DIANA DICKSON AND HER FOE.
The activity of the North Americans is prodigious; they have a peculiar way of handling the axe which is marvellous. Their mode of procedure is almost incomprehensible, and goes beyond anything the imagination can conceive.
Fifty American woodmen will in a month clear the whole of a vast forest tract.
They always begin with the idea, a very logical one, though a proud one, that the modest plantation they commence may in time become an important town, and they act accordingly. The land is divided into lots, paths traced by the axe stand for streets, large open spaces represent squares, while notched trees indicate where the houses, shops, workshops, and other buildings are to be.
As soon as this is all settled they go to work with feverish haste, and trees of vast dimensions fall with a rapidity which is simply amazing.
Then they build the stables and sheds, then the blacksmith's forge, the carpenter's shop, and the water sawmill, of which the workmen at once take possession.
The earth, still encumbered by the roots of trees, is dug up and sown at once. Everything goes on at the same time with the utmost regularity and industry.
In a few days the landscape is completely changed, and there, where had existed a virgin forest, with all its deep and impenetrable mysteries, suddenly arises, as if by means of the enchanted wand, the embryo of a town, which ten years later will be a rich flourishing emporium of commerce, and of which the population, coming from all parts of the world, will perhaps be fifty or sixty thousand.
But the squatter, the founder of the new city, will have disappeared, without leaving a trace behind. Nobody knows anything about him, not even his name. His work done, he will have taken his melancholy departure, frightened to see the desert so populated, and that civilisation from which he had fled so near; he probably has fled out West in search of a new virgin land, which he will transform like the first, without deriving any more advantage from it, finally to end his days, shot in some miserable Indian ambuscade, or killed by the claws of a grizzly, or perhaps dies of misery and hunger in some unknown corner of the prairie.
Joshua Dickson did not act differently from his fellows; after dividing the valley into two, and handing over half to his brother, he fixed his residence near the fork of the two rivers. Samuel Dickson fixed his residence at the other end of the valley, near the river called the Deer River.
Everybody then set to work, and with such rapidity that before three weeks were over the principal buildings were finished. The houses, built with trees from the trunks of which the bark had not been removed, piled one upon the other, and fastened together by iron clamps and long wooden nails, looked comfortable with their glass windows furnished inside with strong shutters, and their mud and brick chimneys from which the smoke already escaped in a bluish cloud.
All the servants and hired men had erected themselves, not exactly houses, but bark huts. They were, however, only temporary residences, soon to be replaced by more solid and eligible residences.
The ordinary means of defence so necessary in an Indian country had not been neglected; a solid double stockade of young trees surrounded the camp; the centre of this rampart was occupied by a ditch ten feet wide and fifteen deep.
There were several drawbridges, which were raised every night, by means of which only could the settlement be reached; near every one of these was a redoubt of stone, surmounted by stakes, behind which, in case of attack, the garrison could place themselves. All the houses were moreover loopholed.
Every night some twenty formidable dogs of the race formerly used by the Spaniards to hunt down the Indians, and until lately kept to track Negro slaves by the Americans, that is to say, bloodhounds, were let loose.
One morning, shortly after sunrise, Miss Diana, accompanied by her own enormous and favourite dog, quitted the Point, her father's habitation, for the residence of Samuel Dickson.
Very busy each about their own affairs, the brothers were often two days without seeing each other, the more so that their respective residences were quite three miles apart.
Joshua Dickson, whose activity was immense, struck with amazement at sight of the magnificent waterpower at his door, and which he little suspected was the Missouri, had asked himself one day where these waters flowed to. He came at last to the conclusion that on its way to the sea it must run through some state of the Union.
Then, imbued with that commercial spirit which is innate in the Americans, he at once saw the value of the river as available for the carriage of his produce, as well as to obtain supplies for the colony. He therefore resolved to make a journey down the river, and reach the first settlement, and this as soon as the heavier labours were over.
Now with the squatter to resolve was to act, and even before anything else was finished he had set to work to construct a canoe sufficiently large to carry four persons, with victuals for a long journey, and strong enough to bear a voyage of some hundreds of miles.
The boat had been finished the night before, and Joshua Dickson, eager to begin his journey, had sent his daughter over to Dickson Point, to confer with his brother as to what was to be done in his absence. But neither Samuel nor Diana knew anything of Joshua's projects.
Joshua was one of those men who, without being deceitful, was very reticent, and never told his thoughts.
Diana, like a true heroine, traversed the faintly traced paths which led to her uncle's house, a hunting knife in her belt, and light gun in her hand. For further safety she was accompanied by Dardar, a large black and white dog, something between a wolf and a Newfoundland, terribly ferocious, and of mighty strength, as tall as a good-sized donkey, and who would have tackled a bear in defence of his mistress, whom he obeyed with the docility of a child.
With such a guardian Diana had nothing to fear from man or beast; moreover, the country was too little known to the squatters to allow a young girl to go out quite unprotected in the country, however short the distance.
Contrary to her usual mood, the young girl was quite joyous; her freedom, which allowed her to give free vent to her thoughts, had driven away the tinge of sadness which generally clouded her beautiful face.
She went along careless and dreaming through the fields, playing with Dardar, who, proud of the charge he was set to guard, ran wildly before her, dashing into the bushes and thickets with an intelligent glance that was almost human.
The young girl soon reached the river, where a kind of ferryboat had been provided by means of which to cross the river, here neither broad nor deep. In a few minutes Diana was across and within sight of her uncle's residence.
Inside the log hut, which was extensive, were seated two men, with a bottle of whisky before them. These were Samuel Dickson himself and George.
Two horses, still saddled and smoking, were fastened in the court. They must have been on a long journey.
