CHAPTER II.

_I am carried to an Indian village.――The scene described.――Am insulted by the young Indians.――They get well punished.―― Painful thoughts._

I do not know how long it was after the scene I have described, when I so far recovered my senses as to notice the objects around me. When my consciousness returned, I was lying on the ground, and no one appeared to be near me. I attempted to rise, and nearly got upon my feet, when I became giddy, and was obliged to sit down. I was distressed with a pain in the head and a burning thirst.

I now saw at a little distance a group of Indians, and about the same time one of them noticed me. He spoke and pointed to me, upon which an Indian woman and two children ran towards me. I held out my hands and begged them to have pity on me. The woman spoke to me, but I could not understand her. The children, who were Indians, and fierce-looking creatures, stood at a little distance for a time, as if afraid of me. Pretty soon they came nearer, and, in order to discover what kind of a creature I might be, one of them took a stick and gave me a pretty sharp poke in my back.

I writhed and groaned, for it hurt me; but this only made the young Indians laugh. The woman scolded them, however, and as the youngsters gave me another poke, she flew toward them, and aimed a blow with her hand at the head of the aggressor. It missed, however, and the two imps ran laughing to a distance. There, in safety, they stood gibbering and jeering, like two monkeys, till the woman, in a rage, set out after them; but diving into a thicket, the young rogues easily escaped and disappeared.

The woman now helped me upon my legs, and took me to a tent, around which were several Indians, mostly women and children. I noticed, also, several other tents, and knew that I was in an Indian village, or encampment. How I had been brought hither, I did not know, nor did I ever afterwards ascertain. It is probable, however, that it was by the care of the Indian woman, in whose charge I now was. She took me into a tent, and procured me some water. This refreshed me greatly, and I was soon able to take notice of the things around me.

The tent was made of dried deerskins, and was supported by poles about twelve feet long. The whole tent was about fourteen feet across. There were in it, a few skins of bears and buffaloes, a bow and some arrows, two or three gourd-shells, a small brass kettle, a buffalo’s pate with the horns attached, a bunch of long, crooked bear’s claws, and a bundle of human scalps. These were all the articles I noticed.

After a while I felt very sleepy, and lying down, I had a long nap. When I awoke, I felt nearly well, and went to look out of the tent. There were, at least, fifty tents around, occupying a space of several acres, upon the edge of a small prairie, bordered by forests. The scene was quite lively; for two or three hundred Indians were before me, nearly all, however, being women, children, and old men. I was afraid to go forth, and was about to creep back into the tent, when the woman before mentioned came, and taking me by the arm, led me out.

I was very soon surrounded by a host of people, and such a chattering I never heard before. A ring was formed around me, and every one seemed to have something to say. If I had been a new monster under the sun, there could not have been more wonder expressed. I imagine that they treated me very much as a parcel of Boston boys would treat a young alligator, should they happen to catch one. I looked in the faces of many of these persons, but I saw not one look of kindness. At last a boy about my own age, who had a small bow in his hand, shot an arrow at me, which, being pointed with a bit of sharp iron, entered the flesh of my arm. A moment after, two or three of the little savages set upon me, and began to tear off my clothes. They pulled me hither and thither, and in a short space I was entirely naked.

For a time, I made no resistance, for I had an idea that natural pity would teach even these creatures to spare one so helpless as myself. But finding that they had no pity, my anger began to rise; and when the boy who had shot his arrow into my arm, came up and began to pinch me, I struck him by the side of his head, and he went reeling and tumbling, like a smitten nine-pin, upon the ground. This caused a loud laugh, and I saw that a feeling of interest and respect was instantly created in my behalf by my resistance. This taught me a lesson, and instead of waiting for Indian pity and sympathy, I determined to obtain the regard of my captors by my spirit. When, therefore, the little imps set upon me again, as they soon did, they paid dearly for it. I was very strong and active for my age, and when, at last, an Indian lad, much larger than myself, came softly behind me, and gave my hair a twitch, I turned to punish him. The fellow fled and I pursued. The ring opened to give him space, and he struck into the little plain encircled by the tents. I hung close at his heels. It was a tight race, and such yells broke from the congregation of Indians as I had never imagined. The fellow went nearly across the plain, and, dodging this way and that, sought to throw me off. At length he passed round one of the tents, and returned toward the point from which we started. I followed, and finally, just as he reached the ring, I seized his hair, and gave it a jerk which made him yell like a catamount. This completely sealed my triumph. The looks of contempt around, were exchanged for those of admiration, and I was borne back to my tent with shouts of praise and exultation.

