Zane Grey (12 page)

Once more out under the blue-black vault of heaven, with its myriads
of twinkling stars, the voyagers resumed their westward journey.
Whispered farewells of new but sincere friends lingered in their
ears. Now the great looming bulk of the fort above them faded into
the obscure darkness, leaving a feeling as if a protector had
gone—perhaps forever. Admonished to absolute silence by the stern
guides, who seemed indeed to have embarked upon a dark and deadly
mission, the voyagers lay back in the canoes and thought and
listened. The water eddied with soft gurgles in the wake of the
racing canoes; but that musical sound was all they heard. The
paddles might have been shadows, for all the splash they made; they
cut the water swiftly and noiselessly. Onward the frail barks glided
into black space, side by side, close under the overhanging willows.
Long moments passed into long hours, as the guides paddled
tirelessly as if their sinews were cords of steel.

With gray dawn came the careful landing of the canoes, a cold
breakfast eaten under cover of a willow thicket, and the beginning
of a long day while they were lying hidden from the keen eyes of
Indian scouts, waiting for the friendly mantle of night.

The hours dragged until once more the canoes were launched, this
time not on the broad Ohio, but on a stream that mirrored no shining
stars as it flowed still and somber under the dense foliage.

The voyagers spoke not, nor whispered, nor scarcely moved, so
menacing had become the slow, listening caution of Wetzel and Zane.
Snapping of twigs somewhere in the inscrutable darkness delayed them
for long moments. Any movement the air might resound with the
horrible Indian war-whoop. Every second was heavy with fear. How
marvelous that these scouts, penetrating the wilderness of gloom,
glided on surely, silently, safely! Instinct, or the eyes of the
lynx, guide their course. But another dark night wore on to the
tardy dawn, and each of its fearful hours numbered miles past and
gone.

The sun was rising in ruddy glory when Wetzel ran his canoe into the
bank just ahead of a sharp bend in the stream.

"Do we get out here?" asked Jim, seeing Jonathan turn his canoe
toward Wetzel's.

"The village lies yonder, around the bend," answered the guide.
"Wetzel cannot go there, so I'll take you all in my canoe."

"There's no room; I'll wait," replied Joe, quietly. Jim noted his
look—a strange, steady glance it was—and then saw him fix his eyes
upon Nell, watching her until the canoe passed around the
green-bordered bend in the stream.

Unmistakable signs of an Indian town were now evident. Dozens of
graceful birchen canoes lay upon the well-cleared banks; a log
bridge spanned the stream; above the slight ridge of rising ground
could be seen the poles of Indian teepees.

As the canoe grated upon the sandy beach a little Indian boy, who
was playing in the shallow water, raised his head and smiled.

"That's an Indian boy," whispered Kate.

"The dear little fellow!" exclaimed Nell.

The boy came running up to them, when they were landed, with
pleasure and confidence shining in his dusky eyes. Save for tiny
buckskin breeches, he was naked, and his shiny skin gleamed
gold-bronze in the sunlight. He was a singularly handsome child.

"Me—Benny," he lisped in English, holding up his little hand to
Nell.

The action was as loving and trusting as any that could have been
manifested by a white child. Jonathan Zane stared with a curious
light in his dark eyes; Mr. Wells and Jim looked as though they
doubted the evidence of their own sight. Here, even in an Indian
boy, was incontestable proof that the savage nature could be tamed
and civilized.

With a tender exclamation Nell bent over the child and kissed him.

Jonathan Zane swung his canoe up-stream for the purpose of bringing
Joe. The trim little bark slipped out of sight round the bend.
Presently its gray, curved nose peeped from behind the willows; then
the canoe swept into view again. There was only one person in it,
and that the guide.

"Where is my brother?" asked Jim, in amazement.

"Gone," answered Zane, quietly.

"Gone! What do you mean? Gone? Perhaps you have missed the spot
where you left him."

"They're both gone."

Nell and Jim gazed at each other with slowly whitening faces.

"Come, I'll take you up to the village," said Zane, getting out of
his canoe. All noticed that he was careful to take his weapons with
him.

