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Hope and Have; Fanny Grant Among the Indians

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CHAPTER XVII. THE NIGHT ATTACK. Fanny sang "Sweet Home" to the young Indian, with the feeling that there was no longer a spot on earth which she could call by that endearing name. By this time, Mr. Grant, with Bertha and Fanny, were in Europe, and it would be months before she could see them again. Her uncle had probably been killed by the war party of Lean Bear, while returning to his home, as the possession of his horses by the Indians indicated. Her aunt lay mangled and unburied near the house which had been her happy home. The settlement was doubtless broken up and deserted; for all who had not been killed or captured by the Indians must have fled to the woods and the prairies for safety. The feeling of loneliness in Fanny gave to her song a touching pathos, which, with the sad sweetness of the melody itself, made the great tears roll down the bronzed checks of Ethan, and touched the heart of even the young savage. Wahena looked long and earnestly at Fanny, when he had finished his breakfast. The music pleased him, and its charms literally soothed his savage breast. She sang other songs, and he began to make friendly demonstrations towards her, which ended in the offer of his hand. She accepted the proffered token of friendship. Wahena spoke to her, but of course she could not understand a word of his language. He made signs, using the earnest gestures peculiar to the Indians. He shook his head, pointed to her, and then to the shore of the lake in the direction of the settlement. She thought he meant to say that he would not permit his father to injure her; but she was not very sure. The young savage was certainly disposed to be her friend, and manifested his interest in her by all the means within his power. "Well, Fanny, it's about time for me to go to work," said Ethan, after he had observed the demonstrations between her and Wahena for a time. "What are you going to do, Ethan? I thought you had no work." "Plenty of it, I reckon. 'Tain't no use to groan over what can't be helped. We may as well make the best on't." "Of course we will not complain of what we cannot help. Ethan, do you know what my motto is?" "Your what?" asked Ethan, with a vacant stare. "My motto." "That's sunthin' in Latin, or some outlandish lingo—ain't it?" "Mine is in plain English." "I've hearn tell of some Latin stuff they called a motto out in Illinois; I forgit what it was now." "'Hope and have,' is my motto." "What does that mean? 'Tain't Latin, but it might as well be." "It means hope for the best, and then you will work the harder to have it." "Thet jest fits my case." "The motto was given me by a very good girl in New York, who was dying of consumption. They were the last words she spoke, and they were engraved on her tombstone. I will tell you the whole story about her some time." "I should like to hear it, fust rate; but I reckon we've got sunthin' else to do jest now. I hope we shall hev sunthin' like a house for you to sleep in to-night." "Hoping alone will not build the house, Ethan; besides, we don't hope much for that which we are not willing to work for." "I know thet; and I'm go'n to work on the house right away now," replied Ethan, as he rose from the ground, and took his shovel. "I will help you, for I hope we shall have a house to keep us out of the wet if it should happen to rain." "You are nothin' but a gal," said Ethan, rather contemptuously. "But I can help you. How shall you build a house?" "Well, I don't quite know." "I can help you think, if nothing more, Ethan." "So you kin, Fanny. You are right down smart. I don't know as we should ever hev got over to this island ef't hadn't been for you." "Do you think we could get the boat out of the water, Ethan?" "I reckon we could," replied Ethan, rubbing his head to stimulate his ideas. "I kin cut some rollers, and kinder pry it along." Fanny minutely detailed her plan for a house, which, after much explanation, was adopted. As soon as Ethan comprehended her idea, he became very enthusiastic for its execution. "I reckon we must tie up the young Injin afore we go to work," said he, taking the cord, and moving towards Wahena. The little savage looked appealingly at Fanny, placed his hand upon his breast, shook his head violently, and frequently pointed to the shore of the lake. She interpreted his signs to mean that he would not attempt to escape, and she so informed Ethan. "I dassent trust him," said he. "He can't get away if he tries," replied Fanny. "But he may take one of the guns and kill one on us." "Put all the weapons out of the way, then, and I will keep watch of him," added Fanny, who wished to conciliate Wahena. Ethan consented, and climbing the tree with his axe, he commenced cutting off the large branches which were to be used in the construction of the house. The plan which Fanny had devised was a very simple one. The slope of the land on the island was about four feet to a rod. The bateau was to be rolled up the acclivity about thirty feet, and turned bottom upward. The lower end was then to be gradually pried up until it was level with the upper end, leaving a space of four feet under the higher part. Stakes were to be set in the ground under the gunwale to support the boat, and form the sides of the house. The smaller branches of the tree were to be interlaced in the stakes, beginning at the bottom, and the sods and the dirt thrown from the inside against this network, leaving the ground level under the roof. The bateau was sixteen feet long and five feet wide, and the most difficult part of the work was getting it out of the water, and moving it up the hill. Ethan and Fanny worked as hard as they could till sundown with rollers and levers, when they had the boat in position, and the end elevated to the required level. Wahena showed his gratitude for the freedom granted to him by assisting in the labor, and made himself very useful. After the party had taken their suppers, Ethan made a bed of the blankets and quilts for Fanny, under the boat, covering the open sides with the sail and a coverlet. "Where are you going to sleep, Ethan?" she asked. "I ain't go'n to sleep nowhar," replied he. "You are not going to stay up all night." "That's jest what I'm go'n to do." "What for?" "S'pose'n them Injins should kim over in the night." "I thought you said they could not get over here." "I reckon they can't, ef I keep my eyes open." "But you must sleep." "Ef I do, I must do my sleepin' in the daytime. Ef we should all go to sleep hyer, we might wake up in the mornin', and find our throats cut. 