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<p>“Why not same?⁠—skin make no difference⁠—paleface spile squaw, too⁠—make too much of her.”</p>
<p>“That can never be!” exclaimed le Bourdon, earnestly. “When a pretty, modest, warmhearted young woman accepts a youth for a husband, he can never make enough of her!”</p>
<p>On hearing sentiments so agreeable to a woman’s ears, Margery looked down, but she looked pleased. Pigeons-wing viewed the matter very differently; and being somewhat of a partisan in matters relating to domestic economy, he had no thought of leaving a point of so much importance in so bad a way. Accordingly, it is not surprising that, in pursuing the subject, he expressed opinions in several essentials diametrically the reverse of those of the bee-hunter.</p>
<p>‘ “Easy ’nough spile squaw,” rejoined the Chippewa. “What she good for, don’t make her work? Can’t go on the warpath⁠—can’t take scalp⁠—can’t shoot deer⁠—can’t hunt⁠—can’t kill warrior⁠—so muss work. Dat what squaw good for.”</p>
<p>“Easy ’nough spile squaw,” rejoined the Chippewa. “What she good for, don’t make her work? Can’t go on the warpath⁠—can’t take scalp⁠—can’t shoot deer⁠—can’t hunt⁠—can’t kill warrior⁠—so muss work. Dat what squaw good for.”</p>
<p>“That may do among red men, but we palefaces find squaws good for something else⁠—we love them and take care of them⁠—keep them from the cold in winter, and from the heat in summer; and try to make them as comfortable and happy as we can.”</p>
<p>“Dat good talk for young squaw’s ears,” returned the Chippewa, a little contemptuously as to manner; though his real respect for the bee-hunter, of whose prowess he had so lately been a witness, kept him a little within bounds “but it bess not take nobody in. What Injin say to squaw, he do⁠—what paleface say, he no do.”</p>
<p>“Is that true, Bourdon?” demanded Margery, laughing at the Indian’s earnestness.</p>

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<p>“I cannot give you this distance in miles exactly; but I suppose it may be eleven or twelve times the length of Michigan.”</p>
<p>“Will my brother tell us how much of this long path is water, and how much of it is dry land?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps one-fourth is land, as the traveller may choose; the rest must be water, if the journey be made from the rising toward the setting sun, which is the shortest path; but, let the journey be made from the setting toward the rising sun, and there is little water to cross; rivers and lakes of no great width, as is seen here, but only a small breadth of salt lake.”</p>
<p>“Are there, then, two roads to that far-off land, where the red men are thought to have once lived?</p>
<p>“Are there, then, two roads to that far-off land, where the red men are thought to have once lived?”</p>
<p>“Even so. The traveller may come to this spot from that land by way of the rising sun, or by way of the setting sun.”</p>
<p>The general movement among the members of the council denoted the surprise with which this account was received. As the Indians, until they have had much intercourse with the whites, very generally believe the earth to be flat, it was not easy for them to comprehend how a given point could be reached by directly opposite routes. Such an apparent contradiction would be very likely to extort further questions.</p>
<p>“My brother is a medicine-man of the palefaces; his hairs are gray,” observed Crows-feather. “Some of your medicine-men are good, and some wicked. It is so with the medicine-men of the redskins. Good and bad are to be found in all nations. A medicine-man of your people cheated my young men by promising to show them where firewater grows. He did not show them. He let them smell, but he did not let them drink. That was a wicked medicine-man. His scalp would not be safe did my young men see it again”⁠—here the bee-hunter, insensibly to himself, felt for his rifle, making sure that he had it between his legs; the corporal being a little surprised at the sudden start he gave. “His hair does not grow on his head closer than the trees grow to the ground. Even a tree can be cut down. But all medicine-men are not alike. My brother is a <em>good</em> medicine-man. All he says may not be just as he thinks, but he <em>believes</em> what he says. It is wonderful how men can look two ways; but it is more wonderful that they should go to the same place by paths that lead before and behind. This we do not understand; my brother will tell us how it can be.”</p>

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<p>The next thing was to ascertain which was the particular tree in which the bees had found a shelter. Collecting his implements, le Bourdon was soon ready, and, with a light elastic tread, he moved off toward the point of the wood, followed by the whole party. The distance was about half a mile, and men so much accustomed to use their limbs made light of it. In a few minutes all were there, and the bee-hunter was busy in looking for his tree. This was the consummation of the whole process, and Ben was not only provided for the necessities of the case, but he was well skilled in all the signs that betokened the abodes of bees.</p>
<p>An uninstructed person might have passed that point of wood a thousand times, without the least consciousness of the presence of a single insect of the sort now searched for. In general, the bees flew too high to be easily perceptible from the ground, though a practised eye can discern them at distances that would almost seem to be marvellous. But Ben had other assistants than his eyes. He knew that the tree he sought must be hollow, and such trees usually give outward signs of the defect that exists within. Then, some species of wood are more frequented by the bees than others, while the instinct of the industrious little creatures generally enables them to select such homes as will not be very likely to destroy all the fruits of their industry by an untimely fall. In all these particulars, both bees and bee-hunter were well versed, and Ben made his search accordingly.</p>
<p>Among the other implements of his calling, le Bourdon had a small spyglass; one scarcely larger than those that are used in theatres, but which was powerful and every way suited to its purposes. Ben was not long in selecting a tree, a half-decayed elm, as the one likely to contain the hive; and by the aid of his glass he soon saw bees flying among its dying branches, at a height of not less than seventy feet from the ground. A little further search directed his attention to a knothole, in and out of which the glass enabled him to see bees passing in streams. This decided the point; and putting aside all his implements but the axe, Buzzing Ben now set about the task of felling the tree.</p>
<p>“<em>stran</em>ger,” said Gershom, when le Bourdon had taken out the first chip, “perhaps you’d better let <em>me</em> do that part of the job. I shall expect to come in for a share of the honey, and I’m willing to ’arn all I take. I was brought up on axes, and jackknives, and sich sort of food, and can cut <em>or</em> whittle with the best chopper, or the neatest whittler, in or out of New England.”</p>
<p>“<em>Stran</em>ger,” said Gershom, when le Bourdon had taken out the first chip, “perhaps you’d better let <em>me</em> do that part of the job. I shall expect to come in for a share of the honey, and I’m willing to ’arn all I take. I was brought up on axes, and jackknives, and sich sort of food, and can cut <em>or</em> whittle with the best chopper, or the neatest whittler, in or out of New England.”</p>
