Джеймс Фенимор Купер
The Oak Openings; or the Bee-Hunter
“I had heard something of this,” answered le Bourdon, with a saddened countenance, “and was afraid it might happen.”
“My brother dig up hatchet too, eh?” demanded Pigeonswing.
“Why should I? I am alone here, on the Openings, and it would seem foolish in me to wish to fight.”
“Got no tribe – no Ojebway – no Pottawattamie, eh?”
“I have my tribe, as well as another, Chippewa, but can see no use I can be to it, here. If the English and Americans fight, it must be a long way from this wilderness, and on or near the great salt lake.”
“Don’t know – nebber know, ‘till see. English warrior plenty in Canada.”
“That may be; but American warriors are not plenty here. This country is a wilderness, and there are no soldiers hereabouts, to cut each other’s throats.”
“What you t’ink him?” asked Pigeonswing, glancing at Gershom; who, unable to forbear any longer, had gone to the spring to mix a cup from a small supply that still remained of the liquor with which he had left home. “Got pretty good scalp?”
“I suppose it is as good as another’s – but he and I are countrymen, and we cannot raise the tomahawk on one another.”
“Don’t t’ink so. Plenty Yankee, him!”
Le Bourdon smiled at this proof of Pigeonswings sagacity, though he felt a good deal of uneasiness at the purport of his discourse.
“You are right enough in THAT” he answered, “but I’m plenty of Yankee, too.”
“No, don’t say so,” returned the Chippewa – “no, mustn’t say DAT. English; no Yankee. HIM not a bit like you.”
“Why, we are unlike each other, in some respects, it is true, though we are countrymen, notwithstanding. My great father lives at Washington, as well as his.”
The Chippewa appeared to be disappointed; perhaps he appeared sorry, too; for le Bourdon’s frank and manly hospitality had disposed him to friendship instead of hostilities, while his admissions would rather put him in an antagonist position. It was probably with a kind motive that he pursued the discourse in a way to give his host some insight into the true condition of matters in that part of the world.
“Plenty Breetish in woods,” he said, with marked deliberation and point. “Yankee no come yet.”
“Let me know the truth, at once, Chippewa,” exclaimed le Bourdon. “I am but a peaceable bee-hunter, as you see, and wish no man’s scalp, or any man’s honey but my own. Is there to be a war between America and Canada, or not?”
“Some say, yes; some say, no,” returned Pigeonswing, evasively, “My part, don’t know. Go, now, to see. But plenty Montreal belt among redskins; plenty rifle; plenty powder, too.”
“I heard something of this as I came up the lakes,” rejoined Ben; “and fell in with a trader, an old acquaintance, from Canada, and a good friend, too, though he is to be my enemy, according to law, who gave me to understand that the summer would not go over without blows. Still, they all seemed to be asleep at Mackinaw (Michilimackinac) as I passed there.”
“Wake up pretty soon. Canada warrior take fort.”
“If I thought that, Chippewa, I would be off this blessed night to give the alarm.”
“No – t’ink better of dat.”
“Go I would, if I died for it the next hour!”
“T’ink better – be no such fool, I tell you.”
“And I tell you, Pigeonswing, that go I would, if the whole Ojebway nation was on my trail. I am an American, and mean to stand by my own people, come what will.”
“T’ought you only peaceable bee-hunter, just now,” retorted the Chippewa, a little sarcastically.
By this time le Bourdon had somewhat cooled, and he became conscious of his indiscretion. He knew enough of the history of the past, to be fully aware that, in all periods of American history, the English, and, for that matter, the French too, so long as they had possessions on this continent, never scrupled about employing the savages in their conflicts. It is true, that these highly polished, and, we may justly add, humane nations – (for each is, out of all question, entitled to that character in the scale of comparative humanity as between communities, and each if you will take its own account of the matter, stands at the head of civilization in this respect) – would, notwithstanding these high claims, carry on their AMERICAN wars by the agency of the tomahawk, the scalping-knife, and the brand. Eulogies, though pronounced by ourselves on ourselves, cannot erase the stains of blood. Even down to the present hour, a cloud does not obscure the political atmosphere between England and America, that its existence may not be discovered on the prairies, by a movement among the Indians. The pulse that is to be felt there is a sure indication of the state of the relations between the parties. Every one knows that the savage, in his warfare, slays both sexes and all ages; that the door-post of the frontier cabin is defiled by the blood of the infant, whose brains have been dashed against it; and that the smouldering ruins of log-houses oftener than not cover the remains of their tenants. But what of all that? Brutus is still “an honorable man,” and the American, who has not this sin to answer for among his numberless transgressions, is reviled as a semi-barbarian! The time is at hand, when the Lion of the West will draw his own picture, too; and fortunate will it be for the characters of some who will gather around the easel, if they do not discover traces of their own lineaments among his labors.
The feeling engendered by the character of such a warfare is the secret of the deeply seated hostility which pervades the breast of the WESTERN American against the land of his ancestors. He never sees the Times, and cares not a rush for the mystifications of the Quarterly Review; but he remembers where his mother was brained, and his father or brother tortured; aye, and by whose instrumentality the foul deeds were mainly done. The man of the world can understand that such atrocities may be committed, and the people of the offending nation remain ignorant of their existence, and, in a measure, innocent of the guilt; but the sufferer, in his provincial practice, makes no such distinction, confounding all alike in his resentments, and including all that bear the hated name in his maledictions. It is a fearful thing to awaken the anger of a nation; to excite in it a desire for revenge; and thrice is that danger magnified, when the people thus aroused possess the activity, the resources, the spirit, and the enterprise of the Americans. We have been openly derided, and that recently, because, in the fulness of our sense of power and sense of right, language that exceeds any direct exhibition of the national strength has escaped the lips of legislators, and, perhaps justly, has exposed them to the imputation of boastfulness. That derision, however, will not soon be repeated. The scenes enacting in Mexico, faint as they are in comparison with what would have been seen, had hostilities taken an other direction, place a perpetual gag in the mouths of all scoffers. The child is passing from the gristle into the bone, and the next generation will not even laugh, as does the present, at any idle and illconsidered menaces to coerce this republic; strong in the consciousness of its own power, it will eat all such fanfaronades, if any future statesman should be so ill-advised as to renew them, with silent indifference.