'Tain't safe, nohow." "You have worked hard to-day, Ethan, and you must be very tired." "I am kinder tired." "We will take turns keeping watch, as they do on board a ship." "I don't know nothin' about a ship." "I will keep watch the first half of the night, and you may the other half." "S'pose'n the Injins should kim; what would you do then?" "I can call you." "Well, Fanny, ef you ain't very tired, I agree to it, for I feel jest as ef I should go to sleep now." "I am not so tired as I have been, and not so tired as you are. I will take the first watch. But do you really think the Indians will come to the island?" "I hope not, but they might." "How do you expect them to come?" "I dunno; but I shouldn't wonder ef Lean Bear sent some of his redskins over arter that boy." Fanny did not see how the savages could reach them at this distance from the main land, but she agreed with Ethan that it would be better to keep watch, and be on the safe side. Wahena's hands were tied together, and he was bound to one of the posts under the boat, in such a manner that he could lie down and sleep comfortably. Ethan stretched himself on the bed he had prepared for his companion, and was soon asleep. Fanny seated herself under the tree at the top of the hill. It was not yet dark, and she had a full view of the water on every side. Until a later hour there was no possibility of a hostile approach by the Indians, and she gave herself up to the melancholy reflections excited by the tragic events of the day. Though a great many thoughts passed through her mind, there was only one which it is important to record here; and that was, the feeling that she was better prepared for the bitter experience upon which she had now entered than she would have been a few months before. If her friends knew that she was a changed being, the fact was still more evident to her own consciousness. A religious faith and hope had sustained her in those terrible hours, when the shrieks of the mangled and the cries of the dying had pierced her heart, and when torture and death stared her full in the face. Ethan, in his own quaint terms, had confessed that her prayers and her unwavering trust in God had awed him and solemnized his mind, thus raising him to a level with the momentous issues he was to meet. She felt that her prayers for herself and the brave prairie boy had been answered, not only in their effect upon themselves, but more directly in the turning aside of the knife which had been pointed at their hearts. Renewedly she thanked God for his goodness; and renewedly, as she thought of the dying Jenny, she felt that to hope was to have. Thus thinking of the past, thus hoping and praying for the future, the darkness gathered upon her, and with her mind thus illuminated by divine wisdom, the words of the Psalmist seemed to be literally verified, and even the darkness became light about her. As the shades of evening deepened over her, cutting off her view of the distant shores of the lake, she felt the necessity of a more vigilant watchfulness. Hour after hour wore heavily away, and still Ethan slept. Fanny had no idea of the time of night, and could not tell whether or not it was time to call her companion. She knew how hard he had worked during the day, and she resolved not to call him as long as she could keep awake herself. Her position was by the tree; but in order to rouse her torpid faculties, she took a walk around the island. When she reached the side of their narrow domain where they had landed in the morning, she was startled by what she thought was a slight splashing in the water, at a considerable distance from her. After the manner of the Indians, she lay down upon the ground, and placed her ear near the surface of the lake, listening with trembling interest for any sounds which might be borne over the still waters. This expedient satisfied her that she had not been mistaken in the sound. She distinctly heard the light dip of a paddle in the water, worked with the utmost caution. She was almost paralyzed with terror at the thought of a night visit from the savages, and dreaded the sharp crack of the rifle and the flashing of the knife. She strained her eyes to discover any object on the water, but she could see nothing. She hastened to the house, and roused Ethan. "I'm comin'," said he, only half awake, and turned over to finish his nap. "Ethan, Ethan!" gasped Fanny, shaking him with all her might, "the Indians are almost upon us." If she had said Indians before, it would have awakened him in a moment. He sprang to his feet, and rushed out of the house. "What's the matter?" he demanded. "The Indians are coming—at least some one is coming, for I heard a paddle on the lake." <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/002.jpg" alt="THE NIGHT ATTACK." width-obs="370" height-obs="500"> THE NIGHT ATTACK. Page 243.</div> "The pesky sarpints! I was afeerd they'd kim. Whar be they?" "They are coming from the settlement." "Consarn 'em!" added Ethan, as he grasped his two guns, and ran down to the shore. He listened, and soon satisfied himself that Fanny's fears were not groundless. He sent his companion for the revolver, and proceeded with great coolness and self-possession to make his preparations for repelling the assault, for he had no doubt that one was intended. It was a full hour—an hour of the most intense anxiety and suspense to the young exiles—before they discovered the wily foe stealthily approaching their retreat. A little later they could see enough to determine that the assailants consisted of four Indians, on a raft. Two of them, on their knees, were paddling the unwieldy craft, and the others appeared to be gazing at the island. Ethan had made a rest for the rifle of a crotched stick, for the piece was too heavy for him to hold up to his shoulder. He took careful aim at the group of dark forms on the raft, and fired. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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