<p>“You can try your hand, if you wish it,” said Ben, relinquishing the axe. “I can fell a tree as well as yourself, but have no such love for the business as to wish to keep it all to myself.”</p>
<p>“Waal, I can say, I <em>like</em> it,” answered Gershom, first passing his thumb along the edge of the axe, in order to ascertain its state; then swinging the tool, with a view to try its “hang.”</p>
<p>“I can’t say much for your axe, <em>stranger</em>, for this helve has no tarve to’t, to my mind; but, sich as it is, down must come this elm, though ten millions of bees should set upon me for my pains.”</p>
<p>This was no idle boast of Waring’s. Worthless as he was in so many respects, he was remarkably skilful with the axe, as he now proved by the rapid manner in which he severed the trunk of the large elm on which he was at work. He inquired of Ben where he should “lay the tree,” and when it came clattering down, it fell on the precise spot indicated. Great was the confusion among the bees at this sudden downfall of their long-cherished home. The fact was not known to their enemy, but they had inhabited that tree for a long time; and the prize now obtained was the richest he had ever made in his calling. As for the insects, they filled the air in clouds, and all the invaders deemed it prudent to withdraw to some little distance for a time, lest the irritated and wronged bees should set upon them and take an ample revenge. Had they known their power, this might easily have been done, no ingenuity of man being able to protect him against the assaults of this insignificant-looking animal, when unable to cover himself, and the angry little heroes are in earnest. On the present occasion, however, no harm befell the marauders. So suddenly had the hive tumbled that its late occupants appeared to be astounded, and they submitted to their fate as men yield to the power of tempests and earthquakes. In half an hour most of them were collected on an adjacent tree, where doubtless a consultation on the mode of future proceedings was held, after their fashion.</p>
<p>The Indians were more delighted with le Bourdon’s ingenious mode of discovering the hive than with the richness of the prize; while Ben himself, and Gershom, manifested most satisfaction at the amount of the earnings. When the tree was cut in pieces, and split, it was ascertained that years of sweets were contained within its capacious cavities, and Ben estimated the portion that fell to his share at more than three hundred pounds of good honey⁠—comb included⁠—after deducting the portions that were given to the Indians, and which were abstracted by Gershom. The three last, however, could carry but little, as they had no other means of bearing it away than their own backs.</p>
<p>The honey was not collected that night. The day was too far advanced for that; and le Bourdon⁠—certainly never was name less merited than this sobriquet as applied to the active young bee-hunter⁠—but le Bourdon, to give him his quaint appellation, offered the hospitalities of his own cabin to the strangers, promising to put them on their several paths the succeeding day, with a good store of honey in each knapsack.</p>
<p>“They do say there ar’ likely to be troublesome times.” he continued, with simple earnestness, after having given the invitation to partake of his homely fare; “and I should like to hear what is going on in the world. From Whiskey Centre I do not expect to learn much, I will own; but I am mistaken if the Pigeons-wing, here, has not a message that will make us all open our ears.”</p>
<p>“They do say there ar’ likely to be troublesome times,” he continued, with simple earnestness, after having given the invitation to partake of his homely fare; “and I should like to hear what is going on in the world. From Whiskey Centre I do not expect to learn much, I will own; but I am mistaken if the Pigeons-wing, here, has not a message that will make us all open our ears.”</p>
<p>The Indians ejaculated their assent; but Gershom was a man who could not express anything sententiously. As the bee-hunter led the way toward his cabin, or shanty, he made his comments with his customary freedom. Before recording what he communicated, however, we shall digress for one moment in order to say a word ourselves concerning this term “shanty.” It is now in general use throughout the whole of the United States, meaning a cabin that has been constructed in haste, and for temporary purposes. By a license of speech, it is occasionally applied to more permanent residences, as men are known to apply familiar epithets to familiar objects. The derivation of the word has caused some speculation. The term certainly came from the West-perhaps from the Northwest-and the best explanation we have ever heard of its derivation is to suppose “shanty,” as we now spell it, a corruption of “chiente,” which it is thought may have been a word in Canadian French phrase to express a “dog-kennel.” “Chenil,” we believe, is the true French term for such a thing, and our own word is said to be derived from it⁠—“meute” meaning “a kennel of dogs,” or “a pack of hounds,” rather than their dwelling. At any rate, “chiente” is so plausible a solution of the difficulty, that one may hope it is the true one, even though he has no better authority for it than a very vague rumor. Curious discoveries are sometimes made by these rude analogies, however, though they are generally thought not to be very near akin to learning. For ourselves, now, we do not entertain a doubt that the sobriquet of “Yankees” which is in every man’s mouth, and of which the derivation appears to puzzle all our philologists, is nothing but a slight corruption of the word “Yengeese,” the term applied to the “English,” by the tribes to whom they first became known. We have no other authority for this derivation than conjecture, and conjectures that are purely our own; but it is so very plausible as almost to carry conviction of itself.<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-2" id="noteref-2" epub:type="noteref">2</a></p>
<p>The “chiente’ ” or shanty of le Bourdon stood quite near to the banks of the Kalamazoo, and in a most beautiful grove of the burr-oak. Ben had selected the site with much taste, though the proximity of a spring of delicious water had probably its full share in influencing his decision. It was necessary, moreover, that he should be near the river, as his great movements were all made by water, for the convenience of transporting his tools, furniture, <abbr>etc.</abbr>, as well as his honey. A famous bark canoe lay in a little bay, out of the current of the stream, securely moored, head and stern, in order to prevent her beating against any object harder than herself.</p>
