MILLY the pony & CARLO the dog.
Our Milly was a great favorite with all the family, but with the children especially. She was not very handsome or remarkably fleet, but was easily managed, and even in her gait. I loved her dearly, and we were on the best terms with each other. I was in the habit of going into the pasture where she fed, mounting her from the fence or a stump, and riding about the field, often without saddle or bridle. You will see by this that I was a sad romp. Milly seemed to enjoy the sport fully as much as I, and would arch her neck, and toss her mane, and gallop up and down the little hills in the pasture, now and then glancing round at me playfully, as much as to say, “Aint we having times!”
Finally, I began to practise riding standing upright, as I had seen the circus performers do, for I thought it was time I should do something to distinguish myself. After a few tumbles on to the soft clover, which did me no sort of harm, I became quite accomplished that way. I was at that age as quick and active as a cat, and could save myself from a fall after I had lost my balance, and seemed half way to the ground. I remember that my brother William was very ambitious to rival me in my exploits; but as he was unfortunately rather fat and heavy, he did a greater business in turning somersets from the back of the pony than in any other way. But these were quite as amusing as any other part of the performances. We sometimes had quite a good audience of the neighbours’ children, and our schoolmates, but we never invited our parents to attend the exhibition. We thought that on some accounts it was best they should know nothing about it.
In addition to the “ring performances,” I gave riding lessons to my youngest brother, Albert, who was then quite a little boy. He used to mount Milly behind me, and behind him always sat one of our chief pets, and our constant playmate, Carlo, a small black and white pointer. One afternoon, I remember, we were all riding down the long, shady lane which led from the pasture to the house, when a mischievous boy sprang suddenly out from a corner of the fence, and shouted at Milly. I never knew her frightened before, but this time she gave a loud snort, and reared up almost straight in the air. As there was neither saddle nor bridle for us to hold on by, we all three slid off backward into the dust, or rather the mud, for it had been raining that afternoon. Poor Carlo was most hurt, as my brother and I fell on him. He set up a terrible yelping, and my little brother cried somewhat from fright. Milly turned and looked at us a moment to see how much harm was done, and then started off at full speed after the boy, chasing him down the lane. He ran like a fox when he heard Milly galloping fast behind him, and when he looked round and saw her close upon him, with her ears laid back, her mouth open, and her long mane flying in the wind, he screamed with terror, and dropped as though he were dead. She did not stop, but leaped clear over him as he lay on the ground. Then she turned, went up to him, quietly lifted the old straw hat from his head, and came trotting back to us, swinging it in her teeth. We thought that was a very cunning trick of Milly’s.
Now it happened that I had on that day a nice new dress, which I had sadly soiled by my fall from the pony; so that when I reached home, my mother was greatly displeased. I suppose I made a very odd appearance. I was swinging my bonnet in my hand, for I had a natural dislike to any sort of covering for the head. My thick, dark hair had become unbraided and was blowing over my eyes. I was never very fair in complexion, and my face, neck, and arms had become completely browned by that summer’s exposure. My mother took me by the shoulder, set me down in a chair, not very gently, and looked at me with a real frown on her sweet face. She told me in plain terms that I was an idle, careless child! I put my finger in one corner of my mouth, and swung my foot back and forth. She said I was a great romp! I pouted my lip, and drew down my black eyebrows. She said I was more like a wild, young squaw, than a white girl! Now this was too much; it was what I called “twitting upon facts”; and ’twas not the first time that the delicate question of my complexion had been touched upon without due regard far my feelings. I was not to blame for being dark,—I did not make myself,—I had seen fairer women than my mother. I felt that what she said was neither more nor less than an insult, and when she went out to see about supper, and left me alone, I brooded over her words, growing more and more out of humor, till my naughty heart became so hot and big with anger, that it almost choked me. At last, I bit my lip and looked very stern, for I had made up my mind to something great. Before I let you know what this was, I must tell you that the Onondaga tribe of Indians had their village not many miles from us. Every few months, parties of them came about with baskets and mats to sell. A company of five or six had been to our house that very morning, and I knew that they had their encampment in our woods, about half a mile distant. These I knew very well, and had quite a liking for them, never thinking of being afraid of them, as they always seemed kind and peaceable.
To them I resolved to go in my trouble. They would teach me to weave baskets, to fish, and to shoot with the bow and arrow. They would not make me study, nor wear bonnets, and they would never find fault with my dark complexion.
