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Title:   The Stolen Boy, an Indian Tale
Author: Hofland, Barbara (1770-1844)
Illustrator: Burney, Edward Francisco (1760-1848)
Engraver: Springsguth, S.
Date of first publication: 1828 [this expanded version], 1827 [original shorter version]
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: Arthur Hall, Virtue and Co., [January 1859:
   date of publisher's catalogue bound in with the book]
   [The Hofland Library]
Date first posted: 3 December 2010
Date last updated: 3 December 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #668

This ebook was produced by David Edwards, Ross Cooling
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

This ebook was produced from images generously made
available by the Internet Archive/University of California Libraries




  THE HOFLAND LIBRARY.




  THE STOLEN BOY.

  [Illustration: "_Until the eleventh struck into the calf of his leg._"

  _Page 57._]




  THE
  STOLEN BOY,
  AN
  INDIAN TALE.

  _by_

  _Mrs. Hofland_

  Author of

  _The Clergymans Widow. Merchants Widow. Sisters.
  Good Grandmother. Affectionate Brothers. Panorama of Europe.
  Daughter in Law. Barbadoes Girl. Blind Farmer.
  Young Crusoe. Young Northern Traveller. &c. &c._

  London.

  ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & Co.
  25, PATERNOSTER ROW.




  THE STOLEN BOY.

  A STORY,

  FOUNDED ON FACTS.

  BY MRS. HOFLAND,

  AUTHOR OF

      THE CLERGYMAN'S WIDOW; YOUNG CRUSOE; BLIND FARMER; THE SISTERS;
      BARBADOES GIRL; MERCHANT'S WIDOW; PANORAMA OF EUROPE; YOUNG
      NORTHERN TRAVELLER; DAUGHTER-IN-LAW; AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS;
      WILLIAM AND HIS UNCLE BEN; GOOD GRANDMOTHER; ELIZABETH AND HER
      THREE BEGGAR BOYS; ALICIA AND HER AUNT; GODMOTHER'S TALES; &c.,
      &c.

      There might you have beheld one joy crown another so, and in
      such a manner, that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them,
      for their joy waded in tears.

        Shakespeare.

  New Edition.

  LONDON:
  ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE AND CO.,
  PATERNOSTER ROW.




  TO THE READER.


The following Story, in its principal incidents, was published in the
Juvenile Souvenir for 1828; but being necessarily curtailed so much as
to exclude that development of mind in the subject of the tale, and
those affecting circumstances which give deep interest to his long and
extraordinary escape, it is now offered to the youthful public in a more
finished state.

It is perhaps necessary to repeat, that the Story of the Stolen Boy is
founded on facts, which were communicated to the writer by Mr. Parker,
a gentleman now in this country, but who resided at Nachitoches at the
period of the boy's return, where the circumstance created considerable
sensation among all classes of the community who became acquainted with
the extraordinary escape of the boy.




  THE STOLEN BOY.

  CHAPTER I.


"Dear, father, pray come and look at some of the strangest people that
ever were seen, who are sitting opposite to the garden. They are not
gipsies, such as we used to see in Spain, but yet they seem to be
wanderers like them, and to live out of doors. They all look as grave as
judges, and have very comical-looking clothes. Do pray come and see
them."

Such was the entreaty addressed to Don Manuel del Perez by his son, a
boy between eight and nine years of age, a few days after himself and
family had arrived at the town of San Antonio, in the province of Texas,
a country which joins Louisiana, on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.

Don Manuel's family consisted of an amiable wife (Donna Seraphina), the
son we have already introduced, a daughter two years younger, and a babe
of six months old.

Little Manuel was a sensible, active, lively boy, and being newly
released from the confinement of a long voyage, beheld the new scene
around him with great delight; but never had his dark eyes glistened
with so much pleasure as now, or his inquiries on subjects of curiosity
been made with so much interest. His kind father, therefore, did not
hesitate to go out with him to see the objects of his attraction; and
having done so, he replied thus, in answer to his inquiries:--"These
people, my dear Manuel, are Indians, the descendants of the original
inhabitants of America. Like those of other continents, they are divided
into tribes or nations, none of whom are fond of European settlers,
though some are friendly in appearance. These people are come to trade
with us, and will, I doubt not, conduct themselves with great propriety.
I perceive they are of the tribe of Choctaws, who, with another called
Cadows, never come hither for any other than peaceable errands."

"And do they all go half naked, father, and paint themselves so
strangely, like these poor creatures?"

"They all greatly resemble each other, and term themselves, aptly
enough, 'red men,' as you see their skin is copper-colour. They are, as
you must perceive, finely-formed athletic men, spare of flesh, in
consequence of their temperance, but possessing much muscular strength,
which results from their habits of exercise. Their countenances are
indicative of deep thought, mingled with an expression of cunning and
ferocity."

"As they looked so very grave, I took them to be good people, father,
only ignorant. Do you take them to be so?"

"Indeed I do not, Manuel."

The poor boy, looking exceedingly disappointed at this short answer,
which by no means accorded with the benevolent wishes of his warm little
heart, Don Manuel soothed him by adding--"My dear, though I am not
partial to the Indians, many people are, and I dare say there are
persons in San Antonio who can give you many instances of their good
properties. It is certain they are very hospitable, for they will suffer
no stranger to enter their abode, without relieving his wants; and even
if he is of a white nation with whom they are at war, they will treat
him with kindness, and conduct him in safety beyond their own precincts.
And although they consider us (with great justice) as intruders on their
land, yet when they sell any portion of it, they rigidly adhere to their
bargain, and depart altogether to a proper distance. In their less
important concerns, they are not less punctual; and if they agree to
bring a certain quantity of skins (which are the principal produce with
which they supply us), we may always depend upon them, even if we had
paid them beforehand, in the spirits, arms, and blankets, they require
from us."

"Then surely they are very honest, good people?" said Manuel, eagerly.

"These qualities are very good, certainly, my dear, and cannot be too
much praised; but there are other points about them, that more than
counterbalance their virtues. They are so revengeful, as to be never
known to forgive an injury, even though it was inflicted on a distant
relation, and could have nothing to do with their personal feelings.
They are so bigoted to their former opinions and customs, as to resist
all improvement, thereby rendering the gift of reason useless; and, what
is far worse, they are so cruel, and they destroy prisoners of war by
the most horrible torments, a conduct, of all others, most repellant to
our ideas of justice, which teaches all men to respect that valour in
another, which he is proud of in himself."

"That is very wicked, certainly--do these Choctaws do this?"

"All the Indian nations do it, the Choctaws among the rest. The Alonquas
are, however, much worse than these, for they are cannibals, which even
the Indians consider to be hateful. The Cumanches are a nation scarcely
less dreaded, for although they do not eat their victims, they sacrifice
more than other tribes do, since they not only frequently torture their
prisoners of war, but those unhappy people whom they seize in their
robbing expeditions, which are frequent. These people are remarkable for
always travelling on horseback, and their appearance, even at a
considerable distance, never fails to inspire terror in our settlements,
as it is well known that they are in quest of plunder, and will stop at
no means to attain it. They frequently take away a great number of
mules and horses, and never fail to murder their owners, unless they
reserve them for more cruel sport at their own residence."

Manuel looked very grave whilst Don Manuel spoke, but as he was not told
that these terrific tribes ever visited San Antonio, their enormities of
conduct soon vanished from his mind; and being permitted to cultivate an
acquaintance with the Choctaws, he soon became amused and interested, in
the greatest degree, with every thing concerning them.

Like most lively children of an enterprising temper, he was delighted
with their power of throwing the hatchet, shooting with bows and arrows,
tracing the woods through impervious paths, and enduring pain and hunger
without complaint; and he soon learnt so to practise these
accomplishments, as greatly to surprise his mother and sister, the
latter of whom was charmed to see him dressed in a coronet of feathers,
and a pair of mocassins. In the course of their intercourse, he also
picked up a good deal of their language; for being much struck with the
attitude and delivery of one of their orators, he could not help
earnestly desiring to know what he was saying, and never rested till he
had so far attained it, as to comprehend all their common forms of
speech, and their names of those things amongst them in general use.

When the Choctaw tribe had finished their bargains, had received their
rum, brandy, guns, beads, and blankets, they returned to their own
distant settlements, but not before many of their wisest and gravest
chiefs had exhibited that terrible propensity to drunkenness, which is
such a remarkable trait in their characters. Manuel was much shocked at
this degradation, and for some time ceased to praise them as he was
wont, or to display the feats of activity they had taught him; and the
circumstance of his father's purchasing a large house at a little
distance from the town, and the pleasure and trouble of removing
thither, soon occupied his mind so much, that he nearly forgot his old
friends the "Silver Fox" and the "Black Bear," and began, as little
Inez, his sister, told him, "to find himself very happy with his own
family, even though they wore decent clothes, eat good dinners, washed
their faces in pure water, and prayed to God, as good Christians, both
night and morning."




  CHAPTER II.


Don Manuel had suffered his son to mix much with the Indians, from a
persuasion that the love of exercise they were likely to inspire, could
hardly fail to be beneficial to a Spanish boy, being well aware that his
nation are (generally speaking) much too indolent; and being a sensible,
well-informed man, calculated for residing in any country, and learning
what was most valuable in each, he wished to render his son alike fitted
to become a citizen of the world. He was not, however, sorry to see that
the boy returned to his usual avocations with pleasure, and he
determined that when he had passed his ninth birthday, he should enter
on a more regular course of study than had hitherto been required from
him, the course of his education having unavoidably been interrupted by
the voyage to America, and the unsettled state of the family before they
could procure a permanent abode.

The birthday of their eldest son was fixed upon, by his affectionate
parents, as a proper time for giving a suitable entertainment to the
principal inhabitants of San Antonio; and accordingly his entrance into
his tenth year was celebrated with the united luxuries of the old world
and the new; and for the day, Manuel was treated with much consideration
as well as affection. He had a handsome new dress for the occasion, and
among other presents, he received, from one of the guests, a very
beautiful galloway, suited for his age and size; and as he had learned
to ride, it will readily be conceived that nothing could exceed the
pleasure he promised himself with this pretty animal, which had been
properly broken in for him, and on which he mounted in the presence of
his mother, and the ladies of her party. The address with which he
managed his steed, the grace of his motions, and the firmness and
agility he displayed, excited the admiration of every one; and the heart
of the fond mother beat high in her bosom, as she inwardly predicted the
future greatness of her beloved boy; whilst her young daughter, not less
happy, bounded round her brother, extolling all he did to the skies, and
allowing (for the first time) that even the Choctaws had improved him in
some things; "for though they did not teach him to ride, yet they did
teach him to shoot, and he could now do both, at the same time, most
surprisingly."

All pleasure, as well as pains, must have an end; and poor Manuel, in
despite of his temporary greatness, at length sunk into such deep
repose, that it encroached considerably on the following day; but his
parents would not allow him to be disturbed, because he had never been
up so late before. In consequence, when other persons were inclined to
take their siesta after dinner, Manuel was quite upon the alert, and
instead of going to sleep, determined to pay a visit to his pretty
horse, and perhaps take a short ride with the groom. Accordingly, having
received a nod of approbation from his father, he went up to the
stables, which lay at some distance from the house, and finding there
Diego, a favourite servant, who had accompanied the family from Spain,
he began immediately to beg he would saddle the new favourite for him,
and accompany him a little distance.

Diego readily promised to fulfil his wishes, but observed, "that he
must, in the first place, put the finishing stroke to what he was about,
which was cleaning a very fine mare of his master's, which had been out
that morning."

To this, of course, the boy made no objection, and he continued to
caress his own pet, and feed him with the best food in the stable,
whilst the man pursued his task.

In a moment both were astonished by a loud outcry, of a nature which was
utterly incomprehensible to them, since it neither resembled the roaring
of wild beasts, nor the voices of human beings; it was wild, terrible,
and wonderful--advanced nearer every moment--and was soon heard in
conjunction with the sound of horses' feet. When this sound struck on
the servant's ear, he exclaimed--"This must be the Cumanches--fly, my
dear young master, fly to the house this moment!"

But all flight was impossible--even whilst he spoke, the stable was
entered by a whole troop of terrible-looking Indians. Diego was seized
on the instant, and hurried out by two of them; and although Manuel
instinctively crept under the animal he was caressing, he, too, was
presently seen, and felt a strong arm dragging him from his
hiding-place. All resistance appeared vain, and only likely to produce
instant death; but Manuel for some moments called on his father, in a
loud shrieking voice, and afterwards knelt and held up his hands in
supplication to the ferocious savage who stood nearest him. Alas! both
were in vain; his father at that moment slept, unconscious of all
danger; and the only sensation produced in the breast of the savage by
his entreaties, was that of contempt; nevertheless, as he perceived that
he was a handsome, well-grown boy, and from the situation in which he
found him, likely to be conversant with the management of horses, and
was, more-over, richly dressed, he determined on taking him with them,
in preference to stifling his cries by killing him on the spot.

In a few moments the poor little boy was dragged out, placed on a tall
horse, and held there with an irresistible arm, by the strong Indian,
whose particular prize he was made. The horses and mules were all taken
out, save one deemed too old to be useful, and each of them being
secured by a noose, was led off by one or other of the Indians, poor
Diego being bound fast to one of them, and led off with the rest. Whilst
this was doing, hope revived in the breast of Manuel, and, despite of
his situation in the gripe of the barbarian, he shouted aloud, though
Diego called on him to desist, as he expected every moment to see him
murdered in consequence. The poor boy knew that there were plenty of
fire-arms in the house, and many hands that would rush to his
assistance, and the dear home which he then beheld with his eyes, he
hoped could be reached with his tongue; and in the frantic agony of the
moment, it is certain that his shrieks could have reached the ears of
the family, they were so loud and piercing, had they not been exhausted
by the fatigues of the preceding day.

All this was but the work of a few moments, and Manuel soon found
himself riding at a prodigious rate, in a direction he had never gone
before; and being sensible that he might scream himself to death to no
purpose, he ceased, and tried to comfort himself with the hope that they
would shortly be pursued by his father and the servants. As his enslaver
kept at the head of the troop, he was many times deceived with false
hopes, when he heard the trampling of horses near him; and at one time,
so sanguine were his expectations, that he called out--"Courage, Diego!
they are following us; we shall soon be rescued."

"I can see, master, though you can't," answered the afflicted man, "and
I perceive no help of any kind. Besides, how can they pursue us to good
purpose, when there is not a single creature left for them to ride on?"

This melancholy recollection had not once occurred to the mind of the
boy, who had hitherto buoyed himself up with the hope that his father
would follow at the head of his friends and servants, whose guns and
pistols he almost instantly expected to hear, thinking such sounds would
be the sweetest in the world to him, and being willing to be wounded,
and almost killed, so he might escape from the Indians. When, however,
he recollected that indeed all the horses were gone, that his father
would be obliged to send for others from San Antonio, and that the time
which would elapse, rendered it utterly improbable that he could
overtake them before their arrival in those interminable forests towards
which they were directing their flight, his heart sank into despair, and
he wept in bitter anguish for several hours.

The Indians, on entering the woods, slackened their pace, and rode on in
silence, threading their way through the dark labyrinth of tall trees,
with a precision and ability which, under other circumstances, would
have recalled to the mind of Manuel his admiration of his old friends,
the Choctaws; but he was much too unhappy to notice any external
circumstance. Often had he wished to penetrate these sublime forests, to
see those stately trees which rise higher than the towers of cathedrals,
and whose branches are frequently adorned by beautiful flowers, at the
same time that their trunks are entwined by other flowers, of the most
dazzling colours and beautiful forms, presenting altogether an
assemblage of the richest stores of nature. To him, these things were at
this moment totally disregarded, for every moment that bore him further
from his beloved parents and home was a new cause for sorrow, and every
faculty of his mind and his memory was absorbed in the sorrow of his
heart. Even the terror which rested on the future, as far as regarded
his personal safety, was, for the present, suspended, and grief for the
loss of his beloved parents filled his bosom, to the exclusion of every
other regret.




  CHAPTER III.


About midnight the whole party emerged from different paths, as it
appeared, into an open glade, of considerable extent, through which a
clear rivulet wound its way in a wavy line, the banks of which were
covered with fine soft grass of the purest emerald hue. The moon was at
this time high in the blue heavens, and the rays reflected in the
stream, as it rippled over a bed of white pebbles, were so brilliant,
that for a moment they roused the languid spirits of poor Manuel. He
cast his eyes upwards, and said--"Surely there is a God in that
beautiful heaven, who looks down on this earth, for it is very beautiful
too, and he will take pity on me, and deliver me some time."

