Newspaper Page Text
TW flOWEHS COlLECIIOn
VOL III.
J. H. & W. B. SEALS, fraopraTORs
ATLANTA, GA„ SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1878.
rriTf'TDA fU 1 $3 PER ANNUM
1 JLKMb,i IN ADVANCE.
NO. 140.
LINES TO AN ORATOR.
BY W. P. B.
Rise np, and stand up.
Hold head and hand up.
For this is the hour, and thou art the man ;
Speak up, and speak out,
Nor dally with doubt.
Summon thy power, aud march in the van.
Great thoughts unspoken,
Like promises broken,
• Are badges of shame, all branded with blame;
Fair Truth from Heaven
To mortals is given—
We must honor her name, aud yield to her claim.
Let the world wonder,
Mutter and thunder—
It never shall blight the cause of the Right;
Truth is a terror
To crime and to Error—
From God is her light, and His is her might.
Then rise, and stand up,
Hold head and hand up.
For this is the hour, and thou art the man ;
Speak up and speak out,
Nor dally with doubt,
Summon thy power, and march in the van.
Conyers, Ga.. Jan. 28, 1878.
THE LOST CHILD;
—OR,—
The Wolf-Woman.
A THRILLING STORY OF THE ROCKY
MOUNTAINS.
BY W. H. B.
CHAPTER I.
Very beautiful was the spot chosen by Henry
Curtiss tor his luture home, although in a retir
ed situation,and far from neighbors. The broken
fortunes and death ot his father—his sole surviv
ing parent—left him with but litile means; so
taking his young wife and child, he turned his
back on the fascinations of city life, and resolv
ing to anticipate the emigration that was certain
to follow, he invested his little all in wild lands
upon the frontier. That such a course would be
certain to make him wealthy in a few years he
was shrewd enough to foresee; and although de
prived of the luxuries to which he had been
accustomed, he lelt that he would be amply re
paid in the future, and churches and schools
would spring up around him as if by magic,
and the ‘wilderness would blossom like the
rose. ’
To his occupation of farming he added also
that ot surveying, and was consequently otten
called away trow home, seldom, however, being
absent over night, for the timid heart of his
wile could scarcely be left alone with their
baby girl, in a region where the Indian tribe
was yet unextinguished, and the red men not
on the best terms with the white ones, whom
they looked upon, and not without good rea
son, as usurpers.
But a lew years of peace made them regard
the Indians with less fear, and at length they
came to look upon them even without suspicion.
Almost daily they traded together, and many
were the gifts that had been exchanged. To
the little girl Matilda, or Mattie, as she was
commonly called, they were particularly kind;
and often, when encamped in the vicinity, the
Indians would lure her away from home, to be
returned again, decked out in savage pomp and
finery, certain of a revard from the delighted
mother—delighted at having her little one again
in her arms; lor she was never at ease when
she saw them thus petting her child, but she
had learned that to distrust them would be to
awaken their anger, and so yielded as gracefully
as possible to what she had not the power to
prevent.
As if to test her confidence to the very utmost,
Pocha-nu-qua, or Buflalo-Hoof, as he was called
by those ol Saxon blood—came one morning and
requested the loan of the child to take home
with him to pass the night. In an instant all
the wild fears of the mother were aroused, aud
she would have refused had not the chief been
well known. But the father came in at the mo
ment. To deny their request would be to excite
him—to grant it, be giving the child completely
into their power; aud he knew that more than
one settler s babe had strangely disappeared,
and never been heard of again.
‘What do you want of the baby ?’ he asked,
concealing both his surprise and his fears.
‘To play with the pappooses of the red man,’
was the answer.
‘you can take her. When will you bring her
back again, Buffalo Hoof?’
‘When the sun is 30 high,’ he replied, point
ing to the tall top of a neighboring tree; and he
lifted the little one in his brawny arms, and
disappeared in the forest.
What a long and sleepless night followed!
How every tick of the clock was lengthened in
to an hour, for that poor mother's heart. Fan
cy ran riot through all the scenes of horror, of
which she had ever heard; and when at last the
day broke and the child had not returned, her
angush was almost beyond control. The sun
rose and crept slowly to the designated spot,
and fear was becoming a reality, wUen they
heard a rustle among the leaves, and instantly
after the t_ll form of the Indian was seen com
ing rapidly towards them, bearing the child in
his arms.
