Betty Zane

Z >> Zane Grey >> Betty Zane


In the center of the village were several lodges connected with one
another and larger and more imposing than the surrounding tepees.
These were the wigwams of the chief, and thither Isaac was
conducted. The guards led him to a large and circular apartment and
left him there alone. This room was the council-room. It contained
nothing but a low seat and a knotted war-club.

Isaac heard the rattle of beads and bear claws, and as he turned a
tall and majestic Indian entered the room. It was Tarhe, the chief
of all the Wyandots. Though Tarhe was over seventy, he walked erect;
his calm face, dark as a bronze mask, showed no trace of his
advanced age. Every line and feature of his face had race in it; the
high forehead, the square, protruding jaw, the stern mouth, the
falcon eyes--all denoted the pride and unbending will of the last of
the Tarhes.

"The White Eagle is again in the power of Tarhe," said the chief in
his native tongue. "Though he had the swiftness of the bounding deer
or the flight of the eagle it would avail him not. The wild geese as
they fly northward are not swifter than the warriors of Tarhe.
Swifter than all is the vengeance of the Huron. The young paleface
has cost the lives of some great warriors. What has he to say?"

"It was not my fault," answered Isaac quickly. "I was struck down
from behind and had no chance to use a weapon. I have never raised
my hand against a Wyandot. Crow will tell you that. If my people and
friends kill your braves I am not to blame. Yet I have had good
cause to shed Huron blood. Your warriors have taken me from my home
and have wounded me many times."

"The White Chief speaks well. Tarhe believes his words," answered
Tarhe in his sonorous voice. "The Lenapee seek the death of the pale
face. Wingenund grieves for his son. He is Tarhe's friend. Tarhe is
old and wise and he is king here. He can save the White Chief from
Wingenund and Cornplanter. Listen. Tarhe is old and he has no son.
He will make you a great chief and give you lands and braves and
honors. He shall not ask you to raise your hand against your people,
but help to bring peace. Tarhe does not love this war. He wants only
justice. He wants only to keep his lands, his horses, and his
people. The White Chief is known to be brave; his step is light, his
eye is keen, and his bullet is true. For many long moons Tarhe's
daughter has been like the singing bird without its mate. She sings
no more. She shall be the White Chief's wife. She has the blood of
her mother and not that of the last of the Tarhes. Thus the mistakes
of Tarhe's youth come to disappoint his old age. He is the friend of
the young paleface. Tarhe has said. Now go and make your peace with
Myeerah."

The chief motioned toward the back of the lodge. Isaac stepped
forward and went through another large room, evidently the chief's,
as it was fitted up with a wild and barbaric splendor. Isaac
hesitated before a bearskin curtain at the farther end of the
chief's lodge. He had been there many times before, but never with
such conflicting emotions. What was it that made his heart beat
faster? With a quick movement he lifted the curtain and passed under
it.

The room which he entered was circular in shape and furnished with
all the bright colors and luxuriance known to the Indian. Buffalo
robes covered the smooth, hard-packed clay floor; animals,
allegorical pictures, and fanciful Indian designs had been painted
on the wall; bows and arrows, shields, strings of bright-colored
beads and Indian scarfs hung round the room. The wall was made of
dried deerskins sewed together and fastened over long poles which
were planted in the ground and bent until the ends met overhead. An
oval-shaped opening let in the light. Through a narrow aperture,
which served as a door leading to a smaller apartment, could be seen
a low couch covered with red blankets, and a glimpse of many hued
garments hanging on the wall.

As Isaac entered the room a slender maiden ran impulsively to him
and throwing her arms round his neck hid her face on his breast. A
few broken, incoherent words escaped her lips. Isaac disengaged
himself from the clinging arms and put her from him. The face raised
to his was strikingly beautiful. Oval in shape, it was as white as
his own, with a broad, low brow and regular features. The eyes were
large and dark and they dilated and quickened with a thousand
shadows of thought.

"Myeerah, I am taken again. This time there has been blood shed. The
Delaware chief was killed, and I do not know how many more Indians.
The chiefs are all for putting me to death. I am in great danger.
Why could you not leave me in peace?"

At his first words the maiden sighed and turned sorrowfully and
proudly away from the angry face of the young man. A short silence
ensued.