The Indians tied their horses to trees, and their prisoners also, in
such a manner that the former could obtain food, but to the latter they
did not offer any; neither were they observed to take any thing
themselves, notwithstanding the many hours in which they must have been
without, and the great fatigue they had encountered. Diego lamented this
privation exceedingly, and dwelt pathetically on the comforts his
supper was wont to afford him; but his wants were at this time not
equally felt by Manuel, for his sorrow had completely taken away his
appetite, and notwithstanding his extreme fatigue, his mind was actively
employed in weighing the possibility of escape, whilst the Indians lay
asleep around them. His ideas were revealed to Diego, who was not less
alive to the subject; but they both soon perceived (with that dismay
which can only be justly estimated by those who have suffered similar
misfortunes) that although their ligaments did not appear strong, they
were so ingeniously contrived, that it was impossible to unbind them,
and also, that they were actually fastened to an Indian, whom on
arising, they would inevitably awake. This discovery, of course, plunged
them still deeper into affliction; and the night was spent by each in
fruitless lamentations, which were, in one sense, solitary ones also,
since they were at a considerable distance from each other; and this
proof of the ability of the Indians led them to suspect that they might
understand as much of their language as would render conversation
unsafe; and the only consolation left to the unhappy prisoners was thus
denied them.

Diego did, however, venture to hint to Manuel, that it would be
advisable for him by no means to let the savages understand he had
learnt any of their language from the Choctaws, as he observed--"That if
he appeared to gain it from them, it would give them an idea of his
extraordinary quickness, which would not fail to render them kind to
him, and that during the time when he was supposed to be entirely
ignorant of it, they would converse freely before him, and he might
learn what they intended to do with their prisoners."

This advice proved to be very good, as it afterwards answered both these
purposes. If it had not been given, poor Manuel would have acted
precisely in a contrary manner, as it was his intention to beg the chief
to release him, and restore him to his parents, in his own tongue, which
he hoped would have a greater effect upon him than his supplications
hitherto, and for that purpose he had been trying to recollect every
word which could be supposed to move him. He now abandoned this idea,
and determined to observe Diego's suggestions, remembering that the
Indians were little likely to forego their intentions from any
entreaties of his, as all he had learnt from their own people, or
others, induced him to consider them inflexible: he was also persuaded,
that his father would pursue them even to the Red River, on the banks of
which he knew there were many settlers; and therefore, if they could
gain time, they would eventually be restored to San Antonio.

The Indians, after a few hours' slumber, started up with celerity,
liberated their horses and their prisoners, and after mounting and
securing them as before, resumed their journey. It continued for about
two hours longer, in the same woody kind of country, but after that, was
continued over an immense plain, great part of which was exceeding
swampy, and, of course, bad for the horses.

Diego observed--"That no European could have passed it with safety, nor
indeed any other creature than an Indian, who, he firmly believed, was
endued with more senses than his fellow-mortals, and therefore, in his
opinion, akin to the devil."

When Manuel was enabled in any measure to overcome the severe grief
which at this period might be said to bow him to the earth, he was more
happy than his fellow-sufferer, in not thinking so ill of the persons by
whom they were taken as he did. In fact, within a few months, Manuel had
loved the Indians with enthusiasm, entered into their pursuits with
pleasure, studied and extolled their virtues, excused their faults, and
even fancied that he should enjoy their manner of living; so that it
appeared possible, that if he were not destined for slaughter, he might
exist amongst them happily enough. Far different was it with poor Diego;
he was more than thirty years of age, his habits were all confirmed, and
it had been no small trial for him to leave Europe at all, though his
affection for his master had led him to a country which he considered
uncivilized at the best--of course, the prospect before him was doubly
appalling; and although he bore it like a man, and a Christian also, by
lifting up his heart to God, and praying for resignation, yet his
spirits were depressed with the deepest sorrow, and he would have been
thankful for relief, even by the hands of death. He had heard of the
cruelty of the Indians to their prisoners; and they never turned their
eyes upon him but he expected they were about to scalp him; and it might
be truly said--

    "_He died a thousand deaths in fearing one._"

About noon, the party again entered a mighty forest, to the great relief
of poor Manuel, who had long suffered from the heat, and whose galled
and wearied limbs, when at length they alighted, refused to sustain him
when he was taken from the horse, so that he fell as if dead on the
roots of a huge tree, beneath which the party were assembling. On seeing
this, his new master gave him some water from a calibash, which was
extremely refreshing to him, and afterwards some maize so prepared as to
answer the purpose of bread, together with a small strip of dried
venison. When the poor boy put it to his lips, he thought he could not
swallow it, but when the first mouthful was gone, he found his appetite
return to voraciousness, and he eagerly ate all that had been given to
him. After this he dropped asleep, almost instantly, and doubtless
continued unconscious of any thing many hours, since he was lifted upon
the horse, and had travelled a long way, without being aware of his
removal.

In two days afterwards, the troop arrived at the banks of a considerable
river, where the wives and children of the party were waiting for them,
furnished with plenty of provisions, which were now exceedingly wanted,
also with canoes, by which they crossed the river.

After passing this boundary, their watchfulness over their prisoners
greatly relaxed, being evidently unnecessary, since it was plain they
had no chance for returning. Every thing now conspired to shew them that
there was indeed a great gulf placed between them and the world behind
them. All vestiges of civilized life had been lost to them nearly ever
since they were carried away, and woods, almost equally impervious with
the stream, to any but Indian feet, shut them out from all intercourse
with their countrymen. They were surrounded by a new race of beings, who
held them as enemies, though they had never offended them, and who,
probably, only preserved them in order to make them a future sacrifice,
and to whose imperious will they must in the mean time stoop, in the
same slavery to which, it is true, they had seen many fellow-men (the
negroes) devoted, but had never till now conceived that they could bend
themselves.

Three days more elapsed before they reached the town, or settlement, of
this Indian tribe; it lay on the banks of a stream which feeds the Red
River (or Nachitoches), which, after passing through a great extent of
country, scarcely known (even to the enterprising inhabitants of the
United States), falls into the Mississippi in Louisiana. Here they were
met by all the inhabitants, who came forth from their wigwams, or huts,
to congratulate them on their safe return, and the success of their
expedition, in which a valuable booty had been secured, without the loss
of a single Indian. Manuel perceived that his master, who was called
Tustanuggi, was held in high respect; but yet he learned that he was
only a kind of second chief, the first being out with a troop of
warriors, who were engaged in warfare against the nation of Alonquas.

Tustanuggi took Manuel to his hut, whilst another Indian made signs to
Diego to follow _him_. This destination wrung the poor boy to the
heart; he had no comfort on the face of the earth, but that of being
near the faithful servant whom he had known from his cradle, and whom he
well knew was willing to die in his behalf. Rushing forward, despite of
his terrors, he threw himself into Diego's arms, clung round him, and
sobbed on his bosom, in all that agony of sorrow and affection natural
to his age and his situation.

On seeing this, one of the old Indians drew the young boys around, who
were nearest the age of Manuel, and pointing out to them the weakness of
this Christian youth, earnestly exhorted them never to give way to such
weakness, especially before their enemies. He condemned tears, as a
folly which belonged exclusively to women, and told them "the sons of
their father should spurn it, as the proof of cowardice, and the
companion of guilt." When the weeping boy heard this, he tried to wipe
his eyes and look manful; but the grief of his heart was so great, it
admitted not of control; he felt that he was torn from his last friend,
for Diego was mother, sister, father, and friend, to him who was
henceforward to be utterly desolate. His bitter sobs would have awakened
compassion in the heart of any human being, save an Indian; but they
are taught from infancy to quell all the natural feelings of the heart,
and to despise that in which they disdain to sympathize.

Manuel was at length torn from Diego's bosom, but not before he had
whispered to him an assurance of his love and watchfulness, and an
exhortation "to attend to the words of all the Indians whom he should
hear speaking of them."

Exhausted by the passion of sorrow he had undergone, Manuel now entered
the wigwam of his enslaver, and after a short time, cast round his eyes
to recognise his future situation. The wife of Tustanuggi was a woman
apparently turned of thirty, and might be called a good-looking squaw;
she was named Moscogi. They had two children, the eldest a boy about a
year older than Manuel, the other a female child under two years; all
were in the hut, and appeared anxious to pay all possible attention to
the master of it, who received every mark of honour and affection in
silence, neither encouraging their freedom, nor returning their
caresses.

It is well known that the Spaniards are a proud people, of stately
manners, and little given to that lively intercourse among strangers to
which the French and other countries are subject. Within their own
families this formality is entirely dispensed with, and there is a
deep-seated affection towards those to whom they are attached by
domestic ties, of the warmest description, and which displays itself by
a thousand trifling attentions, indicative of what is passing in their
hearts. When, therefore, Manuel perceived the coldness Tustanuggi
displayed towards his own wife and children, after he had been so long
divided from them (for Moscogi had not been one of the wives who
attended on the river to forward their views), he could not help
thinking, that to him he would be more severe than he had apprehended,
and that his future life was devoted to a hard-hearted master, whom no
submission could move, no service could soften.

This surmise did not appear to be well founded; Tustanuggi demanded
nothing more than it was easy to perform, and when a failure took place,
he resorted to no mode of punishment beyond quiet reproof. His wife
partook his manners; she displayed none of that pity towards the
captive, which his too frequent tears and evident suffering might have
awakened; neither was she petulant or exacting in her manners. Silent
and collected, with a pensive aspect, but unrepining temper, she
performed her allotted task in the management of her household, and
seemed to find her reward in the smiles and caresses of her little girl;
for the boy, although he obeyed her commands, appeared to have little
affection for her person.

Often did Manuel look towards this boy, as if he hoped to find in him a
friend and playmate, for so we find, in general, all children of the
same age do look towards each other, whatever may be the difference of
their country, their situation in life, or their education; for nature
alike inclines them to play and to friendship. But his efforts towards
conciliating the good will of this young Indian were fruitless; he felt,
in the glances of his keen black eye, that he was a despised creature,
whom the little savage would have delighted to destroy; and he learnt,
by several questions put to his mother, that Manuel was expected by and
by to form a subject of sport for the boys, who hoped they might be
permitted to torture him to death. On hearing this, Manuel listened, it
may be supposed, with terrible interest to every thing that was said,
and became anxious to the greatest degree to recal every word he had
obtained from the Choctaws.

The second night spent in the wigwam was disturbed by the loud shrieks
of the infant, who was seized with some internal disorder, for which the
mother appeared to have no remedy, and which evidently awoke all her
feelings as such. Manuel had frequently looked at this child with great
interest, for he felt that she could not be his enemy; and besides, he
was a boy of a truly compassionate disposition towards every one; so
that it was natural he should rise eagerly and offer his assistance,
though he knew not in what way to be useful.

They had not hitherto taken his clothes from him, and in taking them up
in the dark, he got hold the wrong way, in consequence of which, a few
little sugared balls, of the nature of peppermint-drops, which had got
into the crevices of his pockets, rolled out on the floor. He well
remembered that they were given to him on his birthday, but he did not
know that there were any left, and he gathered them up very eagerly,
thinking that their sweetness would render them pleasant to the child,
to whom he carried them immediately, using the most affectionate
gestures he could, to induce her to take them. The father had by this
time struck a light, and with much less apathy than usual, gazed upon
his child, and suggested means for its relief, which, however, did not
appear in the least availing. Very soon, however, after the little
sufferer had swallowed the comfits given her by Manuel, a great change
took place, for the disorder probably proceeding from flatulence, the
peppermint was extremely good for it, by expelling the wind. In a short
time those alarming shrieks (so rarely heard in an Indian cottage) had
ceased, her eyes again shone brightly, her labouring chest ceased to
heave, and, as if sensible to whom she owed her restoration, she held
out her arms to Manuel, who, taking her fondly to his bosom, lay down
with her, and had soon the satisfaction of seeing her fast asleep and
perfectly restored.

This amendment, which appeared almost miraculous in the eyes of the
squaw, as might be supposed, was very valuable to Manuel, not only by
disposing the hearts of the family favourably to him, but by inspiring
the idea that he was become exceedingly attached to them. They had no
idea of the existence of a principle of humanity like that which really
affected his mind, because with them no general virtue or affection can
be said to exist, such feelings never passing the bounds of family or
country. To these they are firmly, inviolably attached; what they want
in vividness and acuteness, they make up in depth and perseverance; but
never have the divine doctrines of forgiveness of enemies, universal
love of their fellow-creatures, or pity for their misfortunes, been
inculcated amongst them.

On the following morning, Tustanuggi convened a meeting of the chiefs
and fathers of the settlement, which consisted of nearly three hundred
huts, and afforded about thirty men of importance. To this meeting he
took Manuel, and having placed him before them, declared "his intention
of henceforth establishing him in his own household," in consequence of
the talent which he protested he possessed of relieving sickness, and
also in the belief of his management of horses, whom, in like manner, he
expected him to cure.

Manuel heard this in silence, and with as much composure as he could
assume; but his consciousness of total ignorance on those points, and
his knowledge that not a single comfit remained now in his clothing, and
of course that he had no power of cure in any future occurrence of the
same nature as that of the preceding night, rendered him very unhappy.
Earnestly did he desire to explain his situation, but the remembrance of
Diego's advice had weight with him, and he studied to repress all
emotion, even when the most aged man in the circle thus replied to his
master--

"Son, thou hast spoken well; the Great Spirit hath doubtless sent this
child amongst us, to preserve our children and our horses; see thou to
him, that he become a man amongst men, and learn the usages of a true
son of the Cumanches. The other Spaniard whom thou broughtest shall
await the day when the warriors return; then shall he be brought to the
feast, and the fire, and die with the enemies of the nation."

Every one present applauded this sentence of the aged chief, and in
their self-gratulations observed not the situation of poor Manuel,
whose blood was frozen with horror, when he thought on the fate which
threatened his faithful Diego, whom, he apprehended, remained a prisoner
in the house to which he had been taken, since he had never seen him
since the time of their arrival.




  CHAPTER IV.


When Tustanuggi returned home, he presented Manuel to Moscogi, his wife,
and Uswega, his son, as one "who was henceforth to share their table and
their home, not as a slave, but a son," information received by the
squaw with evident pleasure, but by the son with disappointment,
although, in common with all Indian sons, he reverenced his father too
much to express his dissent, obedience being one of the chief virtues of
these people.

The master of the house then proceeded, with an air of great solemnity,
to strip off Manuel's clothes entirely, and rub his body completely with
some kind of greasy mixture, which was in the first place extremely
disagreeable, but was certainly necessary to guard his body from the
musquitos and other flies, if for the rest of his life he was to go
nearly naked, like the people by whom he was surrounded. He next put
mocassins on his feet, a calico shirt over his shoulders, and a silver
fillet round his head, and completed his dress by bracelets and armlets,
having first cut his hair in the usual fashion of the tribe.

When Uswega beheld him thus metamorphosed, though he had seen the
process sullenly, he yet condescended to shew him how to hold his spear,
and proposed taking him to join the boys of the town, who, at his age,
learnt to throw the hatchet, or use the bow and arrow.

To this the father made no objection, farther than to say, that on the
morrow the son of the pale man must begin his duties of attending the
horses, an employment he must share with the other captive, until the
return of the warriors. Manuel was glad to hear he should so soon see
his fellow-sufferer, but yet he dreaded answering the questions he would
naturally ask; and again he spent a sleepless, ruminating night.

To his great relief, when on the morrow he met Diego, the poor man saw
only, in the improved condition of his young master, reason to hope the
same consideration would be extended to himself. This conclusion he had
the greater right to make, because he knew himself to be a valuable
groom, and that he had been of great use to several of the horses they
had stolen from his master, and which, he observed, "it was quite
natural he should have a regard for, wherever they might happen to be."
He told Manuel every thing respecting the management of these noble
animals, likely to be of use to him in his future occupation, repeatedly
adding, "and it will be a strange thing indeed, if after a time, you and
I being well mounted, and having well trained our horses, cannot make
our escape, either to the Red River, at the time when some trading
vessels are upon it, or to the Christian town of Nachitoches, to which
it will be our guide."

Every time they met (which was now twice a-day), the instructions were
repeated, and the hopes expressed: but though Manuel heard the first
with due attention, the second frequently banished them from his mind,
since they inevitably led him to the dreadful recollection of that fate
which awaited poor Diego, and which was now frequently adverted to at
home by Uswega, as an approaching festival. At these moments, his eyes
would fill with tears, and he would try to throw himself into Diego's
arms, that he might hide the anguish of his heart, whilst he gratified
its impulse of affection; and scarcely did he know whether it was right
to tell the poor man, in order to give him the means of seeking to
escape or to die, or to preserve a silence, which saved him from a
contemplation of the most appalling and heart-rending nature.

One day, a large party of Indians set out to hunt in the woods, and
having observed that Diego was in every thing he did expert and
courageous, they took him with them, ordering Uswega, Manuel, and a few
other boys, to follow, for the purpose of collecting game, these
children being quick of eye and swift of foot. The scene was entirely
new to our Spanish boy, and with the hilarity natural to his age, he
soon forgot his sorrows, and eagerly joined in the sport, feeling, for
the first time, that it would be possible to him to live happy in that
wild state, whilst actively employed, although he was miserable when in
a state of indolence. During their excursion he saw several wild beasts,
which were chased and killed with an amazing dexterity by the naked
Indians, at the very moment of their becoming in the utmost danger; and
he knew not how to admire sufficiently their presence of mind, the
management of their weapons, and the acuteness of their perceptions; and
he again thought they were a wonderful people. He had always had a great
taste for natural history, as many children have, and had been permitted
by his father to have a little aviary in the garden, in which he was
making a collection of birds, at the time of his misfortune. He now saw
innumerable birds, of form and plumage such as he had formed no idea of,
and particularly the condor eagle, the vulture, and the wild turkey,
contrasted with innumerable small and exquisitely beautiful birds, blue,
green, and crimson, which darted like living gems from tree to tree,
their own vivid hues catching the slanting beams of the sun as they
penetrated the forest. These objects he might have noticed during his
journey, but his mind was then sunk in all the stupor which follows a
sudden and terrible misfortune; he was now to a certain degree
recovered, and being at that happy season of life "when the tear is
forgot as soon as shed," he became capable of receiving at least a
transitory pleasure, from the novelty of every thing around him.

