Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1880-03-21
AN INDIAN SLAVE.
A Carol in Prose About Marie, a Pacific
Coast Squaw.

AN LIN DlAN OLA H.
A Carol in Prose About Marie, Pacific
Coast Squaw.
by V. Savella, in the Argonaut
Many years ago 1t was the custom
quietly performed, for certain lawless
white men to 60 among the Eel River
Indians and steal the children Of the
tribe and carry them to be sold for slaves
among families in other parts of the State.
I have seen the poor creatures. after they
had been driven like beasts before their
captors, with sore feet and sullen faces,
sitting alone, apparently hopeless and
apathetic. But who shall say beneath
that solid exterior there was not hu-
man heart hot and bitter from cruel
wrongs endured.
Two lustrums have passed since one of
these raids resulted in the capture,
among others, of a girl from five or six
years old. With the characteristics of
her race, she possessed no beauty to SOFT
en- the hearts of beholders, but, as she
promised sturdy frame, she was dispos-
ed OF to lawyer, who, in turn, presented
her to his wife to be trained as maid-of-
all-work. She received the name of Ma
RE, and soon became a neat and def
worker in all household ways. can
bear testimony to the immaculate neat
ness Of her kitchen, and the snowy white
ness of the clothes that hung on wash
day from her line and also the quiet way
IN which all Of this labor was performed.
1 knew Marie for many years, and I
never heard her speak but once or twice
IN all that time. Her face always wore
the same look, and have often wondered
if she thought at all. She went no place,
saw no company, and year after year,
with automatic precision, performed her
tasks. What mattered it to her if the
skies were ablaze with splendor, as the
sun, whose rays warmed her people and
her native valley, went down in the
West!
All about her the mountains rose, pine
crowned to the summit, wall between
her and bone! But she never seemed to
raise her eyes to the rocking tree-tops, or
hear the wind as it came down, sweet
with the breath of flowers or sad with
their death-song. I have wondered if
she had no memories, no stirring of the
blood, no wild longlngs, no passionate
heart throbs, no yearnings; if she were
content as she appeared, if she loved or
hated her owners, or if, to the same, she
were as she appeared. Sometimes she
would raise her eyes to my face with
look could not define, but it passed SO
quickly that I doubted If had seen it
at all.
As the years went by Marie grew to
womanhood, but she developed to our
eyes no new beauty and no new awak-
ening of the faculties and affections, and
she stirred no new thoughts on our part
concerning her. As the village where her
owner lived enlarged, it had the ambition
to possess an Episcopal Church and a
curate. The man sent to this place was a
gentle, charitable character, who strove
to make his people better, and worked
faithfully among his charge, always Civ
ing them the light of a true life and earn
est purpose to help them into better paths.
This man had an Indian in his employ
whom he strove to enlighten. Pedro,
like all his race, was not easily impressed
and, if, things touched the deep places
OF his nature, no outward sign betrayed
the workings within. 1t happened, if
things ever happen in this world that
Pedro and Marie met, and, though no
one ever knew how, they soon developed
into intimcey. This intimacy in time
became love, and they planned to marry
and pass through the world together. I
do not know that they used other Ian
guage than the English, and 1 suppose
in this alien tongue they contrived to un-
derstand each other. l apprehend that
the language of affection was not copious,
but those dull faces and cold eyes must
have developed new powers, and those
two hearts have felt that bliss of being
understood that civilized man arrogate
solely to himself.
Marie was so much slave that she
had 20 idea of leaving her mistress OF
organizing home Of her own without
that mistress's consent. 1t will never be
known what mental struggles she passed
through before she told her desires and
asked permission to wed Pedro. No
doubt establishment was the first feeling
her story reused, but indignation APP
peared. Poor Marie! She was a good
servant; she saved dainty hands from dis
agreeable tasks, and the loss of her
meant many disagreeable things. She
must not marry, and so she was told that
she could not be given up. Not mus
Gle moved as she heard the decision, but
she seemed to quietly submit, and went
about her work as usual. if she suffered
as her white sisters suffer it was never
known, and if the little chamber in the
attic she called her own was witness to
her hearts anguish and remuneration it
never told the story. The mistress re-
ioiced that Marie's nonsense had passed
away, and she was in no danger OF los
ing her efficient handmaiden.
The winter merged into April showers,
the grass grew green and rank in the
valleys, and on the hills the cattle lay
Ill the sunshine. Then gradually the
blossoms faded and the yellow mantle of
summer Swallowed through the blue,
quivering air. The grain fields swayed
before the hot wind, and even the far
away pines seemed to droop. Everybody
complained of the heat-every body
but Marie. She never complained or
chapoed her mOnOtOn Ous round.