"Then you are not glad to see Myeerah?" she said, in English. Her
voice was music. It rang low, sweet, clear-toned as a bell.

"What has that to do with it? Under some circumstances I would be
glad to see you. But to be dragged back here and perhaps
murdered--no, I don't welcome it. Look at this mark where Crow hit
me," said Isaac, passionately, bowing his head to enable her to see
the bruise where the club had struck him.

"I am sorry," said Myeerah, gently.

"I know that I am in great danger from the Delawares."

"The daughter of Tarhe has saved your life before and will save it
again."

"They may kill me in spite of you."

"They will not dare. Do not forget that I saved you from the
Shawnees. What did my father say to you?"

"He assured me that he was my friend and that he would protect me
from Wingenund. But I must marry you and become one of the tribe. I
cannot do that. And that is why I am sure they will kill me."

"You are angry now. I will tell you. Myeerah tried hard to win your
love, and when you ran away from her she was proud for a long time.
But there was no singing of birds, no music of the waters, no beauty
in anything after you left her. Life became unbearable without you.
Then Myeerah remembered that she was a daughter of kings. She
summoned the bravest and greatest warriors of two tribes and said to
them. 'Go and bring to me the paleface, White Eagle. Bring him to me
alive or dead. If alive, Myeerah will smile once more upon her
warriors. If dead, she will look once upon his face and die. Ever
since Myeerah was old enough to remember she has thought of you.
Would you wish her to be inconstant, like the moon?'"

"It is not what I wish you to be. It is that I cannot live always
without seeing my people. I told you that a year ago."

"You told me other things in that past time before you ran away.
They were tender words that were sweet to the ear of the Indian
maiden. Have you forgotten them?"

"I have not forgotten them. I am not without feeling. You do not
understand. Since I have been home this last time, I have realized
more than ever that I could not live away from my home."

"Is there any maiden in your old home whom you have learned to love
more than Myeerah?"

He did not reply, but looked gloomily out of the opening in the
wall. Myeerah had placed her hold upon his arm, and as he did not
answer the hand tightened its grasp.

"She shall never have you."

The low tones vibrated with intense feeling, with a deathless
resolve. Isaac laughed bitterly and looked up at her. Myeerah's face
was pale and her eyes burned like fire.

"I should not be surprised if you gave me up to the Delawares," said
Isaac, coldly. "I am prepared for it, and I would not care very
much. I have despaired of your ever becoming civilized enough to
understand the misery of my sister and family. Why not let the
Indians kill me?"

He knew how to wound her. A quick, shuddery cry broke from her lips.
She stood before him with bowed head and wept. When she spoke again
her voice was broken and pleading.

"You are cruel and unjust. Though Myeerah has Indian blood she is a
white woman. She can feel as your people do. In your anger and
bitterness you forget that Myeerah saved you from the knife of the
Shawnees. You forget her tenderness; you forget that she nursed you
when you were wounded. Myeerah has a heart to break. Has she not
suffered? Is she not laughed at, scorned, called a 'paleface' by the
other tribes? She thanks the Great Spirit for the Indian blood that
keep her true. The white man changes his loves and his wives. That
is not an Indian gift."

"No, Myeerah, I did not say so. There is no other woman. It is that
I am wretched and sick at heart. Do you not see that this will end
in a tragedy some day? Can you not realize that we would be happier
if you would let me go? If you love me you would not want to see me
dead. If I do not marry you they will kill me; if I try to escape
again they win kill me. Let me go free."

"I cannot! I cannot!" she cried. "You have taught me many of the
ways of your people, but you cannot change my nature."

"Why cannot you free me?"

"I love you, and I will not live without you."

"Then come and go to my home and live there with me," said Isaac,
taking the weeping maiden in his arms. "I know that my people will
welcome you."

"Myeerah would be pitied and scorned," she said, sadly, shaking her
head.

Isaac tried hard to steel his heart against her, but he was only
mortal and he failed. The charm of her presence influenced him; her
love wrung tenderness from him. Those dark eyes, so proud to all
others, but which gazed wistfully and yearningly into his, stirred
his heart to its depths. He kissed the tear-wet cheeks and smiled
upon her.