<p>The dwelling had been constructed with some attention to security. This was rendered necessary, in some measure, as Ben had found by experience, on account of two classes of enemies⁠—men and bears. From the first, it is true, the bee-hunter had hitherto apprehended but little. There were few human beings in that region. The northern portions of the noble peninsula of Michigan are somewhat low and swampy, or are too broken and savage to tempt the native hunters from the openings and prairies that then lay, in such rich profusion, further south and west. With the exception of the shores, or coasts, it was seldom that the northern half of the peninsula felt the footstep of man. With the southern half, however, it was very different; the “openings,” and glades, and watercourses, offering almost as many temptations to the savage as they have since done to the civilized man. Nevertheless, the bison, or the buffalo, as the animal is erroneously, but very generally, termed throughout the country, was not often found in the vast herds of which we read, until one reached the great prairies west of the Mississippi. There it was that the red men most loved to congregate; though always bearing, in numbers, but a trifling proportion to the surface they occupied. In that day, however, near as to the date, but distant as to the events, the Chippewas, Ottawas, Pottawattamies, kindred tribes, we believe, had still a footing in Michigan proper, and were to be found in considerable numbers in what was called the <abbr>St.</abbr> Joseph’s country, or along the banks of the stream of that name; a region that almost merits the lofty appellation of the garden of America. Le Bourdon knew many of their warriors, and was much esteemed among them; though he had never met with either of those whom chance now had thrown in his way. In general, he suffered little wrong from the red men, who wondered at his occupation, while they liked his character; but he had sustained losses, and even ill-treatment, from certain outcasts of the tribes, as well as from vagrant whites, who occasionally found their way to his temporary dwellings. On the present occasion, le Bourdon felt far more uneasiness from the circumstance of having his abode known to Gershom Waring, a countryman and fellow-Christian, in one sense at least, than from its being known to the Chippewa and the Pottawattamie.</p>
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<p>But we should be doing injustice to le Bourdon, were we in any manner to confound him with the “dickering” race. He was a bee-hunter quite as much through love of the wilderness and love of adventure, as through love of gain. Profitable he had certainly found the employment, or he probably would not have pursued it; but there was many a man who⁠—nay, most men, even in his own humble class in life-would have deemed his liberal earnings too hardly obtained, when gained at the expense of all intercourse with their own kind. But Buzzing Ben loved the solitude of his situation, its hazards, its quietude, relieved by passing moments of high excitement; and, most of all, the self-reliance that was indispensable equally to his success and his happiness. Woman, as yet, had never exercised her witchery over him, and every day was his passion for dwelling alone, and for enjoying the strange, but certainly most alluring, pleasures of the woods, increasing and gaining strength in his bosom. It was seldom, now, that he held intercourse even with the Indian tribes that dwelt near his occasional places of hunting; and frequently had he shifted his ground in order to avoid collision, however friendly, with whites who, like himself, were pushing their humble fortunes along the shores of those inland seas, which, as yet, were rarely indeed whitened by a sail. In this respect, Boden and Waring were the very antipodes of each other; Gershom being an inveterate gossip, in despite of his attachment to a vagrant and border life.</p>
<p>The duties of hospitality are rarely forgotten among border men. The inhabitant of a town may lose his natural disposition to receive all who offer at his board, under the pressure of society; but it is only in most extraordinary exceptions that the frontier man is ever known to be inhospitable. He has little to offer, but that little is seldom withheld, either through prudence or niggardliness. Under this feeling⁠—we might call it habit also⁠—le Bourdon now set himself at work to place on the table such food as he had at command and ready cooked. The meal which he soon pressed his guests to share with him was composed of a good piece of cold boiled pork, which Ben had luckily cooked the day previously, some bear’s meat roasted, a fragment of venison steak, both lean and cold, and the remains of a duck that had been shot the day before, in the Kalamazoo, with bread, salt, and, what was somewhat unusual in the wilderness, two or three onions, raw. The last dish was highly relished by Gershom, and was slightly honored by Ben; but the Indians passed it over with cold indifference. The dessert consisted of bread and honey, which were liberally partaken of by all at table.</p>
<p>Little was said by either host or guests, until the supper was finished, when the whole party left the chiente, to enjoy their pipes in the cool evening air, beneath the oaks of the grove in which the dwelling stood. Their conversation began to let the parties know something of each other’s movements and characters.</p>
<p>“<em>you</em> are a Pottawattamie, and <em>you</em> a Chippewa,” said le Bourdon, as he courteously handed to his two red guests pipes of theirs, that he had just stuffed with some of his own tobacco⁠—“I believe you are a sort of cousins, though your tribes are called by different names.”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> are a Pottawattamie, and <em>you</em> a Chippewa,” said le Bourdon, as he courteously handed to his two red guests pipes of theirs, that he had just stuffed with some of his own tobacco⁠—“I believe you are a sort of cousins, though your tribes are called by different names.”</p>
<p>“Nation, Ojebway,” returned the elder Indian, holding up a finger, by way of enforcing attention.</p>
<p>“Tribe, Pottawattamie,” added the runner, in the same sententious manner.</p>
<p>“Baccy, good”⁠—put in the senior, by way of showing he was well contented with his comforts.</p>

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<span>And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep</span>
<br/>
<span>—Peas-blossom! cobweb! moth! and mustard-seed!</span>
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<cite>Midsummer-Night’s Dream</cite>
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<cite>Rogers</cite>
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</header>
<pre>During the hunt there was little leisure for reflection on the seemingly extraordinary manner in which the bee-hunter had pointed out the spot where the bears were to be found. No one of the Indians had seen him apply the glass to his eye, for, leading the party, he had been able to do this unobserved; but, had they witnessed such a procedure, it would have been as inexplicable as all the rest. It is true, Crows-feather and one or two of his companions had taken a look through that medicine-glass, but it rather contributed to increase the conjuror's renown, than served to explain any of the marvels he performed.</pre>
<p>During the hunt there was little leisure for reflection on the seemingly extraordinary manner in which the bee-hunter had pointed out the spot where the bears were to be found. No one of the Indians had seen him apply the glass to his eye, for, leading the party, he had been able to do this unobserved; but, had they witnessed such a procedure, it would have been as inexplicable as all the rest. It is true, Crows-feather and one or two of his companions had taken a look through that medicine-glass, but it rather contributed to increase the conjuror's renown, than served to explain any of the marvels he performed.</p>
