American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
Once in this wooded reach, Peter tossed an arm, and assumed an air of
greater security. He felt infinitely relieved, and knew that they were
safe, for a time, unless some wanderer should have taken to the swamp--a
most improbable thing of itself. When high enough, he led the way across
the stream, and entering below, he soon had all the canoes in their
place of concealment.
“Dis good place,” observed the great chief, as soon as all were fast;
“bess take care, dough. Bess not make track too much on land; Injin got
sharp eye, and see ebbery t'ing. Now, I go and talk wid chief. Come back
by-'em-by. You stay here. Good-bye.”
“Stop, Peter--one word before we part. If you see Parson Amen, or the
corporal, it might be well to tell THEM where we are to be found. They
would be glad to know.”
Peter looked grave; even sad. He did not answer for fully a minute. When
he did, it was in a low, suppressed voice, such as one is apt to use
when there is a weight felt on his mind.
“Nebber know any t'ing ag'in,” returned the chief. “Both dem pale-face
dead.”
“Dead!” echoed all within hearing.
“Juss so; Injin kill him. Mean to kill you, too--dat why I run away.
Saw medicine-priest die. What you t'ink, Blossom?--What you t'ink,
Bourdon?--Dat man die asking Great Spirit to do good to Injin!”
“I can believe it, Peter, for he was a good man, and such are our
Christian laws, though few of us obey them. I can easily believe that
Parson Amen was an exception, however.”
“Yes, Peter, such are our Christian laws,” put in Margery, earnestly.
“When Christ, the Son of God, came on earth to redeem lost men, he
commanded his followers to do good to them that did evil to us, and to
pray for them that tried to harm us. We have his very words, written in
our bibles.”
“You got him?” said Peter, with interest. “See you read him, of'en. Got
dat book here?”
“To be sure I have--it is the last thing I should have forgotten. Dolly
has one, and I have another; we read in them every day, and we hope
that, before long, brother and Bourdon will read in them, too.”
“Why, I'm no great scholar, Margery,” returned her husband, scratching
his full, curling head of hair, out of pure awkwardness; “to please YOU,
however, I'd undertake even a harder job. It was so with the bees, when
I began; I thought I should never succeed in lining the first bee to his
hive; but, since that time, I think I've lined a thousand!”
“It's easy, it's easy, dear Benjamin, if you will only make a
beginning,” returned the much interested young wife. “When we get to a
place of safety, if it be God's will that we ever shall, I hope to have
you join me in reading the good book, daily. See, Peter, I keep it in
this little bag, where it is safe, and always at hand.”
“You read dem word for me, Blossom: I want to hear him, out of dis book,
himself.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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