Mayall carefully examined the forest along the banks of the stream and its branches, from its outlet into the Mohawk to its source far away among the forest hills. He found many traces of beaver and other furred animals, and plenty of deer.

Mayall said it so nearly resembled the Otego Creek in its wild state, shaded with the primeval forest, that it made him think of home in gone-by days. The speckled trout swarmed in the creek and its small tributaries, the feathered songsters sung their evening and morning hymn, unmolested by man.

Mayall selected the most beautiful place he could find, on an elevated spot of ground, near a small rill fed by springs, where the creek formed a half circle like a new moon, on one side of his cottage. This fertile spot, lying in the bend, he intended to clear and cultivate.

Breeze of the woodland and breath of the prairie, Sweet with the fragrance of flower and vine, Proclaim o'er the hill-tops and deep-shaded glens That the sweet songsters of spring have returned, And the little birds chirp, flutter and sing, And make the groves again with melody ring.

Their music charms me like the voice of love, And chains me to this wild, uncultivated grove, Where spring flowers vary their beauty and bloom, And spread their morning and evening perfume. How beautiful the hills and forest land, Where Nature spreads her loam and fertile sand;

Where seeds long-buried in the drifting snow Spring forth in beauty when the south winds blow. The sun, with golden beams and brighter rays, Shines forth to warm the earth and lengthen out the days.

He there built his camp-fire, and reared a rude cabin to shelter his family, until he could build a more permanent residence.

Here Mayall rested for a few days, charmed with the music of the woods, and the water-fowls that had stopped along the stream to lay their eggs and rear their young. Mayall then pursued his journey up the stream until he reached its utmost spring among the distant hills, and then bent his course eastward among the highlands of that region, where he found the beautiful little lakes so graphically described by the Indian, stored with fish, and covered with water-fowls during the summer season. All the wilds of the forest appeared more beautiful than he had anticipated.

After exploring the hills and valleys for a few days, during which time he never saw a human being, Mayall resolved to return once more to his wife and children. As he passed down the valley he stopped at the rude cabin he had erected, and passed the night in quiet sleep. Mayall declared that in his chosen bower Nature appeared fresh from the hand of Omnipotence. He described one of the lakes he had seen as the most beautiful sheet of water that human eye ever saw, surrounded with a belt of white sand, where the buck, the doe, and the spotted fawn came and slaked their thirst from the crystal waters of the lake, unmolested by man, and fed tamely upon its grassy shores; where the wild rose, queen of bowers, shed her perfume, and the lily displayed her spots of beauty, as second in rank among the flowers; the third in magnitude and adorning was the wild honeysuckle, with all her tints of beauty. These encircled the snow-white sands upon its beautiful shores, whilst the low undertone of its waves kept time to the music of the grove.

Mayall was enchanted with the beauties of Nature around him, and made his bed at night under a low branching tree, covered with a wild grape-vine, so nicely tied and coiled by Nature that it served every purpose of a tent. Mayall made his evening meal on trout he took from the lake, and laid down to sleep upon the wild, enchanted shores of an earthly paradise. His sleep was quiet and undisturbed. He awoke with the first rays of rosy morn, and listened to the lovely song of Nature's harmonists, the songsters of the grove.

After Mayall left his cabin on Canada Creek he bent his course for home, where he arrived after three tedious days' journey along an Indian path, fording streams, and crossing hills and ravines, and was once more in the bosom of his family. All were glad to see him, and listened with rapture to the glowing account he gave of a country so wild and beautiful, until Mayall reached the story of the proposed marriage of his young son with the daughter of an Indian chief. The young man was of the Caucasian race, young and sprightly. He declared that he would not marry a squaw—he would live solitary and alone before he would marry the daughter of a race he had always learned to hate, if she was allied to the royal family of chiefs. Mayall heard his resolves with a twinkle in his eye, and here the matter rested, whilst every preparation was making for their now home.

Mayall was truly one of Nature's noble philosophers. When he had resolved to leave the Valley of the Otego Creek, where he had enjoyed so many scenes of strife and pleasure, his friends, both old and young, gathered at his cabin for a farewell visit. In the course of the evening the question was put to Mayall, who was the most advanced in years of any of the company, what season of life he had found most happy. In reply he inquired of the company if they had noticed the forest trees that once shaded the valley. They all replied they had. He then said, "When spring comes and the soft south wind blows up the valley, the buds on the trees open and they are sweet with blossoms, I say how beautiful is Spring, representing the morning of life.

The light winds are her laughter, The murmuring brooks her song;

and when Summer comes and clothes the trees with foliage and shields me from the rays of the flaming noonday sun, cools the wind that sighs among the branches filled with singing birds that charm me to the grove, I say how glorious is Summer, the noonday of life.

The sunbeams are her lovely smiles, The rose and lily are her footsteps light;

and Autumn, in her turn, comes with golden fruit, and the leaves bear the gorgeous frost-tints so variegated with all the glory of colors, with the full ear, and Ceres has bound his golden sheaf, I say how beautiful is Autumn, crowned with fruit that perfumes the surrounding air, representing the fruits of maturer years.

The branches bend with riper fruit, The grapes in royal purple shine When Autumn yields the glory of the year;

and when Winter comes, and there is neither opening buds, green foliage, or ripening fruit, nor gorgeous frost-tints upon the leaves, I look through the bare branches of the trees better than I could in spring, summer and autumn, and lo, how beautiful are the stars that spangle the heavens and twinkle in the pale light of the moon, with maiden face sweeping through the heavens, veiled with fleecy clouds, like the bridesmaid of heaven, to direct our thoughts to the celestial city to meet the great Author of our creation. For the spirit came from God, and to God it must return, it being that part of Divinity that dwells with man during the journey of life.