Alas! poor Manuel's pleasure was indeed transitory; whilst gazing on an
immense group of parroquets, who seemed to have taken possession of a
beautiful flowering plant, and looked like moving foliage themselves, he
was startled by a loud cry of pain and terror, and the voice that
uttered it was doubtless Diego's.

Manuel hastened to the spot where several Indians were standing, and
amongst them lay the unfortunate Spaniard, who had been bitten in the
hand by a rattlesnake, as he was searching for a bird that had been shot
by one of the company. The reptile had been instantly killed, but no
attention whatever was paid to the wounded man, which not only
distressed, but surprised Manuel exceedingly, as he had repeatedly heard
that these people possessed a cure for the bite of this dreadful animal.
In this distress he forgot his caution, and addressed every word in his
power to use (as taught him by the Choctaws), first to one and then to
another of the Indians, imploring them to assist Diego; but they either
heard him in perfect silence, or commanded him "not to trouble them,
seeing his friend was dying."

Meantime, Diego, in the agony of pain, earnestly besought the boy to
cease his lamentations, and assist him by his prayers, seeing that he
had not an hour to live.--"Pray for me, my dear Manuel," said he, "for,
alas! I have no minister of religion to comfort me at this awful moment;
and when I am gone, pray for yourself to that gracious God who can guard
you in an Indian hut, as well as in your father's house. Oh! I have been
much to blame, that when I gave you instructions how to manage your
horses, I did not tell you also to hold fast your religion, to pray
night and morning to your blessed Saviour; promise me that you will--it
is the only comfort you can give me."

Poor Manuel, almost choked with grief, promised this, and began to
repeat aloud his own evening prayer; but the increasing pangs of poor
Diego rendered _him_ unable to do more than cry fervently on Heaven for
help, mingling with petitions for his soul, prayers for the deliverance
of Manuel, who continued to kneel by him and kiss him, till the last
awful moment was passed, and his bloated, disfigured corpse lay before
him outstretched in the silence of death.

And thus he was compelled to leave it, for he had neither implements
wherewith to dig a grave, nor strength to drag it into any recess. He
wished he could have covered it, if only with leaves, but as he was
called upon by his master, all he was able to do was to take off the
cloak of Diego, and fasten it over the face, which he effected as
quickly as possible. In doing this he found a small book, which he took,
it being the only property their enslavers had left in his pocket, as
being to them useless.

It will be readily conceived by my dear young readers, how deeply Manuel
lamented the loss of this his only friend. Indeed, so lively was his
sorrow, that, to a certain degree, his Indian friends sympathized with
him; and Moscogi in particular lamented his loss, and shewed him
considerable pity. One word, however, of her hard-hearted son consoled
him for his present loss, much more than any circumstance beside could
possibly have done. The young barbarian lamented "that he was lost in
the woods, because he would not now afford them the opportunity of
torturing him to death;" and as Diego was a fine athletic man, the young
savage observed, "that it would be a great chance if any prisoner was
brought in, capable of living so long under the torments they had
intended to inflict upon him."

When therefore Manuel next fulfilled his promise, by offering up his
prayers, most devoutly did he thank the all-wise Disposer that his
faithful servant had been removed, by a death, which, though painful,
was only so for a short time, and which, in being accidental, was
infinitely preferable to that of murder and torture, which was prepared
for him.

In the act of lifting up his feeble voice and throbbing heart to God,
the poor boy found present comfort; and who shall dare to say that that
"still small voice" was not heard and answered by Him "whom the heaven
of heavens cannot contain?"




  CHAPTER V.


If such were the just conclusions of Manuel, whilst the day of sin and
sorrow was at a distance, much more decidedly did they soon become so.
About a fortnight after the death of Diego, the long-absent warriors
returned from a far-distant expedition, in which it was not doubted but
they had suffered great loss, although it was hoped, from their
long-tried valour, that eventual victory had crowned their expedition.
The conjectures proved just--it was a most striking scene, when, on
their first appearance, the whole population of the settlement turned
out to meet them; wives and children pressing forward to find their
husbands and fathers, or to ascertain the loss they trembled to learn.
At this awful moment, the wisdom they affect, and the apathy they
usually exhibit, all gave way before the dictates of nature, and mothers
clamorously demanded their sons, wives sought eagerly for their
husbands, and men demanded their friends and brothers.

When the result of the battle was known, the howlings and lamentations
that followed were absolutely astonishing; it appeared as if these
people, usually so firm and unmoved, had treasured up every warmer
feeling, that they might give them vent at one eventful moment, or as if
grief had suddenly rendered them frantic. The air resounded with their
cries--the most dolorous eloquence burst from their lips; and although
the women expressed their sorrow the most vehemently, the men joined
them in the strongest demonstrations of it; and the whole settlement
seemed moved as by one heart, and afflicted as by one sorrow. Manuel
stood amongst them as the only stranger, but such was his compassionate
nature, that he could not behold their affliction without in a degree
sharing it; and often did he recollect, that he too had lost not only a
friend, but parents, country, and home.

In the course of less than two hours, the principal warrior proclaimed
his success, and exhibited eleven prisoners, who were the trophies of
his victory: on this being known, the whole settlement passed in a
moment from this expression of uncontrollable grief to the wildest signs
of joy. They shouted in exultation, pressed round the prisoners, and
demanded that they should be given to them, and hastily began to arrange
the means of making a feast, and of torturing the prisoners--two
circumstances which always accompanied each other.

Before this important affair was settled, seven of the women, whose
husbands had been killed during the late affray, stepped forward, and
claimed the right of choosing each a partner from the prisoners, that he
might hunt for her and her children. This right was acknowledged by the
aged men who presided over the assembly; and accordingly seven of the
unhappy men condemned, though innocent, to suffer the most dreadful
death, were led by the squaws to their own wigwams, and four only were
left to glut the cruelty of the savages. The moment poor Manuel saw
these victims led towards stakes, which some of the party were placing
in the ground, he fled towards the place where the horses were
sheltered, and mounting one of those committed to his care, rode out, as
was his usual custom, towards the watering-place. By doing this, as if
it were a duty he ought not to omit, he escaped the derision of Uswega,
as well as the sight of barbarities it froze his blood to think upon:
and when he returned, finding no one in the hut but the young child, he
remained to take care of it, and in doing so, gained the praises of the
mother.

Manuel thought himself happy in thus escaping the horrible scene; but,
alas! he could not escape the recital with which his young companion
thought proper to oblige him; and such was its effect upon his spirits,
that all the grief which he had lately appeared to have conquered,
returned upon him; his appetite forsook him; his sleep was disturbed by
terrible dreams, in which he beheld Diego under those sufferings which
had been intended for him. Sometimes he would cry out--"Oh, do not tear
out his tongue!--let him speak to me once!--do not mangle him with those
hot pincers!" and so much was his mind impressed by the horrible
accounts he had received, that all the family were convinced he had
witnessed them, and gave strict orders that he should never go nigh any
prisoners again--an order which he had repeatedly reason to rejoice in
having received.

Most of the Indian tribes live by hunting, and this settlement of the
Cumanches cultivated only a small portion of maize, which was managed by
the women entirely, who although great slaves to their husbands, were
not so ingenious or industrious as many of the women are in less
ferocious tribes. Moscogi was, perhaps, the cleverest woman in the
settlement, and under her teaching, Manuel soon became expert in forming
straw mats, and weaving baskets, at such times as he was not employed
with the horses; but as his care of them (young as he was) had hitherto
given great satisfaction to Tustanuggi, he had not much time for in-door
employments. Happy was he to get a single half-hour to himself, in which
to read the little book he had found in Diego's pocket, and which was
entitled "The History of Saint Theresa." Perhaps had Manuel been at
home, he would never have looked at it, as being too serious for his
age, but now, as the only book he had, it was inestimable in his eyes;
and he read it over and over again with avidity, often thinking that the
good woman whose life was recorded, was more happy in her state of
suffering than if she had fallen into the hands of the Indians; for he
would say--"She suffered for her religion, and set a glorious example to
all the world; but here people are tormented for no fault, and die to no
end--they are lost in the wilderness, and no one knows what is become of
them.--Yes," he would add, "thou, Almighty Father, seest them, and
either in this world or another, thou wilt assuredly relieve them: I
will never cease to pray to thee, and hope in thee; and though I am but
a poor, lost child, perhaps thou wilt have mercy on me, and release me."

With such pious aspirations as these, the poor boy frequently comforted
himself, and by degrees he became so habituated to his mode of life,
that he appeared to those around him well satisfied with it, especially
as he grew fast, and looked remarkably well. The maize, prepared by
long boiling into a species of food called hominy, agreed well with him;
and when to this was added a portion of venison, he considered himself
well fed, and forgot the dainties of his father's table, though he never
forgot for an hour the dear parents who provided them. The first winter
he lived with the Cumanches, inured him to that evil which they think
(and justly perhaps) their greatest misfortune, viz. the want of
sufficient nourishment; and after experiencing that for several weeks
together, it was no wonder that he afterwards ate moderately, and with
high relish, whatever was given to him.

It is only justice to Tustanuggi to say, that in the time of scarcity,
Manuel shared the scanty fare of the family as a son, and that his own
temperance offered an excellent example to those around him. Manuel had
at this period gained a complete knowledge of the language, and as he
attended many meetings of the warriors and elders, he was frequently
struck with the wisdom of their remarks on the common duties of life,
and the peculiar virtues called for in emergencies of this nature. Child
as he was, he could yet see the folly of their conduct, in persisting
so pertinaciously in the way of their ancestors, by never cultivating
land, that they subjected themselves to starve in the midst of plenty,
and in the possession of an immense expanse of fruitful country,
remained liable to the most positive want.

So soon as there was a prospect of success, the men set out on various
hunting expeditions, alike for the purpose of procuring food for
themselves, and the means of barter, for clothes and blankets; this
tribe greatly preferring the calico shirts and the blankets, which they
procured by that medium, to the skins made up by themselves. Tustanuggi
and his two boys were generally very fortunate, and procured many
valuable skins, which the former intended to dispose of, together with a
portion of his mules and horses, to the traders who annually came up the
Red River for that purpose. To these visitants Manuel could alone look
as the future means of his liberation, and therefore he carefully
listened to every word which could throw any light on the subject of
their arrival, the time they remained, the distance of the settlement
from the Red River, the direction in which it flowed, and the
probability that he should be concerned with any negociation. He even
learned as much of their language as he could obtain at second-hand, as
he found many of the Indians spoke a little, and he thought that a few
words would suffice to tell them who he was, and to move their
compassion; and many a sleepless hour did he pass, in contriving the
means of escape to their vessel, and arranging the words with which he
would address the commander.

Poor Manuel, when the time came, had the mortification to find that all
his ingenuity and his hopes had been excited in vain. Tustanuggi not
only set out without him, but by his manner, indicated suspicion of that
which was really passing in his mind, as he gave him to understand,
"that any effort to escape would be severely punished," and recommended
him to use double diligence towards the horses. This disappointment he
felt severely; but he had the good sense to subdue his emotion, and by
that means he eluded the vigilance of Moscogi, and at least obtained the
mournful privilege of weeping in secret over his misfortunes.




  CHAPTER VI.


Tustanuggi returned in good humour, for he had sold his horses to
advantage, and bought blankets, which he greatly needed, and rum, which
he liked much too well; and for some days a scene of drunkenness ensued,
very inconsistent with the boasted wisdom and gravity of the Indians.
Uswega, who had accompanied his father to the Red River for the first
time, was exalted exceedingly by the honour conferred on him, and
treated Manuel with the utmost contempt, forbidding him "to consider
himself a Cumanche, or to associate with the boys of the settlement as
he was wont to do;" and as his father appeared to warrant this
insolence, since he did not reprove it, the stranger was, of course,
compelled to submit. Formerly, when the youth of the town went in the
cool of the evening to throw the hatchet, or the spear, and to shoot
with their arrows, or pitch their darts, Manuel constantly made one of
the party; and as he was singularly expert for his age, and the time he
had practised, many of them were delighted to see him come amongst them;
but now, all held themselves at a distance, and took care often to
remind him, "that he had no red man's blood in his veins--he was a
stranger, the son of the pale man, with whom they held no affinity."

It is very probable that, cautious as poor Manuel had been in guarding
his words at the time when he sought to escape, that he had betrayed
himself in his sleep, in consequence of which, confidence was withdrawn
from him by the father; and the son (who had been always inclined to
treat him ill) thus gained a power of effecting his wishes. The mother
and the child, however, remained attached to him, and the caresses of
the latter, in a great degree, consoled him for her brother's ill
treatment. He now abstained from seeking any play, and applied himself
to making baskets with double diligence; and forbore to reply when he
was twitted by the boys with being "fit only for a woman," though, like
all his sex, he felt it as a terrible insult. From being a lively, gay,
and most amusing child, he sank into a deeply thinking little man,
obtaining a kind of premature wisdom, far from being desirable at his
early age. Living in the midst of people who, though ignorant, were
cunning, treacherous, and implacable, he found all the sweetest
affections of the heart, the bland ingenuousness of youth, blighted, as
it were, in their bud; and he was constrained, from the principle of
self-preservation, to weigh even the most insignificant words before he
uttered them--to repress a sigh for the home he had lost, or a smile to
the companion with whom he played, lest they should subject him to
anger, which might be deadly, or imprisonment, which might be final.

One day, when poor Manuel had a little more time than usual, from
Tustanuggi having taken out the horses himself, he ventured to a little
thicket near the town, where the boys were wont to assemble. As soon as
he was seen, the young fry set up a shout, but it was one of joy rather
than welcome, for in a minute they all assembled round him, and
instantly began to bind him, under the direction of Uswega; and he was
given to understand that they were going to fix him in the opposite
tree, in order to furnish them a mark at which to throw their hatchets
or tomahawks. One of the boys told him good naturedly, that their object
was to throw as near as possible to his body, but to avoid injuring
him; but though this was better than his first expectation, he could not
flatter himself that such young and unskilful hands could effect their
purpose; and in a silent prayer he recommended his soul to God, and also
begged a blessing on his far-distant parents.

At this time he was placed with his back to the tree, to which he was
firmly bound. Knowing that no entreaties would alter the intentions of
the Indian boys, and that all complaint would but subject him to their
ridicule, he determined to endure his fate with firmness; and although
he could not forbear shutting his eyes when the first of these
tremendous weapons came whizzing close to his ears, not a single word
escaped his lips, and many of the boys praised his unshrinking firmness.
He learnt from their conversation, that the boy who should touch him
would forfeit his weapon; it was therefore probable, that each would try
to avoid to his utmost; but he found also that not one of the young
urchins attached the slightest idea of harm to killing him, or even
supposed they would be blamed for mangling him in the most terrible
manner.

One after another did the hatchets approach the shuddering victim; yet
such was the practice and abilities of the boys, that no wound was
given, until the eleventh struck into the calf of his leg, from which
the blood gushed in a torrent.

On seeing the sanguine stream flow from their innocent and uncomplaining
victim, a loud shout of derision was uttered against him who had thrown
the last tomahawk; but no pity was evinced for Manuel, who would
probably have received the next weapon in a more vital part, if a
dispute had not arisen as to whose property the forfeited one had
become. Happily for him, Tustanuggi had heard the shout, and turned his
horse towards the place from whence it proceeded. The animal he rode was
one of those originally stolen from Don Manuel, the only one remaining
unsold; and having been lately very ill, had been attended to by the
poor boy, who was the companion of his theft, with unusual care,
according to the well-remembered directions of Diego--a circumstance
which had given Tustanuggi a much kinder sensation towards our young
friend than he had evinced for a considerable time. Under the influence
of this sentiment, on seeing his present situation, he galloped hastily
to his rescue, and loudly reproved the troop around him, particularly
blaming his own son for suffering them to injure the boy, who was his
father's property. He then applied a ligature to Manuel's leg, assisted
him to mount his horse, and conveyed him speedily home, where his wound
was dressed by Moscogi with great care, as she applied to it a poultice
of cooling herbs, and bandaged it with a skill which would not have
disgraced an accomplished surgeon.

Whilst this was doing, the poor boy (whose generous heart was easily
touched by kindness) felt, towards both his master and mistress, a sense
of gratitude which almost amounted to affection, and enabled him not
only to forgive the cruel treatment of their son, but to conceal all the
share he had taken in the late affair. Uswega was sensible of this,
since he heard the questions of Tustanuggi, and from this time his dark
looks ceased to threaten him; but yet it was evident that he despised
him for the very conduct by which he profited; for as revenge is a
principle implanted in the Indian from his very birth, he considers it
an act of weakness to lose any opportunity of taking vengeance.