<p>Peter was most struck with all that had just occurred. He had often heard of the skill of those who hunted bees, and had several times met with individuals who practised the art, but this was the first occasion on which he had ever been a witness, in his own person, of the exercise of a craft so wonderful! Had the process been simply that of catching a bee, filling it with honey, letting it go, and then following it to its hive, it would have been so simple as to require no explanation. But Peter was too intelligent, as well as too observant, not to have seen that a great deal more than this was necessary. On the supposition that the bee flew <em>toward</em> the forest, as had been the fact with two of the bees taken that morning, in what part of that forest was the hunter to look for the bee-tree? It was the angle that perplexed Peter, as it did all the Indians; for that angle, to be understood, required a degree of knowledge and calculation that entirely exceeded all he had ever acquired. Thus is it with us ever. The powers, and faculties, and principles that are necessary fully to comprehend all that we see and all that surrounds us, exist and have been bestowed on man by his beneficent Creator. Still, it is only by slow degrees that he is to become their master, acquiring knowledge, step by step, as he has need of its services, and learns how to use it. Such seems to be the design of Providence, which is gradually opening to our inquiries the arcana of nature, in order that we may convert their possession into such uses as will advance its own wise intentions. Happy are they who feel this truth in their character of individuals! Thrice happy the nations which can be made to understand, that the surest progress is that which is made on the clearest principles, and with the greatest caution! The notion of setting up anything new in morals, is as fallacious in theory as it will be found to be dangerous in practice.</p>
<p>It has been said that a sudden change had come over the fierce purposes of Peter. For some time, the nature, artlessness, truth, feminine playfulness and kindness, not to say personal beauty of Margery, had been gradually softening the heart of this stern savage, as it respected the girl herself. Nothing of a weak nature was blended with this feeling, which was purely the growth of that divine principle that is implanted in us all. The quiet, earnest manner in which the girl had, that day, protested her desire to see the rights of the red man respected, completed her conquest; and, so far as the great chief was concerned, secured her safety. It may seem singular, however, that Peter, with all his influence, was unable to say that even one that he was so much disposed to favor, should be spared. By means of his own eloquence, and perseverance, and deep desire for vengeance, however, he had aroused a spirit among his followers that was not so easily quelled. On several occasions, he had found it difficult to prevent the younger and more impetuous of the chiefs from proceeding at once to secure the scalps of those who were in their power; and this he had done, only by promising to increase the number of the victims. How was he then to lessen that number? and that, too, when circumstances did not seem likely to throw any more immediately into his power, as he had once hoped. This council must soon be over, and it would not be in his power to send the chiefs away without enumerating the scalps of the palefaces present among those which were to make up the sum of their race.</p>
<p>Taking the perplexity produced by the bee-hunter’s necromancy, and adding it to his concern for Margery, Peter found ample subject for all his reflections. While the young men were dressing their bears, and making the preparations for a feast, he walked apart, like a man whose thoughts had little in common with the surrounding scene. Even the further proceedings of le Bourdon, who had discovered his bee-tree, had felled it, and was then distributing the honey among the Indians, could not draw him from his meditations. The great council of all was to be held that very day⁠—there, on Prairie Round⁠—and it was imperative on Peter to settle the policy he intended to pursue, previously to the hour when the fire was to be lighted, and the chiefs met in final consultation.</p>

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<p>“My brother says the bee-hunter has no squaw. How does he know this? Has he lived in the lodge with them⁠—paddled in the same canoe⁠—eat of the same venison? A weasel is very small. It might steal into the bee-hunter’s lodge, and see what is there, what is doing, what is eaten, who is his squaw, and who is not⁠—has this weasel ever done so? I never saw him there.</p>
<p>“Brothers, the Great Spirit has his own way of doing things. He does not stop to listen to weasels. He knows there are such animals⁠—there are snakes, and toads, and skunks. The Great Spirit knows them all, but he does not mind them. He is wise, and hearkens only to his own mind. So should it be with a council of great chiefs. It should listen to its own mind. That is wisdom. To listen to the mind of a weasel is folly.</p>
<p>“Brothers, you have been told that this weasel does not know the tribe of which I am born. Why should you know it? Injins once were foolish. While the palefaces were getting one hunting-ground after another from them, they dug up the hatchet against their own friends. They took each other’s scalps. Injin hated Injin⁠—tribe hated tribe. I am of no tribe, and no one can hate me for my people. You see my skin. It is red. That is enough. I scalp, and smoke, and talk, and go on weary paths for all Injins, and not for any tribe. I am without a tribe. Some call me the Tribeless. It is better to bear that name, than to be called a weasel. I have done.”</p>
<p>Peter had so much success by this argumentum ad hominem, that most present fancied that the weasel would creep through some hole, and disappear. Not so, however, with Ungque. He was a demagogue, after an Indian fashion; and this is a class of men that ever “make capital” of abuses, as we Americans say, in our money-getting habits. Instead of being frightened off the ground, he arose to answer as promptly as if a practised debater, though with an air of humility so profound, that no one could take offence at his presumption.</p>
<p>Peter had so much success by this argumentum <i>ad hominem</i>, that most present fancied that the weasel would creep through some hole, and disappear. Not so, however, with Ungque. He was a demagogue, after an Indian fashion; and this is a class of men that ever “make capital” of abuses, as we Americans say, in our money-getting habits. Instead of being frightened off the ground, he arose to answer as promptly as if a practised debater, though with an air of humility so profound, that no one could take offence at his presumption.</p>
<p>“The unknown chief has answered,” he said, “I am glad. I love to hear his words. My ears are always open when he speaks, and my mind is stronger. I now see that it is good he should not have a tribe. He may be a Cherokee, and then our warriors would wish him ill.” This was a home-thrust, most artfully concealed; a Cherokee being the Indian of all others the most hated by the chiefs present;⁠—the Carthaginians of those western Romans. “It is better he should not have a tribe, than be a Cherokee. He might better be a weasel.</p>
