Oak Openings

by James Fenimore Cooper

This, then, was “Scalping Peter,” the very man I was travelling into Michigan to see, but how wonderfully changed! The Spirit of the Most High God had been shed freely upon his moral being, and in lieu of the revengeful and vindictive savage, he now lived a subdued, benevolent Christian! In every human being he beheld a brother, and no longer thought of destroying races, in order to secure to his own people the quiet possession of their hunting-grounds. His very soul was love; and no doubt he felt himself strong enough to “bless those who cursed him,” and to give up his spirit, like the good missionary whose death had first turned him toward the worship of the one true God, praying for those who took his life.

The ways of Divine Providence are past the investigations of human reason. How often, in turning over the pages of history, do we find civilization, the arts, moral improvement, nay, Christianity itself, following the bloody train left by the conqueror's car, and good pouring in upon a nation by avenues that at first were teeming only with the approaches of seeming evils! In this way, there is now reason to hope that America is about to pay the debt she owes to Africa; and in this way will the invasion of the forests, and prairies and “openings,” of the red man be made to atone for itself by carrying with it the blessings of the Gospel, and a juster view of the relations which man bears to his Creator. Possibly Mexico may derive lasting benefits from the hard lesson that she has so recently been made to endure.

This, then, was Peter, changed into a civilized man and a Christian! I have found, subsequently, that glimmerings of the former being existed in his character; but they showed themselves only at long intervals, and under very peculiar circumstances. The study of these traits became a subject of great interest with us, for we now travelled in company the rest of our journey. The elder lady, or “grandma,” was the Margery of our tale; still handsome, spirited, and kind. The younger matron was her daughter and only child, and “sis,” another Margery, and Dorothy, were her grandchildren. There was also a son, or a grandson rather, Ben, who was on Prairie Round, “with the general.” The “general” was our old friend, le Bourdon, who was still as often called “General Bourdon,” as “General Boden.” This matter of “generals” at the West is a little overdone, as all ranks and titles are somewhat apt to be in new countries. It causes one often to smile, at the East; and no wonder that an Eastern habit should go down in all its glory, beneath the “setting sun.” In after-days, generals will not be quite as “plenty as blackberries.”

No sooner did Mrs. Boden, or Margery, to use her familiar name, learn that we were the very individual to whom the “general” had sent the notes relative to his early adventures, which had been prepared by the “Rev. Mr. Varse,” of Kalamazoo, than she became as friendly and communicative as we could possibly desire.

Her own life had been prosperous, and her marriage happy. Her brother, however, had fallen back into his old habits, and died ere the war of 1812 was ended. Dorothy had returned to her friends in Massachusetts, and was still living, in a comfortable condition, owing to a legacy from an uncle. The bee-hunter had taken the field in that war, and had seen some sharp fighting on the banks of the Niagara. No sooner was peace made, however, than he returned to his beloved Openings, where he had remained, “growing with the country,” as it is termed, until he was now what is deemed a rich man in Michigan. He has a plenty of land, and that which is good; a respectable dwelling, and is out of debt. He meets his obligations to an Eastern man just as promptly as he meets those contracted at home, and regards the United States, and not Michigan, as his country. All these were good traits, and we were glad to learn that they existed in one who already possessed so much of our esteem. At Detroit we found a fine flourishing town, of a healthful and natural growth, and with a population that was fast approaching twenty thousand. The shores of the beautiful strait on which it stands, and which, by a strange blending of significations and languages, is popularly called the “Detroit River,” were alive with men and their appliances, and we scarce know where to turn to find a more agreeable landscape than that which was presented to us, after passing the island of “Bobolo” (Bois Blanc), near Maiden. Altogether, it resembled a miniature picture of Constantinople, without its Eastern peculiarities.

At Detroit commenced our surprise at the rapid progress of Western civilization. It will be remembered that at the period of our tale, the environs of Detroit excepted, the whole peninsula of Michigan lay in a state of nature. Nor did the process of settlement commence actively until about twenty years since; but, owing to the character of the country, it already possesses many of the better features of a long-inhabited region. There are stumps, of course, for new fields are constantly coming into cultivation; but on the whole, the appearance is that of a middle-aged, rather than that of a new region.

We left Detroit on a railroad, rattling away toward the setting sun, at a good speed even for that mode of conveyance. It seemed to us that our route was well garnished with large villages, of which we must have passed through a dozen, in the course of a few hours' “railing,” These are places varying in size from one to three thousand inhabitants. The vegetation certainly surpassed that of even West New York, the trees alone excepted. The whole country was a wheat-field, and we now began to understand how America could feed the world. Our road lay among the “Openings” much of the way, and we found them undergoing the changes which are incident to the passage of civilized men. As the periodical fires had now ceased for many years, underbrush was growing in lieu of the natural grass, and in so much those groves are less attractive than formerly; but one easily comprehends the reason, and can picture to himself the aspect that these pleasant woods must have worn in times of old.

We left the railroad at Kalamazoo—an unusually pretty village, on the banks of the stream of that name. Those who laid out this place, some fifteen years since, had the taste to preserve most of its trees; and the houses and grounds that stand a little apart from the busiest streets—and they are numerous for a place of rather more than two thousand souls—are particularly pleasant to the eye, on account of the shade, and the rural pictures they present. Here Mrs. Boden told us we were within a mile or two of the very spot where once had stood Castle Meal (Chateau au Miel), though the “general” had finally established himself at Schoolcraft, on Prairie Ronde.

The first prairie we had ever seen was on the road between Detroit and Kalamazoo; distant from the latter place only some eight or nine miles. The axe had laid the country open in its neighborhood; but the spot was easily to be recognized by the air of cultivation and age that pervaded it. There was not a stump on it, and the fields were as smooth as any on the plains of Lombardy, and far more fertile, rich as the last are known to be. In a word, the beautiful perfection of that little natural meadow became apparent at once, though seated amid a landscape that was by no means wanting in interest of its own.

We passed the night at the village of Kalamazoo; but the party of females, with old Peter, proceeded on to Prairie Round, as that particular part of the country is called in the dialect of Michigan, it being a corruption of the old French name of la prairie ronde. The Round Meadow does not sound as well as Prairie Round, and the last being quite as clear a term as the other, though a mixture of the two languages, we prefer to use it. Indeed, the word “prairie” may now be said to be adopted into the English; meaning merely a natural instead of an artificial meadow, though one of peculiar and local characteristics. We wrote a note to General Boden, as I found our old acquaintance Ben Boden was universally termed, letting him know I should visit Schoolcraft next day; not wishing to intrude at the moment when that charming family was just reunited after so long a separation.