"Well, since I am a prisoner once more, I must make the best of it.
Do not look so sad. We shall talk of this another day. Come, let us
go and find my little friend, Captain Jack. He remembered me, for he
ran out and grasped my knee and they pulled him away."



CHAPTER VI.

When the first French explorers invaded the northwest, about the
year 1615, the Wyandot Indians occupied the territory between
Georgian Bay and the Muskoka Lakes in Ontario. These Frenchmen named
the tribe Huron because of the manner in which they wore their hair.

At this period the Hurons were at war with the Iroquois, and the two
tribes kept up a bitter fight until in 1649, when the Hurons
suffered a decisive defeat. They then abandoned their villages and
sought other hunting grounds. They travelled south and settled in
Ohio along the south and west shores of Lake Erie. The present site
of Zanesfield, named from Isaac Zane, marks the spot where the
largest tribe of Hurons once lived.

In a grove of maples on the banks of a swift little river named Mad
River, the Hurons built their lodges and their wigwams. The stately
elk and graceful deer abounded in this fertile valley, and countless
herds of bison browsed upon the uplands.

There for many years the Hurons lived a peaceful and contented life.
The long war cry was not heard. They were at peace with the
neighboring tribes. Tarhe, the Huron chief, attained great influence
with the Delawares. He became a friend of Logan, the Mingo chief.

With the invasion of the valley of the Ohio by the whites, with the
march into the wilderness of that wild-turkey breed of heroes of
which Boone, Kenton, the Zanes, and the Wetzels were the first, the
Indian's nature gradually changed until he became a fierce and
relentless foe.

The Hurons had sided with the French in Pontiac's war, and in the
Revolution they aided the British. They allied themselves with the
Mingoes, Delawares and Shawnees and made a fierce war on the
Virginian pioneers. Some powerful influence must have engendered
this implacable hatred in these tribes, particularly in the Mingo
and the Wyandot.

The war between the Indians and the settlers along the Pennsylvania
and West Virginia borders was known as "Dunmore's War." The Hurons,
Mingoes, and Delawares living in the "hunter's paradise" west of the
Ohio River, seeing their land sold by the Iroquois and the
occupation of their possessions by a daring band of white men
naturally were filled with fierce anger and hate. But remembering
the past bloody war and British punishment they slowly moved
backward toward the setting sun and kept the peace. In 1774 a canoe
filled with friendly Wyandots was attacked by white men below Yellow
Creek and the Indians were killed. Later the same year a party of
men under Colonel Cresop made an unprovoked and dastardly massacre
of the family and relatives of Logan. This attack reflected the
deepest dishonor upon all the white men concerned, and was the
principal cause of the long and bloody war which followed. The
settlers on the border sent messengers to Governor Dunmore at
Williamsburg for immediate relief parties. Knowing well that the
Indians would not allow this massacre to go unavenged the
frontiersmen erected forts and blockhouses.

Logan, the famous Mingo chief, had been a noted friend of the white
men. After the murder of his people he made ceaseless war upon them.
He incited the wrath of the Hurons and the Delawares. He went on the
warpath, and when his lust for vengeance had been satisfied he sent
the following remarkable address to Lord Dunmore:

"I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Logan's cabin
and he gave him not meat: if ever he came cold and naked and he
clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war
Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate of peace. Such was my
love for the whites that my countrymen pointed as they passed and
said: 'Logan is the friend of the white man.' I had even thought to
have lived with you but for the injuries of one man, Colonel Cresop,
who, last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all the
relatives of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There
runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature.
This called upon me for vengeance. I have sought it: I have killed
many; I have glutted my vengeance. For my country I will rejoice at
the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy
of fear. Logan never felt fear; he could not turn upon his heel to
save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one."

The war between the Indians and the pioneers was waged for years.
The settlers pushed farther and farther into the wilderness. The
Indians, who at first sought only to save their farms and their
stock, now fought for revenge. That is why every ambitious pioneer
who went out upon those borders carried his life in his hands; why
there was always the danger of being shot or tomahawked from behind
every tree; why wife and children were constantly in fear of the
terrible enemy.