<p>“Brothers, we have been told to kill <em>all</em> the palefaces. I like that advice. The land cannot have two owners. If a paleface owns it, an Injin cannot. If an Injin owns it, a paleface cannot. But the chief without a tribe tells us not to kill all. He tells us to kill all but the bee-hunter and his squaw. He thinks this bee-hunter is a medicine bee-hunter, and may do us Injins great harm. He wishes to let him go.</p>
<p>“Brothers, this is not my way of thinking. It is better to kill the bee-hunter and his squaw while we can, that there may be no more such medicine bee-hunters to frighten us Injins. If one bee-hunter can do so much harm, what would a tribe of bee-hunters do? I do not want to see any more. It is a dangerous thing to know how to talk with bees. It is best that no one should have that power. I would rather never taste honey again, than live among palefaces that can talk with bees.</p>

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<p>Ben did as desired; and the two were soon side by side at the spring, in the outlet of which they made their ablutions⁠—the redskin being totally without paint. When this agreeable office was performed, each felt in better condition for a conference.</p>
<p>“Elkfoot got belt from Canada fadder,” commenced the Chippewa, with a sententious allusion to the British propensity to keep the savages in pay. “<em>know</em> he got him <em>know</em> he keep him.”</p>
<p>“And you, Pigeons-wing⁠—by your manner of talking I had set you down for a king’s Injin, too.”</p>
<p>“<em>talk</em> so⁠—no <em>feel</em> bit so. <em>My</em> heart Yankee.”</p>
<p>“<em>Talk</em> so⁠—no <em>feel</em> bit so. <em>My</em> heart Yankee.”</p>
<p>“And have you not had a belt of wampum sent you, as well as the rest of them?”</p>
<p>“Dat true⁠—got him⁠—don’t keep him.”</p>
<p>“What! did you dare to send it back?”</p>
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<p>“Hell,” answered the Ojebway, quietly.</p>
<p>“Hell! You mean to give his Indian title, I suppose, to show that he will prove dangerous to the wicked. But how is he called in our own tongue?”</p>
<p>“Hell⁠—dat he name⁠—good name for so’ger, eh?”</p>
<p>“I believe I understand you, Chippewa⁠—Hull is the name of the governor of the territory, and you must have mistaken the sound⁠—‘is it not so?”</p>
<p>“I believe I understand you, Chippewa⁠—Hull is the name of the governor of the territory, and you must have mistaken the sound⁠—is it not so?”</p>
<p>“Hull⁠—Hell⁠—don’t know⁠—just same⁠—one good as t’other.”</p>
<p>“Yes, one will do as well as the other, if a body only understands you. So Governor Hull sent you here?”</p>
<p>“No gubbernor⁠—general, tell you. Got big army⁠—plenty warrior⁠—eat Breesh up!”</p>
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<p>The reader will remember that the bee-elm had stood on the edge of a dense thicket, or swamp, in which the trees grew to a size several times exceeding those of the oaks in the openings; and le Bourdon had caused it to fall upon the open ground, in order to work at the honey with greater ease to himself. Consequently, the fragments lay in full view of the spot where the halt was made. A little to Gershom’s surprise, Ben now produced his spyglass, which he levelled with much earnestness toward the tree. The bee-hunter, however, well knew his business, and was examining into the state of the insects whom he had so violently invaded the night before. The air was filled with them, flying above and around the tree; a perfect cloud of the little creatures hovering directly over the hole, as if to guard its treasure.</p>
<p>“Waal,” said Gershom, in his drawling way, when le Bourdon had taken a long look with the glass, “I don’t see much use in spyglassin’ in that fashion. Spy-glassin’ may do out on the lake, if a body has only the tools to do it with; but here, in the openin’s, nature’s eyes is about as good as them a body buys in the stores.”</p>
<p>“Take a look at them bees, and see what a fret they’re in,” returned Ben, handing the glass to his companion. “As long as I’ve been in the business, I’ve never seen a colony in such a fever. Commonly, a few hours after the bees find that their tree is down, and their plans broken into, they give it up, and swarm; looking for a new hive, and setting about the making more food for the next winter; but here are all the bees yet, buzzing above the hole, as if they meant to hold out for a siege.”</p>
<p>“There’s an onaccountable grist on ’em”⁠—Gershom was never very particular in his figures of speech, usually terming anything in quantities a’grist”; and meaning in the present instance by “onaccountable,” a number not to be counted⁠—“an onaccountable grist on ’em, I can tell you, and if you mean to charge upon sich enemies, you must look out for somebody besides Whiskey Centre for your vanguard. What in natur’ has got into the critters! They can’t expect to set that tree on its legs ag’in!”</p>
<p>“There’s an onaccountable grist on ’em”⁠—Gershom was never very particular in his figures of speech, usually terming anything in quantities a “grist”; and meaning in the present instance by “onaccountable,” a number not to be counted⁠—“an onaccountable grist on ’em, I can tell you, and if you mean to charge upon sich enemies, you must look out for somebody besides Whiskey Centre for your vanguard. What in natur’ has got into the critters! They can’t expect to set that tree on its legs ag’in!”</p>
<p>“Do you see a flight of them just in the edge of the forest⁠—here, more to the southward?” demanded le Bourdon.</p>
<p>“Sure enough! There is a lot on ’em there, too, and they seem to be comin’ and goin’ to the tree, like folks”⁠—Gershom <em>would</em> put his noun of multitude into the plural, Nova-Anglice⁠—“comin’ and goin’ like folks carryin’ water to a fire. A body would think, by the stir among ’em, them critters’ barrel was empty!”</p>
<p>“The bears are there,” coolly returned the bee-hunter; “I’ve seen such movements before, and know how to account for them. The bears are in the thicket, but don’t like to come out in the face of such a colony. I have heard of bears being chased miles by bees, when their anger was up!”</p>

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<p>Blossom stood beneath the tree, and the bee-hunter told her, as each incident occurred, all that passed among the strangers, when the girl communicated the same to her brother and his wife, who were quite near at hand in one of the canoes. As there was no danger of being overheard, conversation in an ordinary tone passed between the parties, two of whom at least were now fond of holding this sort of communion.</p>
<p>“Do they seem to suspect the neighborhood of the occupants of the cabin?” asked Margery, when the bee-hunter had let her know the manner in which the savages had taken possession of her late dwelling.</p>
<p>“One cannot tell. Savages are always distrustful and cautious when on a warpath; and these seem to be scenting about like so many hounds which are nosing for a trail. They are now gathering sticks to light a fire, which is better than burning the chiente.”</p>
<p>“<em>that</em> they will not be likely to do until they have no further need of it. Tell me, Bourdon, do any go near the thicket of alders where we have hidden our goods?”</p>
<p>“<em>That</em> they will not be likely to do until they have no further need of it. Tell me, Bourdon, do any go near the thicket of alders where we have hidden our goods?”</p>
<p>“Not as yet; though there is a sudden movement and many loud yells among them!”</p>
<p>“Heaven send that it may not be at having discovered anything we have forgotten. The sight of even a lost dipper or cup would set them bloodhounds on our path, as sure as we are white and they are savages!”</p>