"You are a pretty fellow to make me gallop about in this way in search of you. I am not very handsome, but I am not ugly enough to frighten you."
"I simply did not see you."
"No nonsense. Do you think to keep me in ignorance of your motive in coming this way?"
The young man blushed deeply.
"Do you know my brother Joshua?" asked Samuel.
"I met him once or twice in Boston, but I do not think he ever noticed me," said George Clinton.
"Shall I introduce you to him?" said Samuel. "He has his faults, but he is a very worthy man."
"I don't think it would be wise just now."
"I don't think," continued the American, "that you have waited to be introduced to my niece."
"Sir," cried the young man, dropping his glass.
"Ah, ah!" cried the American, laughing, "That is the way you break my crockery. These lovers, these lovers. Do you think to cheat an old opossum like me? You love my pretty niece, which is very natural; you are a good fellow, and together will make an excellent couple."
"I regret to say it cannot be so," sighed George.
"Why so?" cried Samuel.
"I see you are so good, I can no longer refuse to enlighten you."
"That is right. Confess, for I am your true friend."
"What I have to say," began George, "is not much. I met Miss Diana at Boston at Mrs. Marshall's, where your niece stayed for some months last year. I was on very good terms with your relative."
"Yes, yes; my cousin," said Samuel.
"Need I say that from the first moment I saw her I loved your niece? My visits to Mrs. Marshall, once only occasional, became so frequent that the lady began to have suspicion of my intentions. She at once called me on one side, and while giving me every credit for loyalty and worth, she told me not to prosecute my attentions, as Diana's father would never consent to our marriage. Despite all my entreaties, however, she would give me no reason, until at last, yielding to my earnest entreaties, she explained that many years before there had been such a quarrel between my father and Joshua Dickson that any alliance between our families must ever prove impossible."
Samuel listened with extreme anxiety.
"You see yourself that I am right," said the young man.
"You are mistaken," cried the other; "the matter is rather serious, I allow. I really had forgotten that old affair. But don't ask me any questions; all I say is, have courage. Circumstances will probably alter, and believe me that in Samuel Dickson you will have a sincere friend."
"I should be only too glad to help."
"When I am on your side nothing is difficult. Now to breakfast. But how did you know of my brother's coming out here?" suddenly cried Samuel.
"Miss Diana told me herself."
"Oh, oh! Then I wonder no longer. To breakfast."
"I hope, Master Samuel, you will excuse me," began the other, taking up his hunter's cap.
"Sit down; if my niece were here you would not go."
"Can I come in?" suddenly said a soft voice at the door, a voice that made George start.
This sudden coincidence utterly overcame the old man's gravity, and, throwing himself back in his chair, he screamed with laughter, while Diana stood transfixed in the doorway, and George Clinton simply turned his cap round in his hand without being able to articulate a word.
It was Dardar who ended the scene.
The dog had remained outside for a moment or two, and then, seeing the door open, had rushed right into the middle of the room; seeing George Clinton he rushed at him, wagging his tail first, and then, leaping up, his paws on either shoulder, he licked his face with a joyous whine.
"By heavens!" cried the squatter, "The fellow is lucky. Everyone likes him, even that precious Dardar, and yet he despairs. Come in, Sly Boots, and kiss your uncle."
She did not require twice asking.
"You are welcome, mademoiselle," he said, with mock politeness. "I suppose I need not introduce you to yonder tall young fellow?"
"I have known the gentleman some time," replied the young girl, holding out her hand, which George took and kissed.
"That's right," cried Samuel, rubbing his hands; "all goes well. And now once more I say, to breakfast. I am dying with hunger. We can talk while we eat, and you, Diana, can explain your early visit. I suppose you have not come three miles in the dew to kiss your old uncle?"
"Why not?" she said, with a smile.
"And you expected to meet nobody," he answered. But seeing that Diana blushed, he continued, "But no more delay," and seated himself.
The beginning of the meal was rather constrained, from the peculiar position of the young people. But the ice was soon broken; the squatter was merry and humorous; he avoided any pointed allusions, and the conversation, at first very meagre, soon became very pleasant.
When Samuel heard the object of Diana's visit, he promised to go over in the evening, and then questioned George as to his travels.
George at once proceeded to tell his story with so much wit and humour as to amuse uncle and niece.
"Now," said Samuel, when breakfast was over, "listen to me. You are two charming young people, whom I love, and whose happiness I desire. But you must let me act in my own way. I know my brother well, and can do as I like with him. Look upon me as an ally, but commit no imprudence. Instead now of going with my niece, you must stop here. If you were seen together, we cannot say what might happen. At all times my house is open to you. Come as often as you like, but remember, courage and prudence, Diana, kiss me again, and then farewell."
"My darling uncle," she cried, embracing him.
"Oh, yes, very dear, because I do what you like."
"Au revoir, George," she continued.
"But when shall I see you again? Time appears so long."
"Already he grumbles," cried Samuel.
"Pardon me, but I love her so much."
"And do I not love you?" she said, naively.
"I am mad," he answered, tenderly, kissing her hand a second time as he spoke.
Then Diana went out, guarded by Dardar.
"Now," said Samuel, as soon as they were alone, "you must enter into fuller explanations, and explain where you have pitched your tent. I hope you are in no difficulty."
"Be easy on that point. I have a hut in a charming situation about twelve miles off. Will you come and see it?" added George Clinton.
"At once, if you like," cried Samuel.
"At once let it be, I am not alone; I have two faithful servants and a Canadian hunter, whom I engaged in Boston. I have books, arms, horses, dogs—everything that a man can wish for."
"Delighted to hear it. Let us start."
Five minutes later they were galloping through the forest.