‘The red man has kept his word,’ said the
chief, proudly, as he gave little Mattie to her
mother, who could not restrain herself from
covering the tiny face with kisses.
‘Yes, yes,’and she darted into the house to
give way to her raptures.
Great, however, was her surprise when she
removed the clothing ot her baby, to find lined
upon its shoulder, in indelible marks, thototum
ol the tribe—the broad arrow head that told that
she had been adopted as a daughter by them,
and that henceforth they would befriend Lor
to her death.
This circumstance alone would have quieted j
Mmjim
rrSiMwi/ 7
‘•Landing among the rocks, he began to search for the grave/'
all her fears, hqd they not. continued even more
friendly than.before, bringing to the child the
choicest of game and furs, and loading her with
trinkets and 'wcmiium. And so time passed
happily along, until Mattie reached the age of
six yearn, giving promise of glorious beauty;
though the dark olive of her skin, her long,
straight black hair and eyes, her tall, lithe
form, and fearlessness of manner, almost belied
her Saxon birth. Dressed, as she frequently
was, in semi-Indian costume, she could have
readily been taken for a child of the forest, and
it was, perhaps, for this reason, that so endear
ed her to the red men, and explained why they
had taught her their language, aud forgotten
the enmity of the race to adopt her into their
pwn.
As a natural consequence, much of the eare
of the child was given up to her self-elected
protectors; and when a little brother was born,
she was often away from home for hours, some
times even for an entire night without causing
alarm. Business, also, forced the father to be
absent more frequently, and for a longer time
than formerly, and his wife, with a woman for
a companion, gave it little heed. But all this
confidence and repose was broken in upon—it
was simply the calm that renders the storm
more terrible.
‘ Where is Mattie, wife ?’ asked Curtiss, as he
returned home from a two days’ hunt with Buf-
falo-Hoof.
‘I haven’t seen her since yesterday,’ was the
careless reply of the mother, as she fondled her
babe, and held it up for her husband to admire.
‘ Yes, it is a beauty,’ he answered; ‘I’ll take
it in a few minutes. I want to see Mattie now.
I brought something home that will please her.’
‘ What is it ?'
‘ No matter, Madame Curiosity. Mattie shall
have the first sight. ’
‘ I presume you will have to go with Buffalo-
Hoof to find her. I wish you could manage to
keep her more at home, Henry.’
‘ Oh, she is in no danger, but I wish she was
here.’
‘Me go fetch her,’ replied the Indian; and
without waiting to be either urged or thanked
for doing so, he turned away with the long lope
of his race, and hastened towards their wig
wams.
Flaying with his baby boy, and conversing
cheerfully with his wife, an hour slipped by al
most unnoticed by Curtiss, and then recollect
ing that Bulfalo-Hoof had had ample time to
execute his mission and return, he started np
and declared his intention to go himself.
‘ You will not be gone long, Henry ?’
‘ No. 1 shall not delay, as—why, there he is
now !' he exclaimed, as looking out of the door
he saw the Indian seated upon a log, with his
head bowed, and his blanket drawn over it.
‘ Great Heaven !’ he said, as he sprang forward
and laid his hand upon his shoulder, a great
fear thrilling through both heart and brain—
‘ where is my daughter ?
* Ask the Manitou,’ was the low answer of the
red man, without the slightest change in his
position.
‘ Tell me what has happened. Did you not
find her? Has she not been to your village ?’
‘ Not since the moon war as small as the pow
der-horn of my pale brother, has she been
there.’
‘Not for two weeks?’ asked the excited pa
rent, as he rapidly thought how long it was
since the young moon had first shown its silver
crescent—‘not for two weeks? But you have
seen her—-have heard something of her?’
• The red man, his wife, and little ones know
no more of her trail than the path of the eagle
in the sunlight’
‘ Then she must have wandered into the woods
and been lost! gone, too, since yesterday—may
God have mercy upon her !’ and the strong man
trembled in the intensity of his emotions.
‘The eye of the lynx would fail to find the
trail until the sun rises again,’ said Buffalo-
Hoof, throwing aside his blanket and looking
carefully at the sky. • The moon will be hid
den, and no stars will shine.’