<p>“As I live, they scent the whiskey! There is a rush toward, and a powwow in and about the shed⁠—yes, of a certainty they smell the liquor! Some of it has escaped in rolling down the hill, and their noses are too keen to pass over a fragrance that to them equals that of roses. Well, let them <em>scent</em> as they may⁠—even an Injin does not get drunk through his <em>nose</em>.”</p>

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<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VII</h2>
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<p>
<span>We call them savageoh, be just!</span>
<span>We call them savage—oh, be just!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Their outraged feelings scan;</span>
<br/>
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<p>It has already been intimated that it was not easy, if indeed it were possible, to cross that piece of low wet land in a direct line. There was tolerably firm ground on it, but it lay in an irregular form, its presence being generally to be noted by the growth of trees. Le Bourdon had been very careful in taking his landmarks, foreseeing the probability of a hasty retreat, and he had no difficulty for some time in keeping in the right direction. But the dogs soon left the dead body, and came bounding across the marsh, disregarding its difficulties; though their plunges and yells soon made it apparent that even they did not escape altogether with dry feet. As for the savages, they poured down the declivity in a stream, taking the dogs as their guides; and safe ones they might well be accounted, so far as the <em>scent</em> was concerned, though they did not happen to be particularly well acquainted with all the difficulties of the path.</p>
<p>At length le Bourdon paused, causing his companion to stop also. In the hurry and confusion of the flight, the former had lost his landmarks, finding himself amidst a copse of small trees, or large bushes, but not in the particular copse he sought. Every effort to get out of this thicket, except by the way he had entered it, proved abortive, and the dogs were barking at no great distance in his rear. It is true that these animals no longer approached: for they were floundering in the mud and water; but their throats answered every purpose to lead the pursuers on, and the low calls that passed from mouth to mouth, let the pursued understand that the Pottawattamies were at their heels, if not absolutely on their trail.</p>
<p>The crisis demanded both discretion and decision; qualities in which the bee-hunter, with his forest training, was not likely to be deficient. He looked out for the path by which he had reached the unfortunate thicket, and having found it, commenced a retreat by the way he had come. Nerve was needed to move almost in a line toward the dogs and their masters; but the nerve was forthcoming, and the two advanced like veterans expecting the fire of some concealed but well-armed battery. Presently, le Bourdon stopped, and examined the ground on which he stood.</p>
<p>“<em>here</em> we must turn, Chippewa,” he said, in a guarded voice. “This is the spot where I must have missed my way.”</p>
<p>“<em>Here</em> we must turn, Chippewa,” he said, in a guarded voice. “This is the spot where I must have missed my way.”</p>
<p>“Good place to turn ’bout,” answered the Indian⁠—“dog too near.”</p>
<p>“We must shoot the dogs if they press us too hard,” returned the bee-hunter, leading off rapidly, now secure in the right direction. “They seem to be in trouble, just at this time; but animals like them will soon find their way across this marsh.”</p>
<p>“Bess shoot Pottawattamie,” coolly returned Pigeons-wing. “Pottawattamie got capital scalp⁠—dog’s ears no good for nutting any more.”</p>

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<p>“Yes; this place is called by the whites Whiskey Centre,” he added⁠—“which means that it is the centre of all the whiskey of the country round about.”</p>
<p>“Dat true,” said Cloud, quickly⁠—“I hear so’ger at Fort Dearborn call him Whiskey Centre!”</p>
<p>This little circumstance greatly complicated the mystery, and le Bourdon perceived that he had hit on a lucky explanation.</p>
<p>“Soldiers far and near⁠—soldiers drunk or sober⁠—soldiers with scalps, and soldiers without scalps⁠—all know the place by that name. But you need not believe with your eyes shut and noses stopped, chief, since you have the means of learning for yourselves the truth of what I tell you. Come with me, and I will tell you where to dig in the morning for a whiskey spring.”</p>
<p>“Soldiers far and near⁠—soldiers drunk or sober⁠—soldiers with scalps, and soldiers without scalps⁠—all know the place by that name. But you need not believe with your eyes shut and noses stopped, chief, since you have the means of learning for yourselves the truth of what I tell you. Come with me, and I will tell you where to dig in the morning for a Whiskey Spring.”</p>
<p>This communication excited a tremendous feeling among the savages, when its purport came to be explained to the whole party. Apart from the extraordinary, miraculous nature of such a spring, which in itself was sufficient to keep alive expectation and gratify curiosity, it was so comfortable to have an inexhaustible supply of the liquor running out of the bowels of the earth, that it is no wonder the news spread infinite delight among the listeners. Even the two or three of the chiefs who had so shrewdly divined the manner in which the liquor had been spilled, were staggered by the solemnity and steadiness of the bee-hunter’s manner, and perhaps a little carried away by sympathy with those around them. This yielding of the human mind to the influence of numbers is so common an occurrence as scarcely to require explanation, and is the source of half the evils that popular associations inflict on themselves. It is not that men capable of <em>seeing</em> the truth are ever wanting; but men capable of <em>maintaining</em> it, in the face of clamor and collected power.</p>
<p>It will be readily conceived that a medicine-man who is supposed to possess the means of discovering a spring that should overflow with pure whiskey, would not be left without urgent demands for a speedy exercise of this art. This was now the case with le Bourdon, who was called on from all sides to point out the precise spot where the young men were to commence digging in order to open on the treasure. Our hero knew that his only hope of escape was connected with his steadily maintaining his assumed character; or of maintaining this assumed character, with his going on, at once, to do something that might have the effect, temporarily at least, of satisfying the impatience of his now attentive listeners. Accordingly, when the demand was made on him to give some evidence of his power, he set about the task, not only with composure, but with a good deal of ingenuity.</p>
