A Long Night in the Eighteenth Century.
The hardy and enterprising inhabitants, who first penetrated the eastern forests, to fell their hardy oaks, and build up settlements, in the then remote east, had many difficulties to encounter, which later generations know nothing of. In the latter part of the eighteenth century, two families lived in their log cabins, in the interior of the forest. They had each a small cleared spot of land, that amply repaid their labor, by its rich productions. The morning sun, as he shed his rising beams over the long range of forest trees, glanced smilingly upon their little cultivated spot,
"That bloomed like Eden, in the world's first spring;"
and they were contented and happy. The dense forest trees, waving in the blast, or gently bowing their lofty heads before the milder breeze, made music not unlike the dash of Ocean on his winding shore.
They were far from the abodes of men. The fashions, the vanities and the pleasures of life, held no despotic sway in their breasts. They pursued "the even tenor of their ways," rising before the sun, and retiring almost with his sinking beams.
The cows and sheep went forth to crop the green herbage and luxurious grass, heralding their approach by tinkling bells.
No roads were made, and the citizens pursued their way by trees, stripped of little pieces of bark, by friendly Indians, who went as guides to the pale faces, that had come into their territories, purchased their lands, and distributed the deadly fire-water among them, thus adding fury to their already ferocious natures.
The men were both house carpenters, and one of them a wheelwright; so they were frequently called upon to leave their homes, and go to some distant part, where a new settlement was springing up, to fill the place of the forest trees, that had fallen before the woodman's axe.
In the spring of 1773, the settlement upon the banks of the Kennebec river, now called Gardiner (but then bearing the Indian name of Cobbessy), was progressing rapidly. A saw mill was to be erected upon this rapid stream, that had rolled on for centuries, through the towering forest, only bearing the Indian's light canoe, as it floated over its glassy surface, and the dipping of the paddle, in the dark rolling stream, awoke an answering echo in her wild forest haunts.
And so these men, Mr. Fuller and Capt. Somers, shouldered their tools, and pursued their way by the spotted trees, to the far off settlement, leaving their families in the bosom of the forest, unprotected and alone. Not infrequently did the crackling brush denote the near approach of the sulky bear, or some other wild beast that had heretofore roamed the woods at large, undisturbed, save by the swift-winged arrow of the Indian, as he pursued his prey over the dense forest, but little tamer than the hunted beast. A discharge of the rifle, which they were ever obliged to carry with them, soon caused the enemy to retreat, and leave them to pursue their solitary walk unmolested.
Often would the Indians come along in droves, their small dogs indicating their approach. The chief of one tribe was called Sousup. His wife was a woman of pleasant countenance, and was usually very neatly dressed, having her blanket of snowy whiteness, while her moccasins were of the nicest material. She was covered with wampum, and wore large jewels in her ears and nose, and large silver brooches on different parts of her dress. She never drank the fire-water, and used to trade with the pale faces, as she was so gentle in her manners that she easily won her way into their houses and hearts.
It was sunset, when Mrs. Fuller had milked her cows, and performed the domestic duties that devolved upon her during her husband's absence. She had laid her sleeping infant from her arms, and her other children were placed snugly in bed, when she was startled by seeing an Indian's dog emerging from a clump of bushes that stood a few yards from the house, and come bounding towards the door.
Her heart palpitated violently, for frequent reports reached their ears, of whole families falling a fearful prey to savage brutality. Soon she heard the Indian dialect vociferated in loud voices, while occasionally a loud savage yell rang fearfully through the air, blending a wild chorus with the strains of the warbling birds, as they carolled their vesper hymns upon the neighboring branches, before retiring to their nests. Hastily she closed her doors, and skulked away in a secret corner, hoping they would pass on, and not disturb her. She soon became aware, by their fierce words, that there were many of them in a state of intoxication.
The heart of the lonely woman almost died within her, as she heard their heavy tramp before the door. She had taken the precaution to draw in the leather string that was attached to the wooden latch, to raise it, thus betraying her own secret. After pounding upon the door for some time, and threatening to break it down if it was not opened, the storm subsided, and she hoped, by the sound of retreating footsteps, they were pursuing their journey.
She was soon undeceived, by hearing her own name called, by the gentle voice of Sousup's wife, or "squaw," as he called her.
She stepped forward and opened the door, and discovered a large horde of red men, wrapped in dirty blankets, reeling under the influence of the fire-water. The squaws were in a squalid condition, and equally drunk with the men, while the papooses, that were placed in sacks upon their backs, peeping up, with their bare heads and dirty faces, added to the wretchedness of the scene, and the sight of them blanched the cheek of the poor woman, as she tremblingly looked upon them.
Dove Eye marked her fear, and informed her, in broken English, that the Penobscot tribe had joined with them, and they were going towards the rising sun, to hunt moose and deer, and make mats and baskets, to carry to Boston.
"But," added she, "Sousup drink fire-water and git much drunk; me feel bad, but Dove Eye no help it."
She told her they were going to have a pow-wow, and wished to go into a little cleared spot, in the edge of the forest, near her dwelling. Mrs. Fuller dared not refuse, and so she tremblingly consented.
She told her tribe the result of their confab, and they came forward, to a man, and laid down their rifles, tomahawks and scalping knives at her feet, saying,
"Me no hurt white squaw."
They collected a large pile of brush, kindled their fire, lit their pipes, and prepared their evening meal, after which they commenced their savage revelry.
They daubed their faces with red paint, while their greasy black hair hung in dishevelled masses down their backs, and waved to and fro as they jumped or ran, and performed the various evolutions of their mazy dance.