It was but a few weeks before I was at home among the Indians. I was adopted as the son of the woman who had taken care of me, in the place of one she had lost. By degrees I became accustomed to Indian sports and pastimes, and gradually learned their language. I was generally well treated after the fashion of savage life. There is little family government among these people; everything between the children is settled by strength; those principles of kindness, justice, pity and tenderness for the weak, which are so strongly inculcated among civilized people, being unknown to them. Matters are regulated very much as between animals――a herd of bisons for instance, or a pack of wolves. I had, therefore, to fight my way, and being very strong, I not only fared pretty well, but I obtained no little applause. At first, I was taunted and sneered at for being _white_, but I always punished such impudence, and at last these gibes ceased.

I often thought of my father and mother, my sister and brother, and longed to know their fate――for I was uncertain whether they had escaped or had perished on that fearful night in which our house had been reduced to ashes. Of these things, however, I could obtain no information. I knew too little of the Indian tongue to ask these questions, which often arose in my own mind. Sometimes, and especially at night, the thoughts of home and my kindred stole over me, and the tears would come into my eyes; but in the morning these painful thoughts would subside, and perhaps be forgotten in the pursuit of present objects.

[To be continued.]

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SHENSTONE AND THE ROBBER.――Shenstone, a well-known English poet, was one day walking through a wooded retreat with a lady, when a man rushed out of a thicket, and, presenting a pistol at his breast, demanded his money. Shenstone was surprised, and the lady fainted. “Money,” said the robber, “is not worth struggling for; you cannot be poorer than I am.” “Unhappy man,” exclaimed Shenstone, throwing his purse to him, “take it, and fly as quickly as possible.” The man did so――threw his pistol in the water, and instantly disappeared. Shenstone ordered his servant to follow the robber and observe where he went.

In two hours, the man returned, and informed his master that he followed the robber to the house where he lived; that he went to the door, and peeping through the key-hole, saw the man throw the purse on the ground, and say to his wife, “Take the dear-bought price of my honesty;” then taking two of his children, one on each knee, he said to them, “I have ruined my soul to keep you from starving,” and immediately burst into a flood of tears. Shenstone, on hearing this, lost no time in inquiring the man’s character, and found that he was a laborer, oppressed by want and a numerous family, but had the reputation of being honest and industrious. Shenstone went to his house,――the poor man fell at his feet and implored mercy. The poet took him home with him and provided him with employment.

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GEORGE IV. AND LORD RODEN.――When George IV. was in Ireland, he told Lord Roden that on a particular morning, he was coming to breakfast with him. He accordingly set out, and taking two or three of the nobility with him, he happened to arrive just as his lordship and family had assembled for family worship. Lord Roden, being told that his guest had arrived, went to the door, met him with every expression of respect, and seated him and the gentlemen that accompanied him in the parlor. He then turned to the king and said, “Your Majesty will not doubt that I feel highly honored by this visit, but there is a duty, that I have not discharged this morning, which I owe to the King of kings――that of performing domestic worship, and your majesty will be kind enough to excuse me, while I retire with my household and attend to it.” “Certainly,” replied the king; “but I am going with you,” and immediately rose and followed him into the hall where his family were assembled, and taking his station in an old arm-chair, remained during the family devotions.

This anecdote reflects honor both upon his lordship and his majesty; while it exhibits in the one the dignity of unyielding Christian principles, it displays in the other the courtesy of a gentleman, and the regard felt for a consistent religious character.

LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.

[Illustration]

The Old Oaken Bucket.

