camedown the hilly road like one riding for his life. He had seen the smokeafar off, guessed the sad truth, and hurried on, to find his home inruins, and to learn by his first glance at the faces around him that hischildren were gone.
When he had heard all there was to tell, he sat down upon his door-stonewith his head in his hands, praying for strength to bear a grief toodeep for words. The wounded and weary men tried to comfort him withhope, and the women wept with him as they hugged their own babies closerto the hearts that ached for the lost children. Suddenly a stir wentthrough the mournful group, as Onawandah came from the wood with a youngdeer upon his shoulders, and amazement in his face as he saw thedesolation before him. Dropping his burden, he stood an instant lookingwith eyes that kindled fiercely; then he came bounding toward them,undaunted by the hatred, suspicion, and surprise plainly written on thecountenances before him. He missed his playmates, and asked but onequestion:--
"The boy, the little squaw,--where gone?"
His answer was a rough one, for the men seized him and poured forth thetale, heaping reproaches upon him for such treachery and ingratitude. Hebore it all in proud silence till they pointed to the poor father, whosedumb sorrow was more eloquent than all their wrath. Onawandah looked athim, and the fire died out of his eyes as if quenched by the tears hewould not shed. Shaking off the hands that held him, he went to his goodfriend, saying with passionate earnestness:--
"Onawandah is _not_ traitor! Onawandah remembers! Onawandah grateful!You believe?"
The poor parson looked up at him, and could not doubt his truth; forgenuine love and sorrow ennobled the dark face, and he had never knownthe boy to lie.
"I believe and trust you still, but others will not. Go, you are nolonger safe here, and I have no home to offer you," said the parson,sadly, feeling that he cared for none, unless his children were restoredto him.
"Onawandah has no fear. He goes; but he comes again to bring the boy,the little squaw."
Few words, but they were so solemnly spoken that the most unbelievingwere impressed; for the youth laid one hand on the gray head bowedbefore him, and lifted the other toward heaven, as if calling the GreatSpirit to hear his vow.
A relenting murmur went through the crowd, but the boy paid no heed, ashe turned away, and with no arms but his hunting knife and bow, no foodbut such as he could find, no guide but the sun by day, the stars bynight, plunged into the pathless forest and was gone.
Then the people drew a long breath, and muttered to one another:--
"He will never do it, yet he is a brave lad for his years."
"Only a shift to get off with a whole skin, I warrant you. These varletsare as cunning as foxes," added Becky, sourly.
The parson alone believed and hoped, though weeks and months went by,and his children did not come.
* * * * *
Meantime, Reuben and Eunice were far away in an Indian camp, resting asbest they could, after the long journey that followed that dreadfulnight. Their captors were not cruel to them, for Reuben was a stoutfellow, and, thanks to Onawandah, could hold his own with the boys whowould have tormented him if he had been feeble or cowardly. Eunice alsowas a hardy creature for her years, and when her first fright andfatigue were over, made herself useful in many ways among the squaws,who did not let the pretty child suffer greatly; though she wasneglected, because they knew no better.
Life in a wigwam was not a life of ease, and fortunately the childrenwere accustomed to simple habits and the hardships that all endured inthose early times. But they mourned for home till their young faceswere pathetic with the longing, and their pillows of dry leaves wereoften wet with tears in the night. Their clothes grew ragged, their hairunkempt, their faces tanned by sun and wind. Scanty food and exposure toall weathers tried the strength of their bodies, and uncertainty as totheir fate saddened their spirits; yet they bore up bravely, and saidtheir prayers faithfully, feeling sure that God would bring them home tofather in His own good time.
One day, when Reuben was snaring birds in the wood,--for the Indians hadno fear of such young children venturing to escape,--he heard the cry ofa quail, and followed it deeper and deeper into the forest, till itceased, and, with a sudden rustle, Onawandah rose up from the brakes,his finger on his lips to prevent any exclamation that might betray himto other ears and eyes.
"I come for you and little Laroka" (the name he gave Eunice, meaning"Wild Rose"). "I take you home. Not know me yet. Go and wait."
He spoke low and fast; but the joy in his face told how glad he was tofind the boy after his long search, and Reuben clung to him, trying notto disgrace himself by crying like a girl, in his surprise and delight.
