American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
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 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 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
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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