"Can't you tell us what it means—this disappearance?" asked Jim,
his voice low and anxious.

"They're gone, canoe and all. I knew Wetzel was going, but I didn't
calkilate on the lad. Mebbe he followed Wetzel, mebbe he didn't,"
answered the taciturn guide, and he spoke no more.

In his keen expectation and wonder as to what the village would be
like, Jim momentarily forgot his brother's disappearance, and when
he arrived at the top of the bank he surveyed the scene with
eagerness. What he saw was more imposing than the Village of Peace
which he had conjured up in his imagination. Confronting him was a
level plain, in the center of which stood a wide, low structure
surrounded by log cabins, and these in turn encircled by Indian
teepees. A number of large trees, mostly full-foliaged maples,
shaded the clearing. The settlement swarmed with Indians. A few
shrill halloes uttered by the first observers of the newcomers
brought braves, maidens and children trooping toward the party with
friendly curiosity.

Jonathan Zane stepped before a cabin adjoining the large structure,
and called in at the open door. A short, stoop-shouldered white man,
clad in faded linsey, appeared on the threshold. His serious, lined
face had the unmistakable benevolent aspect peculiar to most
teachers of the gospel.

"Mr. Zeisberger, I've fetched a party from Fort Henry," said Zane,
indicating those he had guided. Then, without another word, never
turning his dark face to the right or left, he hurried down the lane
through the throng of Indians.

Jim remembered, as he saw the guide vanish over the bank of the
creek, that he had heard Colonel Zane say that Jonathan, as well as
Wetzel, hated the sight of an Indian. No doubt long years of war and
bloodshed had rendered these two great hunters callous. To them
there could be no discrimination—an Indian was an Indian.

"Mr. Wells, welcome to the Village of Peace!" exclaimed Mr.
Zeisberger, wringing the old missionary's hand. "The years have not
been so long but that I remember you."

"Happy, indeed, am I to get here, after all these dark, dangerous
journeys," returned Mr. Wells. "I have brought my nieces, Nell and
Kate, who were children when you left Williamsburg, and this young
man, James Downs, a minister of God, and earnest in his hope for our
work."

"A glorious work it is! Welcome, young ladies, to our peaceful
village. And, young man, I greet you with heartfelt thankfulness. We
need young men. Come in, all of your, and share my cabin. I'll have
your luggage brought up. I have lived in this hut alone. With some
little labor, and the magic touch women bring to the making of a
home, we can be most comfortable here."

Mr. Zeisberger gave his own room to the girls, assuring them with a
smile that it was the most luxurious in the village. The apartment
contained a chair, a table, and a bed of Indian blankets and buffalo
robes. A few pegs driven in the chinks between the logs completed
the furnishings. Sparse as were the comforts, they appealed warmly
to the girls, who, weary from their voyage, lay down to rest.

"I am not fatigued," said Mr. Wells, to his old friend. "I want to
hear all about your work, what you have done, and what you hope to
do."

"We have met with wonderful success, far beyond our wildest dreams,"
responded Mr. Zeisberger. "Certainly we have been blessed of God."

Then the missionary began a long, detailed account of the Moravian
Mission's efforts among the western tribes. The work lay chiefly
among the Delawares, a noble nation of redmen, intelligent, and
wonderfully susceptible to the teaching of the gospel. Among the
eastern Delawares, living on the other side of the Allegheny
Mountains, the missionaries had succeeded in converting many; and it
was chiefly through the western explorations of Frederick Post that
his Church decided the Indians of the west could as well be taught
to lead Christian lives. The first attempt to convert the western
redmen took place upon the upper Allegheny, where many Indians,
including Allemewi, a blind Delaware chief, accepted the faith. The
mission decided, however, it would be best to move farther west,
where the Delawares had migrated and were more numerous.

In April, 1770, more than ten years before, sixteen canoes, filled
with converted Indians and missionaries, drifted down the Allegheny
to Fort Pitt; thence down the Ohio to the Big Beaver; up that stream
and far into the Ohio wilderness.