Here let my young reader pause, and whilst reflecting on the vices of
this misguided boy, let him devoutly and humbly thank his Almighty
Father that he was born of Christian parents, in a Christian land; let
him rejoice in that his heart is tender, that he can love, and pity, and
relieve, every human being, knowing that he is commanded so to do, by
that blessed Redeemer who laid down his life on the cross for sinners;
and let him anxiously nourish these feelings, lest he should in any
degree become hard-hearted, cruel, and revengeful, like the Indian of
whom we speak: he must remember that he has not, like Uswega, ignorance
to plead in excuse of such sin and folly.




  CHAPTER VII.


Manuel now lay for several weeks on the mat in the tent, unable to move,
suffering severe pain, and that sickness and weariness which is the
consequence of confinement. During this period, a messenger arrived from
a distant settlement of the Cumanche nation, calling upon them to go to
war with the Choctaws, who were said to have made an irruption on their
town.

The summons was met on the part of the Cumanches with great spirit, for
an Indian in general thinks that fighting is the great business of life;
and so subject are the various nations of Indians to warfare, that they
have always remained few in number; and with a beautiful and fruitful
country, rich in all the means of life, and capable of giving abundance
to myriads, have continued to be mere patches of population, scattered
over a continent that may give birth to empires. Had they been united in
mind, flourishing in numbers, and improving in the arts of life, no
stranger could have entered their country and taken possession of their
birthright: they could not have been so situated that other nations
might say (as they have said, in fact, and might do it with
truth)--"Give place to me, for I am worthier than thou." In their
history, every member of a family may see the value of union among
themselves.

Manuel was surprised to see the numerous preparations now made by
Tustanuggi for entering on the ensuing campaign. He had seen many
instances of extraordinary personal vanity among the Cumanches, and
found that the beaux of Spain were not more particular in their love of
ornament than the barbarian beaux of an Indian settlement; but it is
certain he did not suspect that a man of his master's age and gravity
could be guilty of such weakness, till he beheld his present anxiety on
the subject. It appeared to be an object of the last importance, in the
present case, that his personal appearance should be imposing; and for
this purpose, himself, his wife, and his son, were fully employed.

In the first place, his head was carefully shaved, on either side of the
head, leaving a ridge of hair standing up in the middle, like a cock's
comb; and in this state it was first rubbed with bear's grease, and then
well powdered with swan's-down. The sides of his head were then painted
with vermilion; and his ears, which had already been slit, were so
loaded with ornaments, that they hung low down on his neck, and were
made nearly to meet behind. Long black streaks were carried round his
eyes, and spots of the same hue on his cheeks, so as to render his
countenance terrific; but in his own opinion, and that of his wife, it
was the perfection of beauty, not less than terror. It was certain, that
when fully equipped, his appearance was grand and martial. He had a
hunting shirt made of a beautiful deer-skin, which descended nearly to
his knees; a belt, richly worked with beads of a scarlet colour, in
which was slung his tomahawk; and he held gracefully in his hand a
spear, of large dimensions. Thus equipped, he placed himself at the head
of a small body, similarly ornamented and accoutred, forming one of
three bodies, who were led by an experienced warrior as the general.

Moscogi evidently felt much anxiety on the subject of her husband's
return; for little as the feelings of affection may be exercised, the
wants of nature create a bond in the domestic life of a savage.--"Who
will get us venison, if thy father falls?" were words frequently
addressed to the little girl; for Uswega was seldom in the hut; and
often did the heart of Manuel answer--"I will hunt for you--work for
you;" for he was grateful for the kindness she had lately shown him; and
he thought it very wrong in her son to stay at home so little, at a time
when his mother required comfort. He found, however, that in general the
sons of other women were attentive to their wants; and that on the death
of a warrior, if their sons had attained manhood, they cheerfully
undertook to provide for their widowed parent.

When Manuel was able once more to take exercise on horseback, his
strength returned quickly, and as provisions were now very plentiful, he
was well fed, and soon recovered his good looks. It was observed, "that
he had grown much during his confinement," so that he was now very tall
of his age; and it is probable that when Moscogi looked at him, she
thought he might hereafter be as a son to her, seeing his obedience to
her wishes, and his efforts to give her pleasure, far exceeded those of
Uswega; and to him the child looked for all the pleasure her monotonous
existence permitted.

Before the return of the warriors took place, the town was enlivened by
the arrival of a party who had made a successful sally in pursuit of
booty, to some town or village on the frontier, and brought back several
horses, two of which were particularly valuable. Often did poor Manuel
look wistfully at these animals, and wonder whether they also had been
stolen from his father; and the sight of them brought forcibly to his
mind those images which had naturally faded in the memory of one so
young, and so continually called upon to attend to his personal duties
and precarious safety. From what he could gather, through Uswega, who
was now more conversant with him than formerly, they had been brought
from a still greater distance than San Antonio, and were thought to be
injured from the length of the journey. In consequence of this surmise,
notwithstanding the absence of his master, they were given, in a great
measure, into Manuel's care, on account of the lightness of his weight,
the gentleness of his treatment, and the skill he had already evinced
in discerning the diseases of horses, and prescribing for them properly.

Despite of all his care, one of these valuable creatures soon sunk under
its complaint, and the other remained too unwell to be taken to the Red
River, when the season arrived for the annual visit of the traders; so
that poor Manuel's chance for seeing them, and regaining his liberty,
again went past unimproved; but it did not by any means affect him in
the same way it had done before. He comforted himself with inwardly
observing that he had excited no suspicion, that he was on good terms
with all around him, and that if he continued to grow up strong and
hearty, the time would come when his master would need his services, and
perhaps grant him freedom, as a reward for them, which would be safer
and better than seeking it by a medium which would expose him to
lingering destruction.

At length the warriors returned, and again the whole population rushed
out to receive them, and repeat the tragic mourning, and the barbarous
rejoicing. To the great relief of Manuel, Moscogi was not among the
widows, for Tustanuggi returned to his family; but by no means in the
health in which he had departed, for he had lost much blood by the
wounds he had received, and was evidently weak and dispirited. He saw
with surprise the improvement which had taken place in Manuel, whom he
had left on the bed of pain, pale and languid; and it was evident that
he believed, as before, that the poor boy possessed some extraordinary
knowledge of the art of healing, which he desired to benefit by--a
conception that of course was very distressing to one who knew himself
ignorant of the way to help him.

Happily the prisoners were few in number; and after the usual allotment
had been made, two only remained for slaughter, and these were reserved
until the night of the full moon, for some reason connected with the
superstitions which indicate the only sense of religion they display;
although it is certain that their orators frequently refer to a future
state of existence, and speak of the Great Spirit as the rewarder of
good and evil. Truly happy was Manuel to hear of this respite, for he
flattered himself that some other person might be found to claim them,
not yet sensible of their own wants; nor could he forbear to busy
himself with plans for their liberation, especially after Uswega had
informed him that one or both would be roasted at a slow fire, and
pointed out the wood intended for the occasion. So far, however, was he
from being able to assist them to escape, that he never could learn in
whose wigwam they were confined; and indeed there was every reason to
believe they would not themselves have consented to fly, for the courage
of endurance is so great in them, that they have a pride in suffering,
which enables them to sustain unheard-of tortures, and to challenge the
inflictors to invent still greater.

Tustanuggi, under the care of his wife and Manuel, and principally in
consequence of the repose he enjoyed, soon regained his usual health;
and as he imputed this, in a great measure, to the charm which he
imagined to be connected with the Spanish boy, of course he became more
a favourite with him than before; so that at length Manuel thought he
might venture to speak a word in favour of the prisoners, whose death
had already been delayed till the following new moon. Such was his
influence at this time with his master, and so great had become that
master's importance from his courage and conduct, that a consultation
was actually held on the subject, which was certainly a most
extraordinary compliment to the young pleader, and probably without a
precedent in the annals of the nation, and by no means likely to ensure
the favour of the public for the original mover.

When Tustanuggi made this proposal to the assembled warriors, he gave,
as a reason, the welfare of the community, who might, in his opinion, be
more benefitted by retaining the prisoners as slaves, than sacrificing
them for a temporary gratification.

In reply to this, an aged man observed--"That although the health of
Tustanuggi (who was dear to them all as a son and a chieftain) had been
indeed restored by the Spanish boy, who also had been useful to the
horses, and was undoubtedly a prize of great value to the Cumanches,
such arguments did not apply to the prisoners, who were Indians like
themselves, gifted with no power over diseases, but able and willing to
die the death of the brave, and that it would be alike an injury to
their friends and enemies, to alter the customs of their fathers on the
present occasion."

This advice being received with due applause by all the assembly,
Tustanuggi departed in silence, and this he preserved after his return
to the tent; so that Manuel knew not the consequences of his mediation,
though he too truly guessed that it was not successful. He was, however,
by this time, so well aware of the habits of the Indians, that he
abstained from asking any questions; and aware that he had risked his
own safety, he appeared to forget the subject, and redoubled his
attention both to his master and the ailing horse already mentioned.

A short hunting excursion, in which Manuel was included (and in which he
was very useful, and therefore distinguished), relieved his mind from
the anxiety he had lately felt, when the moon arrived at that period
fixed on for sacrifice. The unusual bustle in the town, and the pleasure
manifested by Uswega, told him what was going forward, for Tustanuggi
abstained, with much delicacy to his feelings, or with some mysterious
reference to his own amendment, from speaking on the subject.

Gathering his materials together, Manuel sat down on the ground, to make
himself a bundle of arrows, not sorry to find himself alone, for even
the child would have been a trouble to him at this moment, when his
heart was heavy, and his spirit restless.

Seeing he could do no possible good in the case, and that he had already
risked his own welfare, perhaps even his life, in the service of these
unknown savages, who were most probably not less vindictive and cruel
than their persecutors, he thought the best thing he could now do, was,
if possible, to banish them from his mind altogether, by bustling about,
and going from one employment to another. This, however, he could only
accomplish within the hut, for he would not go out, lest the fires or
the victim should come before his sight, as it happened to be within a
little distance, and almost in a direct line from the place of execution
pointed out by Uswega.

But it was in vain Manuel tried to polish an arrow, weave a mat, or sift
the maize for boiling; he could not read in his book, which was
generally the best expedient he found for restoring his mind to
tranquillity; nor even frame one sentence of prayer to that God whom yet
his heart looked towards as its only source of consolation. The
circumstance of the prisoners being Choctaws, not only gave them a
peculiar interest in his mind, but recalled more vividly than he had
lately felt it, attachment to his family and his country. Every little
circumstance connected with his first view of the Indians, and his
communication with them afterwards, rose to his mind; and with these
remembrances came a bitter sense of his own banishment. His own dress
and imitations of the Choctaws--the innocent delight of his little
sister--the fond smile and kiss of his tender mother--and the
observations of his beloved father, rose to his mind; and though the
tears slowly rolled down his cheek, he yet felt that it was sweet to
recal the dear images to his mind, and dwell in idea on those features
he would never more behold.

By a natural movement he placed his hands over his eyes, to exclude
sight of the objects around him, in order that he might with better
effect concentrate his thoughts, and feed his imagination with
recollections of each of those relations. Father, mother, sister, and
baby-brother, each rose successively before him, endued with every
beauty that could give grace to their forms, and every quality that
could endear them to the heart, in his partial view; and he wondered
how it could happen that he could forget any one of them for a single
hour.--"Not even you, little Juan," said he, as, in idea, he gazed on
the fair child in its mother's lap.

Just at this moment he was startled from his sweetly-sorrowful reverie,
by the entrance of some person into the hut. He took his hands from his
eyes slowly, for he feared that the traces of tears might be displeasing
to his master. But no master did he behold--a terrific spectre, such as
his imagination, in its most vivid moments, could never have conceived,
alone stood before him for a moment, and then staggered forward and
fell, muttering, in an almost suffocated voice, a desire for water.

This was one of the victims, then in the course of torture; and with an
agony to which no words can do justice, Manuel perceived also that he
was the very Choctaw to whom, in days past, he had attached himself.
Though his newly-scalped head was all one bloody wound, and one eye was
torn from its socket, there was still some likeness left in his mangled
form, which he recognised at the instant, and which served to increase
the horror, pity, rage, and consternation, which agitated his heart,
and rendered him for a short time utterly incapable of fulfilling the
wretched creature's request. He was absolutely sick with the revolting
spectacle, even whilst he would have given worlds to have relieved its
misery: his knees smote each other; his teeth chattered; his hands
refused their office; he believed himself to be actually expiring.

Again the poor wretch begged for water; and as he had thrown himself on
the ground, his mutilated body was less exposed; and Manuel, rousing all
the man within him, tried to fulfil his wishes. He brought him pure
water, in a small vessel, which he held to his mouth (alas! he had no
longer lips), and had soon the satisfaction to perceive that he
swallowed it with avidity and thankfulness.

Having given him all that he would take, he went out himself for air,
and rushing as fast as his trembling limbs permitted towards the open
country, he soon placed himself beyond the view of the fire and the
crowd, when he threw himself on the ground, and a flood of tears in some
measure dispersed that swelling of the breast, which was so great as to
threaten his instant destruction.

It is well-known, that the wretched victims of Indian ferocity are
frequently permitted to rest during the time when they are undergoing
torture, and that they will even sleep some hours in that deplorable
situation. On this detestable subject we are unable to dilate; the heart
sickens--the blood curdles as we approach it; nor will we afflict our
young readers, or our own feelings, with one word on so revolting a
theme, beyond what is necessary for the development of poor Manuel's
feelings, and the progress of his story.

For nearly two hours the unhappy boy sat on the ground, almost stupified
with contending emotions; sometimes he was overwhelmed with pity; at
others with anger; and several times he started on his feet, determined
to run into the midst of the crowd, and protest against their
proceedings, even at the risk of sharing the horrible sufferings he had
witnessed. There can be little doubt, that such would have been his
conduct, had this circumstance happened soon after his arrival, for he
was by nature high-souled and courageous (as he had proved to be, in
the affair of the tomahawks); but as he had now been nearly two years
among these people, their habits of caution and deep rumination were
grafted on his own quick passions. In consequence, he forbore all
present action; and recollecting the hour for attending the horses was
near, he withdrew for the purpose of watering them; and found the
exercise salutary, in somewhat dissipating the terrible oppression of
his spirits.

Whilst still employed in this duty, he was joined by Tustanuggi, who
informed him, "that the feast was over, it being concluded sooner than
was expected, in consequence of the elder prisoner having died in his
wigwam, long before that event was expected."

The heart of Manuel at this moment felt a throb of joy, for he believed
that the long draughts of water which he had administered had
accelerated his death, and rendered it easy. This relief to his mind
enabled him to imitate the Indian caution, and without replying to that
part of his master's information, he made some observation on the state
of the horse he was riding, and on the complaints which had been fatal
to that which died during Tustanuggi's absence. In doing this, he
removed all suspicion of his having seen the Indian; for his master,
concluding the subject was hateful to him, said no more upon it; and
desired Uswega also to be silent.

But although silent, the heart of Manuel was from this eventful day so
deeply moved against the Indians, that every hour of his life he was
brooding in his mind schemes for escape. All his prayers were now
directed to this purpose--all his thoughts were given up to
contrivances, and the cares which he gave to his personal comfort and
improvement were directed to this end. Such was the loathing of stomach
which he experienced, whenever the thoughts of the mangled prisoner
crossed his mind, that it is probable he would have become seriously
ill, from the loss of appetite at this time, if he had not continually
sought to counteract it, by determining to eat, in order that he might
become strong; and for the same reason he used frequently to bathe, and
to run, and spend every spare moment in athletic exercises.

For this conduct Tustanuggi praised him highly, and spoke of him as one
who would become a true son of the Cumanches: he took him out in every
hunting-party, by which means he learnt the art of living in the woods;
and as at this time they mixed more familiarly with their neighbours
than usual, circumstances of great moment to Manuel arose, such as
conversations on the subject of the traders, the course of the Red
River, the distance and situation of Nachitoches, and other towns from
whence adventurers might arrive.

From all these conversations, Manuel drew information which led him to
infer, that although he was actually at a greater distance from
Nachitoches than from San Antonio, and that the two places were at an
immense distance from each other, yet that the former must be the point
at which he must aim, since the country was in that direction less
intersected by those dense forests through which he had been brought,
and that there was no river so broad or deep as the one which he had
crossed. Indeed, so far as he could learn, if he could reach the Red
River, he might course on its banks all the way to Nachitoches, without
meeting any stream over which a good horse could not swim, except one
river, which, though important, was of a short course, and could be
skirted without great loss of time.