To creep unawares upon a foe and strike him in the dark was Indian
warfare; to an Indian it was not dishonorable; it was not cowardly.
He was taught to hide in the long grass like a snake, to shoot from
coverts, to worm his way stealthily through the dense woods and to
ambush the paleface's trail. Horrible cruelties, such as torturing
white prisoners and burning them at the stake were never heard of
before the war made upon the Indians by the whites.

Comparatively little is known of the real character of the Indian of
that time. We ourselves sit before our warm fires and talk of the
deeds of the redman. We while away an hour by reading Pontiac's
siege of Detroit, of the battle of Braddock's fields, and of
Custer's last charge. We lay the book down with a fervent expression
of thankfulness that the day of the horrible redman is past. Because
little has been written on the subject, no thought is given to the
long years of deceit and treachery practiced upon Pontiac; we are
ignorant of the causes which led to the slaughter of Braddock's
army, and we know little of the life of bitterness suffered by
Sitting Bull.

Many intelligent white men, who were acquainted with the true life
of the Indian before he was harassed and driven to desperation by
the pioneers, said that he had been cruelly wronged. Many white men
in those days loved the Indian life so well that they left the
settlements and lived with the Indians. Boone, who knew the Indian
nature, said the honesty and the simplicity of the Indian were
remarkable. Kenton said he had been happy among the Indians. Col.
Zane had many Indian friends. Isaac Zane, who lived most of his life
with the Wyandots, said the American redman had been wrongfully
judged a bloodthirsty savage, an ignorant, thieving wretch, capable
of not one virtue. He said the free picturesque life of the Indians
would have appealed to any white man; that it had a wonderful charm,
and that before the war with the whites the Indians were kind to
their prisoners, and sought only to make Indians of them. He told
tales of how easily white boys become Indianized, so attached to the
wild life and freedom of the redmen that it was impossible to get
the captives to return to civilized life. The boys had been
permitted to grow wild with the Indian lads; to fish and shoot and
swim with them; to play the Indian games--to live idle, joyous
lives. He said these white boys had been ransomed and taken from
captivity and returned to their homes and, although a close watch
has kept on them, they contrived to escape and return to the
Indians, and that while they were back among civilized people it was
difficult to keep the boys dressed. In summer time it was useless to
attempt it. The strongest hemp-linen shirts, made with the strongest
collar and wrist-band, would directly be torn off and the little
rascals found swimming in the river or rolling on the sand.

If we may believe what these men have said--and there seems no good
reason why we may not--the Indian was very different from the
impression given of him. There can be little doubt that the redman
once lived a noble and blameless life; that he was simple, honest
and brave, that he had a regard for honor and a respect for a
promise far exceeding that of most white men. Think of the beautiful
poetry and legends left by these silent men: men who were a part of
the woods; men whose music was the sighing of the wind, the rustling
of the leaf, the murmur of the brook; men whose simple joys were the
chase of the stag, and the light in the dark eye of a maiden.

If we wish to find the highest type of the American Indian we must
look for him before he was driven west by the land-seeking pioneer
and before he was degraded by the rum-selling French trader.

The French claimed all the land watered by the Mississippi River and
its tributaries. The French Canadian was a restless, roaming
adventurer and he found his vocation in the fur-trade. This
fur-trade engendered a strange class of men--bush-rangers they were
called--whose work was to paddle the canoe along the lakes and
streams and exchange their cheap rum for the valuable furs of the
Indians. To these men the Indians of the west owe their degradation.
These bush-rangers or coureurs-des-bois, perverted the Indians and
sank into barbarism with them.

The few travellers there in those days were often surprised to find
in the wigwams of the Indians men who acknowledged the blood of
France, yet who had lost all semblance to the white man. They lived
in their tepee with their Indian squaws and lolled on their blankets
while the squaws cooked their venison and did all the work. They let
their hair grow long and wore feathers in it; they painted their
faces hideously with ochre and vermilion.

These were the worthless traders and adventurers who, from the year
1748 to 1783, encroached on the hunting grounds of the Indians and
explored the wilderness, seeking out the remote tribes and trading
the villainous rum for the rare pelts. In 1784 the French
authorities, realizing that these vagrants were demoralizing the
Indians, warned them to get off the soil. Finding this course
ineffectual they arrested those that could be apprehended and sent
them to Canada. But it was too late: the harm had been done: the
poor, ignorant savage had tasted of the terrible "fire-water," as he
called the rum and his ruin was inevitable.