<p>Le Bourdon, it will be remembered, had, with his own hands, rolled the two barrels of whiskey down the declivity. Feeling the great importance of effectually destroying them, he had watched their descent, from the top to the bottom of the hill, and the final disappearance of the staves, <abbr>etc.</abbr>, into the torrent which brawled at its foot. It had so happened that the half-filled cask broke and let out its liquor at a point much more remote from the stream, than the filled. The latter had held together until it went over the low rocky precipice, already mentioned, and was stove at its base, within two yards of the torrent, which received all its fragments and swept them away, including most of the liquor itself; but not until the last had been spilled. Now, the odorous spot which had attracted the noses of the savages, and near which they had built their fire, was that where the smallest quantity of the whiskey had fallen. Le Bourdon reasoned on these circumstances in this wise:⁠—if half a barrel of the liquor can produce so strong a scent, a barrel filled ought to produce one still stronger; and I will manifest my medicine-character, by disregarding for the present moment the spot on the hillside, and proceed at once to that at the foot of the rocks. To this latter point, therefore, did he direct all the ceremony, as well as his own footsteps, when he yielded to the solicitations of the Pottawattamies, and undertook to point out the position of the whiskey spring.</p>
<p>Le Bourdon, it will be remembered, had, with his own hands, rolled the two barrels of whiskey down the declivity. Feeling the great importance of effectually destroying them, he had watched their descent, from the top to the bottom of the hill, and the final disappearance of the staves, <abbr>etc.</abbr>, into the torrent which brawled at its foot. It had so happened that the half-filled cask broke and let out its liquor at a point much more remote from the stream, than the filled. The latter had held together until it went over the low rocky precipice, already mentioned, and was stove at its base, within two yards of the torrent, which received all its fragments and swept them away, including most of the liquor itself; but not until the last had been spilled. Now, the odorous spot which had attracted the noses of the savages, and near which they had built their fire, was that where the smallest quantity of the whiskey had fallen. Le Bourdon reasoned on these circumstances in this wise:⁠—if half a barrel of the liquor can produce so strong a scent, a barrel filled ought to produce one still stronger; and I will manifest my medicine-character, by disregarding for the present moment the spot on the hillside, and proceed at once to that at the foot of the rocks. To this latter point, therefore, did he direct all the ceremony, as well as his own footsteps, when he yielded to the solicitations of the Pottawattamies, and undertook to point out the position of the Whiskey Spring.</p>
<p>The bee-hunter understood the Indian character too well to forget to embellish his work with a proper amount of jugglery and acting. Luckily, he had left in the canoe a sort of frock of mottled colors that he had made himself, to wear in the woods in the autumn as a hunting-dress, under the notion that such a covering would conceal his approach from his game, by blending its hues with those of the autumn leaf. This dress he now assumed, extorting a good deal of half-suppressed admiration from the younger warriors, by the gay appearance he made. Then he drew out his spyglass to its greatest length, making various mysterious signs and gestures as he did so. This glass proved to be a great auxiliary, and possibly alone kept the doubters in awe. Le Bourdon saw at once that it was entirely new, even to the oldest chief, and he felt how much it might be made to assist him. Beckoning to Cloud, and adjusting the focus, he directed the small end of his glass to the fire, and placed the large end to that Indian’s eye. A solitary savage, who loved the scent of whiskey too much to tear himself away from the spot, was lingering within the influence of the rays, and of course was seen by the chief, with his person diminished to that of a dwarf, and his form thrown to a seeming distance.</p>
<p>An eloquent exclamation followed this exhibition of the medicine-man’s power; and each of the chiefs, and most of the other warriors, were gratified with looks through the glass.</p>
<p>“What dat mean?” demanded Cloud, earnestly. “See Wolfeye well ’nough⁠—why he so little?⁠—why he so far off, he?”</p>
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<p>These words were translated, and explained to all three. They extorted many ejaculations of wonder, and divers grunts of admiration and contentment. Cloud conferred a moment with the two principal chiefs; then he turned eagerly to the bee-hunter, saying⁠—</p>
<p>“All good, but want to hear more⁠—want to l’arn more⁠—want to <em>see</em> more.”</p>
<p>“Name your wants freely, Pottawattamie,” answered le Bourdon, with dignity, “they shall be satisfied.”</p>
<p>“Want to see⁠—want to <em>taste</em> whiskey spring⁠—see won’t do⁠—want to <em>taste</em>”</p>
<p>“Want to see⁠—want to <em>taste</em> Whiskey Spring⁠—see won’t do⁠—want to <em>taste</em>.”</p>
<p>“Good⁠—you shall smell first; then you shall see; after that you shall taste. Give me room, and be silent; a great medicine is near.”</p>
<p>Thus delivering himself, le Bourdon proceeded with his necromancy.</p>
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<p>In crossing Lake Erie, within the last few months, the writer, in a run of twenty-four hours, counted no less than sixty-three vessels, met, overlaken, and seen. He temembers thai water, in the Aral ten years of the present century, when a single enil was an object of interest and eutiosity. The cliange must have been witnessed to be appreciated. <a href="chapter-11.xhtml#noteref-3" epub:type="backlink">↩</a></p>
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<p>In the times of the crusades, the cross was adopted as an emblem of general use. All the castles and churches were adorned with this touching memorial of the origin of the Christian faith, in beautiful commemoration of the price paid for human salvation. Apertures were made for the windows, and a stone cross was erected in each, whence the French term of <i xml:lang="fr">croisée</i>. The same thing was done for the floors, which, by removing the panels, would be found to contain so many crosses. This last custom became general, and a cross, or crosses, are to be found at this very hour in nearly every old panelled door in the country, even to the humblest dwellings of the descendants of the Puritans and Quakers. Ignorance preserved the emblems at the very moment these pious and critical saints were throwing aside gowns and cassocks, church music and kneeling, along with everything else that by the perversity of human ingenuity, could be made to appear connected, in the remotest degree, with the simplicity of human faith. There is something amusing in finding these quiet little material emblems of the crucifixion entrenching themselves in the very bedrooms and “cupboards” (to use the vernacular) of “the saints,” <i xml:lang="fr">par excellence</i>, at the precise period when not only their voices, but their hands were raised to dislodge them from that most appropriate of all positions, the summit of the church-spire⁠—that “silent finger pointing to the skies”⁠—in order to put (still in honour of the vernacular) a “rooster” in its stead! <a href="chapter-11.xhtml#noteref-4" epub:type="backlink">↩</a></p>
