The threat of Tom Quick mentioned in the preceding chapter was one that was not made in vain. It was made while he was standing in the presence of his dead father. On finding the body, he turned it over and exclaimed, “dead and scalped.” Tradition says that from that moment he was a changed man. His love for the society of the Indians forsook him, and his only thought was revenge; and turning to his mother and other friends said, “You will see that father is properly buried, I have other work to do. From this time my work will be to avenge my father’s death.” Then followed the vow recorded in the former chapter—“To kill all and spare none.” And left his friends to perform the last office to the dead, and went forth on his mission of revenge. For two years after this he was seldom seen in the settlements, and then only long enough to procure powder and shot, which was his chief stock in trade. Tom seldom talked and then only to hunters or those he could rely on to keep his secrets; except to himself and to his gun, which was of the largest size, being seven feet four inches long and weighed 21 pounds, and carried a ball one inch in diameter. It was an old saying that when one of Tom’s bullets went through an Indian, that it made two windows in him and a hall between them. I have said that Tom seldom talked except to himself and he did the most of this when he was alone, or at least when he thought he was alone. But he was heard on several occasions, and tradition has handed down to us several of his soliloquies. The following is a fair sample of his home talk. He had been out on a hunt and had returned to his cabin in the edge of evening with a saddle of venison. He hung the venison up on the corner of the house and looked toward the east where he saw a full moon, when he soliloquized as follows:
“This is rather a nice evening. Let me see, it is a full moon; a good coon night. What say you long Tom, (raising his gun) how would you like to drop one of the red coons before morning. I would; that would make just 87 red devils that I have sent to the Spirit land since Muswink murdered my father. Tell me, O ye stars, (looking up) for what was he murdered. For being a friend to the Indian, for furnishing them with shelter and food, for being a good man, a kind neighbor, a God-fearing and God-loving man. Father, my father, you sleep on the banks of the Delaware; no only your body lies there, your spirit is here, there, everywhere it is now hovering round and about me. It is continually whispering in my ear revenge, revenge. It is God’s will, father that your death should be avenged. It is God’s will that your son Tom Quick should be the avenger. For this I have left home and the comforts of civilized life and burrowed in the ground like a rabbit. For this I left the mother that gave me birth, and taught me to say: ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.’ That kind good and generous mother now kneels on the old family hearth and mourns the loss of the living as though dead. Maggie too; God bless her. She is here; I feel her continually knocking at my heart, saying ‘Uncle Tom, come home.’ Pray on dear girl, and when my mission is ended, may father, son, mother and child meet in that happy hunting ground where there will be no father’s blood to avenge.”
Here Tom was interrupted in his soliloquy by an unusual noise in his pig pen. He was always on the alert, knowing that the Indians intended to shed his blood and take his scalp. Therefore he took notice of every sound. It was uncommon for the pig to squeal. This squeal sounded unnatural, and Tom concluded that the squealing emanated from the throat of an Indian. “Some new deviltry is going on; that squeal sounds more like a two legged devil than a four legged hog. Come Tom, (taking his gun) let us look around and see if one of those pesky red skins is trying to steal our pork, (Pig squeals.) That is pretty well done, yet the genuine hog grammar is left out. You forget to dot your I’s and cross your T’s. (Squeals again.) That is a little better, and might deceive a boy, but it won’t me. Tom is too old for that. You had better stop squealing and go to praying for the devil will have a new comer before morning, or my name is not Tom Quick. Come Tom (taking up his gun) let us walk around and see how his porkship looks in the rear.” Tom passes through his cabin and appears to the left of the pig pen. He was not mistaken in his calculation, for there he saw a powerful Indian holding the hog with the left hand, while he held the gun in his right, ready to shoot Tom when he came to see what was the matter with the pig. Tom aimed and fired. The Indian gave one whoop, leaped in the air, and fell on the outside of the pen dead. A ball had pierced his head. Tom placed his foot on the Indian’s breast.
Well done, Tom, patting his gun. Well done. Let me see. That makes the record just eighty-seven red devils that I have sent to the Spirit World since Muswink murdered my father. Let me see. According to old Daball, it will take just thirteen more to make an even hundred. Tom, let us pray.
He kneels, holding the gun before him.
Good Lord, or good devil—either one or both, I do hereby pray that I may be permitted to remain in this mortal coil until I have sent thirteen more Indians to the Spirit Land. Then I shall be ready and willing to depart to the Hunter’s Paradise. Amen.
Tom gets up off his knees and turns the Indian over with his foot.
Well, Mr. Squealer, why don’t you squeal now? I guess that Long Tom has taken all the squeal out of you. I suppose that when the bullet went in, the squeal went out. But I must get rid of you. You will smell bad here and will invite the bears and wolves to view your miserable carcass. Come, take your last leap down the rocks.
Then Tom threw his carcass down the rocks and went on his way rejoicing.