Deep in the recesses of his mind did Manuel hide all the information
thus gained; always, apparently, employed in watching for game, or
preparing his weapons, he asked no questions, nor appeared to listen to
any conversation. Sometimes, when the labours of the day were over, and
the hunting-party were assembled in a pleasant glen, if they had been
successful, the hearts of the party would open, their usual taciturnity
give way, and they would "hold a talk," at which time the children stood
in respectful silence around them, or couched in the grass at a
distance. At these times Manuel always took care to be near, but he
affected to sleep, as if wearied by the fatigues of the day; and thus he
not only learnt many particulars of the country, but also that
Tustanuggi never intended to take him down to the Red River. His master
observed, with a just judgment of human nature--"That although his boy
Manuel had now become Indian in his habits and affections, yet, if he
went amongst people who looked like his parents, spoke his language, or
in any way resembled those amongst whom he had been born, probably his
old feelings would return, and he would endeavour to escape from him."
To the possibility of losing him he always adverted with pain, not only
because he was useful, but because he had become "the son of his love."

When Manuel heard an expression of this kind from his master, his own
heart never failed to warm towards _him_ personally; but he did not the
less resolutely persist in his intention; and added to his other
preparations for departure, that faculty of abstaining from food, and
subsisting on the smallest possible portion of it, for which the Indians
are so remarkable. This is probably the most difficult of all
attainments to a young boy, in habits of exercise, and in the enjoyment
of health; nevertheless, Manuel voluntarily entered upon it, and, to a
great degree, effected his purpose in conquering his appetite.




  CHAPTER VII.


As Manuel, from the nature of his employment, had always the power of
being well mounted, and was now fully trusted, he frequently was able to
take a long ramble through the neighbouring forest, when he would
sometimes climb high trees, in order to take a survey of the surrounding
country, and more especially to trace the courses of rivers. In such a
situation he could, of course, do himself little good, seeing that his
view was continually impeded; but the experiments he made helped to keep
up the spirit of enterprise in his heart; and the short glimpses he
obtained at times, acted as a stimulant and refreshment to his spirits.
One day, when he had gone to a much greater distance than he ventured on
before, he reached a beautiful glade, which spread out like a vista for
a considerable way, and in the extreme distance he saw, or thought he
saw, a man, whose appearance denoted that he was not an Indian. The
figure was stepping in a direction from him, therefore Manuel lost not a
moment in descending the tree from whence he had seen him, and mounted
his horse, by which means he hoped soon to overtake him; but rapid as
his movements were, since they were unnoticed by the stranger, they
failed to facilitate his wishes, as the figure was soon lost in the
mazes of the wood. He saw enough to convince him that the person
(although arrayed in articles of Indian apparel) was a civilized man,
and, he was inclined to believe, was some one sent out for the purpose
of reconnoitring the country on his behalf. For a moment the thought
struck him that it might be his own father; but Don Manuel was
remarkably tall, and this person, though of a good stature, was not of a
description to warrant this conjecture.

For several days Manuel tried, but in vain, to get back into the woods;
but the length of his stay on this occasion was the means of preventing
his return; and since he had been in the very part through which he came
from San Antonio, he apprehended that they suspected him of an intention
to escape that way.

It is probable that they detained him, in the first instance, only as a
punishment for loitering; but as a hunting-party, on their return from
this part of the forest, declared that they had seen a man in the woods,
who carried a gun, and other weapons of a singular construction,
suspicion was excited; and Manuel was ordered to air the horses in a
contrary direction for the future.

In his present state of excitement, from anxiety and curiosity, this
mandate was hard to obey. It was impossible for the stolen boy to
believe that any object, save himself, could have drawn a person such a
long way from any civilised settlement; and being well aware that his
father would offer a liberal reward to any person who would rescue him,
he was led to this conclusion, "that, after long search, Don Manuel had
at length found some person habituated to negotiate with the Indians,
and who had come out for the purpose of ransoming him, but who,
probably, had become terrified with the known ferocity of the Cumanches,
and was likely to return without effecting his purpose."

"Oh that I could meet with him, and take from him some of the arms of
which they speak! I am sure, if I were supported by a friend, and had a
good pistol in my hand, I could make my way through all the Cumanches,"
were words frequently hovering on the lips of Manuel at this time; but,
alas! they only served to irritate his mind, without in the least
contributing to the end he so earnestly desired.

Twice afterwards the strange man was seen in the woods, and once
observed to shoot a bird; but after that he was seen no more; and as
conjecture respecting his appearance died away, the hopes of Manuel died
also; but his resolution remained as strong as ever. He felt that he
could only depend upon himself, and that, in pursuance of his object, he
must risk the utmost vengeance of Indian infliction; but he thought that
he could do this, rather than be thus exiled from all that rendered life
happy, and be compelled to reside with those whom he at once dreaded and
despised. He felt at this period of his opening mind, that necessity for
the ties of kindred and friendly intercourse which are perhaps most
acute in early life, when the heart is open to every amiable impression,
and though subject to many errors, is seldom hard or sordid.

"I must," said he, "have somebody to love, and somebody to care for me.
I must seek my dear parents and my sister; and even if I should be so
unhappy as never to find _them_, yet shall I find some people in a
Christian country, who will pity and protect me as a Christian. Go where
I may, so I am in a civilised country, I must be better off than amidst
a nation of barbarians."

During the succeeding winter, all idea of departure was suspended; but
not less busily did the mind of the unfortunate boy labour in thought
with the project he contemplated; and never did he in the least relax in
his attentions to all the horses under his care, more especially that
fine one we have already mentioned, since to his management of this
animal he looked for his power of accomplishing that project which now
so incessantly occupied his thoughts, that it might be said to
constitute alike his pain and pleasure, and become to him a kind of
exclusive existence, unseen, but always operating.




  CHAPTER VIII.


The schemes of Manuel were interrupted, though his intentions were only
confirmed, in consequence of the present year being that on which the
Cumanches perform those rites in honour of the dead, peculiar to the
Indians, and in which they stand distinct from all other people who ever
have existed, so far as their annals are transmitted. It is well known
that all their tribes, at the recurrence of seven or ten years, repair
to the graves of their relatives, whom they disinter with the greatest
care, and lament over with every demonstration of the greatest sorrow.
This dreadful view of mortality, in every stage of decay, so naturally
disgusting to every sense, they endure without shrinking, and spend,
upon the most loathsome objects the mind can conceive, that love and
respect, which during the life of the subject they have seldom appeared
to feel. They approach these perishing remains with profound respect,
lavish on them the fondest caresses, water them with tears of sorrow,
and shew in every respect an acuteness of feeling which no person could
have supposed them capable of entertaining, especially when they
recalled their cruelty on some occasions, and their gravity on all.

Manuel saw their emotions with a degree of pity, but he could not help
thinking how much better it would have been to shew such affection to
the living, whom it would render happy, than to the dead, who felt it
not; and he considered that an act of lamentation intended to end with a
feast, either must be connected with frivolity or hypocrisy. When the
lamentations had ceased, he joined with the rest in restoring the
disturbed bodies to their graves, and covering them with bark, and other
substances, intended to preserve them; after which the ceremony
concluded, with a much more plentiful repast than he had ever previously
witnessed; and on their return to their own wigwams, he perceived no
traces of that sorrow which had lately been so strikingly exhibited.

The whole design of an Indian, from his cradle to his grave, is to live
as his fathers have lived before him. To this he devotes himself with
the zeal of a martyr and the courage of a warrior; and without allowing
himself to suppose that error can have existed, he continues to
perpetuate it, even in cases the most opposite to those principles of
reason which seem in many respects to guide him. He is sagacious,
discriminating, slow in judgment, self-controlled, and generally
temperate; but neither time nor experience improve his condition, remove
his prejudices, ameliorate his hardships, soften his austerities, or
advance his interests. Like the beasts and birds, who share his forest
domain, he exists as if by instinct, contented to be neither better nor
happier than the brood before him had been; and for him light shines in
vain, since he prefers darkness to light, because his fathers were born
in darkness.

So blindly do these men follow their guides, that Manuel found actions
of revenge imposed as duties, from father to son, and, failing him, to
far-distant kindred. Tustanuggi, who, considering him as a Cumanche,
might be termed a man of amiable disposition, committed a murder, for
the purpose of revenging the father of his mother, who was dead many
years before himself, or the man he slew, saw the light; and in doing
this, he excited the vengeance of that man's family, who, it was well
known, lay in wait for the blood of himself and Uswega. Manuel was one
day mistaken for the latter, as he was returning alone with a string of
horses, and narrowly escaped having his skull cleft by the tomahawk that
was thrown at him by a Cumanche, of evident skill, who, on picking up
his weapon, gave him to understand that the blow was not meant for him;
but if he kept not silence, another would soon lay him low.

The time again approached when the traders were expected on the Red
River, previous to which parties of robbers had, as usual, visited the
Spanish settlements, but, as it appeared, to little purpose, and, of
course, the horses then in possession were doubly valuable. Every time
this subject was alluded to, the heart of Manuel throbbed as if it would
burst his bosom, and the blood rose to his cheek, and suffused his
features with burning blushes, which were happily imputed by Tustanuggi
to his vexation at finding Uswega was to visit the Red River, whilst he
was still considered meet only for living with the women. The true cause
of his emotion was, the consciousness that now or never was the time for
his escape; that the effort so long contemplated must soon be made, or
he must resign himself to an existence which every day became more
hateful in his eyes.

Manuel had now for a long time so trained the horse on which he placed
his dependence, that he knew it could far outstrip any other in the
possession of the settlement; and having never seen any other equally
good, he had contracted a belief that it was the best in the world; and
that if he did not avail himself of its great properties, such a chance
could never occur to him again. Subduing the perturbation of his
spirits, lifting up his heart frequently to heaven, and eagerly
listening to every word which threw light on the movements of the
Indians, he now held himself ready for flight, according as
circumstances might favour his intentions. Within a fortnight of the
time fixed for their departure, which was the full of the moon,
Tustanuggi ordered Manuel to ride the horse in that direction which he
was hereafter to take; on which occasion Uswega accompanied him, and
occasionally mounted the favourite. As this boy was only an indifferent
rider, the father did this to accustom the horse to the way, and the boy
to the horse, which was a very spirited animal, and little likely to
submit to a new master, especially a young one; but it was nevertheless
necessary that he should be mounted by one of less weight, that his
strength and beauty might remain unimpaired, on arriving at the place of
barter.

The boys proceeded together for some time very well, but when it was the
pleasure of Uswega to mount the favourite, it proved so restive, that
for a long time there appeared little chance of his retaining his seat;
and several Indians, who were also present riding other horses, destined
to the future mart, condemned the command of Tustanuggi, as one likely
to prove injurious both to the rider and the animal. At length, with a
great bolt, the horse galloped, with amazing rapidity, completely out of
sight, and the party followed, under a strong impression that both "the
horse and his rider" were lost.

After traversing the same distance as fast as their inferior horses
would permit them, Manuel and the Cumanches arrived at length to the
spot where Uswega had been thrown on the ground, and was found covered
with bruises; the horse could not be seen.

"Has he gone the way towards the Red River?" said an old Indian to the
boy, as he assisted him to rise.

"No; he is gone the way towards Nachitoches, and will soon enter the
forest that lies betwixt the morass and the river, if he is not there
already."

The Indian thought for a moment, and then said to Manuel--"Go then
towards the forest and seek him; he will know thy voice, and obey thy
command; he is a beast of value, and must be restored."

"That he will obey my voice, I am aware; but I shall become entangled in
that forest, and may never be able to return."

The Cumanche gave him exact directions how to proceed, by marking
certain trees which he described, observing, that beyond the forest lay
an open prairie, bounded by the Red River; and added--"But go thou
fearlessly, and we will follow at a distance."

Manuel obeyed the command, and before he reached the forest, found his
darling quietly grazing on a green turf of the finest verdure; at the
sound of his voice, he readily came up to him, but would not suffer
himself to be led; so that his old rider was obliged to mount him, and
wait the arrival of the Cumanches; during which time he recognised the
spot, and found readily every object described by the old Indian, who,
on arriving, took charge of Uswega's horse, and highly praised the skill
and intrepidity Manuel had displayed.

On returning home, whither the discomfited Uswega was slowly led, it was
strongly insisted upon by the party, that Manuel was the only proper
person to conduct the horse to the Red River; and it was so evident,
from his conduct on that day, that he could have no intention to escape,
that Tustanuggi seemed inclined to think of it. He, however, observed,
that if the horse were taken every day over the same ground, he would
not fail to become used to it: and this mode of conquering the
difficulty should in the first place be resorted to.

The following morning this was had recourse to: but so strongly did
Uswega himself recommend the rest of the company keeping at a distance,
imputing his own misfortune to riding in company, that this caution was
observed, and they only followed in such a manner as to witness his
success. He caused the horse again apparently to run away, but it was
now in the direction they intended him to go.

When this had been practised several other mornings, Manuel was
permitted to go out alone; and Tustanuggi observed, he thought this
trial would suffice, and that for the three following days the horse
should be perfectly at rest.

The poor boy heard these words with a sensation that cannot be defined;
his heart smote him as being guilty towards his master, in thus
forsaking him; nevertheless, his reason fully acquitted him, seeing he
had an unquestionable right to regain the liberty of which he had been
unjustly deprived; and by the same rule, to take possession of one
horse, in lieu of the many stolen from his father, a point he had often
argued with his own conscience. The contending feelings which pressed
upon his mind in this most awful moment were, however, such, that they
entirely prevented him from securing a little stock of provisions which
he had secreted; and the presence of Tustanuggi also hindered him from
taking his bow and arrows, the only means of procuring food in the
wilderness. Such, indeed, was his agitation, that many a time he
reflected on it with surprise, and almost wondered that, with all his
acquired stock of prudence, it had not led him to bid farewell to the
good Moscogi and her beloved little daughter, in which case his scheme
would have been utterly ruined, and his captivity ensured.




  CHAPTER IX.


Manuel pursued his journey as before, at an easy pace, till he reached
that spot from which Uswega's unlucky flight might be dated, when he
suddenly pricked his horse into a full gallop towards the forest, in
order that if any Cumanche was abroad in that direction, it might be
supposed he laboured under the same misfortune that his master's son had
experienced. His quick eye darted far and near, to discover either
friend or enemy; but neither appeared; and he had the satisfaction to
enter the forest in less time than it could be expected that he should
have taken half his usual airing.

He now, with all the Indian caution, noted every mark described by the
old Cumanche; and dismounting, led his horse carefully for many miles;
and to his great satisfaction, saw the day decline, at a place where a
little sweet grass and a rippling stream promised the food greatly
needed by his generous but jaded steed, to whose comfort he paid every
possible attention. Such, however, was still his own anxiety, so
instinctively did he listen for those sounds of pursuit which would have
been to him sentence of death, under its most terrific form, that he
could not venture to eat the piece of hominy designed for his breakfast,
and concealed in his bosom, till he had climbed the highest tree in the
vicinity, and crouched in its thickest foliage.

Here, indeed, he slept, for exhausted nature demanded repose; but his
sleep was disturbed by terrific dreams; and but for the pity he felt for
his horse, he would have pursued his journey by moonlight, unfavourable
as it was for ascertaining those marks in the vegetation, which could
alone enable him to gain the open country. On reflecting on the
instructions he had so lately, and by such mere chance, received on this
head, he could not help thinking that they had been given him by an
especial Providence, for the most merciful end, seeing that all the
knowledge he had previously gained, had related much more to the
country in the neighbourhood of Nachitoches, and the banks of the Red
River, than that which was to lead him thither; and that without his
last instructions, all the former would have been void.

Under this happy impression, fervent were his thanks to Almighty God,
when, with the first beams of day, he prepared to renew his journey. He
found the forest now much more intricate than before, and decidedly more
difficult to ride through than any which he had ever seen; but this
circumstance he could hardly regret, since, as the Cumanches always
travel on horseback, it would not be less difficult to his pursuers than
himself; he trusted, however, that he had none, at least in this
direction, and flattered himself (most probably with justice) that if he
was indeed sought, they would go in that direction to the Red River,
where the ship was expected, by themselves. This was in a contrary
direction to that he pursued, because the difficulties of passing this
very forest rendered it easier to the Indians to visit the traders
considerably higher up the river, _i.e._ nearer to its source.

The situation of the sun was at this time a guide of great importance to
Manuel, since he was well acquainted with the general bearings of the
country he desired to traverse; and before his glorious guide reached
the meridian, the forest was far less crowded with trees, and he saw
that he should diverge into the prairie. When, however, this noble
barrier between him and the Cumanches was passed, seeing the day was
extremely hot, he thought it right that his faithful companion and only
friend should enjoy some repose, before they ventured from under the
shade; and accordingly they halted for a considerable space.

At this time Manuel began to suffer the pains of hunger, and bitterly
repented his own deficiency of self-command, at the moment of his
departure. When he saw that his horse, which (in memory of his home) he
called Antonio, was asleep, and he had covered his head with leaves and
branches, to guard him from the musquitoes, he returned into the forest,
for the purpose of collecting some kind of nuts and fruit, remembering
that now he was entering the open country, he should have no chance for
food of any kind. In a short time he found a tree of nuts, which,
although of a bitter quality, allayed his hunger; after which, he
contrived to stow a quantity of them in his bosom, and would certainly
have made a good provision for the wants of another day, if the sound of
a rattlesnake under the tree, prepared to strike a bird, had not
exceedingly alarmed him, and caused him to fly with precipitation from
such a dangerous neighbourhood.