Lying hidden in the tall brakes they talked in whispers, while one toldof the capture, and the other of a plan of escape; for, though afriendly tribe, these Indians were not Onawandah's people, and they mustnot suspect that he knew the children, else they might be separated atonce.
"Little squaw betray me. You watch her. Tell her not to cry out, notspeak me any time. When I say come, we go--fast--in the night. Not readyyet."
These were the orders Reuben received, and, when he could composehimself, he went back to the wigwams, leaving his friend in the wood,while he told the good news to Eunice, and prepared her for the part shemust play.
Fear had taught her self-control, and the poor child stood the testwell, working off her relief and rapture by pounding corn on the stonemortar till her little hands were blistered, and her arms ached forhours afterward.
Not till the next day did Onawandah make his appearance, and then hecame limping into the village, weary, lame, and half starved, after hislong wandering in the wilderness. He was kindly welcomed, and his storybelieved; for he told only the first part, and said nothing of his lifeamong the white men. He hardly glanced at the children when they werepointed out to him by their captors, and scowled at poor Eunice, whoforgot her part in her joy, and smiled as she met the dark eyes thattill now had always looked kindly at her. A touch from Reuben warnedher, and she was glad to hide her confusion by shaking her long hairover her face, as if afraid of the stranger.
Onawandah took no further notice of them, but seemed to be very lamewith the old wound in his foot, which prevented his being obliged tohunt with the men. He was resting and slowly gathering strength for thehard task he had set himself, while he waited for a safe time to savethe children. They understood, but the suspense proved too much forlittle Eunice, and she pined with impatience to be gone. She lostappetite and color, and cast such appealing glances at Onawandah, thathe could not seem quite indifferent, and gave her a soft word now andthen, or did such acts of kindness as he could perform unsuspected. Whenshe lay awake at night thinking of home, a cricket would chirp outsidethe wigwam, and a hand slip in a leaf full of berries, or a bark-cup offresh water for the feverish little mouth. Sometimes it was only acaress or a whisper of encouragement, that re-assured the childishheart, and sent her to sleep with a comfortable sense of love andprotection, like a sheltering wing over a motherless bird.
Reuben stood it better, and entered heartily into the excitement of theplot; for he had grown tall and strong in these trying months, and feltthat he must prove himself a man to sustain and defend his sister.Quietly he put away each day a bit of dried meat, a handful of parchedcorn, or a well-sharpened arrowhead, as provision for the journey; whileOnawandah seemed to be amusing himself with making moccasins and alittle vest of deer-skin for an Indian child about the age of Eunice.
At last, in the early autumn, all the men went off on the war-path,leaving only boys and women behind. Then Onawandah's eyes began tokindle, and Reuben's heart to beat fast, for both felt that their timefor escape had come.
All was ready, and one moonless night the signal was given. A cricketchirped shrilly outside the tent where the children slept with one oldsquaw. A strong hand cut the skin beside their bed of fir-boughs, andtwo trembling creatures crept out to follow the tall shadow that flittednoiselessly before them into the darkness of the wood. Not a brokentwig, a careless step, or a whispered word betrayed them, and theyvanished as swiftly and silently as hunted deer flying for their lives.
Till dawn they hurried on, Onawandah carrying Eunice, whose strengthsoon failed, and Reuben manfully shouldering the hatchet and the pouchof food. At sunrise they hid in a thicket by a spring and rested, whilewaiting for the friendly night to come again. Then they pushed on, andfear gave wings to their feet, so that by another morning they were farenough away to venture to travel more slowly and sleep at night.
If the children had learned to love and trust the Indian boy in happiertimes, they adored him now, and came to regard him as an earthlyProvidence; so faithful, brave, and tender was he,--so forgetful ofhimself, so bent on saving them. He never seemed to sleep, ate thepoorest morsels, or went without any food when provision failed; let nodanger daunt him, no hardship wring complaint from him, but went onthrough the wild forest, led by guides invisible to them, till theybegan to hope that home was near.
Twice he saved their lives. Once, when he went in search of food,leaving Reuben to guard his sister, the children, being very hungry,ignorantly ate some poisonous berries which looked like wild cherries,and were deliciously sweet. The boy generously gave most of them toEunice, and soon was terror-stricken to see her grow pale, and cold, anddeathly ill. Not knowing what to do, he could only rub her hands andcall wildly for Onawandah.
