Oonomoo the Huron by Edward Sylvester Ellis (a book to read .TXT) 📖

a few yards away. The eyes of both lit up as they encountered the gaze of each other, for they were both friends and old acquaintances.

"Ish dat you, Oonomoo?" inquired Hans Vanderbum.

"Yeh—me—Oonomoo," replied the Indian, pronouncing his name somewhat differently from the Dutchman, (and from that by which we have before referred to him).

"Was dat you on de tree out dere?"

"Yeh, me—Oonomoo out dere on log."

"And did you make dem pieces of bark to come swimming down by me?"

"Yeh, me made 'em."

"And shtirred de water wid yer hand and moved de limb?"

"Yeh, Oonomoo do all dat."

"I shpose you wanted to see me?"

"Yeh, wanted to see you—want talk wid you," said the Huron, motioning for Hans to follow him. The latter did not hesitate to do so, as he had perfect faith in his honesty, knowing much of his history. The savage led the way some distance into the woods, where they were not likely to be seen or overheard, and then stopped and confronted his companion.

"Where'd you come from, Oonomoo?" asked the latter.

"From fightin' de Shawnees," replied the savage, proudly.

"Yaw, I sees yer am in de war-paint. Did you get many?"

"The lodge of Oonomoo is full of the scalps of the cowardly Shawnees, taken many moons ago," answered the Huron, his eyes flashing fire and his breast heaving at the remembrance of his exploits. This reply was made in the Shawnee language, as he spoke it as well as one of their warriors; and, as Hans also understood it, the conversation was now carried on in that tongue.

"When did you see Annie Stanton last?" inquired the Dutchman, showing considerable interest.

"Several moons ago, when the sun was in the woods and the waters were asleep."

"Is her husband, that rascally Ferrington, living?"

Oonomoo replied that he was.

"And is their baby, too?"

"Yes, they have two pappooses."

"Dunder and blixen!" exclaimed Hans Vanderbum, and then resuming the English language, or rather his version of it, he added:

"Dat gal wanted to marry mit me once."

"Why no marry den?" inquired Oonomoo, also coming back to the more difficult language.

"She wan't te right kind of a gal—she wan't like my Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock, dat is de same shape all de way down from her head to her heels. So I let dat Ferrington have her."

The Huron, who understood all about that matter, indulged in a broad smile at this remark. Whatever his business was, it was manifest he was in no hurry, else he would not have indulged in this by-play of words with his friend.

"You doesn't t'ink de baby will dies, does you?"

"No—in de settlement—Shawnee can't git her now—don't live off in de woods like as dey did afore."

"Dat's lucky for her; don't t'ink dey will get her there, 'cause dey tried it once—dat time, you remember, when we was all in de HUNTER'S CABIN in de woods, and you came down de chimney, and I watched and kept de Shawnee off."

The Huron signified that he remembered the circumstance well.

"Dem was great times," added Hans Vanderbum, calling up the recollection of them. "I left de village one hot afternoon, and walked all de way t'rough de woods to get to de cabin to help dem poor folks. We had mighty hard times. I catched a cold and couldn't shtop my dunderin' nose one night when it wanted to shneeze, and dat's de way de Shawnee catched me. Twan't so bad arter all," added Hans Vanderbum, musingly, "'cause if it wasn't for dat I wouldn't got my Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock."

"How soon go back?" asked Oonomoo.

"To de village, do you mean?"

"Yeh."

"Any time afore noon will does, so Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock gits de fish for our dinner."

"One, two hours," said the Huron, looking up at the sky, "den sun git dere," pointing to the zenith. "Shawnees know here?"

"Know me here? Guesses not; don't care if dey does, nor dey doesn't care neider."

"Shawnees won't come here?"

"No, no, Oonomoo, you needn't be afraid—"

"Afraid who?" demanded the Huron, with quick fierceness. "Oonomoo never run afore one—two—t'ree—dozen Shawnees. He only runs when dey comes like de leaves in de woods."

"Dey won't come like de leaves. If dey does, why you can leave too, and I t'inks you know how to use dem legs dat you've got tacked onto you. I t'inks you run as fast as me."

"So I t'inks," replied the Indian, with a grin.

"Dere's no mistake but dem Shawnees would like to get your scalp, Oonomoo."

"Two—t'ree—hundreds—all Shawnees like to git Oonomoo's scalp—nebber git him—Oonomee die in his lodge—scalp on his head," said the Huron, proudly.

"I hopes so; hopes I will, too."

The expression of the Indian's face was changed. It assumed a dark, earnest appearance. He was done trifling, and wished to commence business.

"See her dis mornin'?" he asked, in short, quick tones.

"See who?" asked Hans Vanderbum, in turn, completely at a loss to understand him.

"De gal."

"De gal? Who you talking about—Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock?"

"De gal Shawnees got in de village."

The Dutchman's blank expression showed that he did not comprehend what the Huron was referring to; so he added, by way of explanation:

"Shawnees kill women and children—deir warriors squaws—don't fight men—burn houses toder day—run off wid gal—got her now in de village—she gal of Oonomoo's friend—Oonomoo want to get her."

From these rather disconnected expressions, Hans Vanderbum understood that a war-party of Shawnees had brought in a prisoner who was a friend of the Huron's. It was for the purpose of learning something regarding her that he had signaled the fisherman to leave his hook and line and come to him. The captive having reached the village quite recently, he had failed to be apprised of it, so that Oonomoo learned no more than he already knew regarding her.

"When did dey took her?" asked Hans Vanderbum.

"When sun dere, yisterday," replied the Indian, pointing off in the western horizon.

"Do you want to know 'bout her?"