‘ True, there is a wild storm coming, but my
child -my child !—think of her wandering alone
—lost in darkness and rain !'
‘ The Great Spirit will watch over the little
pappoose, but the sons and daughters of the
red man will follow her trail as soon as any
thing but the bat and owl can find the way.’
Very difficult was it to convince the anxious
father of the necessity • ^ remaining inactive
until the morning. Tatteed, he would nave
disregarded all advice, and sooner have gone
alone than not to have gone at all, had not a
violent storm arisen and completely cut off all
hope of success. Forced, therefore, against his
will to do as the Indian said, he passed the night
in trying to comfort his half-distracted wife,
and whispering to her bright hopes that had no
echo in his own heart.
Far different was it with Buflalo-Hoof. Once
having decided what was for the best, he accept
ed the hospitality of his white friend, eat heart
ily, and rolling himself up in his blanket, threw
himself on the floor, and slept till early dawn.
Had his own daughter been the lost one it
would have been the same—not that he felt less
deeply, but he had better control of himself,
and reserved all bis strength for the hour of
need in the place of wearing it out in useless
struggles. But when the others were exhaust
ed, and silence reigned within the cabin, save
as broken by the heavy breathing of the sleeper,
he crept cautiously out and hastened home.
‘ The daughter of the pale-face was also the
daughter of the Daeotahs, ’ he said, as he sum
moned those who were there encamped to his
aid. ‘ She has wandered from the wigwam of
her father, and the red man must find her.
Upon the shoulder of her right arm she bears
the totum of the tribe. There must come no
sleep to their eyes or rest to their feet, until the
mother weeps for joy as she hugs her again to
her heart. I have spoken.’
He had spoken, and it was enough. In an
instant every one capable of following the trail
was making rapid preparations to start, or had
already done so, he returning to the home of
Henry Curtiss, to be his partner in the search.
Nothing, however, of his own thoughts had he
imparted to the white man. He knew but too
well how difficult it would be to follow even a
far plainer track than that left by the light foot
and tiny moccasin of a child, after so long a
time had elapsed and a heavy rain had fallen;
he knew, too, of other dangers, but was too
reticent to speak of them, rather letting bright
winged Hope brood over the heart as long as it
was possible, than to drive it away for the black-
pinioned vulture of Despair.
‘ Are you ready ?’ was the question of the
white man, as ho took the bronzed hand of Buf-
falo-IIoof in his own and'Wrong it convulsively.
‘My brothers are upon the trail,’ was the con
cise answer, and he began searching for some
sure starting-point.
That, however, was impossible, and they went
at random into the woods, leaving to chance
what skill could not determine. Still there
were paths, the little one would have been most
likely to have taken. There were banks where
the flowers grew the brightest, and the berries
were the ripest and sweetest, for it was the
strawberry moon of the red man—the June of
the white man. So the Indian led the way, and
despite both time and storm he found some
thing which satisfied him that Mattie had been
there at no very distant period. There was the
print of little feet upon the sloping and grass
less bank where she had clambered up; the
vines were broken and stripped of their fruit;
there was a faded bunch of flowers, tied with a
‘Then she must have fallen into the water,
and been drowned.’
‘No, her foo f was sure. She walked to the
edge. There is no moss broken away to tell
of her falling. Yes, she walked to the stream,
but she did not come away,” and he shook his
head doubtfully.
‘Then she must have fallen in. She had no
boat—could not have been taken away without
some of your tribe knowing it. Look again,
and see if a canoe has not been landed.’
‘No canoe from the village of Buffalo Hoof,
has been here,’ and he waded out into the
stream, and turning towards the shore, he ex
amined every part of it critically.
‘Do you see anything? Can you find any
thing?’ still questioned the excited parent.
‘Canoe been here!’ was the startling reply.
‘Here print of one paddle—here another.
Somebody hold our bark at both ends. Some
body else lift little pappoose in. Then they go j
away;’ and the Indian returned to the shore, j
wrung the water from his leggins, seated him
self, and bowing his head upon bis knees, sat
for a long time in deep thought.
‘Who could it have been ? Who conld have
come here and taken her away, without it was
one of your tribe?’