<p>In the times of the crusades, the cross was adopted as an emblem of general use. All the castles and churches were adorned with this touching memorial of the origin of the Christian faith, in beautiful commemoration of the price paid for human salvation. Apertures were made for the windows, and a stone cross was erected in each, whence the French term of <i xml:lang="fr">croisée</i>. The same thing was done for the floors, which, by removing the panels, would be found to contain so many crosses. This last custom became general, and a cross, or crosses, are to be found at this very hour in nearly every old panelled door in the country, even to the humblest dwellings of the descendants of the Puritans and Quakers. Ignorance preserved the emblems at the very moment these pious and critical saints were throwing aside gowns and cassocks, church music and kneeling, along with everything else that by the perversity of human ingenuity, could be made to appear connected, in the remotest degree, with the simplicity of human faith. There is something amusing in finding these quiet little material emblems of the crucifixion entrenching themselves in the very bedrooms and “cupboards” (to use the vernacular) of “the saints,” <i xml:lang="fr">par excellence</i>, at the precise period when not only their voices, but their hands were raised to dislodge them from that most appropriate of all positions, the summit of the church-spire⁠—that “silent finger pointing to the skies”⁠—in order to put (still in honour of the vernacular) a “rooster” in its stead! <a href="chapter-11.xhtml#noteref-4" epub:type="backlink">↩</a></p>
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<p>A “tiger stooping for his prey.” <a href="chapter-12.xhtml#noteref-5" epub:type="backlink">↩</a></p>

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<h2 epub:type="fulltitle">The Oak Openings</h2>
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<a href="text/preface.xhtml">Preface</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-1.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-2.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-3.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-4.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-5.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-6.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">VI</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-7.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">VII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-8.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">VIII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-9.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">IX</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-10.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">X</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-11.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XI</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-12.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-13.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XIII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-14.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XIV</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-15.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XV</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-16.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XVI</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-17.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XVII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-18.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XVIII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-19.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XIX</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-20.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XX</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-21.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXI</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-22.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-23.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXIII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-24.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXIV</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-25.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXV</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-26.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXVI</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-27.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXVII</a>
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<a href="text/chapter-28.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXVIII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-29.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXIX</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-30.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXX</a>
<a href="text/halftitlepage.xhtml">The Oak Openings</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-1.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-2.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-3.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-4.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-5.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-6.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">VI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-7.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">VII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-8.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">VIII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-9.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">IX</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-10.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">X</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-11.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-12.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-13.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XIII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-14.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XIV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-15.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-16.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XVI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-17.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XVII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-18.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XVIII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-19.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XIX</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-20.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XX</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-21.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-22.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-23.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXIII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-24.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXIV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-25.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-26.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXVI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-27.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXVII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-28.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXVIII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-29.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXIX</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/chapter-30.xhtml" epub:type="z3998:roman">XXX</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/endnotes.xhtml">Endnotes</a>