"Yeh."

"Den I goes find out."

So saying, Hans Vanderbum strode away through the forest in the direction of the Shawnee village.

CHAPTER II. OTHER CHARACTERS.

"He joys to scour the prairies wide,
    Upon the bison's trail;
To pierce his dark and shaggy hide
    With darts that never fail.

"His is the lion's strength in war,
    In peace, the lion's rest;
And the eagle hath not flown so far
    As his fame throughout the West."

Upon leaving the Huron, Hans Vanderbum hurried toward the village, as rapidly as the peculiar structure of his body would allow. As has been remarked, he was well acquainted with Oonomoo, knowing him to be a faithful ally of his race. He was anxious, therefore, to show his friendship to the savage. Down, too, somewhere in the huge heart of the plethoric Dutchman, was a kindly feeling for the distress of a human being, and he felt willing and anxious to befriend any hapless captive that had fallen into the hands of the relentless Shawnees.

So absorbed was he in meditating, that he took no heed of his footsteps until he was suddenly confronted by his spouse, Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock, who, flourishing a sort of hoe over his head, demanded, or rather screeched:

"Where's your fish?"

Hans Vanderbum winked very rapidly, and putting his hands up over his head, as if to protect it, "I forgots all about dem. I goes right back and gots dem."

He wheeled around as he spoke, receiving a resounding whack from the hoe, by way of a reminder, and went lumbering through the woods in search of his basket of fish. He experienced little difficulty in finding it, and in a few moments was back again to his affectionate partner.

"How did you get wet?" she asked, looking at his flapping garments.

"Dem little Dutchmen done it; dey fixed de limb and made it proke and let me down in de water and almost drownded. Quanonshet and Madokawandock will be de death of deir poor dad."

The wife vouchsafed no reply, but jerking the fish from his hand, entered the wigwam for the purpose of cooking them, while Hans Vanderbum himself went lounging on through the village, it being his purpose not to seem too anxious and hurried in his effort to gain his news regarding the captive. He was, despite his stupidity, not devoid of sagacity at times.

He had not long to search. In the very center of the town, his eyes fell upon a promiscuous crowd collected around a wigwam, gazing at something within.

"Vot you got dere?" he demanded, in a tone of great indignation, as he shoved his way through the bystanders. Those addressed made no reply, waiting for him to satisfy his curiosity by seeing the object for himself. In the interior, he descried a young woman, or rather a girl, for she could scarcely have been more than fifteen or sixteen years of age, seated upon the ground, beside a squaw, with whom it was apparent she had been endeavoring to hold a conversation; but, finding it impossible in the ignorance of each other's language, they had ceased their efforts by common consent and were now sitting motionless.

[Illustration: A girl, fifteen or sixteen years of age,
seated upon the ground, beside a squaw.]

As Hans Vanderbum gazed curiously at her, his big heart filled with pity. She was attired in the plain, homespun dress common among the settlers at that period, her head totally uncovered, and her long, dark hair falling in luxuriant masses around her shoulders. Her hands were clasped and her head bowed with a meek, resigned air that reached more than one Shawnee heart. Her complexion was rather light, her features not dazzlingly beautiful, but prepossessing, the expression which instantly struck the beholder being that of refinement; speaking a nature elevated and holy, as much above that of the beings who surrounded her, as would have been that of an angel had he alighted amid a group of mortals.

The great exertion made by Hans Vanderbum in reaching the wigwam, caused him to breathe so heavily as to attract the attention of the captive. Catching sight of a white man, she arose quickly, and approaching him, said, eagerly:

"Oh! I'm so glad to meet one of my own color and race, for I am sure you must be a friend."

"Yaw, I's your friend," replied Hans Vanderbum, hardly knowing what he said; "and I's sorry as nobody to see you here. How did you got here?"

"They brought me, the Shawnee warriors did. They attacked the house in the night, when I was alone with the servants. They murdered them all except me. They have brought myself here to perish in captivity."

"Yaw, de Shawnees ish great on dat business. 'Cause I shneezed dey cotched me once and brought me here to perish in captivity mit yourself," said Hans Vanderbum, in a feeling voice.

"Are you a prisoner, also?" asked the captive, in considerable surprise.

"Yaw, but I likes it! I's got a wife, Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock, dat is de same shape all de way down, and a little Dutchman, Madokawandock; so dey hasn't to watch, like I shpose dey will have to you."

"Can any of these around me understand English?" asked the girl, in a low tone.

"No; de women don't know notting about it, except my wife, and she ain't here; and de men know notink. You needn't be afraid to say anything you pleases to me."

"You could not betray me," added the girl, turning her dark, soulful eyes anxiously full upon him.

"No, no," he replied, energetically. "Voot's your name?"

"Mary Prescott."

"How fur does you live from here—dat is, how fur did you live?"

"It must be over thirty miles, in an eastern direction, I think."

"Does you know Oonomoo?"

Hans Vanderbum asked the question in a lower tone, for the name was well known to all present.

"A Huron Indian? Oh, yes; I know him well," replied the captive; her countenance lighting up. "He was well remembered in our neighborhood, and was a true friend to us all. Do you know him too? Though I suppose of course you do, from your asking me the question."

"Yaw, I knows him, and he knows me too, and we both knows each oder, so dat we are acquainted. Well, dat shentleman is hid off in de woods near here, and he has sent me in to l'arn what I cans about you."

The prisoner kept back the joyful exclamation that came to her lips, and said:

"Tell him that I am unharmed and hopeful, and trust that while he interests himself in me, he will not run into danger."

"Not run into danger!" repeated Hans Vanderbum; "dat is what Oonomoo lives on. He'd die in a