The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1871-12-28

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feet, the priest said, kindly, Children,
come with me-" and he led them to his
own log cabin, not far from the chapel.
Father Mesnard readily prepared a
breakfast of Sagamittee," kind of
broth, made of fish boiled in water, and
the flour of corn. Their drink was clear,
cold water from the woodland spring.
AS they ate, the father told them that he
remembered having seen Fred in De-
troit, as he had been many times there
and that Linda's father and mother he
had known and loved in far-away
France, 30 that Fred's words of the
morning seemed to be true, for God had
truly led them to friend.
Fred wanted the land on the south
side of the river, and that was very
easily arranged between him and Father
Mesnard and the Indians and although
they must meet the "Councip at De-
troit, before the matter could be wholly
arranged, enough could be done so that
Fred could select six hundred acres of
unbroken wilderness and before noon
he had struck his first blow for home,
on the spot where he built their camp
fire the night before.
The cabin was built of rough, unhewn
logs, the windows and doors made of
twigs interlaced into sort of lattice
work, and fastened to the house by
hinges made of bark. Primitive indeed
was this new home, and primitive too
was this beginning of housekeeping, al
most as much so as the life of Adam and
Eve in the Garden of E len. And yet,
although in the very heart of the Wild
erness, separated entirely from the
white race, Linda Dabyell was very
happy during this first summer of house
hold care. Love brightens everything
it touches, and Linda loved her husband,
and her great love filled the wildwood,
and all the strange, new world with
bloom and song. She had, too, nature
50 sympathetic, that it gave to every
Indian woman, man, child or baby, a
kind word and helpful deed; and this
brought her in return much rude tender
ness. Then there was the good Jesuit,
always faithful and affectionate and
wise.
But this first summer, peaceful and
full of beauty as it was, was also full of
fearful tragedy. The Ojibwa Indians,
living and holding the lands on the
north side of the river, were not as
peaceful as the Ottawas. They were not
at peace with them either. In early
summer they were very kind to Linda,
because she nursed their brave young
chief in her own home through an al
most mortal sickness, caused by fearful
struggle at her own door with power
full Ottawa. But toward the autumn
they began to look savagely upon her
because she bestowed the same care upon
an Ottawa youth who had killed an
Ojibwa near her house, and being him
self severely wounded in the deadly
strife, had crept, covered with his own
blood and the bl Jod of his fallen foe, to
her threshold, where the good mission
ary and Fred had taken him up, sup
posing for many minutes that ne, too,
was dead.
This hatred did not break out at once.
But one November evening Linda sat
alone by her hearth, having fastened her
door as firmly as she could against the
heavy wind that had come up at night
fall, and lighted her pine knots and
placed one in each corner of the Chin
ney, wishing their CLEAN might go out
through the lattice window and door
and beacon her husband home through
the darkness. Fred had been gone since
morning, thing 80 unusual for him
that Linda was nervous with anxiety.
She had said to herself hundred times
that evening if Father Mesnard wssst.-
only come they could certainly find
Fred. But the father did not come he
had gone ON his yearly mission to the
upper lakes, and Linda knew if Fred
had lost his way, or if some calamity had
overtaken him, that she was left wholly
to the fearful mercies of Indians and of
wolves. AS she sat in her loneliness and
anxiety, the door burst suddenly open,
and the young Ojibway chief, whom she
had so kindly cared for, took her in his
arms, put his hand over her mouth, and
said, in his broken English, as he ran
with her to the chapel, "Hist young
chief no hurt. Young chief take care"
He carried her into the chapel, closed
the door, and seated her under the cru
cifx. Then he stepped back, crossed his
arms over his breast, and looking up to
the cross, said, "No come here. White
squaw no 'fraid." He went across the
chapel toward Linda's home, and climb
ing up over the logs looked out of a
small opening beneath the roof. Linda
heard footsteps among the fallen, frozen
leaves and branches, and soon the
crackle of fire and the loud wild whoop
of the Indians sounded through the
heavy darkness. Creeping to the young
chiefs side, she saw her home in flames,
and several savage looking Ojibwas
dancing and screaming around it. Sud
denly the clouds parted, and the moon
light broke around them in full splen-
dor, and as it fell over the shining metal
that pointed the cross upon the top of
the chapel, one of the Indians saw the
unusual brightness, and pointing toward
it he fled down the hill followed by the
others.
As they went, the chief turned toward
her, lifting her with one arm while he
lowered himself with the other and tried
to tell her how he had just got back
from a long journey, and having discov-
cred the intentions OF his tribe or por-
ton of them when it was too late to de-
feat them, he had come himself to defend
her or to die in the attempt. Then he
carried her back to the cross, placed her
under it and going to the door sat down
against it as though he would save her
with his life. Toward morning he went
noiselessly out, but Linda knew that his
Indian ear had caught the fall OF ap-
preaching footsteps, and she was ready
to die by those savage hands when the
door agein opened and Fred and Father
Mesnard came in, followed by the faith