The Black Eagle of the Dacotahs

I To the West

I

To the West

Civilization is animated by an immense force which impels it to limitless expansion; like the impatient vapor raised by a burning flame, it is always boiling, ready to spread beyond the known limits. Civilization is the perpetual movement of humanity, always in search of the infinite.

But in its path it leaves traces, often miserable or bloody, - wrecks tossed about on the ocean of destiny; - it destroys while creating; it makes ruins while consolidating its edifice; it engulfs anyone who wants to fight with it.

Only two centuries ago, people called Savages - why savages? - were wandering through the virgin forests of the New World with their free indolence, their solitary freedom, their carefree ignorance of the rest of the universe.

Civilization has swept over these happy regions like an avalanche; it has swept before it the woods, their wandering hosts,-Indians, buffaloes, gazelles, or leopards;-it has suppressed the desert and its deep mysteries; it has absorbed everything.

Today, newspapers are printed and sold where once the Delaware, Mohican or Huron smoked the peace pipe; stock is traded where the buffalo roared; sewing machines are made where the Indian squaw prepared the hunter's pemmican; the rail-way has replaced the Sioux's trails on the warpath; hosiery is sold where heroes fought.

And little by little the Red Man, the real one, the master of the desert, withdrew, struggling at first, fleeing later, asking for mercy at last - asking, but not getting! for a last place on this land of his ancestors, to sleep beside their old bones.

Roll avalanche! fall nations from the desert! and roll down that inexorable slope which leads to the Ocean. Soon the Indian will have lived, he will be a legend, a shadow, a myth; he will be spoken of, as of a fable; and then he will not even be spoken of again; oblivion will have devoured everything.

Please follow us into this almost vanished world: the Oregon Prairies offer us hospitality, the great and majestic hospitality that God gives to man in the desert.

The morning was delightful: fresh and joyful from its nightly rest, the sun sent its first rays to gather in the chalice of the flowers myriads of pearls sown by the dew; every leaf of the forest, illuminated by a golden arrow, sent around it reflections of emerald; every hill became flushed; every pink cloud seemed to be looking for a nest to keep its freshness. The birds sang, the boughs babbled, the streams murmured; all was joy in the air and on the earth, and from the immense desert rose the ineffable harmony that each day greets the Creator.

In one of those groups of trees which so picturesquely break up the uniformity of the eternal lawns, was the rustic camp of a convoy of pioneers. In the midst of the circular entrenchment formed by the wagons stood, under the foliage of a tulip tree, a pretty white tent looking from a distance like some great swan asleep on the turf.

In the carriages one could have heard the robust breathing of the sleepers; this peaceful echo of sleep excited a melancholy reverie and some symptoms of envy in the sentry who watched over the salvation of the passengers.

The curtain of the little white tent swung open, and revealed the lovely head of a young girl; her long wavy hair, as blonde as the ripe wheat, spread profusely over her shoulders, while her two cute little hands sought in vain to unite it in a broad braid; Her black eyes with blue reflections illuminated a fresh pink face; a joyful smile animated her charming figure, at the sight of the splendours of the dawn; with a leap of a gazelle she dashed out of the tent and advanced on the lawn with the gait of a fairy or an enchanted princess.

She saw clumps of flowers that had been spared by the heavy feet of men and horses, and ran to pick them, dipping her hands laughingly into the fragrant dew.

- And now," she said to herself, with delighted eyes over the rolling plain, "let's take a little excursion into the meadow! It is not a walk to follow the fortified march of the wagons where I feel imprisoned. Let us go to the flowers! Let us go to the fields! How good it will be to run on this grass with the morning wind!

Esther Morse (that was her name) went into her tent and took a straw hat, rustic, but decorated with beautiful crimson ribbons, put it on coquettishly, and went off singing half-heartedly.

She passed by the sentry who, tired from his sleepless night, was leaning languidly on his rifle. He was a handsome young man, tall and strong, and when he saw the young walker he flinched as if he had seen an apparition.

- It is not my business to give you advice, Miss Esther," he murmured, "but beware; there is no telling what Redskins are lying in ambush behind those rocks over there.

- Don't worry about me, Abel Cummings," she answered with a graceful smile, "I only want to take a walk on the lawn. I shall be back before lunch.

- If angels came down to earth, I'd think I saw one," the young man thought as he watched her walk away.