And we shall hail with joy The glorious sunset of life."

And the company recorded his wise sayings and poetical phrases for the benefit of future generations that should inhabit the Valley of the Otego.



CHAPTER VII.

Their household goods were few, and those of the plainest kind. They loaded all their goods, with their children and Mrs. Mayall, into the wagon, and Mayall and his son Esock performed the journey on foot, each one carrying his gun in readiness for any emergency, with Mayall in advance to pilot them through the forest. In their journey they had to ford streams and climb with difficulty the hills.

Not meeting with anything of importance, the fourth day they encamped within five miles of the Indian chief's wigwam. After feasting on some ducks they had killed along their road, they all laid down to rest from the toils of their journey, and all but Esock slept soundly. He was meditating on what course to pursue, and what excuse he should make on arriving at the Indian chief's wigwam, to excuse himself in so grave a matter. Mayall, his father, had gone thus far in match-making without his consent, and now he wished the whole affair could be passed by without seeing the Indian chief or his daughter.

In the morning Esock Mayall resolved to take a different route from his father and the rest of the family, and pass the Indian chief's wigwam without being seen, and informed his father of his resolution. Mayall then told Esock that he was ashamed of having a coward in his family; said he must go boldly to the chief's wigwam, where they would all stay over night, and if he was not pleased with the chief's daughter he would excuse the matter. Esock finally resolved to go forward and brave the consequences, as his father always had some way to get out of a bad affair. Their tent was soon taken down, and Mayall and his family pursued their journey toward the Indian chief's wigwam.

The sun had risen fair, but as they proceeded along their journey dark clouds began to curtain the heavens. The wind roared among the forest trees, the lightning flashed from the storm-cloud, the thunders rolled through the forest with deafening roar, splitting and shivering the forest trees, whilst the rain at intervals seemed to descend in torrents. Just as Mayall and his family emerged from the thick woodlands into a small clearing, where the Indian chief's wigwam stood, he saw the chief and his daughter stand looking out of the door, for Mayall's approach had been heralded by an Indian runner the previous day, and they were prepared to receive him. As they came into the clearing there was a lull in the storm for a few moments, and the chief's daughter rushed forward to welcome Mayall to their home. The words had scarcely dropped from her lips before the lightning began to crash among the trees and the storm beat down fearfully, and she glided back to the wigwam with speed that seemed like the flight of a bird.

As she approached Mayall, Esock Mayall was standing in a position that brought her in full view from her head to her feet. He was struck with a strange, mysterious spell. Her neck was as pure as the alabaster, her bosom as white as ivory, her soft blue eyes like liquid orbs adorning the face of beauty, whilst her fair hair flowed in graceful ringlets upon her neck and shoulders. Her form was simply perfect; her breath was like the eglantine, and her cheek wore the morning blush of the moss-rose. She was a perfect Cleopatra, all but the royal crown, and that was supplied with plumes—the royal crown of the Indian Queen of the Poorest.

Esock Mayall stood as one amazed as he viewed the beautiful figure before him, dressed in a neat flowing dress that came down to her feet, covered with wampum and such beautiful moccasins, embroidered with the quills of the porcupine, with a border of the same around the bottom of her flowing dress. Had he seen one of the fairies of olden times, a fabled goddess of the sylvan shade, or had he seen a human being in this image of beauty that appeared before his father and welcomed him to her home and then glided away to her father, the Indian chief?

Esock Mayall no longer seemed to notice the flashes of lightning, the roaring of the thunder, nor the pelting of the storm, but kept his eye upon the departing form of that beautiful angel amid the rushing of the tempest. Could this be the chief's daughter, her face as white as a pond lily with the rose's blush upon her cheek and her eyes as blue as the violets of May, with her flaxen hair flowing in unbound ringlets upon her shoulders? No, never. No Indian blood ever flowed in the veins of a being so white and fair. It must be a phantom of his bewildered imagination. He was sure that when he reached the wigwam he should see the chief's daughter with her red skin, long, straight black hair and snaky eyes, just as he had pictured her in his imagination ever since his father first mentioned her name.

A few moments more and they were unloading from their canvas-covered wagon before the Indian chief's wigwam, with the same fair being he had seen retire so hastily to the wigwam amid the fury of the storm, flying about, leading the children into the wigwam and kindly assisting them in drying their wet garments; for the fury of the storm had passed by. After Mayall and his son had taken care of their team they walked to the wigwam, Mayall leading the way, whilst his son, Esock, walked timidly behind, straining every nerve lest he should lose his presence of mind when the chief's daughter appeared before him. He entered the wigwam. Curiosity stood on tiptoe.

The Indian chief welcomed Mayall and his son to his most ample hospitality, and then, turning to the fairy queen that stood near him, he said he was pleased with having an opportunity of making Esock Mayall, the son of his old friend, acquainted with his adopted daughter. The maiden stopped gently forward and took young Mayall by the hand. The secret was out. The vision of beauty constantly appeared before him, by night and by day.

The Indian chief had taken this young squaw, as he called her, a prisoner in one of his excursions into Canada during the war of the Revolution, and adopted her into his family on account of her comeliness and natural graces.