‘The tongue of the children of the Dacotahs
are not forked,’ was the answer of the Indian,
as he drew himself up proudly, his black eyes
flashing like lightning for a moment.
‘Who, then, could it have possibly beenj?’
‘When the warriors meet in council, then
will the red man answer.’
‘But are you going to search no farther, Buff
alo-Hoof? For Heaven’s sake do not give it
up yet.’
‘The trail ends here,’said the Indian, sadly,
and he arose, and turned his face homeward,
satisfied that the white man would soon follow.
But long had he to linger, before his expec
tations were realized. Up and down the bank
of the stream the man wandered, like one de
mented, till ;ha Indian returned to his side and
whispered:
‘There is a doe and a little fawn waiting the
coming of him of many antlers. They^cry for
him. Will be not go back ?’
Wes, my wife and boy. Somebody has car
ried off my daughter, and there may be danger
for them!’ and he hastened to satisfy himself of
their safety, and to learn if some of the other
seekers had not been more successful than
themselves.
But no one had learned as much, and, though-
days and weeks of searching followed, no tid
ings were gained, save a vague rumor brought
in by an old trapper, that he had heard of a
party of white hunters traveling northward,
who had in their possession a little child. Then
an old squaw, who had been long away selling
baskets, returned aud told of a corpse of a
little child, answering the description of Mat-
tie Curtiss, that she had seen picked np from the
river and buried.
To satisfy himself of the truth of the story,
the bereaved parent took his dog and a boat
and made a long journey upthe river. Landing
among the rocks, he began to search for the
grave, which be found in a deep recess beneath
a towering cliff. He dug up the body, and be
coming convinced from fragments of the dress
and the hair, that he was indeed daughterless,
returned home with the sad intelligence to his
wife. Henceforth she was to them as an angel
ribbon; and last aud most certain proof, they in Heaven; but, though another came to take
found the gay-colored basket that the Indian
knew was the work of his own hands, standing
filled by the side of a spring that bubbled up
from a rock, and soon lost itself in the waters of
a neighboring stream.
‘See,’said the chief, as he pointed rapidly
from one of the mute arguments to another,
‘see, the little pappoose picked the red berries
and the bright flowers until she grew thirsty,
then she knelt down and drank of the cool
waters.’
‘But why should she leave her basket here?'
asked Curtiss, as he secured it. ‘Great Heav
en! if a bear should have come aDd carried her
off.’
‘There has been no beast here, replied his
companion, as he assumed a prostrate position
and examined the ground about, inch by inch.
her place, the heart of the mother ever mourned
for her first born as one who would not be com
forted.
CHAPTER II.
Ten years had passed, and Henry Curtiss had
become rich,—rich in land—and was looking
forward to an old age oi ease and comfort when
one of the financial whirlwinds that now and
then sweep our country, occurred, and he
found himself unable to meet his obligations.
The bubble of wild land speculation had become
too much inflated, and suddenly burst, leaving
him almost homeless amid the wreck. Too
proud to remain and toil for his daily bread
where he had once been looked np to as a king,
he gathered the little means together that was
possible, obtained an outfit, and determined to
push bis way to the then terra incognita upon
the Pacific slopes of the Nevadas. Already
stories of fabulous productions had reached
“the States,” anti the land that was soon to
yield a golden harvest was attracting the atten
tion of the husbandman.
Once having decided, he took the Indian Chief,
Buffalo-Hoof, who had remained his firm friend,
into his councils, as he had been familliar from
his childhood with much of the route, the hunt
ing expeditions of his people having frequently
carried them to very long distances.
‘Will my pale brother go alone ?’ asked the
Indian, after he had listened longand attentively.
‘No, not entirely. I shall have a man or two
with me. Why do you ask ?’
‘Not all the nations of the red men are friends
with the pale faces,’ was the evasive and caution
ing reply.
‘I know it and that is the only thing I have to
fear. But I have lived so long in their midst,
that I shall be able to ward off many a danger
that I would be liable to if it were otherwise.’
‘Does my brother know the trail? The paths
on the prairie are many as the prints of the buffa
lo. Even the red man has been lost when the
sun was hidden or the moon and stars forgot to
shine.’