What Yankee, brought up in the country, does not remember the old oaken bucket? It is the fashion now, in New England, to draw the water from the well by means of a windlass; but twenty or thirty years ago, it was the custom to draw it up with a long pole, set across an upright beam. To one end of this pole, swung a rope or long stick, and the bucket was attached to this.

There is a beautiful song, about the old oaken bucket, written by Mr. Samuel Woodworth, a native of Scituate, in Massachusetts. It is very well known, and many of my readers have no doubt seen it, but I wish them all to learn it by heart.

Such pretty songs as this, not only give a great deal of innocent pleasure, but they are useful, in a high degree. They make us more fond of that place which we call home; they serve to attach us to our country; they serve to make us content with the simplicity of early times and of country life. If we think how many thousand times this song has been sung; what an immense amount of enjoyment it has given, and how much real good it has done, we shall see that there is great reason why we should all remember Samuel Woodworth with pleasure and respect.

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view; The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it, And e’en the rude bucket which hung in the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure, For often at noon, when return’d from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell, Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips; Not a full blushing goblet would tempt me to leave it, Though fill’d with the nectar which Jupiter sips. And now far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hangs in his well.

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France.

There is a country in Europe, called France. It lies east of the United States, and you must cross the Atlantic Ocean to get there. There are almost forty millions of people in France, and they have many splendid towns and cities. Paris is the capital of the country, and a charming city it is. It has as many inhabitants as the whole state of Massachusetts, and they have a thousand ways of amusing themselves.

The people who live in the country and labor on the lands, called peasants, are generally poor, and work very hard. If you ever travel in France, you will often see old women at work in the fields, carrying burthens of sticks, grass or hay. You will see them hoeing, digging, ploughing and harvesting.

A peasant woman in France gets but about three or four cents a day for her labor, and with this she can buy but few things to live upon. She usually goes barefoot, or wears heavy wooden shoes. She seldom eats meat, and often has no other breakfast than a glass of water and a few cherries, or grapes, or perhaps an apple. This is indeed poor fare.

In travelling in France, you will often see women in the fields taking care of the cows, and I have seen a woman spend the whole day in attending a single cow, which was grazing along the road-side. But while the woman watched the cow, she spun a little twine out of flax, by means of a stick, which she kept twirling between her fingers.

There are few countries in which the people, at large, are so happy as in our own country. The rich people fare very well in all countries, but the poor people are not happy in England, or France, or Germany, or any other country than ours. Should we not be thankful that a good Providence has cast our lot in America?

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The Moose.

Here is a picture of a moose, a huge animal of the deer kind, which is found in the state of Maine, and in Canada. It is sometimes six and even seven feet high, to the top of his shoulders; and the points of his immense horns, when he holds up his head, are ten feet from the ground.

There is something very queer about the appearance of the moose. His body is short, his legs are long, his neck is thick, his countenance is dull, his mouth is large, his nostrils wide. His whole aspect is stupid――and yet he wears upon his head a pair of spreading horns or antlers, of the most fantastic shape. They are branched like some kinds of seaweed, or like coral, that grows in the bottom of the sea.

It really seems, at first sight, as if nature intended a joke, when she contrived the moose――for he reminds us of a very stupid-looking person, bedizzened with an enormous head-dress. But we must not go too much by looks――for the moose, however he may appear as we see him in the picture, is a very fleet animal, and if you see him in his native woods, with the Indians or the hounds at his heels, he will show you that he is a pretty smart fellow, after all.

The moose sheds his horns every year, and it is not uncommon to find them in the woods of Maine. Sometimes the creature gets his horns so entangled in the branches of the trees, that he cannot get away, and he then dies, or is caught by the hunters.

The Indians of Maine hunt the moose in winter: when the snow is deep, he cannot travel very fast, for his feet sink in the snow, and he is soon run down. The flesh of the moose is often brought to the Boston market.

There is an animal in the north of Europe, called the Elk, which is very like the moose, but it is believed, by learned men, not to be exactly the same kind of creature.

Inquisitive Jack.