Their clothes were soon dried by a warm fire, and they all sat down to a sumptuous dinner of venison and wild fowls, which was a favorite dish with the Mayalls, and pleased them more than the most sumptuous feast that could be set upon the President's table at the White House. After dinner the long pipe was handed round, each taking a few puffs, whilst the blue smoke curled from the emblem of peace,

Whilst the forms of love are round us And our hearts with pleasure glow.

The eyes of the lovely Blanche rested on the form of Esock Mayall, when his first glance met hers, which was often and still oftener as the rose bloomed brighter on her cheek, her breath grew quicker, her smile more radiant, and the first blue flower of love bloomed into fondness for the young hunter, as he gazed upon her rounded waist, her snowy neck, ornamented with a shower of curls that fell loosely upon her shoulders.



CHAPTER VIII.

The landscape around the chief's wigwam was sublime. First his little field of corn clustering with golden ears; beyond, the beautiful tall forest trees formed arches overhead and locked their boughs in social harmony. A winding path led from the wigwam to the grove, bordered with wild roses, which must have appeared beautiful and gay in summer, but now began to droop and fade like the leaves of the surrounding forest. Esock Mayall wandered along this path of faded flowers to the edge of the dark overgrown forest, and stood for a time viewing the large, massive branches that had been torn from their parent trees by the fury of the wind and rain the previous day. The splinters of every form lay scattered where the currents of electricity in their fearful descent had rent in fragments some giant of the forest, torn out its oaken heart and scattered its ribs and limbs upon the forest floor.

After viewing the wonders of Nature, Esock Mayall was returning to the wigwam along the path of flowers, when that wood-nymph, the chief's daughter, appeared before him, gentle as the ring-dove.

And the glory of youth clung around her, I felt her ambrosial breath on my cheek Like the scent and perfume of wild roses.

She seemed to appear in all the beauty of innocence. Esock Mayall asked her who planted those roses.

"I planted them," said the maiden, "to perfume my path and wanton in the summer air around me whilst I walked to yonder grove in summer days, for twelve long years, to hear the evening and morning song of birds which charmed me to the grove; and then again I love the solitary woods, the sylvan shade. I learned, when but a child, to wander in yon shady grove to hear the squirrels chirp and bark."

Esock Mayall wished her to inform him how and when she first came to live in this overgrown forest. She said, "I could not tell, but when I was a child I lived in a cottage on a lake shore, where one could sit in its vine-clad porch and look out upon the windings of its beautiful shore and hear the fury of the waves amid the fearful storm. The Indians came one sunny day, when I was sitting under the arbor over the door, and killed my mother, robbed the house, and bore me away in their arms. The next morning one of the Indians took me on his back, and in three or four days they reached this place, and I was adopted into the chief's family. My mother used me kindly whilst she lived. After ten years she sickened and died. Since that time I have lived with the chief, my father. I have planted these flowers in rows to imitate the shores of the lake where I was born. That long half-moon curve you see was a wide, open bay, and that short turn yonder was a bluff of rocks."

Esock Mayall listened with admiration to her story, and then replied, "Would you go with me and walk the shores of that lake once more?"

That question seemed a spell that chained her tongue, whilst the crimson flush faded from her cheek. In a few moments her young blood began to course freely in her veins, and the flush of roses warmed her lovely cheeks. She raised her eyes and looked Esock Mayall full in the face, and appeared as lovely as a dream.

"Do you know where that lake is situated? My captors have always refused to inform me. If you do, I will go with you cheerfully, and walk once more upon its lovely shores. Twelve long years, in the dreams of midnight, I have wandered on its shores, and its coves and bays have appeared to me with the white swan with snowy sail and air of pride floating upon its mirror waves; but there is a bitter mingled with the sweet; in those dreams I see my mother pale in death, slain by my captor's hands, and oh, my father, who was absent from his home, where is he? When rosy morn blushed on the concave of the skies I always found myself within the wigwam's prison-walls."

Esock Mayall told her frankly that he neither knew the name or locality of the lake she described, but added, "If you would consent to be my wife and go with me to my forest home, I will endeavor to learn from your captors the name and locality, and take you back to the home of your childhood, once more to ramble on the beautiful shores where you had roamed in childhood's sunny days."

The maiden then replied that she would consult with her father and answer his request to-morrow.

To-morrow came. The chief appeared gloomy and thoughtful. He well knew the undaunted courage, the sure and steady aim of the Mayalls to guide the bullet in its airy track, the power of their strong arms in wielding the tomahawk in battle strife. He had no reason to fear the protection of his daughter, but the thought of parting with the sunny face of one he had ever idolized, whom he had carried for more than a hundred miles on his back through the wilderness when she was a child, because he loved her snowy face and flowing hair—this thought pained him. Long years he had dressed her in robes of beaver during the winter, and made her bed of down; the fawn had yielded her skin to clothe her naked feet, and the brightest wampum had encircled her waist, the most costly jewels had ever sparkled in her ears, and he had employed the most skillful of his race to teach her to border her flowing dress in summer with the quills of the porcupine. He had hunted weeks to capture the swan to deck her hat with snowy plumes to wave in open air and clothe her queenly neck.

"I have acted the part of a kind father," thought he, "and if I give her hand to young Mayall, who would cheer my wigwam in sickness, and smooth the winter of my declining years? Who would ring my funeral knell, and plant the wild rose upon my lonely grave?" No tears flowed to soothe his troubled brain; there was no wanton moisture in his eye. "And then, again, if I should deny my daughter's request I fear the consequences. Mayall had the shrewdness and courage to take her from me, and then, again, I have taken her from her parents and her home, and she might be left unprotected when I am dead and gone."