Mrs. Fuller lit no candle during that fearful night. She watched their dusky forms, as they flitted by, dimly seen through the trees, by the glaring blaze of the fire, that crackled up, throwing a flickering light upon the majestic forest trees that waved in solemn grandeur above their heads, and sighed mournfully as the night winds floated among their branches. The Indians formed a circle round the fire, by joining hands, and their frantic gestures were teriffic to behold, and their wild shrieks rent the air. Twice, and twice only, the fearful war-whoop resounded, filling the heart of that lonely watcher with indescribable fear.
It was past midnight; the moon had passed her zenith in the sky, and the swarthy band seemed frantic with their wild orgies and intoxication.
Many had fallen, beastly drunk, while others swayed like the forest trees, rocked by the wintry whirlwind.
Dove Eye sat on a mossy rock looking upon the scene with a melancholy expression of countenance. Near her lay stretched upon the bare ground, Eagle Eye, the wife of the swarthy chief, who had joined their tribe in their hunting excursions.
Suddenly a furious din arose, and it was evident that anger was added to the other debasing passions that were holding control over their benighted souls. Furious was the strife of words, and fearful menaces and threats fell from brutal, savage lips.
Suddenly the stranger chief seized a burning torch, and accompanied by a fierce looking companion, strode hastily toward the house. Dove Eye saw their movements and sprang hurriedly to their side, endeavoring to stop their progress; but they pushed her aside and proceeded. Mrs. Fuller, too, saw them through the small pane of glass that was placed in her board window, and hope almost forsook her. They passed on: the light gleamed through the pane and flickered upon the face of her sleeping infant. She heard distinctly their voices in low, guttural tones, and their heavy tread fell painfully upon her ear. They passed round the corner of the house, and she lost sight and sound of them. She opened the door into an adjoining apartment, and the light burst upon her with such intense brightness that she thought at first they had fired the house. Upon approaching the window, she again discovered them by the wood pile searching for the axe, which they soon raised, and cutting several sticks of wood, bore it away to replenish their fire.
In a short time their dusky forms wrapped in their dirty blankets, were stretched upon the damp ground, with their greasy heads turned towards the fire, and sleep descended upon their weary lids, and silence once more reigned round that forest home.
Dove Eye still reclined upon the rock, watching the moon as it hid its silver beams behind a dark mountain, whose eternal summit lay stretched along the western horizon.
Mrs. Fuller, too, kept anxious watch. She knew from many of them she had nothing to fear; they had often warmed themselves by her fire, had eaten of her bread, and in many ways been partakers of her hospitality, and she knew the Indian never forgets a kindness.
She gently hushed the feeble wailings of her infant, lest it should awaken them to savage rage. She almost resolved to take her children and leave the house while that savage band were weighed down by sleep and intoxication. But she feared it might exasperate them if they found her gone, and so she waited the event, lifting her heart to God in prayer, for he was the refuge of that christian woman, in every hour of trial.
The sun came up at length, and shed his glorious beams over the face of rejoicing nature. The birds sang their matin hymns of praise. The dew drops glittered upon the green grass and tender herbage, and the restless cows lowed, impatient to wander forth at their accustomed hour. The children arose, refreshed by their slumber, and as they looked out upon the dusky sons of the forest, their hearts quaked within them, and stealing silently into a corner, they awaited their fate with pale faces.
Dove Eye stole quietly from the rock, and kindling the almost extinguished fire, hastily prepared their simple morning meal. She took from a deer skin knapsack, which she carried upon her back, a neat white cloth, and repaired to the house of Mrs. Fuller, wishing to exchange some nice dried moose meat for some new milk. Mrs. Fuller hastily milked, and filling a large pail, Dove Eye bore it to their place of rendezvous, and the cows went forth to crop the dewy grass.
She then awoke her husband, and soon the dusky group were partaking of their morning repast, with evident satisfaction, after which they made preparations to depart. They came, one after another, to get their hunting utensils and their implements of war, from Mrs. Fuller, telling her,
"Me no forget white squaw--me bring moose meat for white squaw."
Soon they marched away, in Indian file, and as their dusky forms disappeared, one after another, behind the forest trees, her heart rose in thanksgiving to God, for her preservation. Dove Eye lingered till the rest of her tribe vanished from sight; there was sadness in her countenance, and sadness in her voice, as she said,
"Dove Eye see white squaw no more. Dove Eye go toward the rising sun, but Dove Eye come no more."
Mrs. Fuller pressed her hand affectionately, and commending her to the Great Spirit, she departed to overtake her companions. The children emerged from their hiding places, a cheerful fire burned upon the hearth, and the weary mother prepared the morning meal for herself and her children, with a grateful heart.
When the wandering tribe returned again towards the setting sun, Dove Eye was not with them--she had "gone to the land where her fathers had gone."
Years passed on--years of trial, of anxiety, and of change. The tall forest trees gave place to cultivated fields and blooming orchards.
Roads traversed the vast country in every direction. Numerous villages rose up, on the flourishing banks of the winding Kennebec, and its proud waters bore many a whitened sail upon its surface.
The red men of the forest have passed away, like the withered leaves before the autumnal gale, and the wild bear and deer are now strangers in their secluded haunts.
The young wife and mother passed from the sober matron to mature age, and there were deep furrows upon her cheek, and the frosts of many winters whitened her hair; but when she related the events of that night to her grand-children, or great-grand-children, she ever spoke with trembling voice, and called it the "long fearful night."