Soon she had passed the camp enclosure; unconcerned with danger, and wholly absorbed in the charm of the delightful scenery around her, Esther ran to the stream whose fresh murmur could be heard in the wood. On the way she flitted from flower to flower, gathering to the right and to the left like a morning bee. When she arrived at the water's edge, she could not refrain from looking into it: never had this desert mirror reflected a prettier face; the young girl took advantage of the opportunity to make a country toilet and arrange a crown of flowers in the thick braids of her luxuriant hair.

Suddenly she was startled by a furtive noise, and listened for a moment, trembling, looking hastily around. Was it the wind in the branches...? the distant thunder of a band of galloping buffaloes...? or the wary tread of some great grey wolf...? or, oh, terror! the unseen march of the fierce Indian in search of captives or hair...?

At the first glance she cast behind her, she saw an Indian woman standing at some distance. Esther's first movement was to run towards the camp to escape the pursuit of the Indians; but at the first step she took, she felt a hand grasp the fluttering folds of her dress: the Indian woman was at her side.

- Look at me," said the latter in a guttural but caressing and harmonious voice; "look at me, not at the enemy. Has Paleface forgotten the Laramis? The memory of white women is not as straight as the heart of red women.

For a moment the blood in Esther's veins froze, and she recognized in the young Indian girl the daughter of a friendly tribe whom the travellers had met a few weeks before.

- The white woman has been good to me. Has she already forgotten me? Does she no longer recognize the wife of a great Sioux chief?

The young Indian girl, brightly illuminated by the nascent rays of the sun, realized in all its perfection the rare type of wild beauty. Slender and supple in stature, straightening herself with feline grace; small feet adorned with coquettish moccasins of white fur; long, silky brown hair with golden highlights; large gazelle eyes, deep and pensive; an eagle's profile, melted, as it were, into the physiognomy of a dove; all combined in her to make an admirable creature, who could not easily be forgotten.

- Yes," said Esther, "I remember you well, but what was your motive in going so far from your tribe? I did not think that Indian women were in the habit of going so far from their wigwams, and of leaving their husbands.

- Waupee no longer has a husband.

- What do you mean? Not a month ago I saw you the wife of a great warrior, famous on the hunting trail.

- One day a woman as beautiful as a white rose came to the Black Eagle's wigwam. The warrior forgot about Waupee his wife, and his heart went out to the white dress. Waupee no longer has a husband.

- Waupee! (that is, White Hawk) what are you talking about? I don't understand you.

- The warrior would not look at the moon again when the golden rays of the sun hit his eyelid.

- You speak to me in riddles; explain yourself clearly.

- The Black Eagle has his eyes fixed on the beauty of the Paleface," said the Indian woman, pressing her finger against Esther's breast.

- You are mistaken!" replied Esther with a worried smile.

- My tongue follows the straight path of truth.

- But this is madness! He will not see me again; he will forget me, Waupee! and beautiful days will come again for you.

- The red man never forgets.

- And you've come a long way... you've come so far to tell me about this?

- Wigwam of Waupee is sorry.

- You have another motive... speak, speak, I beseech you.

- Let my white-faced sister bend her ear, that Waupee may whisper secret words into it," said the Indian woman, lowering her voice and looking about her anxiously; "the woods, the waters, the rocks have ears.

- Oh, you scare me to death, what are you going to tell me?

White Hawk raised himself on his little feet to reach Esther's ear, and clasping her in his arms said hastily:

- The Black Eagle of the Sioux is on the trail of the Paleface, seeking to make her his prisoner.

- Horror! He may be posted between us and my father's camp; thank you! thank you! good Waupee, I...

- The earth trembles under the horses' feet, but they are far away. Let my pale-faced sister run back to her people, and let her go no further. The Black Eagle's eye is piercing, his feet light, his heart knows neither pity nor fear.

- What about you, Waupee?

- The Great Spirit will lead me. The poor Indian girl risked her life to save you: you will not forget her...

At the same moment, Waupee flinched as if bitten by a snake, and without a word, disappeared into the thicket.

Left to herself, Esther remained motionless and uncertain for a few seconds; then she fled towards the camp with the rapidity of a frightened deer. Feeling her legs give way under her, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath, and, while listening with terror, stooped to take with her hand a few drops of water from the stream.

When she got up to flee again, the bushes opened with a bang beside her, a dark shape appeared: it was the Black Eagle of the Sioux.

- Ugh!" came the guttural, restrained voice of the savage.

At the same time he seized the frightened girl in his red arms, and carried her away as the bird whose name he bore had done with a dove.