Upon a tributary of the Muskingong, called the Tuscarwawas, a
settlement was founded. Near and far the news was circulated. Redmen
from all tribes came flocking to the new colony. Chiefs and
warriors, squaws and maidens, were attracted by the new doctrine of
the converted Indians. They were astonished at the missionaries'
teachings. Many doubted, some were converted, all listened. Great
excitement prevailed when old Glickhican, one of the wisest chiefs
of the Turtle tribe of the Delawares, became a convert to the
palefaces' religion.

The interest widened, and in a few years a beautiful, prosperous
town arose, which was called Village of Peace. The Indians of the
warlike tribes bestowed the appropriate name. The vast forests were
rich in every variety of game; the deep, swift streams were teeming
with fish. Meat and grain in abundance, buckskin for clothing, and
soft furs for winter garments were to be had for little labor. At
first only a few wigwams were erected. Soon a large log structure
was thrown up and used as a church. Then followed a school, a mill,
and a workshop. The verdant fields were cultivated and surrounded by
rail fences. Horses and cattle grazed with the timid deer on the
grassy plains.

The Village of Peace blossomed as a rose. The reports of the love
and happiness existing in this converted community spread from mouth
to mouth, from town to town, with the result that inquisitive
savages journeyed from all points to see this haven. Peaceful and
hostile Indians were alike amazed at the change in their brethren.
The good-fellowship and industry of the converts had a widespread
and wonderful influence. More, perhaps, than any other thing, the
great fields of waving corn, the hills covered with horses and
cattle, those evidences of abundance, impressed the visitors with
the well-being of the Christians. Bands of traveling Indians,
whether friendly or otherwise, were treated with hospitality, and
never sent away empty-handed. They were asked to partake of the
abundance and solicited to come again.

A feature by no means insignificant in the popularity of the village
was the church bell. The Indians loved music, and this bell charmed
them. On still nights the savages in distant towns could hear at
dusk the deep-toned, mellow notes of the bell summoning the
worshipers to the evening service. Its ringing clang, so strange, so
sweet, so solemn, breaking the vast dead wilderness quiet, haunted
the savage ear as though it were a call from a woodland god.

"You have arrived most opportunely," continued Mr. Zeisberger. "Mr.
Edwards and Mr. Young are working to establish other missionary
posts. Heckewelder is here now in the interest of this branching
out."

"How long will it take me to learn the Delaware language?" inquired
Jim.

"Not long. You do not, however, need to speak the Indian tongue, for
we have excellent interpreters."

"We heard much at Fort Pitt and Fort Henry about the danger, as well
as uselessness, of our venture," Jim continued. "The frontiersmen
declared that every rod of the way was beset with savage foes, and
that, even in the unlikely event of our arriving safely at the
Village of Peace, we would then be hemmed in by fierce, vengeful
tribes."

"Hostile savages abound here, of course; but we do not fear them. We
invite them. Our work is to convert the wicked, to teach them to
lead good, useful lives. We will succeed."

Jim could not help warming to the minister for his unswervable
faith, his earnest belief that the work of God could not fail;
nevertheless, while he felt no fear and intended to put all his
heart in the work, he remembered with disquietude Colonel Zane's
warnings. He thought of the wonderful precaution and eternal
vigilance of Jonathan and Wetzel—men of all men who most understood
Indian craft and cunning. It might well be possible that these good
missionaries, wrapped up in saving the souls of these children of
the forest, so full of God's teachings as to have little mind for
aught else, had no knowledge of the Indian nature beyond what the
narrow scope of their work invited. If what these frontiersmen
asserted was true, then the ministers' zeal had struck them blind.

Jim had a growing idea of the way in which the savages could be best
taught. He resolved to go slowly; to study the redmen's natures; not
to preach one word of the gospel to them until he had mastered their
language and could convey to their simple minds the real truth. He
would make Christianity as clear to them as were the deer-trails on
the moss and leaves of the forest.

"Ah, here you are. I hope you have rested well," said Mr.
Zeisberger, when at the conclusion of this long recital Nell and
Kate came into the room.

"Thank you, we feel much better," answered Kate. The girls certainly
looked refreshed. The substitution of clean gowns for their former
travel-stained garments made a change that called forth the
minister's surprise and admiration.