The chief passed a sleepless night, but rose bright and cheerful in the morning, and informed his daughter, if she chose to leave his wigwam for that of her lover, she might go, with his blessings upon her youthful head; but one thing he must insist upon, in order to preserve harmony, that the tribe that lived in the surrounding forest should be invited to the wedding, and the whole tribe should join in the marriage dance, according to the ancient customs of the Indian tribes.

Young Mayall was informed of the Indian chief's decision. He walked boldly up to the chief, who was seated in his wigwam, and took his daughter by the hand, and said, "When I have received from you the hand of your daughter, and have conformed to the usages of your tribe in all things, we want you to go with us to our forest home, and we will provide for you in old age in the same kind manner you have provided for your daughter. You shall have your choice in the dainty pieces of venison and wild fowls, and find protection under the roof of our cottage home.

'There I'll sit by my bride, where the rushes are green, While the sun weaveth gold o'er the robes of my queen.'"

In answer to some questions with regard to the home of her childhood, by Esock Mayall, she related the following story of her journey to the great Falls of Niagara, which the chief said would enable me to keep my course through dark forests from the Oneida Lake to the great lakes and rivers towards the setting sun:

"I started on a journey to the great Falls of Niagara, with my father and mother, to witness the voluntary sacrifice of a young Indian maiden to the great Spirit of the Falls, or Naiad God of the Water. We pursued our journey through beautiful forests, over wood-crowned hills, fording the valley streams without interruption, until the second day, near sunset, we came in sight of a beautiful lake, whose surface

'Seemed so placid, smooth and fair, That Naiad might look on to plait her hair.'

"We traced the shores a short distance, coming to a little crystal stream, the waters of which were cool and refreshing. We concluded to encamp near this stream, that spun its silver thread to the lake from a dark ravine over which the branching tree-tops leaned. We followed the stream a short distance, and built our camp-fire under shelter of a large branching tree that stood on the bank of the ravine. Near this tree a cool fountain gushed from a large rock, and made music for us as it dashed over its stony bed to join the stream below. Taking into consideration all the surroundings, it was a grand place for a lover of scenery and solitude. There we ate our evening meal, and, after slaking our thirst at the cooling fountain that flowed from the rock, laid down to rest our weary limbs by our camp-fire, that blazed up and illuminated the forest for several rods around, making the forest look grand, with its branches interlocked in social harmony, fanned by the gentle breeze from the lake that whispered through the tree-tops, and sung of passing time, like the AEolian harp that hung upon the willows along the streams of Babylon.

"All nature seemed to invite us to repose, and the waters of Lethe swept over us. As the Angel of Dreams threw his mantle over me, through this gauzy mantle I seemed to trace the Queen of the Falls from earth, with her guardian angels, to the fields of Paradise, which appeared in my dream as described by the Jesuit that used to come and preach to the tribe I lived with, and give me books, teach me to read them, and teach me etiquette, such as used by the English and French. All of a sudden I thought the bolts of hell had burst asunder, and the devil incarnate walked again over earth and sea—that Gabriel had sounded his trumpet for all to assemble at the judgment hall on the borders of two worlds.

"Slowly awaking to consciousness, I cast my eyes towards the big rock. I felt the rain pattering down in my face from the tree-tops, and, lo! there I saw two eyes that looked to me like two orbs swimming in liquid fire, which frightened me to such a degree that I attempted to scream for mercy.

"I seemed to be paralyzed. In this awful moment of fear, the Great Spirit sent an arrow of electric fire from the darkest pavilion of the storm-cloud, selected from the quiver of the Eternal Jehovah, down into the top of a mighty oak that leaned over the dark ravine a few rods above our camping ground, which tore off the top and splintered its massive trunk to the ground. The awful crash frightened me nearly out of my wits. I screamed with all the power of voice I possessed, for I thought the ebon paw of Satan was upon me. The panther then set up the most unearthly scream I had ever heard leaped from the rook, and seemed to make the forest jar at every scream, until he was far away on the lake shore. The clap of thunder awoke my father and mother. The chief, hearing the screams of the panther, seized his weapons of war and tried in vain to penetrate the surrounding gloom, for the blackness of the storm-cloud made the forest a dungeon, occasionally illuminated by flashes of electric fire from the arching clouds over our heads, which could not be penetrated by mortal eye. The chief again gathered up the few burning brands that remained, and piled high his fuel. This only served to light a few rods from the fire, whilst all beyond seemed black as the regions of darkness. There was no more sleep during the night.

"Morning dawned. The storm-cloud passed away, and we resumed our journey with cautious and timid steps toward the place of our destination, arriving late in the afternoon at the Upper Falls, on the Genesee, where the waters dashed from rock to rock, until it reached the valley below the Falls. We traced the river bank three or four miles, to Gardow, a village on the west bank of the Genesee River, where the roar of the Upper Falls could be distinctly heard, where we were received with great cordiality, and conducted to comfortable lodgings, and furnished with all that nature required for comfort. After one day's rest we again started for the great Falls of Niagara, with a part of the Genesee tribe of Indians that resided at Gardow. We took the most direct Indian path that led to Niagara, which led us over hills crowned with forests, and through dark wooded valleys, reaching the Falls about sunset the second day, and encamped on the banks of that mighty rushing river, with the numerous throng that had reached their place of destination before us.

