“Master Ethelston,” answered the justly offended voyageur, “a man that goes full swing down the stream of his own notions, without heeding oar or helm, is sure to run athwart a snag; here’s my worthy friend here, Paul Müller, and though he is a preacher, I’ll hold him as honest a man as any in the territory; he can tell you the whole story from one end to t’other; and when he’s done so, perhaps you’ll be sorry for what you’ve said to old Bearskin.”
“I am already sorry,” replied Ethelston, moved by the earnest simplicity of the scarred and weather–beaten boatman. “I am already sorry that I have done you wrong, but you will make allowance for my impatience and anxiety concerning my brother’s fate!” (Ethelston always spoke of Reginald as his brother, for he had a secret and undefined pleasure in so doing, as it implied his union with the sister of his friend.) Paul Müller, easily guessing from the few words that had passed that the person now addressing Bearskin was the Edward Ethelston of whom Reginald had so often spoken to him, said,
“Sir, you certainly did an injustice to Bearskin, in thinking him capable of deserting a friend in need; but the apology you have offered is, I am sure, sufficient to satisfy him. The intelligence which I have to communicate respecting Reginald Brandon and his party is in some respects exceedingly melancholy; if you will accompany me to our lodging, which is just at hand, I will explain it to you in full; meanwhile, rest satisfied with the assurance that, to the best of our belief, your friend is safe and well in health.”
As soon as they had entered the house, Bearskin, forgetting the hasty words which had so much hurt his feelings, busied himself in preparing some refreshment for Ethelston, while the missionary related to him all that had occurred since his friend joined the Delaware encampment. He did not even conceal from him the violent passion that the latter had conceived for Prairie–bird, and the despair with which, on his return to the village from the Sioux expedition, he would learn the destruction of her kindred, and her own captivity among the Osages.
“Indeed, my good sir,” said Ethelston, “I must freely confess that this portion of your intelligence is the only one that brings with it any comfort: the fate of Mike Smith and his companions, and the destruction of the unoffending Delawares, are disasters deeply to be lamented; but, surely, the fact of the Osage chief having carried off the Indian maiden whom you call Prairie–bird, and who seems to have exercised such a strange fascination over Reginald Brandon, can scarcely be regretted: for she will be more likely to find a congenial mate among the red–skins, and a bitter disappointment will be spared to my excellent guardian Colonel Brandon.”
“I know not, my son,” answered the missionary mildly; “the ways of Providence are inscrutable, and it does frequently happen, as you say, that events which we lament at the moment, afford afterwards just grounds for rejoicing. Nevertheless, I cannot view this matter exactly as you do, for I have known the maiden from her childhood, and she is a more fitting bride for a Christian gentleman, than for a heathen warrior.”
“I did, indeed, hear the Colonel, and the other members of the family at Mooshanne, say that the Delaware youth who so bravely defended the life of Reginald at the risk of his own had spoken in the highest terms of praise respecting his sister the Prairie–bird, as if she were a being of a superior race; but you, my good father, are above the prejudices which darken the minds of these Indians; and you must therefore know, that whatever may be her beauty and amiable qualities, she is, after all, the daughter of a Delaware chief, and, as such, could not be a welcome inmate of my guardian’s house.”
“Nay, my son,” replied the missionary, “she is but the adopted child of the venerable Delaware who lately fell in the massacre which I have related to you; she was not of his blood nor of his race; such qualities and nature as she possesses have been in some measure the fruit of my own care and toil. Were it not that you might mistake my language for that of boasting, I would say, that although the prairie has been her dwelling, and a Lenapé tent her home, she does not in her education fall far short of your maidens in the settlements, who have had greater advantages of instruction.”
The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of a negro with refreshment, preceded by Bearskin, bearing in his hand a bottle of French brandy, of which he vaunted, not without reason, the excellent quality and flavour; but Ethelston continued to converse in an under tone with the missionary, his countenance evincing every moment increased eagerness and interest in the subject of their discourse, which so absorbed his attention, that he never noticed the honest boatman’s repeated attempts to call his attention to the refreshment which he had prepared. Even Paul Müller was unable to comprehend this sudden change in his manner, and his vehement desire to know all the most minute particulars respecting a person of whom he had spoken a few minutes before in terms of disparagement; but he attributed it to the interest which he took in his friend’s selected bride, and satisfied his curiosity to the best of his ability.
When all his many and rapidly uttered questions were answered, Ethelston rose from his seat, and abruptly took his departure, saying, as he left the room, “Thanks, thanks, my good friends, you shall see me again ere long.”