Malaeska: The Indian Wife of the White Hunter

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eely from its nest through a thousand forests, might as well be expected to love its cage, as this poor wild girl her new home, with its dreary stillness and its leaden regularity. But love was all-powerful in

g creature belonged. His blood-all of his being that might descend to posterity-had been mingled with the accursed race who had sacrificed hi

and in his caressing manner, which filled the void in his heart, half with love and half with pain. He could no

at young face, nothing but his look in the large eyes, which, black in color, stil

where her husband died. Always submissive, always gentle, she was nevertheless a melancholy woman. A bird which h

ght of her own people incessantly-of her broken, harassed tribe, desolated by the de

the roof of his enemies? Why had she not taken the child in her arms and joined her people as they sang the death-chant for her father, "who," she murmured

the sacrifice. She pined for her people-all the more that they were in peril and sorrow. She longed for the shaded forest-path, and the pretty lodge, with its couches of fur and its floor of blossoming turf.

old man was obstinate. The wild blood of the boy must be quenched; he must know nothing of the race from which his disgrace sprang. If the Indian woman rem

lone Indian stealing off to her solitary room under the gable roof-a mother, yet childless-without throbs of womanly sorrow. She was far too good a wife to brave her husband's authority, but, with the cowardliness of a kind

e awake, thinking of her child, and ready to gush forth in murmurs of than

upon her memory to awake before daylight, and carry the boy back to the

d lavish kisses on his mouth as he laughed recklessly, and strove to abandon her for some bright flower or butterfly that crossed his path. This snatch of affection, this stealthy way of appeasing a hungry nature, was enough to dr

ed around the halls and corners of the house, or hid herself away in the gable chambers, embroidering beautiful trifles on scraps of

breaking all the time; she had no hope, no life; the very glance of her eye was an appeal for mercy

of woman's care. But this brought her no nearer to his affections. The Indian blood was strong in his young veins; he loved such play as brought activity and danger with it, and broke from the Indian woman's caresses with a sort of scorn, an

to her. Once, when she broke the tired boy's rest by her caresses, he became petulant, and eluded her for her obtrusiveness. The repulse went to her heart like iron. She had no power to plead; for her

s a reproach. Every look that she dared to cast on her child, was w

r heart broke forth, and the forest blood spoke out with a power that not even a sacred memory of the dead could oppose. A wild idea seized upon her. She would no longer remain in the white man's house, like a bird beating its wings against the wires of a cage. The forests were wid

t love her when no white man stood by to rebuke him. With her aroused energies the native reticence of her tribe came to her aid. The stealthy art of warfare against an enemy awoke. They should not know how wretched she was. Her plans must be securely made. Every step toward freedom should be carefully considered. These thoughts occupied Malaeska for days and weeks. She became active in her little chamber. The bow and sheaf of arrows t

boats for a living. Malaeska had often seen him at his work, and her rude knowledge of his craft gave peculiar interest to the curiosity with whic

s near. The old man was finishing a fanciful little craft, of which he was proud beyond any thing. It was so light, so strong,

make it skim the water like a bird. He had built it with an eye to old Mr. Danforth, who had been down to look at his boats for that dar

he would bring him to look at the boat. Mrs. Danforth often trusted the boy out with her; if he would onl

the embroidered pouch that hung in her little room at home-for the old gentleman had been liberal to her in every thing but kind