"We all encamped like a family of friends, upon the banks of a river that was destined to divide a kingdom from a republic. Early the next morning preparations were made for offering a human being as a sacrifice to the Great Spirit that created the earth and the heavens, and all things contained therein. The most beautiful and gifted young Indian maiden, just blooming into womanhood, was chosen by the priests and prophets of that ancient tribe, to appease the anger of the gods, and bear a message from that tribe to their friends that had gone over the River of Death before them, to the land of the olive and the vine in the clear Southwest, known only to the brave and just, where the wild doe and her fawn feed on flowers, where the flowers wear their everlasting bloom, and the grass is greener and more luxuriant than was ever seen, and softer than the Persian silk. In that beautiful land mortals put on the garments of immortality. When the young maiden was informed that she was chosen for the sacrifice, she came forward with a smile upon her countenance, adorned in all the glory of the Indian costume, as a bride adorned for her husband, and entered the arena. The Indian priest then stepped forward and poured upon her head the oil of venison, and placed a crown of roses, intermixed with swans-down, to give it a snowy-white appearance, and crowned her, in the name of the tribe, Queen of Niagara.

"A more beautiful or graceful being could not be found to offer up her life for her friends. The whole tribe then sang and shouted the glories of their youthful queen, each one handing her some little token of remembrance to their friends in the spirit world, and kissed her hand. After a short time had been allowed her to receive the homage due an earthly queen, two young Indian warriors came forward, one taking her by the right hand and the other by the left, and led her to the shore of the river, followed by twelve young Indian girls.

"Moored on the sandy shore above the Falls was a little white tiny boat, just large enough for one person, loaded with ripe fruits and fresh-blown roses. In this beautiful boat, surrounded by the odor of ripe fruit and perfume of roses that wantoned in the surrounding air, the young warrior placed her, put a paddle in their young queen's hand just as the sun reached the meridian, and darted his rays from his eternal quiver upon the waters of Niagara, and the young warriors cried over the river, at the same time pushing the boat from the shore, when the young queen applied the paddle with all her might and main, until she reached the middle of the river above the Falls, every Indian, young and old, shouting and singing the glories of their brave queen.

"The moment she reached the middle of the river she turned the bow of her little boat towards the Falls, then applying the paddle with force the boat shot down the rapid current with the speed of an arrow, whilst two rainbows faintly spanned the boiling flood. Down, down among the caverned rocks and foaming waters went the beautiful form, whilst her guardian angels received her spirit and soared above the rainbow's arch, up through the concave of the skies to life eternal.

"We tarried until the chariots of the sun rolled down the western sky. The full moon in her diamond car rose, and threw her pale light over the foaming waters of Niagara. The whole tribe then assembled on the high rooks below the Falls, and the Indians declared by the Eternal that they could see troops of fairies waltzing around their departed queen on the glassy waters of the Falls, clothed in all the splendors of the rainbow, chanting the glories of their queen. And here upon the rocky altar they built their night-fires to light the spirit of their queen and her guardian angels to the Elysian Fields of Paradise on the shores of life eternal. And here we join the American poets in their majestic song of time:

'Flow on forever, in thy glorious robe Of terror and of beauty! God hath set His rainbow on thy forehead, and the cloud Mantles around thy feet, And He doth give The voice of thunder power to speak of Him Eternally, bidding the lip of man Keep silence, and upon the rocky altar pour Incense of awe-stricken praise.'

"The next morning we started for our home near the shores of Oneida Lake, which we reached without being molested in our journey. We traced the flowery banks of babbling brooks, walked beneath the grand arches of beautiful forests made melodious by the songsters of the grove, but I could not forget the terrible scenes I had witnessed at Niagara."



CHAPTER IX.

The day was set for Esock Mayall and the chief's adopted daughter to be joined in Hymen's silken bands, according to the custom of the tribe, commanded by their war-chief. A young Indian maiden was sent for, and arrived one day in advance, to arrange the bride's dress and ornaments in true Indian style, and dress her hat with flowing plumes so much admired by the native hunters of the forest. The bride's hair was trimmed to flow gracefully upon her shoulder, and ornamented with brilliants that sparkled like diamonds among her flowing hair. Her dress was covered with wampum, and her moccasins ornamented with bead-work stars that reflected their dazzling light. Her arms were encircled above the elbows and around her wrists with silver bands, and jewels of gold hung from her ears and nose.

Esock Mayall was dressed with blue pants, a light hunting-frock of the same color, and embroidered moccasins. The day had arrived, the morning had dawned with a clear sky, and heaven's concave shone in unclouded blue. The October sun rose and threw a golden blush over hill and vale, and bathed the groves in light, reflecting all the varied hues of the falling leaves as they fluttered from the tall forest trees to form a carpet for the children of the forest, who now began to arrive, dressed and plumed for the wedding-dance, with their bouquet of flowers in their hands, dressed similar to the bride, but with less expense. The young Indian warriors were dressed with tight leggings or pants, and smoke-tanned hunting-frocks. The hour having arrived for the ceremony, the young Indians formed in a ring on the green, in front of the chief's tent, each with his partner to his left, with an open space toward the tent, whilst the spectators or older Indians formed an outer circle at a respectful distance.

Esock Mayall, son of the adopted white chief, now advanced from the chief's tent, with his bride leaning on his left arm, arrayed in all the glory of Indian simplicity, followed by the Indian chief and the adopted chief, Wolf-hunter, young Mayall's father. As the young couple advanced to the centre of the ring the two chiefs closed up the space. The marriage ceremony was brief and simple, and amounted to little more than the mutual promise made by the bride and groom to live together in love and harmony.

