American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
Although it was still light, the sun was near setting when the canoes
glided into the river. Fortunately for the fugitives, the banks were
densely wooded, and the stream of great width--a little lake, in
fact--and there was not much danger of their being seen until they got
near the mouth; nor then, even, should they once get within the cover
of the wild rice, and of the rushes. There was no retreat, however; and
after paddling some distance, in order to get beyond the observation of
any scout who might approach the place where they had last been seen,
the canoes were brought close together, and suffered to float before
a smart breeze, so as not to reach the mouth of the stream before the
night closed around them. Everything appeared so tranquil, the solitude
was so profound, and their progress so smooth and uninterrupted, that a
certain amount of confidence revived in the breasts of all, and even the
bee-hunter had hopes of eventual escape.
A conversation now occurred, in which Peter was questioned concerning
the manner in which he had been occupied during his absence; an absence
that had given le Bourdon so much concern. Had the chief been perfectly
explicit, he would have confessed that fully one-half of his waking
thoughts had been occupied in thinking of the death of the Son of God,
of the missionary's prayer for his enemies, and of the sublime morality
connected with such a religion. It is true Peter did not--could not,
indeed--enter very profoundly into the consideration of these subjects;
nor were his notions either very clear or orthodox; but they were
sincere, and the feelings to which they gave birth were devout.
Peter did not touch on these circumstances, however, confining his
explanations to the purely material part of his proceedings. He had
remained with Bear's Meat, Crowsfeather, and the other leading chiefs,
in order to be at the fountain-head of information, and to interpose his
influence should the pale-faces unhappily fall into the hands of those
who were so industriously looking for them. Nothing had occurred to call
his authority out, but a strange uncertainty seemed to reign among the
warriors, concerning the manner in which their intended victims eluded
their endeavors to overtake them. No trail had been discovered, scout
after scout coming in to report a total want of success in their
investigations inland. This turned the attention of the Indians still
more keenly on the river's mouth, it being certain that the canoes could
not have passed out into the lake previously to the arrival of the two
or three first parties of their young men, who had been sent so early to
watch that particular outlet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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