In the evening he pursued his way more slowly, and, by the light of a
beautiful moon, advanced towards the river, which had been so long the
object of his wishes, and towards which numerous little diverging
streams directed him; but he soon became aware that it was too probable
he was wasting both his own strength and that of his horse, so that they
stopped as by mutual consent, and laid down on the open heath until the
morning.




  CHAPTER X.


When the sun rose, Manuel stretched himself, and, gazing round on the
boundless expanse, slowly lighted up as the mists dispersed, thought
that he must feel at this moment as the first man felt on his creation.
He seemed to be alone in the vast universe--a being cut off from every
human tie, and left to steer his way in an unknown sea, without guide or
compass.--"And yet," said the lonely boy, as he patted the sides of his
loved Antonio, "I am not wholly alone, for thou, my good fellow, art a
safe companion, and a good conductor; for, if I mistake not, we are
within a furlong of the Red River itself."

Yes! indeed that long-desired object was now before him; and Park
himself, when he beheld the majestic Niger, never could experience more
delightful sensations, than those which now cheered the breast of the
stolen boy.

Alas! he had need of comfort in mind, for little had he in body, seeing
the nuts of the preceding day rendered him a very scanty breakfast; and
so dried and bad was the grass around the place, that his poor horse was
very insufficiently fed, and little inclined to pursue his journey. By
slow degrees, they traversed the banks of the river, often looking round
for a few stunted tufts of maize, but seldom finding any.

One object, however, soon struck, and for a moment delighted, the eyes
of Manuel. This was a beautiful American vessel, the very one towards
which his wishes so long had pointed. The first emotion he felt was a
desire instantly to hail her, and request the protection and assistance
he so much required. Before he attempted this, however, the caution he
had acquired among the Indians induced him to pause;--he recollected
that these people were going, not returning; and that if he entered
their vessel, he should be carried into the very midst of the people
from whom he had escaped; and even, if not delivered up to them, he
could hardly hope to elude the vigilance of their observations, or be
protected from the severity of their punishments. Besides, he had
understood, from all he had heard, that these dealers were sordid and
over-reaching--that they were well aware the horses and mules they
purchased had been stolen from his countrymen; and, "if such was their
disposition, would they not rob him of his horse, and leave him to
perish in the wilderness alone?"

Pursuing these reflections, Manuel pushed his horse into a little hollow
below the bank, where he quietly waited till the vessel was got to a
considerable distance, when he again put his horse to its speed, nor
rested till he had advanced so far, that the object of his suspicion had
completely vanished from sight, and he again remained the only human
being within the immense circle of cheerless desert by which he was
surrounded.

But the sun did not go down on this day, before poor Manuel severely
repented his want of confidence in the only persons whom he was likely
to see in his long journey, in whose pity he could place any trust; and
he now hated in himself that cold, suspicious temper, which had been
nurtured in him by Indian education, and which he fancied could not be
required in an intercourse with Christians of any country. He knew that
the cannibal tribe of the Alonquas had a settlement at no great distance
from the Red River, on the desert he was passing; and that the Choctaws
had several towns betwixt this part and Nachitoches, and that in both he
would find enemies; for the Cumanches, as the most warlike and
formidable, are regarded with fear or dislike by all; and the Choctaws
would revenge their late losses, by seizing any individual of that
nation to whom they would assign him. Of course his only safety lay in
keeping as near as possible to the river; but in this case famine, the
most dreadful of all deaths, appeared inevitable.

Water, which happily was of the purest kind, was now the only
refreshment Manuel or his horse partook, and that only made the pains of
hunger felt more keenly: often would Manuel think of his bows and
arrows, and sometimes he would try to make one from the trees that now
and then might be found; but his efforts were ineffectual; and he could
only travel slowly forward, in hopes of once more entering a wooded
district, where birds might be plentiful, and his efforts to obtain them
more successful.

In the lonely region he was now passing, the awful stillness was rarely
broken in upon by animal life; sometimes a small hare or rabbit would
dart past him into its burrow, or the flapping wings of some prodigious
bird attract his eye, as it sailed through the bright firmament in
solitary travel. Otherwise, for two successive days, he seemed alone in
the universe.

His strength was nearly exhausted; his eyes grew dim; and he almost
desired to lie down and die, when the welcome forest again appeared,
which was not less necessary to his wearied and hungry steed than
himself, seeing that although better fed than his master, it was several
days since he had tasted any herbage sweet and nutritive; and his
travel, except during the hottest portion of the day, had never been
suspended. In the recesses of the forest again glades of green grass
were found; but, alas! there were no fruits save nuts, which, difficult
of access, required strength Manuel no longer possessed; and to shoot,
or kill a bird, appeared a more likely means of preserving existence.

In this pursuit he was continually foiled; but on arriving at a little
stream abounding with fish, he plunged into it, and was so fortunate as
to secure a fine trout, which having killed, he lighted a fire by
rubbing sticks, as he had been taught by Tustanuggi, and roasted it by
running a long stick through the fish, which was then thrust into the
ground. Happily for him, his fire answered a double purpose, for whilst
he watched with impatience this preparation for his food, a large beast
of prey darted from the underwood, as if about to spring upon his horse,
but on sight of the fire, fled into the recesses of the forest.

This new danger awoke painful surmises for the future in the mind of
Manuel; but such was his present distress, that it only quickened his
movements in securing his food, which he ate half raw, yet thought
delicious. With the prudence for which it is certain he had to thank his
former habits, he did not eat to excess, but carefully placed the
remainder of his food in some leaves, and tied it with strings of grass
round his body; after which, he stretched himself by the side of his
fire, and in the belief that it would prove his protection, resigned
himself to sleep, which he exceedingly required, as hunger lately kept
him awake, though it happily had not the same effect on Antonio.

He was awakened by the startling and neighing of his faithful animal,
which was laid close beside him, and which he instantly mounted, aware
that danger of some kind threatened them. How to proceed he knew not,
and therefore resigned himself to the instinctive wisdom of the alarmed
animal, which threaded its way with wonderful velocity through the
thickest part of the forest, and never seemed willing to halt till he
emerged into the open country once more; but they had now lost sight of
the Red River.

Conscious of his obligations to Antonio, Manuel would not eat again till
he had attended to the wants of his wearied beast, which laid down at
his bidding, whilst he sought about for little tufts of good grass, and
occasional handful of maize, which he gathered for his food, making a
bag of the calico shirt, which was his only clothing, in which he
carried the result of his labours to the wearied horse. When the poor
creature was fed, and laid down to sleep, Manuel thankfully untied his
own provision, and fed also.

By climbing into the highest tree he could find (now a work of terrible
labour), he had the satisfaction to see the course of the Red River, and
be aware that he was still in the right track, and would probably before
long reach that river, which was the only barrier of which he had any
fear. For a moment his spirits rose, with the idea that he had
accomplished much the greatest part of his journey; but they were as
instantly repressed, from recollecting that he was now in the very
neighbourhood of the Indian towns.

Trying to reassure himself, he proceeded now more cautiously, looking
round on every side, and many a time fancying he saw a snake rise, when
it was only the dimness of his own eyes, arising from diminished
strength, that awoke his fears. Towards nightfall, however, it was
certain that he did see an Indian town, and was in the direct way to
enter it.

The question arose as before, "might he trust the well-known hospitality
of the Indians?" These people were far, very far from the settlement he
had left--they could undoubtedly forward him to Nachitoches, by a more
direct road than he was pursuing--they might take pity on his youth, and
relieve his wants--a few days' rest and food would restore him, for
which he could hereafter reward them a hundred-fold, if ever he arrived
in his father's house--"But how did he know this was not the tribe of
cannibals, of whom he had the most unmitigated horror?"

The moment this question arose in Manuel's mind, he turned his horse's
head from the settlement; yet with a melancholy smile he said to it--"It
is certain they would get little picking from either your bones or
mine;" and indeed, so thin and gaunt were both become, that one would
not have supposed it possible they could have existed another day. To
hide himself from the Indians, he entered a wood in the same direction,
but remained during the following night in the skirts, being fearful of
entering, lest he should encounter wild beasts, and not daring to make a
fire, lest it should attract attention from the Indians. These evils in
some measure diverted him from the pains of hunger which he again
experienced, and which, during the hours of darkness, it was impossible
to alleviate; but his horse, more fortunate, could nibble the herbage
near him.




  CHAPTER XI.


The following day brought no relief to poor Manuel, who now had no means
of allaying the claims of his appetite, besides eating the young leaves
of certain trees, and these unfortunately were immediately rejected by
his stomach, so that he obtained no nourishment from them, and was at
length compelled to abstain from eating them.

Towards evening he reached the river so long expected; and as he was now
at a considerable distance from the Red River, into which it falls, and,
of course, so much nearer to its source, there is little doubt but his
horse could have forded it, or swam it, at an earlier period, but now it
was impossible. Weak as he was, it was yet to him a source of comfort,
and he would have laid down to sleep on its banks, if they had not
swarmed with musquitoes, to a greater degree than he had yet witnessed;
and having lately suffered much from these insects, he sought to avoid
more.

The following day, he pursued this stream towards its source so far,
that he was enabled to cross it, and having done so, had the
inexpressible satisfaction of seeing a kind of village, or settlement,
before him, but whether of Indian or civilized construction, he could
not tell. He was now so wearied and worn down, that his mind was
incapable of any strong emotion, and he wished only to creep into a hut
and die; nevertheless, he combined with this idea a sense of consolation
in the presence of his fellow-creatures, when that moment should arrive.
He consequently exerted himself to the utmost to reach the village, and
effected his purpose before sunset; but on entering the place, he saw no
one stirring, nor heard sounds indicating human existence.

Manuel alighted, and entered the first hut he saw; it was perfectly
empty, yet indicated that it had been lately inhabited. Another and
another was found in the same situation; not a single human being was
left in the settlement.

When he finished his search, it was quite dark, and the poor boy,
sitting down on the floor of the last hut he had entered, wept bitterly
over the most terrible disappointment he had hitherto experienced. He
had, after so many toilsome days, reached the habitation of man, yet
found no voice to bid him welcome, no hand to administer to his
wants--life would close on him in the desert.

But the hour of dissolution, though expected, did not arrive; Manuel
slept many hours, and on raising his head, found the sun was high. He
rose, and going out, saw his horse apparently busily employed, at a
little distance, in picking something from the ground. To his delight,
he found that a bag of maize had been scattered there, and he had
therefore every reason to believe that Antonio had made a hearty
breakfast before his arrival, as indeed might be perceived by the
renewed lustre of his eye, and the manner in which he approached his
master.

It will be readily conceived with what eagerness the famished youth
threw himself on the ground and ate those precious grains--how carefully
he then gathered them, and sought in the first hut a vessel in which he
could wash off the chaff. The quantity obtained was indeed far from
satisfying his wants; but there can be no doubt but it sufficed to
prevent him from dying of hunger, and the strength it imparted gave him
power to make a diligent search through the place; and though only
rewarded by obtaining a small portion of dried venison, in a state which
we should consider loathsome, to him it was an invaluable prize.

On this slight refreshment, Manuel once more set forward, after
carefully recalling to his mind all that he had heard calculated for his
guidance to Nachitoches, and fervently thanking God for the mercies he
had experienced.

When he had proceeded but a short way, he again became sensible of
extreme weakness; but his horse was more effectually recruited, and bore
him through the whole day in a wonderful manner; and he had the
satisfaction of recognising many circumstances which proved that he was
directing his course aright. He also obtained a few nuts, and might have
got a fish, but he had not strength to throw it on the bank; so that he
fancied he could already perceive he was drawing near the land of
promise, and that the bitterness of death was passed.

But on the following day, his poor horse no longer obeyed his wishes,
and his own strength failed so entirely, that all hope again vanished
from his heart, until, at the evening hour, he again feasted his eyes
with the Red River, now a noble stream, and affording him a positive
assurance that he was within a short distance of civilised life. As the
nights were now at the darkest, he was compelled to take up his bivouac
as usual; but he could hardly help persuading himself that he was
already near to human habitations; though in this he was mistaken.

The following morning he arose, as usual, with the sun, and tried, by
every means in his power, to aid his drooping horse; one of which was,
plunging into a stream of pure water--a refreshment he always took
himself, when it was practicable. He then took the last of his nuts,
which only served to render his appetite more poignant; but he yet
determined to resist eating the foliage which tempted him, for he
said--"Who knows but I may see a village, or even Nachitoches itself?
and then I shall have every thing."

But many a weary mile yet lay between him and the haven he sought, and
his voice and caresses frequently failed to urge his faithful steed to
further exertions; and often did his upturned eye seem to look
reproachfully, yet pitifully, upon his wretched master. When, however,
they obtained a near view of the Red River, and saw vessels indicating
population in their vicinity, he, too, seemed inspired by a desire once
more to visit mankind, and he stepped forward with renovated spirit.

As the sun grew high, Manuel was aware that it was time he should take
his usual repose; but as at this time every thing around him indicated
that the end of his hopes were obtained--that Nachitoches itself was
before him--he could not bring himself to stop; and though he alighted
to kneel and thank God for having so nearly accomplished his ardent
desire, he instantly resumed his journey.--"Antonio, dear Antonio, only
go a little longer, and you shall have corn and water of the best; and
you shall rest, day after day, in a comfortable stable, or lie in a
green meadow the rest of your life."

Such were the promises and consolations offered continually to the poor
animal; but on his actual arrival at that place, so long the object of
his incessant desire, there seemed little probability of their
fulfilment.

It was the Sabbath day, a day unregistered by the Indians of course, and
which had in a great measure, faded from the memory of Manuel. Many of
the inhabitants of Nachitoches were returning from their place of
worship, or walking to the outskirts of the town, and the appearance of
numbers which they presented seemed wonderful in the dazzled eyes of
poor Manuel. He had long desired to see his fellow-creatures, but he
felt at this moment rather distressed than comforted by the view; and
that most heart-sinking of all sensations, being solitary in a crowd,
pressed heavy upon him.--"No one," said he, "approaches me, no one
speaks to me--do they not see that I am dying with hunger?"

It was yet plain that every eye was bent upon him, as well they might,
for he appeared to all a terrific phantom. Both himself and his horse
were so attenuated, that their ribs were seen as plain as those of a
skeleton; and they moved so slowly, that there was something awful in
their gait. The few tattered rags which still clung to Manuel waved in
the wind, and his hollow cheeks, staring eyes, and matted hair, united
in his person the representation of famine and madness--of every thing
that was at once deplorable and terrible.

Still he went on, and still the people gazed after him; but at the
corner of a street, a gentleman was crossing with his son, and the
horse, wearied beyond endurance, stumbled and fell just before him. At
this moment, Manuel, collecting all his energies, threw himself on his
knees before the stranger, and holding up his bony hands, cried out, in
his own language, in a faint, hollow voice--"Oh! sir, have pity on me--I
am a Christian boy, and not a Cumanche."

"Whatever you may be, I will take care of you; rise if you can, my poor
child, and go with me."

But, alas! this was beyond his power; the stranger had spoken to him in
his own language, and in a tone of kindness, which so deeply affected
the poor long-suffering boy, that he instantly fainted, and was believed
to be dead by all who saw him fall, and beheld the situation to which he
was reduced. Luckily, amongst other gazers at this strange spectacle,
was a medical man of great experience, by whose skill the weak lamp of
life was again rekindled.

So soon as he could bear motion, his first friend, whom I shall call Mr.
Osborne, had him conveyed to his house, when he was placed in a
comfortable bed, provided with clean linen, and attended with the utmost
humanity and skill; by which means he was, in a few hours, placed out of
immediate danger. The first words he spoke were an inquiry after his
horse; and when told that it was as well provided for as himself, weak
as he was, he expressed his gratitude warmly; on which he was earnestly
advised not to say any thing more at present, and to endeavour to keep
his mind as calm as possible.

In the mean time, many conjectures were made respecting poor Manuel in
the town; and public curiosity and compassion once excited, every one
became impatient to know something respecting him; and as many strangers
were there, and amongst them several Spaniards, in whose tongue it was
said he had spoken, these especially greatly desired to question him.
This interference with his _protg_ Mr. Osborne resisted, saying, that
until the boy was considerably better, not a single question should be
asked, nor a remark made in his presence, which could agitate him.

As, however, every day rendered his son more intimate with Manuel, it
was not surprising that this young gentleman was soon able to inform
his father of the principal circumstances connected with his history,
both as to his being stolen from San Antonio about three years before,
and his miraculous preservation through a journey of nearly four hundred
miles.

These particulars Mr. Osborne immediately communicated to Don Ignatio, a
friend of his, who had often been to San Antonio, and was acquainted
with Don Manuel del Perez, who, he observed, did indeed lose his eldest
son at that time, and was, together with his wife, plunged into the
deepest affliction for the loss of him, insomuch that he had left San
Antonio in consequence, but not, he believed, till he had been satisfied
that both his son and his servant were dead.

This account of the affair was confirmed by another gentleman, who had
resided in San Antonio at the time, and said, "that he had actually seen
the clothes worn by the stolen boy in possession of his father, to whom
they had been brought by an aged Indian." This gentleman said
further--"that so bitterly had the mother of the stolen boy grieved for
his loss, that her youngest child had died, in consequence of the effect
on his sustenance occasioned by her sorrow; and that the continual
anxiety produced on both parents was such, that they had at length
removed to New York, where he believed they were, with their only
daughter, living at this very time."