The two chiefs now retired from the space they occupied, the ring closed up, each Indian maiden throwing her bouquet on the ground, forming a circle around the young couple. A signal was given, the music sounded they then chased each other around the circle with measured tread, all keeping time with the music for a few moments, when the music stopped and each couple faced inward and picked up their bouquets, when the music again started its hollow, rattling sound. Then the bride and groom joined the circle, and the ring danced round and round for the space of an hour or more, stopping at intervals and facing inward, until the music ceased and the ring was seated on the ground and partook of a supper of wild fowls, venison and corn-bread, after which they all shook hands with the newly married pair, wishing them peace and prosperity in their forest home to which they were about to remove. The guests then returned to their homes, and no time was lost in preparing for their journey to their new home.

The following morning all things were in readiness. Their team was hitched up and the wagon was loaded with a few cooking utensils. Esock Mayall's mother, three children, himself and young bride, started early for their home in the wilderness, whilst the Indian chief who was to accompany them to their new home and enjoy the Indian summer in the forest, and spend the hunting season with them, traveled on foot with the elder Mayall, and piloted out the best route for the wagon, removing such obstructions as they found in the path. Mayall said he would take the axe and the Indian chief the gun, and one would clear the path of logs and the other of game.

In this manner they proceeded for three days, arriving near sunset on the bank of the East Canada Creek, at a place now called Russia, opposite the cottage built by Mayall when he passed up the creek on his summer excursion. Not finding a suitable place to cross with their team, the creek being somewhat swollen by rains on the head-waters of that stream, they concluded to cut some grass on a small island and leave their team on a little elevated spot near the river, with the elder Mrs. Mayall and the children to sleep in the wagon and the rest would take off their clothes and ford the stream, carrying with them some blankets.

The young bride, like the Naiad of the stream, stripped off her beautiful robes, and advancing to a deep, still place, tied them up in a handkerchief, fastened them on the top of her head, rushed into the stream, swimming with her head out of the water to her breast, and was soon on the opposite shore, and dressed before the rest were half ready to cross. Whilst the rest were packing up their blankets and skins in a suitable manner to cross over, the young nymph of the forest came running back and called on the party to bring over their knives, tomahawks and guns. She said that a company of bears lived in that cottage, and had only gone out to hunt and would soon return; she requested them to take her rifle, load it and leave it with her new mother to defend herself, and bring over the remaining four guns. These tidings put the camp in a fluster. Young Mayall proceeded to pattern after his wife, stripped, and commenced carrying blankets, guns, ammunition, tomahawks and knives. In a short time all that was needed was over, each one armed, and proceeded to the cottage.

Wolf-hunter carefully examined the room and said there was one she-bear of tremendous size and two large cubs that had taken up their quarters in that cottage, and every one must examine his gun and see that it was well primed and sure fire, for they were liable to be attacked any moment. The Indian chief, Wolf-hunter and Esock Mayall each examined their guns, put on their belts with a large tomahawk and hunting-knife by their side, and Wolf-hunter stationed himself about twenty rods up in the direction the bears had gone, behind a large tree; the Indian chief about ten rods nearer the tent, and Esock Mayall about the same distance from the tent, but nearer the creek, whilst young Mayall's wife was clearing out of the cottage the leaves that the bears had carried in. There had risen a dark cloud where the sun went down, and muffled sound of distant thunder could be heard, whilst night was dropping her sable curtain around the horizon. But no hunter on his nightly post was heard to stir.

Wolf-hunter was now in his glory, nerving his muscular frame for battle. All of a sudden this mammoth bear and her two cubs were heard by Wolf-hunter advancing rapidly for the cottage. The moments seemed to fly more rapidly. The instant the bear appeared in sight Wolf-hunter raised his gun. The bear, as quick as thought, raised on her hind legs and struck at his gun, which, firing at the same instant that the bear's paw struck it, had a tendency to lower the gun and carry away a part of the bear's under-jaw. Wolf-hunter's gun became useless from the nearness of the bear and quickness of her motion. He seized his tomahawk, but the strength and power of the bear was such that it seemed of no avail.

Becoming heated with the strife, the God of Battle nerved his arm to grapple with the monster of the woods in deadly strife. He dropped his tomahawk and drew his long knife, keenly sharpened for such game. As the hunter raised his left hand, and darted his knife with tremendous force for the bear, it struck the loose skin on his neck, rolled the blow one side, and passed the bear's neck, whilst the hot breath of the monster came full in his face. It now became hurrying times. He raised his knife once more, and made a thrust with all his power, and ripped the bear open from his flank to his brisket, and sprang back with all his power, and fell on the ground about ten feet from the bear. Whilst lying there he heard the heavy report of two guns, which he took to be those of the Indian chief and Esock Mayall, as the cubs passed them for the cottage.

The Indian chief had slightly wounded the young bear that passed him, and, quickly loading his rifle, started to assist Wolf-hunter, where there had been the constant growling and snarling of the old she-bear after the first report of Wolf-hunter's rifle. The Indian chief soon arrived on the spot, and found the bear sitting up on her hind legs, with her life-blood ebbing away, and put an end to her misery by shooting a ball through her head, and then asked Wolf-hunter why he lay there in that condition, with that long bloody knife in his hand? Wolf-hunter replied that he had but one hand he could use, and he laid still, knowing that the bear would not touch him as long as he appeared to be dead, and he further knew that the monster's life-blood was fast ebbing away, and that she would soon be too weak to move. The Indian chief had all this time been loading his gun as fast as possible, and had just driven down the ball, when screams were heard from the cottage, coming from the young bride.