It was a singular fact that almost every Indian who had once tasted
strong drink, was unable to resist the desire for more. When a
trader came to one of the Indian hamlets the braves purchased a keg
of rum and then they held a council to see who was to get drunk and
who was to keep sober. It was necessary to have some sober Indians
in camp, otherwise the drunken braves would kill one another. The
weapons would have to be concealed. When the Indians had finished
one keg of rum they would buy another, and so on until not a
beaver-skin was left. Then the trader would move or when the Indians
sobered up they would be much dejected, for invariably they would
find that some had been wounded, others crippled, and often several
had been killed.

Logan, using all his eloquence, travelled from village to village
visiting the different tribes and making speeches. He urged the
Indians to shun the dreaded "fire-water." He exclaimed against the
whites for introducing liquor to the Indians and thus debasing them.
At the same time Logan admitted his own fondness for rum. This
intelligent and noble Indian was murdered in a drunken fight shortly
after sending his address to Lord Dunmore.

Thus it was that the poor Indians had no chance to avert their
downfall; the steadily increasing tide of land-stealing settlers
rolling westward, and the insidious, debasing, soul-destroying
liquor were the noble redman's doom.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Isaac Zane dropped back not altogether unhappily into his old place
in the wigwam, in the hunting parties, and in the Indian games.

When the braves were in camp, the greatest part of the day was spent
in shooting and running matches, in canoe races, in wrestling, and
in the game of ball. The chiefs and the older braves who had won
their laurels and the maidens of the tribe looked on and applauded.

Isaac entered into all these pastimes, partly because he had a
natural love for them, and partly because he wished to win the
regard of the Indians. In wrestling, and in those sports which
required weight and endurance, he usually suffered defeat. In a foot
race there was not a brave in the entire tribe who could keep even
with him. But it was with the rifle that Isaac won his greatest
distinction. The Indians never learned the finer shooting with the
ride. Some few of them could shoot well, but for the most part they
were poor marksmen.

Accordingly, Isaac was always taken on the fall hunt. Every autumn
there were three parties sent out to bring in the supply of meat for
the winter. Because of Isaac's fine marksmanship he was always taken
with the bear hunters. Bear hunting was exciting and dangerous work.
Before the weather got very cold and winter actually set in the
bears crawled into a hole in a tree or a cave in the rocks, where
they hibernated. A favorite place for them was in hollow trees. When
the Indians found a tree with the scratches of a bear on it and a
hole large enough to admit the body of a bear, an Indian climbed up
the tree and with a long pole tried to punch Bruin out of his den.
Often this was a hazardous undertaking, for the bear would get angry
on being disturbed in his winter sleep and would rush out before the
Indian could reach a place of safety. At times there were even two
or three bears in one den. Sometimes the bear would refuse to come
out, and on these occasions, which were rare, the hunters would
resort to fire. A piece of dry, rotten wood was fastened to a long
pole and was set on fire. When this was pushed in on the bear he
would give a sniff and a growl and come out in a hurry.

The buffalo and elk were hunted with the bow and arrow. This
effective weapon did not make a noise and frighten the game. The
wary Indian crawled through the high grass until within easy range
and sometimes killed several buffalo or elk before the herd became
alarmed. The meat was then jerked. This consisted in cutting it into
thin strips and drying it in the sun. Afterwards it was hung up in
the lodges. The skins were stretched on poles to dry, and when cured
they served as robes, clothing and wigwam-coverings.

The Indians were fond of honey and maple sugar. The finding of a
hive of bees, or a good run of maple syrup was an occasion for
general rejoicing. They found the honey in hollow trees, and they
obtained the maple sugar in two ways. When the sap came up in the
maple trees a hole was bored in the trees about a foot from the
ground and a small tube, usually made from a piece of alder, was
inserted in the hole. Through this the sap was carried into a vessel
which was placed under the tree. This sap was boiled down in
kettles. If the Indians had no kettles they made the frost take the
place of heat in preparing the sugar. They used shallow vessels made
of bark, and these were filled with water and the maple sap. It was
left to freeze over night and in the morning the ice was broken and
thrown away. The sugar did not freeze. When this process had been
repeated several times the residue was very good maple sugar.