It was evident from these accounts, either that the parents of Manuel
had been imposed upon with a false account of his death, or that the
youth now calling himself Manuel was an impostor; and to the latter
belief every person seemed inclined, probably because it added
considerably to the wonders of the tale. That a Cumanche Indian should
conceive it possible to step into the place of a Spanish gentleman's
son, and suppose that in three years all traces of identity would be
lost--that he should seek, by native ingenuity, to supply all original
peculiarities and attainments--was really so surprising, and argued such
talents, that Manuel became not less an object of curiosity in the
second place, than of interest in the first.

This view of the matter Mr. Osborne could not for a moment take; for
although Manuel did not speak his own language fluently, from so long
disuse, yet he spoke it very differently to what any Cumanche could do;
and as he began to recover, it was evident that his skin had originally
been of a different colour, and what might be expected in an European
Spaniard. Why the Cumanches should, at the risk of being punished, take
the pains to send his clothing to his parents, so long a journey, he
could not, in the first instance, conceive; but when poor Manuel was
able to converse on the subject, he then saw clearly that Tustanuggi,
having determined to adopt him as a son, took this method of deceiving
his father, in order that he might prevent him from all further search
after a son, for whom it might be supposed he would never cease to
inquire.

So soon as his kind protector had satisfied his own mind on this
important point, he began to make enquiries as to the possibility of
informing Don Manuel on the subject of his son's safety. In the course
of his conversations on this point, he learnt, to his great
satisfaction, that it was not to New York, but Savannah, that he had
removed; and this point once ascertained, he determined to complete his
"labour of love," by taking the boy thither himself, and restore him to
those who had long lamented him as dead.

As it will be evident to our readers that only vague reports have
hitherto readied them, as to the actual situation of Don Manuel's
family, we shall now leave our stolen boy to the kind nursing of his
American friends, and look into the house of his father, on that
eventful night when he entered upon a life of such peculiar character.
Happy are we, that although still pale and weak--still surrounded by
strangers, and scarcely assured of the existence of his parents--we yet
consider him placed under the kindest protection, making sure progress
in improvement, in health, education, and consequently, happiness.




  CHAPTER XII.


It may perhaps be recollected, that at the time when poor Manuel was
borne away from his father's stables, he did not cease to shriek with
all his might, so long as he had breath or strength. His voice, there is
every reason to believe, awoke his mother, as she started from her
couch, exclaiming--"That Manuel must have fallen, and hurt himself."

To this observation her husband replied, by an assurance that she was
mistaken, as he had heard no sound of any kind; and when, in answer to
his inquiries, the servants assured him that Manuel was then gone to the
stables to visit his pony, it was concluded that her fears were entirely
false, and she was entreated to compose herself, and finish her
_siesta_.

This she found impossible; but supposing herself to be in error, she
remained for some time in the apartment, and then went out to walk in
the garden, and enjoy the evening air. Whilst there, finding her spirits
much oppressed, (for the sound of her dear son's voice still seemed
ringing in her ears), she sent a servant to the stables, to desire that
he would come and walk with her, till it was his hour for retiring.

The servant so dispatched, before he arrived at the place, was sensible
that many horses had been there, and that something particular had
occurred; and he ran forward in great consternation. The total emptiness
of the stable, the signs of scuffling on the ground, together with a
part of Diego's torn clothing, told the fatal truth, that robbery had
taken place, probably attended with murder.

The alarm was now given to the family; and Don Manuel, who was just
awake, lost not a moment in calling on his friends to join him in
pursuit; whilst Donna Seraphina, almost frantic, ran from place to
place, in agony, calling in vain on her lost child, and bitterly
reproaching herself for having allowed the cry of her son to sound in
her ear unheeded.

By the light of the moon the path of the Cumanche horses was for some
distance visible; and so soon as horses and men could be collected,
adequate to the proposed rescue, Don Manuel set out with a well-armed
troop, in that direction where the tearing of the turf was visible. It
afterwards appeared, that the cunning marauders had descended in one
direction, and returned in another, a circumstance not discovered till
the following morning, when, from the marks of the hoofs, it was found
that Don Manuel had taken the wrong direction. His pursuit was indeed
checked by the intervention of the broad forest, in which himself and
followers soon became involved, and wandered in hopeless perplexity,
until conscious that, without proper guides, they could never penetrate
it, they returned by degrees, and with great difficulty, after
experiencing for several days all the evils of hunger, apprehension, and
fatigue.

Don Manuel's next effort for the recovery of his son, was by engaging
the Indians themselves in his service, particularly the Choctaws, who
knew and remembered his son; and through their mediation he hoped to
trace the place to which he had been conveyed, promising, through them,
to pay a princely ransom for their prisoner, and freely forgive their
offences towards him. From these people, however, he could gain no
information; and although he sent to examine all the settlements of
which he could obtain any tidings, he still remained in total ignorance
of the fate of his son and servant. Neither could he learn that any
horses or mules, of the description of his own, had found their way into
the United States on the one hand, or into Mexico on the other; in every
respect to him, darkness sat on the fate of his son, which neither his
cares, his activity, nor his wealth, had power to unveil.

Whilst the father thus searched unavailingly for that beloved child, so
long his pride and delight, the unhappy mother, devoured by the most
distressing anxiety, experienced still severer sorrow; and her youngest
offspring pined away like a withering flower.

On returning from the last fruitless expedition he had made, Don Manuel
determined, that although his inquiries after his child would never
cease, that he would not again subject his wife to the increased
solicitude occasioned by his own absence; and he sat down once more in
his own house as an inhabitant. Scarcely had he done so, when that
Indian arrived who had doubtless been dispatched by Tustanuggi, but was
not of his own nation, and who, after a long oration on the shortness of
life, and the folly of grief, presented the afflicted parents with the
garments of their child, and informed them that he slept in a far
distant grave.

Many times had Donna Seraphina, in the first days of her sorrow,
protested, "that if she knew her child was dead, she should be resigned
to lose him, but that the dread of his sufferings among the Cumanches,
or Alonquas, was more than she could endure;" and in this sentiment her
husband had concurred. But when the awful destiny of the poor boy was
announced--when they conceived him to have pined away in sickness and
sorrow, among a savage tribe--they could not forbear to lament his
death, with all the poignancy of a new and unexpected sorrow; and they
hung over his well-known garments with bitter anguish and floods of
tears.

When Don Manuel was able to examine the man farther, he was informed
truly that poor Diego had died of the bite of a rattlesnake, and his
body been left in the woods; but the time of his death was specified as
occurring in the course of the journey, the real time being probably
unknown to the relator, as being a circumstance deemed immaterial by
Tustanuggi, when he prepared the fictitious narrative of Manuel's death.

Orders were given to the servants to feed the Indian with whatever he
liked, and reward him liberally; whilst the unhappy parents shut
themselves up in their own apartment, to seek in prayer and meditation,
aided by the ceremonies of their religion, that support in their
affliction, which it might be said their new loss demanded.

In the mean time, the servants, who were attached to their superiors,
and particularly fond of little Manuel, sought to gain from the Indian
all particulars of his death; and finding him (according to their
universal custom) exceeding silent, they plied him with liquor, as a
temptation he could not resist, and which would not fail to render him
more talkative.

From all which they now gained from him, the more intelligent were led
to believe that their young master was not dead, and that the clothes
had been only sent as a feint, to deter Don Manuel from farther search;
but as they were led also to believe that the poor child was reserved
for some horrible fate, they resolved not to add by such surmise to his
present affliction.--"In the morning," said they, "we will tell him what
the Indian has said in his cups, and he shall examine him more closely."

But when the morning came, the Indian was gone; though secured, as they
thought, by his own complete intoxication, as well as by the fastenings
of his chamber, he was gone forth, and never could be traced.

Often did the servants consult together on the propriety of revealing
their suspicions, but they could never find a time when it would not
have been cruel to add to the sorrows of their afflicted master. These
sorrows were now multiplied; for the infant boy died within a month
after Manuel's death was announced; and his mother was pronounced in a
state of the utmost danger.

Regardless of every thing, save the health of his beloved wife, and
convinced that every thing around her contributed to remind her of her
twofold loss, Don Manuel hastily arranged his affairs, and determined to
leave for ever a place which to him had proved so disastrous. He could
not, however, quit America altogether at present, without injury to the
property of others as well as his own; therefore he determined, in the
first place, to procure change of scene, and the best medical aid, for
his lady, and afterwards fix on some seaport town suitable for his views
as a merchant, yet removed from scenes connected with his irreparable
losses as a father.

In consequence of this determination, he now sailed with his family for
New York, where he had several friends, who entered into his feelings
with the warmest sympathy, and left no means untried to restore the
health and cheer the spirits of Donna Seraphina. This was, however, best
effected by her own sense of duty to her beloved husband, and the
delight she was still capable of taking in her little daughter, who,
having the advantage of instruction in this large city, improved rapidly
in her education, and daily drew her mother from sorrowful
contemplation on the past, to thankfulness for the present blessing. But
the time too soon arrived, when the health of this their only blossom
suffered from the climate, which was too cold for a southern flower; and
the parents were warned to depart, lest their last hope should be taken
from them.




  CHAPTER XIII.


On quitting New York, the long-treasured secret of the servants of Don
Manuel escaped them, by one of those accidents that can neither be
foreseen nor guarded against. In the vessel in which they now proceeded
to Savannah, two of the passengers were dilating on the deceitfulness of
the Indians, and giving an instance, in which, without telling a lie, a
Creek chief had yet fully embued a story with untruth; when Donna
Seraphina's maid, looking at her master's valet, observed--"That was
just the way in which that old man who brought master Manuel's clothes
told lies about his death. I believe him alive yet."

"So do not I," said the man.

As these words were unfortunately spoken within hearing of the master
and mistress, both servants were immediately questioned by them; and in
consequence, those wounds which time and absence had somewhat healed,
again bled in both their bosoms, and neither the caresses of their
little girl, nor the anxiety they felt to preserve her from partaking
their emotions, and thereby adding to her complaints, could save them
from renewed sorrow. So decidedly was the distressed mother persuaded
that her son had been preserved, that he might become a future victim,
that at some moments she believed he was still living, and besought her
husband again to seek him, protesting that she would accompany him all
over the continent of America; at other times she would consider that he
had already suffered under the most cruel tortures, and she would rend
her own heart, and that of her husband and child, by witnessing the
ill-suppressed agonies this thought awakened in her bosom.

Such was the state of their minds on their arrival at Savannah, which,
though not a healthy place to the inhabitants of cold climates, was a
present restorative to the little girl, whose recovered looks consoled
her parents, who endeavoured to overcome the pangs of memory for her
sake, and look forward with hope, and backward with resignation.

But, alas! an arrow was planted in the heart of each, which never ceased
to rankle, and which was rendered still more acute, because each felt it
a duty to conceal the fears and feelings which now agitated them from
the other. Continually did Don Manuel repeat, that "he believed his poor
boy was long since dead;" and he would argue on the utter improbability
that a child of his age and sensibility, brought up with so much
tenderness, could long survive the terror he experienced, when torn from
his home and parents, and the hardships which naturally followed. In
tracing his fate he uniformly spoke well of the Indians, and doubted not
their kindness; but he maintained that Manuel could not live on the food
they used, or endure the exercise they practised. But even while the
anxious husband thus sought to alleviate the sufferings of his wife, his
mind (at variance with his tongue) was employed in devising a thousand
means for farther search after the child he pronounced dead; and if he
could have formed any idea whither to direct his steps, he would, like
the Indians, have opened the grave, to have convinced himself that those
precious remains were indeed returning to their native dust, and that
the hand of violence had not precipitated them thither.

Sensible that her husband had done his utmost to discover their son, and
believing that he was indeed satisfied that Manuel was dead, the unhappy
mother brooded in silence on the subject; again the colour on her cheek
became paler, and the strength she had in a measure regained was
declining, when those circumstances occurred which furnish the subject
of our concluding chapter.




  CHAPTER XIV.


Mr. Osborne, fully satisfied that his new guest and _protg_ was indeed
all that he pretended to be, became every day more interested in his
welfare. To those who suggested the idea that the stolen boy was an
impostor, and not the son of Don Manuel, he had uniformly answered,
"There is no imposition in his desolate condition; every body may see
that he is starved to death, and therefore it is my duty to relieve him
first, and examine his character afterwards."

This judgment of the case was both just and benevolent; but all my young
readers will be aware, that when this kind-hearted man was convinced
that the unfortunate boy had told him no lies, nor affected to move his
compassion, and awake his admiration, by any false account of his past
sufferings and former situation, he felt for his misfortunes a double
pity, and for his character a sincere respect; since, young as he was,
he had evinced high and estimable qualities. He had shewn a strong and
enduring affection to his parents, a reliance on Almighty goodness, an
abhorrence of all cruelty, and a firmness of endurance, seldom
exhibited; and therefore, had that in his character which promised still
more, when his education could be formed, and his morals attended to.
Often would Mr. Osborne point out these qualities to his son Henry, as
worthy of the highest praise, even whilst he lamented the circumstances
in which the stolen boy now stood, as being ignorant on many points,
well known to children much younger than himself.

When Mr. Osborne had ascertained that Don Manuel del Perez was indeed at
Savannah, and had made up his mind to take Manuel thither, he had a
dress made for him as much like that which he described as being worn by
him when stolen, as the tailors of Nachitoches could manage; and in this
dress, so soon as it was deemed prudent for him to go out, he took him,
in the first place, to the house of God. Often as the feelings of
devotion had been strongly excited before, in this singularly-situated
boy, never had they risen so highly to the great Source of good as on
the present occasion. Though every eye was turned on him (for, alas!
human nature is easily drawn from its duty), his eye was on no one; he
looked only to that God whom he conceived to be more especially looking
upon him from heaven, in this place, and claiming his gratitude, his
promised obedience for the future, and his faith in the doctrines to be
revealed by the preacher. He thought this the day when his emancipation
was completed, his restoration ensured; and it was observed by all
around, that although he scarcely uttered a word, even after he had
returned from the church, yet that his countenance was expressive of the
purest and serenest pleasure; yet tears frequently filled his eyes, and
there were moments when he pressed his hand upon his heart, as if to
repress the violence of its throbbing.

He still remained extremely thin in his person; but his sunken cheeks
began to resume the plumpness and smoothness of young flesh, and the
colour of his skin resumed its original olive cast; whereas, on his
arrival, it was nearly black, from constant exposure to the sun, in
addition to starving, which has always a tendency to darken the
complexion. As soon as he could crawl out, and use the most trifling
exertion, he had gone to visit his horse; and it was curious, and even
affecting, to see the joyful recognition of his young master exhibited
by the poor animal. After he visited him, Antonio fed better, and gained
good looks much faster than before; and therefore Mr. Osborne never
interfered to prevent him from performing the offices of a groom, so far
as he had strength for it, to a creature so well meriting all his
kindness; but he nevertheless lost no opportunity of impressing on his
mind the necessity there existed that he should now turn his thoughts to
totally different pursuits, and seek very distinct accomplishments from
those to which he had been so long accustomed.

Happy was it for him, that the little book found in poor Diego's pocket
had been so long cherished, seeing it had preserved to him the power of
reading; the faculty of writing was entirely lost; but even in his
present weak state, he made considerable progress, under the tuition of
Henry Osborne, in regaining it--"for the purpose," as he said, "of
writing to his sister," when he could find any person to carry the
letter. Mr. Osborne informed him of the means by which letters were
conveyed in organized society, and many other circumstances in common
life, as we enjoy it, which seemed entirely eradicated from his memory,
and which excited his wonder and delight. It was yet found that some
particular scenes and circumstances were impressed on his mind so
vividly, that they might be said to be painted there indelibly, and were
described by him in language sometimes uncouth, but always striking and
accurate, uttered with grace and energy. He remembered the ship in which
he had sailed from Europe, the garden of his father's house, at San
Antonio, when filled by gay company on his birthday; and particularly
his mother's dress, on which he dwelt with that fond enthusiasm which
accompanied all his feelings for her and his father. He was also fond of
her maid, who had accompanied him from Europe, but he could recollect
the name of no other servant; nor had he any remembrance of his former
friends, his usual playmates, occupations, or books. It appeared as if
some things were completely eradicated from the tablets of memory, that
others might be engraven there the deeper.

With respect to all later transactions, his recollection was so vivid,
that in recounting the circumstances of his long and melancholy journey,
which had lasted thirteen days (if the last is included), he appeared
to live it over again, with all its fears in the first part, and its
sufferings in the latter. The circumstance of finding an empty village
did not surprise Mr. Osborne in the least, as there are times when the
inhabitants of each settlement go out in a body to the woods, or the
harvest; but he did not the less feel for the poor disappointed boy, and
thought it a wonder that he did not there end the hardships of his long
wanderings. It is probable that the circumstance of being near the end
of his labours, sustained him for the last three days; but it was the
opinion of his friends, that he could not have lived through another
night, at the time when he reached Nachitoches.