These brought Wolf-hunter to his feet, and, not feeling the pain of his wounded hand, he went through the forest for the cottage with the speed of the panther, with the long bloody weapon in his right hand, closely pursued by the Indian chief. Esock Mayall came with all possible speed from the creek, where he had killed the young bear that passed him, to rescue his young wife, the three arriving at the same time.

When within about twenty feet of the cottage they saw the flash and heard the loud report of a gun, and all was hushed to silence. And there stood Esock Mayall's young wife, who had fired the last gun and killed the last bear, proud of her success. The young bear which passed the Indian chief and received his fire was only slightly wounded, and fled to the cottage for safety, and plunged into the door, and finding the young bride in possession, cleaning out the leaves, attacked her with great fury. Not being able to get her rifle, she defended herself with a club that had been cut for a fire poker. At length giving the bear a lucky blow, she seized her rifle and leaped out the cottage door, and only had time to bring it to her face before the young bear leaped out after her. Her rifle was quickly brought to bear upon him. A flash and a report, and the young bear lay dead at her feet, with three brave men coming to her assistance, but too late to be of use. The battle of the bears, so well begun with Wolf-hunter, had ended by a maiden's hand. Three prowling monsters of the wood lay cold in death amid their native wilds, and the party, proud of their success, concluded to dress the young bear killed at the cottage and have a feast of roasted meat. A large fire was built before the cottage, that illuminated the forest for some distance around, which made a wild and beautiful appearance, with the high leafy arches over their head, and the yellow and crimson leaves of autumn carpeting the forest as far as the eye could penetrate the surrounding darkness.

The young bear was hastily dressed, and a part of it roasted, from which they made a sumptuous feast with corn bread. After the feast was over, the Indian chief, Esock Mayall, and his wife, remained at the cottage, whilst Wolf-hunter took a part of the roasted meat and corn bread and recrossed the stream, to feed his wife and children, and guard them from danger through the darkness of the night.



CHAPTER X.

The three that remained at the cottage retired to rest. As the blaze of the fire in front of the cottage died away, young Mayall discovered that the Indian chief became restless and uneasy, and would suddenly awake from sleep and grasp his rifle and then peer out into the dark surrounding forest, as if some monster of the wood was about to make a deadly leap towards him. After straining his eyes for naught he would again resume his rustic bed.

As soon as sleep began to steal over his troubled brain he would spring from his bed and grasp his weapons of war. The night gradually wore away, and the great luminary of the world began to light up the East. Esock Mayall and the Indian chief rose from their restless beds and finished dressing their bears, and got the wagon and goods, with his father, mother and the three children that wore on the opposite side of the creek, over to the cottage, whilst the young bride was preparing their breakfast.

Breakfast being over, the Indian chief said he must be up and away before the sun licked up the morning dew. He had lodged in that cottage the first and last night; that thrice in his sleep he had dreamed of death and a dishonored tomb, when no phantom of the night was near, not even the sound of waters or the whisper of the breeze was heard among the lonely trees; and yet the dream was thrice repeated. Esock Mayall told him he must wait a short time, and his wife would prepare him some provisions, and he would let him have a horse to ride as far as the Mohawk River, and that would carry him beyond danger. The chief consented to wait a short time for the horse and provisions, but said there was danger in delay.

Whilst the young bride was preparing her father's provision, Wolf-hunter cast his keen eye up the creek in the direction of the bear fight, and saw three strange Indian hunters approaching with their silver-mounted rifles, armed with tomahawks and hunting-knives. They came rapidly forward until they reached the place where they killed the mammoth bear, then halted, viewed the meat that hung on the branches of some trees, and then came directly towards the cottage. The Indian chief began to retreat, when Wolf-hunter cried out:

"No danger. Face the music."

This Esock Mayall understood to mean, "Never fear, but be ready," and sat his gun down by his side, and Wolf-hunter did the same. The three Indians came near the fire, when Wolf-hunter addressed them in the Oneida tongue:

"Good-morning, brothers."

They replied: "Good-morning, brother. We have followed the trail of three bears, and we find you have killed them, and we want some of the meat."

Wolf-hunter told them to be seated near the fire and they would bring them some; the three Indians sat down their rifles and came near the fire. As the young bride came out of the cottage with a large piece of bear's meat in a long handled pan, and placed it over the fire, the three Indians stared at her in amazement, and then turned and looked at each other. One of the Indians said: "She looks just as her mother did before she was murdered. She is a Wan-nut-ha."[2]

[Footnote 2: A beauty.]

They paused a while, and one of the Indians called her Dora, to which she made no reply. He then called her Dora in a louder tone. To which the maiden replied:

"My name is Blanche."

