and intelligent industry are the attendants of civilization, the wants created by which can only be supplied by the unremitted care of those who live by their existence.
"Dere, old Sus," exclaimed the negro, shaking the last of the dead birds from the bag – "dere, now, Injin; I s'pose you t'inks 'em ere's game!"
"What you call him, eh?" demanded the Onondago, eyeing the negro sharply.
"I doesn't call 'em game a bit, redskin. Dem's not varmint, n'oder; but den, dem isn't game. Game's game, I s'pose you does know, Sus?"
"Game, game – good. T'at true – who say no?"
"Yes, it's easy enough to say a t'ing, but it not so berry easy to understan'. Can any Injin in York State, now, tell me why pigeon isn't game?"
"Pigeon game – good game, too. Eat sweet – many time want more."
"Now, I do s'pose, Trackless" – Jaap loved to run through the whole vocabulary of the Onondago's names – "Now, I do s'pose, Trackless, you t'ink tame pigeon just as good as wild?"
"Don't know – nebber eat tame – s'pose him good, too."
"Well, den, you s'poses berry wrong. Tame pigeons poor stuff; but no pigeon be game. Nuttin' game, Sureflint, dat a dog won't p'int, or set. Masser Mordaunt h'an't got no dog at de Bush or de Toe, and he keeps dogs enough at bot', dat would p'int a pigeon."
"P'int deer, eh?"
"Well, I doesn't know. P'raps he will, p'raps he won't. Dere isn't no deer in Westchester for us to try de dogs on, so a body can't tell. You remem'er 'e day, Sus, when we fit your redskins out here, 'long time ago, wit' Masser Corny and Masser Ten Eyck, and ole Masser Herman Mordaunt, and Miss Anneke, and Miss Mary, an' your frin' Jumper? You remem'er dat, ha! Onondago?"
"Sartain – no forget – Injin nebber forget. Don't forget friend – don't forget enemy."
Here Jaap raised one of his shouting negro laughs, in which all the joyousness of his nature seemed to enter with as much zest as if he were subjected to a sort of mental tickling; then he let the character of his merriment be seen by his answer.
"Sartain 'nough – you remem'er dat feller, Muss, Trackless? He get heself in a muss by habbing too much mem'ry. Good to hab mem'ry when you told to do work; but sometime mem'ry bad 'nough. Berry bad to hab so much mem'ry dat he can't forget small floggin'."
"No true," answered the Onondago, a little sternly, though a very little; for, while he and Jaap disputed daily, they never quarrelled. "No true, so. Flog bad for back."
"Well, dat because you redskin – a color' man don't mind him as much as dis squab. Get use to him in little while; den he nuttin' to speak of."
Sureflint made no answer, but he looked as if he pitied the ignorance, humility, and condition of his friend.
"What you t'ink of dis worl', Susquesus?" suddenly demanded the negro, tossing a squab that he had cleaned into a pail, and taking another. "How you t'ink white man come? – how you t'ink red man come? – how you t'ink color' gentl'em come, eh?"
"Great Spirit say so – t'en all come. Fill Injin full of blood – t'at make him red – fill nigger wit' ink – t'at make him black – pale-face pale 'cause he live in sun, and color dry out."
Here Jaap laughed so loud that he drew all three of Chainbearer's blacks to the door, who joined in the fun out of pure sympathy, though they could not have known its cause. Those blacks! They may be very miserable as slaves; but it is certain no other class in America laugh so often, or so easily, or one-half as heartily.
"Harkee, Injin," resumed Jaap, as soon as he had laughed as much as he wished to do at that particular moment – "Harkee, Injin – you t'ink 'arth round, or 'arth flat?"
"How do you mean – 'arth up and down – no round – no flat."
"Dat not what I mean. Bot' up and down in one sens', but no up and down in 'noder. Masser Mordaunt, now, and Masser Corny too, bot' say 'arth round like an apple, and dat he'd stand one way in day-time, an' 'noder way in night-time. Now, what you t'ink of dat, Injin?"
The Trackless listened gravely, but he expressed neither assent or dissent. I knew he had a respect for both my father and myself; but it was asking a great deal of him to credit that the world was round; nor did he understand how one could be turned over in the manner Jaap pretended.
"S'pose it so," he remarked, after a pause of reflection – "S'pose it so, den man stand upside down? Man stand on foot; no stand on head."
"Worl' turn round, Injin; dat a reason why you stand on he head one time; on he foot 'noder."
"Who tell t'at tradition, Jaap? Nebber heard him afore."
"Masser Corny tell me dat, long time ago; when I war' little boy. Ask Masser Mordaunt one day, and he tell you a same story. Ebberybody say dat but Masser Dirck Follock; and he say to me, one time, 'it true, Jaap, t'e book do say so – and your Masser Corny believe him; but I want to see t'e worl' turn round, afore I b'lieve it.' Dat what Colonel Follock say, Trackless; you know he berry honest."
"Good – honest man, colonel – brave warrior – true friend – b'lieve all he tell, when he know; but don't know ebberyt'ing. Gen'ral know more – major young, but know more."
Perhaps my modesty ought to cause me to hesitate about recording that which the partiality of so good a friend as Susquesus might induce him to say; but it is my wish to be particular, and to relate all that passed on this occasion. Jaap could not object to the Indian's proposition, for he had too much love and attachment for his two masters not to admit at once that they knew more than Colonel Follock; no very extravagant assumption, by the way.
"Yes, he good 'nough," answered the black, "but he don't know half as much as Masser Corny, or Masser Mordaunt. He say worl' isn't round; now, I t'ink he look round."
"What Chainbearer say?" asked the Indian, suddenly, as if he had determined that his own opinion should be governed by that of a man whom he so well loved. "Chainbearer nebber lie."
"Nor do Masser Corny, nor Masser Mordaunt?" exclaimed Jaap, a little indignantly. "You t'ink, Trackless, e'der of my massers lie!"
That was an accusation that Susquesus never intended to make; though his greater intimacy with, and greater reliance on old Andries had, naturally enough, induced him to ask the question he had put.
"No say eeder lie," answered the Onondago; "but many forked tongue about, and maybe hear so, and t'ink so. Chainbearer stop ear; nebber listen to crooked tongue."
"Well, here come Chainbearer he self, Sus; so, jist for graterfercashun, you shall hear what 'e ole man say. It berry true, Chainbearer honest man, and I like to know he opinion myself, sin' it isn't easy, Trackless, to understan' how a mortal being can stan' up, head down!"
"What 'mortal being' mean, eh?"
"Why, it mean mortality, Injin – you, mortality – I, mortality – Masser Corny, mortality – Masser Mordaunt, mortality – Miss Anneke, mortality – ebberybody, mortality; but ebberybody not 'e same sort of mortality! – Understan' now, Sus?"
The Indian shook his head, and looked perplexed; but the Chainbearer coming up at that moment, that branch of the matter in discussion was pursued no farther. After exchanging a few remarks about the pigeons, Jaap did not scruple