The name echoed through the silent wood, and, though far away, the keenear of the Indian heard it, his fleet feet brought him back in time, andhis knowledge of wild roots and herbs made it possible to save the childwhen no other help was at hand.
"Make fire. Keep warm. I soon come," he said, after hearing the storyand examining Eunice, who could only lift her eyes to him, full ofchildish confidence and patience.
Then he was off again, scouring the woods like a hound on the scent,searching everywhere for the precious little herb that would counteractthe poison. Any one watching him would have thought him crazy, as herushed hither and thither, tearing up the leaves, creeping on his handsand knees that it might not escape him, and when he found it, springingup with a cry that startled the birds, and carried hope to poor Reuben,who was trying to forget his own pain in his anxiety for Eunice, whom hethought dying.
"Eat, eat, while I make drink. All safe now," cried Onawandah, as hecame leaping toward them with his hands full of green leaves, and hisdark face shining with joy.
The boy was soon relieved, but for hours they hung over the girl, whosuffered sadly, till she grew unconscious and lay as if dead. Reuben'scourage failed then, and he cried bitterly, thinking how hard it wouldbe to leave the dear little creature under the pines and go home aloneto father. Even Onawandah lost hope for a while, and sat like a bronzestatue of despair, with his eyes fixed on his Wild Rose, who seemedfading away too soon.
Suddenly he rose, stretched his arms to the west, where the sun wassetting splendidly, and in his own musical language prayed to the GreatSpirit. The Christian boy fell upon his knees, feeling that the onlyhelp was in the Father who saw and heard them even in the wilderness.Both were comforted, and when they turned to Eunice there was a fainttinge of color on the pale cheeks, as if the evening red kissed her; thelook of pain was gone, and she slept quietly, without the moans that hadmade their hearts ache before.
"He hears! he hears!" cried Onawandah, and for the first time Reuben sawtears in his keen eyes, as the Indian boy turned his face to the sky,full of a gratitude that no words were sweet enough to tell.
All night Eunice lay peacefully sleeping, and the moon lightedOnawandah's lonely watch, for Reuben was worn out with suspense, andslept beside his sister.
In the morning she was safe, and great was the rejoicing; but for twodays the little invalid was not allowed to continue the journey, much asthey longed to hurry on. It was a pretty sight, the bed of hemlockboughs spread under a green tent of woven branches, and on the pillow ofmoss the pale child watching the flicker of sunshine through theleaves, listening to the babble of a brook close by, or sleepingtranquilly, lulled by the murmur of the pines. Patient, loving, andgrateful, it was a pleasure to serve her, and both the lads werefaithful nurses. Onawandah cooked birds for her to eat, and made apleasant drink of the wild-raspberry leaves to quench her thirst. Reubensnared rabbits, that she might have nourishing food, and longed to shoota deer for provision, that she might not suffer hunger again on theirjourney. This boyish desire led him deeper into the wood than it waswise for him to go alone, for it was near nightfall, and wild creatureshaunted the forest in those days. The fire, which Onawandah keptconstantly burning, guarded their little camp where Eunice lay; butReuben, with no weapon but his bow and hunting knife, was beyond thisprotection when he at last gave up his vain hunt and turned homeward.Suddenly, the sound of stealthy steps startled him, but he could seenothing through the dusk at first, and hurried on, fearing that sometreacherous Indian was following him. Then he remembered his sister, andresolved not to betray her resting-place if he could help it, for he hadlearned courage of Onawandah, and longed to be as brave and generous ashis dusky hero.
So he paused to watch and wait, and soon saw the gleam of two fieryeyes, not behind, but above him, in a tree. Then he knew that it was an"Indian devil," as they called a species of fierce animal that lurked inthe thickets and sprang on its prey like a small tiger.
"If I could only kill it alone, how proud Onawandah would be of me,"thought Reuben, burning for the good opinion of his friend.
It would have been wiser to hurry on and give the beast no time tospring; but the boy was over bold, and, fitting an arrow to the string,aimed at the bright eye-ball and let fly. A sharp snarl showed that someharm was done, and, rather daunted by the savage sound, Reuben racedaway, meaning to come back next day for the prize he hoped he hadsecured.
But soon he heard the creature bounding after him, and he uttered oneringing shout for help, feeling too late that he had been foolhardy.Fortunately, he was nearer camp than he thought. Onawandah heard him,and was there in time to receive the beast, as, mad with the pain of thewound, it sprung at Reuben. There was no time for words, and the boycould only watch in breathless interest and anxiety the fight which wenton between the brute and the Indian.