I remember to this day how softly and slyly I slid out of the house that evening. I never stopped once, nor looked round, but ran swiftly till I reached the woods. I did not know which way to go to find the encampment, but wandered about in the gathering darkness, till I saw a light glimmering through the trees at some distance. I made my way through the bushes and brambles, and after a while came upon my copper-colored friends. In a very pretty place, down in a hollow, they had built them some wigwams with maple saplings, covered with hemlock-boughs. There were in the group two Indians, two squaws, and a boy about fourteen years old. But I must not forget the baby, or rather pappoose, who was lying in a sort of cradle, made of a large, hollow piece of bark, which was hung from the branch of a tree, by pieces of the wild grape-vine. The young squaw, its mother, was swinging it back and forth, now far into the dark shadows of the pine and hemlock, now out into the warm fire-light, and chanting to the child some Indian lullaby. The men sat on a log, smoking gravely and silently; while the boy lay on the ground, playing lazily with a great yellow hound, which looked mean and starved, like all Indian dogs. The old squaw was cooking the supper in a large iron pot, over a fire built among a pile of stones.
For some time, I did not dare to go forward, but at last I went up to the old squaw, and looking up into her good-humored face, said, “I am come to live with you, and learn to make baskets, for I don’t like my home.” She did not say any thing to me, but made some exclamation in her own language, and the others came crowding round. The boy laughed, shook me by the hand, and said I was a brave girl; but the old Indian grinned horribly and laid his hand on my forehead, saying, “What a pretty head to scalp!” I screamed and hid my face in the young squaw’s blue cloth skirt. She spoke soothingly, and told me not to be afraid, for nobody would hurt me. She then took me to her wigwam, where I sat down and tried to make myself at home. But somehow I did’nt feel quite comfortable. After a while, the old squaw took off the pot, and called us to supper. This was succotash, that is, a dish of corn and beans, cooked with salt pork. We all sat down on the ground near the fire, and eat out of great wooden bowls, with wooden spoons, which I must say tasted rather too strong of the pine. But I did not say so then,—by no means,—but eat a great deal more than I wanted, and pretended to relish it, for fear they would think me ill bred. I would not have had them know but what I thought their supper served in the very best style, and by perfectly polite and genteel people. I was a little shocked, however, by one incident during the meal. While the young squaw was helping her husband for the third or fourth time, she accidentally dropped a little of the hot succotash on his hand. He growled out like a dog, and struck her across the face with his spoon. I thought that she showed a most Christian spirit, for she hung her head and did not say any thing. I had heard of white wives behaving worse.
When supper was over, the boy came and laid down at my feet, and talked with me about living in the woods. He said he pitied the poor white people for being shut up in houses all their days. For his part, he should die of such a dull life, he knew he should. He promised to teach me how to shoot with the bow and arrows, to snare partridges and rabbits, and many other things. He said he was afraid I was almost spoiled by living in the house and going to school, but he hoped that, if they took me away and gave me a new name, and dressed me properly, they might make something of me yet. Then I asked him what he was called, hoping that he had some grand Indian name, like Uncas, or Miantonimo, or Tushmalahah; but he said it was Peter. He was a pleasant fellow, and while he was talking with me I did not care about my home, but felt very brave and squaw-like, and began to think about the fine belt of wampum, and the head-dress of gay feathers, and the red leggins, and the yellow moccasons I was going to buy for myself, with the baskets I was going to learn to weave. But when he left me, and I went back to the wigwam and sat down on the hemlock-boughs by myself, somehow I couldn’t keep home out of my mind. I thought first of my mother, how she would miss the little brown face at the supper-table, and on the pillow, by the fair face of my blue-eyed sister. I thought of my young brother, Albert, crying himself to sleep, because I was lost. I thought of my father and brothers searching through the orchard and barn, and going with lights to look in the mill-stream. Again, I thought of my mother, how, when she feared I was drowned, she would cry bitterly, and be very sorry for what she had said about my dark complexion. Then I thought of myself, how I must sleep on the hard ground, with nothing but hemlock-boughs for covering, and nobody to tuck me up. What if it should storm before morning, and the high tree above me should be struck by lightning! What if the old Indian should not be a tame savage after all, but should take a fancy to set up the war-whoop, and come and scalp me in the middle of the night!
The bell in the village church rang for nine. This was the hour for evening devotions at home. I looked round to see if my new friends were preparing for worship. But the old Indian was already fast asleep, and as for the younger one, I feared that a man who indulged himself in beating his wife with a wooden spoon would hardly be likely to lead in family prayers. Upon the whole, I concluded I was among rather a heathenish set. Then I thought again of home, and doubted whether they would have any family worship that night, with one lamb of the flock gone astray. I thought of all their grief and fears, till I felt that my heart would burst with sorrow and repentance, for I dared not cry aloud.