CHAPTER IV.  AN INDIAN SUITOR.
1803.
Machecawa and his friend O'Jawescawa became frequent visitors at the Wigwam. They would come in the morning, uninvited, and sit silently all day long before the open fire and observe all that was going on. The spinning-wheel and hand-loom were objects of unceasing interest to them, and though it proved a great distraction to the children in their studies, and to the girls in the performance of their domestic duties, to have them there, they were always treated not only with respect but with consideration and kindness.
One morning Machecawa stood gazing intently into the fire. His face wore an expression of perplexity. At length he turned to the White Chief, who was explaining a mathematical problem to one of his boys, and said:
"Big Injun, he want to speak his thoughts from books. He want to know white man's Manitou."
"May I teach him, father? Just for an hour every day?" said Chrissy, a tall, fair, thoughtful girl of seventeen, who was known throughout the settlement as the "Saint," for she had been led to take a serious view of life by a Quaker friend in the old school at Woburn. "It would be such a pleasure for me to lead him to a knowledge of the truth."
The father readily granted the request, and it was arranged that he should receive instruction from Chrissy every morning while the younger boys were having their lessons. Never had teacher a more apt, humble, or willing pupil. Never had pupil a more considerate, patient, kind-hearted instructor. Over and over again did she repeat words and sentences until at last the Indian found, to his unspeakable joy, that he was beginning to acquire the words pretty freely.
The morning hour with Machecawa proved of such interest that it was not an uncommon thing to see the White Chief and all the children listening intently to Chrissy and the Indian as they compared their respective creeds.
One morning, after she had been giving an account of the creation and the deluge, she said, "Now, tell me what you think of these things. Do the Indians ever think of how the world was made? Did they ever hear of a flood?"
Machecawa replied in broken English, the interpretation of which is as follows:
The Indian believes that the great Manabozo is king of all other animal kings. The West Wind is his father, and his mother is grand-daughter of the Moon. Sometimes he is a wolf; sometimes a hare; sometimes he is a wicked spirit. Manabozo was hunting with his brother, a wolf, who fell through the ice in a lake and was eaten by snakes. Manabozo was very cross and changed himself into the stump of a tree and surprised the king of the serpents and killed him. The snakes were all Manitous, and they made the water flood the world. Manabozo climbed a tree which grew and grew as the flood came up and was saved from the wicked spirits.
Manabozo looked over the waters and he saw a loon, and he cried to the loon for help to save the world. The loon went under the water to look for mud to build the world again, but he could not find the bottom. Then a muskrat tried, but he came up on his back nearly dead. Manabozo looked in his paws and found a little mud, and he took the mud and the dead body of the loon and with it created the world anew again.
"And do you believe that?" said the White Chief.
"Our tribe she believe like that," replied the Indian.
"What is that thing tied round your neck, Machecawa?" said Bearie, the second son, a short, well knit, sturdy-looking youth of eighteen, whose every expression reflected a bright, happy, generous disposition.
"She am my Manitou," replied the Indian.
"What is a Manitou? Every Indian you meet with seems to differ on the subject."
"Some tam she am wan ting, some tam she am anodder."
"That is evading the question," said Chrissy.
"What kind of a Manitou have you got inside of that little bag which is tied round your neck?" persisted Bearie. "Will you let me see it?"
"No! No!! No!!!" he said excitedly. "My Manitou she am not be pleese."
"Come, now, old man," he said. "Tell us all about it."
"What is it?"
"How did you get it?"
"What is it for?"
"Waal," he said, reluctantly, "When I am a boy, me, just become a man, my fadder, he say, 'Machecawa, tam you got a manitou.' My face he paint black, black. He say, heem, 'you no eat no teeng seex days.' By em by I am dream some teeng, me, dat some teeng she am my manitou. She help me kill beeg bear; she mak dem Iroquois dogs run like one wild moose. My fadder she am pleese; she make my manitou on my arm—see!" he said, rolling up his sleeve.
On his shoulder was the rude outline of a fish, which had been tatooed with sharp bones and with the juice of berries rubbed in.
"But what is in the little bag?" asked Bearie. "Will you let me see it?"
After a good deal of reluctance he gave in at last, and two curious boys untied the precious parcel, while the others, equally curious, looked over his shoulders at a few old broken fish bones which were all the little bag contained.
"Well, old man," said Bearie, slowly replacing the sacred relics, "we put our faith in something better than that. The white man trusts the Great Spirit in heaven to care for him and to take him to heaven when he dies."
"Any bear in hebben?" asked the Indian.
"No," said Bearie, "only good people."
"Dat hebben she am no good for big Injun," said Machecawa, sadly. "De happy hunting ground she am full of moose, buffalo, bear, beaver. She am far, far away at de end of land, where de sun she sleep—two, tree moons away. One beeg dog she am cross, an' she bark at dead Injun, but he go on, an' on, an' on, an' den he am glad."
It began to dawn upon the vigilant mother at length that it was not so much the wonders of civilization nor the desire to "speak his thoughts from books" that led Machecawa day after day to the Wigwam, as an ever-increasing interest in her fun-loving daughter, Abbie, who was a year younger than Chrissy, and who seemed unconscious of the fact that the eyes of the red chief were ever upon her.
Chrissy was at a loss to understand why he had suddenly lost all interest in the studies and seemed preoccupied with other thoughts. She was beginning to grow discouraged, and was sorely tempted to abandon any further attempts at instruction, when Machecawa suddenly left her one morning as she sat by the table with the open book, and, approaching his white brother, said, in broken English:
"Father, I love your daughter," pointing his forefinger at Abbie. "Will you give her to me that the small roots of her heart may entwine themselves with mine so that the strongest wind that blows may never separate them?"
For a moment there was silence in the room. The White Chief's face grew dark. The veins of his temples began to swell with rage. In a burst of passion he said:
"My child become your slave? Never! Never! The Indian wants woman to gather his wood, carry his burdens, dress his skins, make his clothes, build his house, cook his food, care for his children. No, no, Machecawa; no white woman would be happy to work like a squaw or to suffer as such."
Not a word could the Big Chief utter. He gave a deep sigh and gazed at Abbie fondly and admiringly. The inexpressible agony in his face touched the father's heart, and he added:
"My daughter is too young to marry, but when she is old enough to know her own mind she may answer for herself."
A ray of light and hope crept into the dark face, and drawing from a pouch a string of claws and teeth of rare birds and animals, he approached Abbie and fastened it about her snowy neck.
"You have conferred upon me a great honor, Machecawa," said Abbie, smiling, "but you shall have to wait for several years, for I have many things to learn before I could become the squaw of an Algonquin chief."
The chief then resumed his seat at the table and went on with his task with as much complacency as though nothing had happened, while Abbie and her brothers quietly withdrew in order to give vent to their feelings.