In recounting the history of his residence, he necessarily mentioned the
extraordinary circumstance of seeing a man in the woods, whom, with the
quick discernment of an Indian eye, he had pronounced civilized, an
opinion confirmed by several of the Cumanches. On hearing this, that
gentleman immediately exclaimed,--"I have no doubt but the person you
saw was my worthy friend, Audaubon; he is an artist of great merit, who
has demoted himself to the study of birds; and in pursuit of his object,
with all the enthusiasm of genius, penetrates the deepest forests,
encounters dangers of every kind, and sacrifices every personal
comfort--yes, you have seen Audaubon, undoubtedly, and I wish he had
seen you."

The time came, at length, when it was convenient for Mr. Osborne to set
out; and as he preferred going by water, for the way by land was full of
Indians, many of whom were of the worst description, he looked out for a
vessel about to fall down to the Mississippi, from whence he knew he
could proceed without difficulty.

Whilst making his bargain, he was accosted by one of those persons who
had returned from their expedition up the Red River, desiring to know,
"if a report he had just heard were true, that a boy was under his care,
who had come from a Cumanche settlement, and of whom Tustanuggi, a chief
of that nation, was in search?"

Mr. Osborne answered, that he had seen such a boy certainly, but was too
busy to talk on the matter at present; and on leaving the man, he
hastened home, and in the course of an hour, himself, Manuel, the horse,
and his own son, were on board. He had already promised the latter this
journey, as a high treat; and as he expected to do business at Savannah,
he wished, in some measure, to initiate his son, and introduce him to
their future correspondents.

The voyage was found highly beneficial to the health of Manuel, so that
he throve much better than he had done on land; and when they reached
the shores of Georgia, his figure was that of a tall, handsome lad,
above the usual height for his age, and singularly muscular and agile.
The bad condition of his hair, which had been formerly shaven on the
sides, and left thick in the middle, was hidden by his cap; and his open
countenance, quick eye, and changing colour, gave an expression of
sensibility and animation, which interested all who saw him. It was yet
certain that it was his kind attention to Henry, who had been very ill
during the voyage, and who was leaning upon his arm, that, more than his
personal appearance, struck those who saw them land, several of whom
remarked, that they would answer for it the taller of those boys was of
a good disposition; and "he is exceedingly like a gentleman, I know,"
said one of them.

"Do you know Don Manuel del Perez?" said Mr. Osborne, somewhat quickly:
"can you tell me where he lives?"

"I can," said the gentleman; "his house lies to the left, among these
lime-trees; you may see a part of the verandah here; but you will not
see him to-day; it is a day of mourning in his family."

Mr. Osborne, as it was still early, did not therefore despair, although
it was not very material if he waited for the morrow; but after landing
his luggage, breakfasting at an inn, and arranging his dress, and that
of the boys, he proceeded towards the place of Don Manuel's residence,
glad in his own mind, that by conversation with Manuel, he had renewed
his knowledge of the Spanish language, yet feeling at a loss how to find
words for the approaching occasion.

He found the dwelling situated in a beautiful pleasure-ground,
indicating the residence of a man of wealth, and surrounded with those
elegancies and conveniencies so desirable in warm countries. Directing
the boys to seat themselves under the shade of the verandah, he
proceeded to the house, and inquired if Don Manuel were at home, at the
same time saying--"I am aware that your master does not in general see
company to-day, but my business is of a very particular nature."

"It is not to-day, but _to-morrow_," replied the man, at the same time
speaking to another servant, who in a short time ushered Mr. Osborne
into the room where Don Manuel, his daughter, and wife, were sitting;
but the latter, on his entrance, rose to depart.

"Pardon me, madam," said Mr. Osborne, with great respect, but
considerable emotion, "if I request _you_ to remain; my business is of
such a nature, that if Don Manuel had not been within, it would have
been my duty to have seen you upon it."

"Me, sir! I am to ill to be spoken with."

"Pardon me! a _mother_ can endure much, when the subject is her
child--when she is seeking even a painful conviction on a dubious
point."

Donna Seraphina sank into her chair, pale as ashes, but utterly unable
to speak; whilst Don Manuel, eagerly rising, exclaimed--"For Heaven's
sake! sir, if you have any news to give us of our poor lost boy, speak
quickly--but do not dare to trifle with our feelings; and I beseech
you, deal delicately with a wife and mother, whose weakness you must
perceive."

"Sir," said Mr. Osborne, "I am myself a father, and a widowed husband. I
can feel for you sincerely, or I should not have come all the way from
Nachitoches, to bring you information which was improper to reveal, or
unworthy of attention."

"Speak on, sir, I beseech you."

"About two months since, a Spanish boy, escaped from a settlement of the
Cumanches, arrived in Nachitoches, after passing through an uninhabited
country, about four hundred miles. I need not tell you he was on the
point of perishing with hunger, and that it was some time before he
could inform us who he was, and how he came in this condition; but when
he could speak, he said, that he was stolen from San Antonio, at the
same time with your son and your servant Diego."

"Does he say Manuel is dead?" cried the mother.

"On the contrary, he spoke of him as growing very fast, and being expert
at all Indian exercises."

"He lives! he lives!" cried the mother, and instantly sunk fainting on
the floor.

The more immediate attention of Don Manuel was now called to his wife,
whom, when she was restored, he now earnestly desired to withdraw; but
she declared--"that since she knew her son was alive, she could bear any
thing;" and she entreated Mr. Osborne to proceed with his narrative.

"Alas!" observed Don Manuel, "to us it must be painful, even if true; if
these wild people have rendered our child one of themselves, he is as
much lost to us as if the grave had closed on him; so young--so very
young, he could be modelled to any thing; and if I had the power to
compel his return, no doubt he would fly to his old haunts, and render
us more wretched than ever."

"But this boy declares that Manuel pines after his parents, whom he
loves most tenderly; that the cruelty of the Indians was so abhorrent to
his nature, as to disgust him entirely, and induce him, at the utmost
risk of life, to return to them. I must not, however, disguise from you,
that this boy is thought by many an impostor, though I could pledge
myself for his truth."

"Alas! I fear you are deceived; for it is certain we should have heard
if any such boy had been taken with our own: it is true, our servants
believed the tale told by the Indian was false: can this boy account for
our son's clothes being sent back to us?"

"Very easily: Tustanuggi, who had taken him captive, and,
unquestionably, conceived for him a great affection, by this means
sought to divert you from pursuit. My informer says, that after he saw
Manuel dressed as an Indian, he never found any vestige of his former
clothing."

"Does he seem to know any thing of Diego?"

"Yes; he speaks of him with great affection, and was with him when he
died in the woods, from the bite of a rattlesnake."

"How strange!--had he any knowledge of me, or any of my household?"

"He knew you well, for he described you to me exactly; also your house
and garden at San Antonio. He told me also, that on the day when your
son completed his ninth year, which is some time in this season, Donna
Seraphina wore a lemon-coloured dress, trimmed with white bugles, and a
veil most richly embroidered."

"So I did; the poor boy is right; undoubtedly he is no impostor. Our own
sorrows absorbed us so much, we knew not of our neighbour's loss."

"We will atone for it now," said Don Manuel; "I will take upon me
henceforward the fortunes of this poor boy. He shall be restored to his
friends at San Antonio, and all his wants provided for."

"Ah, sir! let us see this boy instantly. Why--why did he leave my
Manuel? How much must he suffer from the loss of his companion! If one
escaped from the Indians, why could not two?"

"_This_ boy obtained a horse of extraordinary qualities, as you shall
convince yourself, madam, by and by: but I am anxious fully to convince
you that the child I am about to present to you is indeed no impostor. I
presume every circumstance of that memorable birth-day is faithfully
registered in your mind?"

"Yes; indeed I remember them too well."

"In descending the stairs from your dressing-room, you made a false
step, in consequence of which a string of pearls round your neck was
broken; and this boy declares that he tied the beads with his own
hands."

"Mother! mother!" cried the lovely girl, who had hitherto stood in
silent astonishment, gazing on Mr. Osborne, "it was Manuel who tied the
string, and I gathered the beads. Eulalia will remember it, for she was
following you down stairs."

"I remember--I remember all," gasped the trembling mother; "it is my
child--my own first-born child, of whom you speak. May God so deal with
you and yours as you have dealt with him! But where--where is he?"

As Donna Seraphina spoke she rose, as if to fly to her long-lost son;
but her trembling limbs refused to sustain her; and her wild glances
conveyed almost the idea that she was seized with sudden madness. At
this moment, however, the violence of her emotions was arrested, and
happily transferred to her husband, who burst into a passion of tears,
and sobbed aloud.

Such an uncontrollable transport, in a person of his description, was
an event that had the effect of alarming all around him; for although a
man of the deepest feeling, it was so controlled by reason and religion,
that any ebullition of passion seemed foreign to his nature. At this
awful and ecstatic moment, however, his joy and gratitude to Heaven
agitated him in the same manner as some persons feel the effects of
sudden misfortune. He had listened with intense expectation and doubt;
he had perceived, from the manners of the speaker, that he at least
believed Manuel in a state of safety; but it was not till the affair of
the necklace was mentioned, that he durst allow his trembling heart to
admit the full tide of joy that overwhelmed it.

Mr. Osborne having (with even female tenderness) taken off his
neckcloth, suffered his feelings to take their natural vent, happy to
see that in her momentary alarm for her beloved husband, Donna
Seraphina's agitation on her son's account was suspended. When some
degree of composure was restored, he told them, that if they could now
bear the sight of his impostor, he would bring him in, and submit him to
their inspection; but he added--"I must beg you, on his part, to
remember, that although, from long habit, he has attained much
self-command, and may not, in the first instance, exhibit that intense
affection or extravagant joy which would be natural in most children, he
is yet a boy of acute feeling, and even now in too delicate a state to
have it severely exercised."

With these words Mr. Osborne quitted the apartment, and went out to the
place where he had left his son and Manuel; but, to his great
astonishment, found only the former.

"Where is Manuel gone to?" said he, in alarm.

"Oh, papa, half an hour since, a woman came into the house, having the
air of a person who belonged to it. On seeing us, she gave such a loud
scream, (I wonder you did not hear it,) and flung her arms round Manuel,
as if she would have hugged him to death. Then there came several
servants, some of whom remembered him perfectly well; and they all
joined to carry him away somewhere, and lock him up; for they said, if
his mother saw him, she would die upon the spot."

"His father, however, in my opinion, would have been the more likely to
do it," said Mr. Osborne; "but I now trust both are prepared to see him;
so we will follow, and make inquiries."

It was found that all the family were assembled in the most distant
room, where Eulalia and Juan, who, with the unfortunate Diego, had
formed their European attendants, were descanting to the rest on all
that had passed in their minds on the subject of Manuel's captivity,
declaring, in the same moment, "that he was so grown, and so altered,
nobody could believe he was their own dear Signor Manuel, and that they
could have owned him amongst ten thousand." One moment they bemoaned
over him, as the most injured and ill-used of all the human race; and
the next protested "that he looked quite charmingly; and that after all
which could be said, the Indians were very respectable people, and had
behaved exceedingly well to him."

Mr. Osborne broke up this _coterie_, by entering, and desiring Manuel to
accompany him to his parents and sister; for he was not conscious that
the latter had followed him, and was at this time slyly, but fondly,
gazing on her brother. He found Manuel standing silently and
abstractedly in the midst of the party, looking pale and forlorn, and by
no means wearing the joyous face of one returned from long travel and
many hardships to his father's mansion.

"Come, come, my good fellow, your parents are impatient to receive you."

At this moment Manuel darted through the crowd, and throwing himself on
Mr. Osborne's bosom, he cried long and bitterly.

"Why, how is this?" said his kind benefactor: "surely these are tears of
joy; yet they seem like those of sorrow."

"Oh, sir!" said the poor boy, at length raising his head, "you have been
so long--so very long, in persuading my parents to receive me, that
never since the day when I was taken from them, did I suffer so much as
I have done in the last hour. I am sure that Tustanuggi and Moscogi
would receive me more speedily than they have done. Perhaps they think
me that thing some of the people of Nachitoches called me?"

Mr. Osborne hastened to assure him it was rather on account of his own
fears that they would be injured by their overwhelming joy, than any
doubt on the part of his parents which had occasioned the delay; and
when he assured him that even then his father was weeping with delight,
the boy exclaimed with transport--"Ah! then I am sure he loves me yet,
for he is as little likely to weep as a red warrior."

To poor Mr. Osborne it was a mortification to usher his _protg_ into
the presence of his parents with red eyes and disordered hair; but the
recognition of the servants had effectually paved the way for that of
the parents. Indeed, the likeness of the father in Manuel's person was
only rendered the more striking, from the recent agitation both had
experienced; and not a shadow could exist in the minds of any person who
beheld them, on the subject of the stolen boy's identity.

How the mother gazed upon him, pressed him to her bosom, traced every
lineament of his features--how, with streaming eyes, she thanked God for
this unexpected and inestimable gift, every one will imagine. They will
conceive what was the delight of the father, when he found that even in
the wilderness, his son had retained a lively sense of affection to him,
a degree of observance of the rites of his religion, and a deep feeling
of humanity. Nor can any one doubt the unbounded gratitude they
experienced towards that kind friend, whose hand had been held out "to
save him when he was ready to perish." No! often would Donna Seraphina
turn to Mr. Osborne and declare, "that never man had shewn such sympathy
in another's feelings as he had done, and that but for him, she never
could have sustained the joy with which her spirit was loaded."

As all parties by degrees became more composed, Mr. Osborne begged to
know, "if the following day, which he understood was consecrated to
mourning in the family, had any thing to do with Manuel's return?"

"Every thing," said Don Manuel, "for this is his birthday--he is now
twelve years old; and to-morrow, the day on which he was torn from us
three years ago. We will now hold it as a day of solemn thanks and
rejoicings; the poor shall be comforted--the hungry fed."

Manuel turned his eyes full upon Henry, who was a fair handsome boy of
pleasant countenance, but who had not hitherto obtained due
attention.--"My dear child, I read your wishes--be assured I can fully
estimate our boundless obligation to Mr. Osborne, and your friendship
for his son--these are matters for a future consideration: but if there
is any kind of present you wish either to receive, or to give, on this
eventful day, speak your wishes--they are not likely to be refused."

Manuel looked for some time very thoughtful, and then said--"I wish you,
father, to send for Antonio, and let him be taken very good care of;
indeed, I shall be very glad to attend to him myself--he was my friend
when I had none beside in the wide, wide world."

"Be he who he may, he shall share my house, and my table, whilst I have
one."

"It is my horse, father, that I mean; not indeed that he is mine, but I
was forced to take him."

"Be assured he will be no small favourite here--is there any thing else
in your mind?"

"Yes, when Mr. Osborne returns, I wish to send blankets, a gun and
powder to Tustanuggi, and several useful things to Moscogi, and little
Scrogonori. I think I shall be much happier when I have sent these
things, not merely as payment for the horse, but because it will shew
that I can forgive what is past, and remember them all with good will;
and I will also send Uswega a knife, in token that I have forgiven him
also, although he is an unfeeling boy."

How many questions arose as to the respective merits of these
parties--how many tears were shed over circumstances on which Manuel
slightly touched--we must leave to the imagination of our readers. It is
certain, however, that Mr. Osborne's description of the state in which
he found Manuel, though much softened, was the most affecting of any
thing that was offered to his hearers.

Happy was Don Manuel to find that it was in his power, as a man of large
property and connection, greatly to assist this gentleman in his
commercial views, and render his voyage as prosperous as it was
considerate and benevolent. To his son Henry he offered a home in his
house, that he might finish his education under the eye of a clever
tutor, whom he procured for Manuel--an arrangement equally delightful to
the son, and satisfactory to the father; and it was unquestionably of
the greatest utility to Manuel, whose studies were rendered more
agreeable by so dear a companion.

It is now between eight and nine years since Manuel entered Nachitoches,
in the deplorable condition we have related, and therefore he is by this
time a young man of two or three and twenty; and we sincerely hope is
now, by his good conduct, rewarding his parents for their care and
anxiety, and proving that the life so wonderfully preserved, was spared
to good purpose. We shall only observe further, that when Mr. Osborne
took leave of Don Manuel's family on his return to Nachitoches, he was
loaded with marks of the gratitude he had so justly excited, and was the
bearer of a present to Tustanuggi, which he sent up the Red River the
following season. It consisted of every thing which could contribute to
the comfort of an Indian wigwam, more especially in those articles
calculated for female use; for so thankful was Donna Seraphina to the
people who had caused her so much misery, because they had not rendered
it more complete by destroying her son, that she thought she could not
reward them sufficiently. Happily her health returned with her peace of
mind; and being a woman of highly-cultivated mind, she applied herself
diligently to assisting her son's education; and left no means untried
to strengthen the principles, enlighten the understanding, and confirm
the affections of her long-lost stolen boy.


  THE END.




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  =Transcriber's Notes:=
  original hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in
    the original
  Page 27, "into the Mississipi" changed to "into the Mississippi"
  Page 86, "on some occarions" changed to "on some occasions"




[End of The Stolen Boy, by Mrs. Hofland]