"Well," said the Indian, "your name was Dora. Twelve years have passed away since I saw your sunny face, and looked upon your silky flaxen hair; you have changed to a graceful young lady squaw, and when I now look upon you—

"Your sparkling eyes and glossy flaxen hair Seem the same your mother used to wear When the lake lay calm with silver breast Beneath pale Luna's beams at rest. And when the lurid morn arose, And flashed her light on land and sea, The silvery foam beat on the lonely shore Where Dora and her mother used to roam. Death had hushed the voice of her fond mother, The Indian's war-axe parted her fair locks, The bloody tide ran down her snowy neck, Her ivory bosom dyed with crimson gore, Then fled with Dora to the forest wild. There a captive in the chieftain's tent, Whilst twelve successive years went by; But now a hunter's young and lovely bride, And cooks the savory venison, night and morn, Upon the streamlet's flow'ry banks, Where the woodland choir with melody of song Chant the praise of God that watch'd o'er all, And saw the sparrow in his lonely fall. When spring, with balmy air, bids vegetation rise, And all the flowers put on their bloom; The emerald reeds, along the sandy bay Washed by the blue waves, beat upon the shore, Then Dora, with her loving mate, Will walk in summer's golden days, By Cynthia's evening silver light, And call to mind those infant days When her fond mother led her by the hand, And her little feet made impress on the sand; And plant a flower beside the monumental stone In yonder church-yard, o'er her mother's tomb, Then ramble o'er the green and flow'ry lawn, Leaning fondly on her lover's buoyant arm, The valiant, happy man, who Fate ordained To write his name, in love, upon her heart And fondly claim her for his own."

Dora was delighted with her new name, believing it to be the name given her by her parents, whom she had so often seen in her dreams, whilst sleeping in the Indian's tent. And then it seemed so familiar to her—it seemed like the voice of her mother floating in music-tones upon the morning air. And the Indians seemed to her sent by the Great Spirit to inform her of the place of her birth, of the Eden of her childhood, and the path that would conduct her to her once-loved home, which now came up in grand review before her youthful mind, as the Indians related the sad story of the death of her mother, the capture of her lovely child, and the curling flames that consumed their earthly home.

The picture set forth by the Indians was forcibly impressed upon the mind of Dora, and she persuaded her husband to accompany her on foot through a dense forest, for more than a hundred miles, following a blind Indian war-path which she had been trained to follow through other forests by her tutors, in other days. This war-path led them to the lake shore, where they obtained a boat, with a skillful oarsman, to land them on the shore of that lovely bay which Dora had so often seen in her dreams, whilst sleeping in the Indian chief's wigwam. When they arrived at the birthplace and youthful home of Dora, she could only find the place by the remains of part of the burnt and cracked walls of the foundation, and a few trees that had escaped the fury of the flames.

Here Dora called to mind the scene that occurred when the Indian's war-axe parted the fair forehead of her mother. She seemed to see the crimson tide run down her neck, her ivory bosom stained, as her parental life-blood ebbed away. She wept long and loud for her fond mother. She lingered round the fatal spot until the sinking sun began to cast her last rays in lengthened shade over the waters of the lake below. She then hurried to the nearest house with her husband, where her neighbor recognized her and called her Dora. Like the Indian, he said he knew her by the hair her mother used to wear, and her being the exact likeness of her mother.

Here she first learned of the death of her father, who, feeling the heavy loss of his wife and the unknown fate of his darling child, grieved so immoderately over their loss that Disease laid her fatal hands upon him, and in one short year they laid him down gently to sleep by her mother, until Gabriel's trump shall awake them again at the resurrection morn. Here they tarried for the night—but the night appeared long and sleepless to Dora—and in the early morn was accompanied by their friend and neighbor to the church-yard where lay the remains of her father and mother, unmarked, except by a rude stone, to guide them to the place where their kind neighbors had gently laid them down to rest from the turmoil of life's uneven ways. The summer months were spent among strangers and the scenes of her early childhood, and visiting the burial-place of her parents weekly, to water the moss-rose and the eglantine she had planted on their graves, and scatter the most beautiful flowers that bloomed in that region upon their graves at the hour of falling dews, to wanton and perfume the surrounding air.

As summer wore away Dora and her husband became tired of fashionable life, and longed to return to the shades of forest life, for which they had a fondness—to feast again on the rich and savory dishes of venison, wild fowls and fish, and rest in tranquillity at their own cottage home, surrounded by shady bowers. Dora had paid the last debt of gratitude to her deceased parents at the earliest opportunity, and then started with her husband by the same route they came for their forest home, again to retrace their steps, guided by a blind Indian war-path, long since abandoned by the Indians.

After a weary march of several days they arrived at their forest home, and were warmly greeted by the elder Mayall and his learned and accomplished wife, who received them more warmly on account of some good books Esock Mayall had purchased for his mother, to repay her for his early education, which she had superintended in her own cottage, when her husband was absent on the chase. When they arrived at their forest home, Autumn, with all her charms, with yellow and crimson loaf and falling fruit, charmed the young hunter and his faithful and devoted wife, as they looked with pride upon their forest home, surrounded with all the charms which Nature has so wisely lavished upon the untarnished works of his adorable hand. They came to the conclusion that Contentment and Modesty were two beautiful flowers that flourished only in secret and retired places, where the God of Nature reigned.

"Dora again, in her wild forest home, Where, in wavy masses fondly flowing Droops the graceful mountain vine, And the yellow sunbeams, glowing Cross the shadows line on line; Where the zephyrs, softly sighing, Woo the gently pearling rills; Where the feathered songsters, vieing, Each a different measure trills; Where the echoes, now replying, Die amid the distant hills; Where the skies are ever changing; Where the slanting moonbeams quiver On the noisy mountain streams: Where the placid flowing river Like a thread of silver gleams. Oh, my heart is ever yearning For the sweet, remembered ones, Where magic roses blossom In the evening golden light, And tender, enchanting songs Float on the balmy breeze at night."



THE END.

[Transcriber's Note: The original edition of this book did not contain a Table of Contents. A Table of Contents has been created for this electronic edition.]