It was sharp but short; for Onawandah had his knife, and as soon as hecould get the snarling, struggling creature down, he killed it with askilful stroke. But not before it had torn and bitten him moredangerously than he knew; for the dusk hid the wounds, and excitementkept him from feeling them at first. Reuben thanked him heartily, andaccepted his few words of warning with grateful docility; then bothhurried back to Eunice, who till next day knew nothing of her brother'sdanger.
Onawandah made light of his scratches, as he called them, got theirsupper, and sent Reuben early to bed, for to-morrow they were to startagain.
Excited by his adventure, the boy slept lightly, and waking in thenight, saw by the flicker of the fire Onawandah binding up a deep woundin his breast with wet moss and his own belt. A stifled groan betrayedhow much he suffered; but when Reuben went to him, he would accept nohelp, said it was nothing, and sent him back to bed, preferring toendure the pain in stern silence, with true Indian pride and courage.
Next morning, they set out and pushed on as fast as Eunice's strengthallowed. But it was evident that Onawandah suffered much, though hewould not rest, forbade the children to speak of his wounds, and pressedon with feverish haste, as if he feared that his strength might not holdout. Reuben watched him anxiously, for there was a look in his face thattroubled the boy and filled him with alarm, as well as with remorse andlove. Eunice would not let him carry her as before, but trudged bravelybehind him, though her feet ached and her breath often failed as shetried to keep up; and both children did all they could to comfort andsustain their friend, who seemed glad to give his life for them.
In three days they reached the river, and, as if Heaven helped them intheir greatest need, found a canoe, left by some hunter, near the shore.In they sprang, and let the swift current bear them along, Eunicekneeling in the bow like a little figure-head of Hope, Reuben steeringwith his paddle, and Onawandah sitting with arms tightly folded over hisbreast, as if to control the sharp anguish of the neglected wound. Heknew that it was past help now, and only cared to see the children safe;then, worn out but happy, he was proud to die, having paid his debt tothe good parson, and proved that he was not a liar nor a traitor.
Hour after hour they floated down the great river, looking eagerly forsigns of home, and when at last they entered the familiar valley, whilethe little girl cried for joy, and the boy paddled as he had never donebefore, Onawandah sat erect, with his haggard eyes fixed on the dimdistance, and sang his death-song in a clear, strong voice,--thoughevery breath was pain,--bent on dying like a brave, without complaint orfear.
At last they saw the smoke from the cabins on the hillside, and, hastilymooring the canoe, all sprang out, eager to be at home after their longand perilous wandering. But as his foot touched the land, Onawandah feltthat he could do no more, and stretching his arms toward the parsonage,the windows of which glimmered as hospitably as they had done when hefirst saw them, he said, with a pathetic sort of triumph in his brokenvoice: "Go. I cannot. Tell the good father, Onawandah not lie, notforget. He keep his promise."
Then he dropped upon the grass and lay as if dead, while Reuben, biddingEunice keep watch, ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him to tellthe tale and bring help.
The little girl did her part tenderly, carrying water in her hands towet the white lips, tearing up her ragged skirt to lay fresh bandageson the wound that had been bleeding the brave boy's life away, and,sitting by him, gathered his head into her arms, begging him to waittill father came.
But poor Onawandah had waited too long; now he could only look up intothe dear, loving, little face bent over him, and whisper wistfully:"Wild Rose will remember Onawandah?" as the light went out of his eyes,and his last breath was a smile for her.
When the parson and his people came hurrying up full of wonder, joy, andgood-will, they found Eunice weeping bitterly, and the Indian boy lyinglike a young warrior smiling at death.
"Ah, my neighbors, the savage has taught us a lesson we never canforget. Let us imitate his virtues, and do honor to his memory," saidthe pastor, as he held his little daughter close and looked down at thepathetic figure at his feet, whose silence was more eloquent than anywords.
All felt it, and even old Becky had a remorseful sigh for the boy whohad kept his word so well and given back her darlings safe.
They buried him where he lay; and for years the lonely mound under thegreat oak was kept green by loving hands. Wild roses bloomed there, andthe murmur of the Long River of Pines was a fit lullaby for faithful Onawandah.