James Fenimore Cooper Fullscreen Prairie (1827)

Arrangements had been made for their comfort, with a prodigality and care that had not failed to excite some surprise in his young men, but in no other particular did he shock their manly pride, by betraying any solicitude in behalf of the weaker sex.

The leave-taking was general and imposing.

Each male Pawnee was sedulous to omit no one of the strange warriors in his attentions, and of course the ceremony occupied some time.

The only exception, and that was not general, was in the case of Dr. Battius.

Not a few of the young men, it is true, were indifferent about lavishing civilities on one of so doubtful a profession, but the worthy naturalist found some consolation in the more matured politeness of the old men, who had inferred, that though not of much use in war, the medicine of the Big-knives might possibly be made serviceable in peace.

When all of Middleton’s party had embarked, the trapper lifted a small bundle, which had lain at his feet during the previous proceedings, and whistling Hector to his side, he was the last to take his seat.

The artillerists gave the usual cheers, which were answered by a shout from the tribe, and then the boat was shoved into the current, and began to glide swiftly down its stream.

A long and a musing, if not a melancholy, silence succeeded this departure.

It was first broken by the trapper, whose regret was not the least visible in his dejected and sorrowful eye—

“They are a valiant and an honest tribe,” he said; “that will I say boldly in their favour; and second only do I take them to be to that once mighty but now scattered people, the Delawares of the Hills.

Ah’s me, Captain, if you had seen as much good and evil as I have seen in these nations of Red-skins, you would know of how much value was a brave and simple-minded warrior.

I know that some are to be found, who both think and say that an Indian is but little better than the beasts of these naked plains.

But it is needful to be honest in one’s self, to be a fitting judge of honesty in others.

No doubt, no doubt they know their enemies, and little do they care to show to such any great confidence, or love.”

“It is the way of man,” returned the Captain; “and it is probable they are not wanting in any of his natural qualities.”

“No, no; it is little that they want, that natur’ has had to give.

But as little does he know of the temper of a Red-skin, who has seen but one Indian, or one tribe, as he knows of the colour of feathers who has only looked upon a crow.

Now, friend steersman, just give the boat a sheer towards yonder, low, sandy point, and a favour will be granted at a short asking.”

“For what?” demanded Middleton; “we are now in the swiftest of the current, and by drawing to the shore we shall lose the force of the stream.”

“Your tarry will not be long,” returned the old man, applying his own hand to the execution of that which he had requested.

The oarsmen had seen enough of his influence, with their leader, not to dispute his wishes, and before time was given for further discussion on the subject, the bow of the boat had touched the land.

“Captain,” resumed the other, untying his little wallet with great deliberation, and even in a manner to show he found satisfaction in the delay, “I wish to offer you a small matter of trade.

No great bargain, mayhap; but still the best that one, of whose hand the skill of the rifle has taken leave, and who has become no better than a miserable trapper, can offer before we part.”

“Part!” was echoed from every mouth, among those who had so recently shared his dangers, and profited by his care.

“What the devil, old trapper, do you mean to foot it to the settlements, when here is a boat that will float the distance in half the time, that the jackass, the Doctor has given the Pawnee, could trot along the same.”

“Settlements, boy!

It is long sin’ I took my leave of the waste and wickedness of the settlements and the villages.

If I live in a clearing, here, it is one of the Lord’s making, and I have no hard thoughts on the matter; but never again shall I be seen running wilfully into the danger of immoralities.”

“I had not thought of parting,” answered Middleton, endeavouring to seek some relief from the uneasiness he felt, by turning his eyes on the sympathising countenances of his friends; “on the contrary, I had hoped and believed that you would have accompanied us below, where I give you a sacred pledge, nothing shall be wanting to make your days comfortable.”

“Yes, lad, yes; you would do your endeavours; but what are the strivings of man against the working of the devil!

Ay, if kind offers and good wishes could have done the thing, I might have been a congress man, or perhaps a governor, years agone.

Your grand’ther wished the same, and there are them still lying in the Otsego mountains, as I hope, who would gladly have given me a palace for my dwelling.

But what are riches without content!

My time must now be short, at any rate, and I hope it’s no mighty sin for one, who has acted his part honestly near ninety winters and summers, to wish to pass the few hours that remain in comfort.

If you think I have done wrong in coming thus far to quit you again, Captain, I will own the reason of the act, without shame or backwardness.

Though I have seen so much of the wilderness, it is not to be gainsayed, that my feelings, as well as my skin, are white.

Now it would not be a fitting spectacle, that yonder Pawnee Loups should look upon the weakness of an old warrior, if weakness he should happen to show in parting for ever from those he has reason to love, though he may not set his heart so strongly on them, as to wish to go into the settlements in their company.”

“Harkee, old trapper,” said Paul, clearing his throat with a desperate effort, as if determined to give his voice a clear exit; “I have just one bargain to make, since you talk of trading, which is neither more or less than this. I offer you, as my side of the business, one half of my shanty, nor do I much care if it be the biggest half; the sweetest and the purest honey that can be made of the wild locust; always enough to eat, with now and then a mouthful of venison, or, for that matter, a morsel of buffaloe’s hump, seeing that I intend to push my acquaintance with the animal, and as good and as tidy cooking as can come from the hands of one like Ellen Wade, here, who will shortly be Nelly somebody-else, and altogether such general treatment as a decent man might be supposed to pay to his best friend, or for that matter, to his own father; in return for the same, you ar’ to give us at odd moments some of your ancient traditions, perhaps a little wholesome advice on occasions, in small quantities at a time, and as much of your agreeable company as you please.”

“It is well—it is well, boy,” returned the old man, fumbling at his wallet; “honestly offered, and not unthankfully declined—but it cannot be; no, it can never be.”

“Venerable venator,” said Dr. Battius; “there are obligations, which every man owes to society and to human nature.

It is time that you should return to your countrymen, to deliver up some of those stores of experimental knowledge that you have doubtless obtained by so long a sojourn in the wilds, which, however they may be corrupted by preconceived opinions, will prove acceptable bequests to those whom, as you say, you must shortly leave for ever.”

“Friend physicianer,” returned the trapper, looking the other steadily in the face, “as it would be no easy matter to judge of the temper of the rattler by considering the fashions of the moose, so it would be hard to speak of the usefulness of one man by thinking too much of the deeds of another.

You have your gifts like others, I suppose, and little do I wish to disturb them.

But as to me, the Lord has made me for a doer and not a talker, and therefore do I consider it no harm to shut my ears to your invitation.”

“It is enough,” interrupted Middleton, “I have seen and heard so much of this extraordinary man, as to know that persuasions will not change his purpose.

First we will hear your request, my friend, and then we will consider what may be best done for your advantage.”

“It is a small matter, Captain,” returned the old man, succeeding at length in opening his bundle. “A small and trifling matter is it, to what I once used to offer in the way of bargain; but then it is the best I have, and therein not to be despised.

Here are the skins of four beavers, that I took, it might be a month afore we met, and here is another from a racoon, that is of no great matter to be sure, but which may serve to make weight atween us.”

“And what do you propose to do with them?”

“I offer them in lawful barter.