‘I know that, also, but I think it would be
difioult to lose me, an old surveyor, as long as I
had my compass. Still, I wish I could obtain
the services of a guide—one in whom I shall
have perfect confidence. Do you know of such
an one?’
•My brother shall have a guide,’ returned the
Indian, ‘that will show him the way as far as the
mountain of rocks that the Great Spirit has built
| across the trail,’ and he walked slowly away,
i There were many ties to be sundered—many
i friendships to be broken—and it was much later
| than he had anticipated before Curtiss was able
; to start. Even then, the old hunters would have
j persuaded him to remain. The Indians were very
i troublesome, they said, and if he escaped them
j he was sure to be overtaken by snow in the
| mountains. But be Lad fully made up his mind
J and when his preparations were at last conclud-
j ed, he bade ‘good-bye,’ to all,' and followed by
| many a ‘God bless you !’ started on his danger-
: ous way.
But one thing troubled him. He bad seen notii-
i ing of his Indian friend, Buffalo-Hoof, and no
guide had appeared. Could It be that he had
forgotten his promise ? Was he, also, opposed
to his going and taking that means to deter him?
He had set his foot upon the ploughshare, and
no foolish fear should keep him from the accom
plishment of his purpose -
It was morning—noon rather, when he start
ed, and night found him still among the par
tial settlements. But every hour they became
more sparse, and the fourth evening his little
camp was formed far away from every human
habitation. Still be had no guide—no one who
had been over the road before, to direct or ad
vise him.
Two wagons—two hired men—bis wife, and
little son and daugter, formed his entire train—
a very small force in case of an attack from the
Indians. But of them—he was still in the land
of the Dacotahs—he had no fear. With Buf
falo-Hoof, or the guide he had promised, he
would have been perfectly at ease.
‘How strange it is,’ he said to his wife, after
the preparations for the night had been per
fected, the supper eaten, the watch set, and the
little ones snugly wrapped in blankets, and
placed in one ot the wagons, ‘ how strange it is
that we have not seen Buffalo-Hoof for so long
a time.’
‘ Very strange, indeed. I pray that he may
not have proved false and treacherous, like
many of his race.’
‘ What good would that do him ?’
‘ He could gc ahead and warn his tribe of onr
coming, and they could easily prepare an am
bush; and rob, if not murder us,’ and the eyes
of the mother were turned to where the chil
dren were sleeping to satisfy herself of their
safety.
■ That is true, but I have no such fears. Still,
why he should have absented himself is more
than I can understand.’
‘ Perhaps he will join us further on. The
road is so plain now, that we have no use of a
guide.’
‘And shall net seriously miss one at all, I
fancy, exoept in the matter of good camping
places, grass, wood and water. But we must
trust to chance—’
‘To Providence, you mean, husband.’
‘ You are right, wife. Our trust must be in
God.’
Two days more of journeying, and they came
on the wooded banks of a stream where the
road forked, and they were at a loss to know
which one they should follow. There was noth
ing to distinguish between them; both appear
ed to be equally traveled. Yet one might take
them much out of their way, and every mile on
such a long journey was a matter of much mo
ment. Now, the need of a guide w-as forced
upon them—a compass was of no more use than
if it had lost its needle. It was simply the toss
of a copper whether they decided right or not,
and Curtiss felt this, when he ordered the teams
to keep to the right. Scarcely, however, had
the command been given, before it was coun
termanded in a very unexpected way.
* The trail my brother should follow, if he
would go towards the setting sun, is the one
that lies on the side of his heart,’ said a voice
from an unseen source; and immediately after
an Indian rode from behind a clnmp of bushes,
where he had been watching them.
‘Buffalo-Hoof!’ they all exclaimed, in aston
ishment, ‘ how came you here ?’
‘ The foot of the horse can travel where the
iron-guarded wheels of the pale man cannot
g°-'
‘But you promised to procure a guide for me,
and we were afraid you had forgotten it.’
‘ The red man never forgets !’ was the proud
answer, as the Indian drew up his tall form,
with his thin nostrils curling with scorn at the
insinuation. '
‘ But ypu were so long coming, that—’
‘ The wife of the warrior has gone to the spirit-
land,’ he replied in a low voice, and with a,
shadow of sorrow resting upon his bronzed face. I