Now, le Bourdon was fully aware that one of the surest pulses of approaching hostilities between England and America was to be felt in the far West. If the Indians were in movement, some power was probably behind the scenes to set them in motion. Pigeonswing was well known to him by reputation; and there was that about the man which awakened the most unpleasant apprehensions, and he felt an itching desire to learn all he could from him, without betraying any more of his own feelings, if that were possible.
“I do not think the British will attempt Mackinaw,” Ben remarked, after a long pause and a good deal of smoking had enabled him to assume an air of safe indifference.
“Got him, I tell you,” answered Pigeonswing, pointedly.
“Got what, Chippewa?”
“Him – Mac-naw – got fort – got so’gers – got whole island. Know dat, for been dere.”
This was astounding news, indeed! The commanding officer of that ill-starred garrison could not himself have been more astonished, when he was unexpectedly summoned to surrender by an enemy who appeared to start out of the earth, than was le Bourdon, at hearing this intelligence. To western notions, Michilimackinac was another Gibraltar, although really a place of very little strength, and garrisoned by only one small company of regulars. Still, habit had given the fortress a sort of sanctity among the adventurers of that region; and its fall, even in the settled parts of the country, sounded like the loss of a province. It is now known that, anticipating the movements of the Americans, some three hundred whites, sustained by more than twice that number of Indians, including warriors from nearly every adjacent tribe, had surprised the post on the 17th of July, and compelled the subaltern in command, with some fifty odd men, to surrender. This rapid and highly military measure, on the part of the British, completely cut off the post of Chicago, at the head of Lake Michigan, leaving it isolated, on what was then a very remote wilderness. Chicago, Mackinac, and Detroit, were the three grand stations of the Americans on the upper lakes, and here were two of them virtually gone at a blow!
Chapter III
– Ho! who’s here?
If anything that’s civil, speak; if savage,
Take, or lend —
Cymbeline
Not another syllable did le Bourdon utter to the Chippewa, or the Chippewa to him, in that sitting, touching the important event just communicated. Each carefully avoided manifesting any further interest in the subject, but the smoking continued for some time after the sun had set. As the shades of evening began to gather, the Pottawattamie arose, shook the ashes from his pipe, gave a grunt, and uttered a word or two, by way of announcing his disposition to retire. On this hint, Ben went into the cabin, spread his skins, and intimated to his guests that their beds were ready for them. Few compliments pass among border men on such occasions, and one after another dropped off, until all were stretched on the skins but the master of the place. He remained up two hours later, ruminating on the state of things; when, perceiving that the night was wearing on, he also found a nest, and sought his repose.
Nothing occurred to disturb the occupants of “Castle Meal,” as le Bourdon laughingly called his cabin, until the return of day. If there were any bears scenting around the place, as often occurred at night, their instinct must have apprised them that a large reinforcement was present, and caused them to defer their attack to a more favorable opportunity. The first afoot next morning was the bee-hunter himself, who arose and left his cabin just as the earliest streaks of day were appearing in the east. Although dwelling in a wilderness, the “openings” had not the character of ordinary forests. The air circulates freely beneath their oaks, the sun penetrates in a thousand places, and grass grows, wild but verdant. There was little of the dampness of the virgin woods; and the morning air, though cool, as is ever the case, even in midsummer, in regions still covered with trees, was balmy; and, at that particular spot, it came to the senses of le Bourdon loaded with the sweets of many a wide glade of his favorite white clover. Of course, he had placed his cabin near those spots where the insect he sought most abounded; and a fragrant site it proved to be, in favorable conditions of the atmosphere. Ben had a taste for all the natural advantages of his abode, and was standing in enjoyment of its placid beauties when some one touched his elbow. Turning, quick as thought, he perceived the Chippewa at his side. That young Indian had approached with the noiseless tread of his people, and was now anxious to hold a private communication with him.
“Pottawattamie got long ear – come fudder – ” said Pigeonswing; “go cook-house – t’ink we want breakfast.”
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.
“Elkfoot got belt from Canada fadder,” commenced the Chippewa, with a sententious allusion to the British propensity to keep the savages in pay. “KNOW he got him KNOW he keep him.”
“And you, Pigeonswing – by your manner of talking I had set you down for a king’s Injin, too.”
“TALK so – no FEEL bit so. MY heart Yankee.”
“And have you not had a belt of wampum sent you, as well as the rest of them?”
“Dat true – got him – don’t keep him.”
“What! did you dare to send it back?”
“Ain’t fool, dough young. Keep him; no keep him. Keep him for Canada fadder; no keep him for Chippewa brave.”
“What have you then done with your belt?”
“Bury him where nobody find him dis war. No – Waubkenewh no hole in heart to let king in.”
Pigeonswing, as this young Indian was commonly called in his tribe, in consequence of the rapidity of his movement when employed as a runner, had a much more respectable name, and one that he had fairly earned in some of the forays of his people, but which the commonalty had just the same indisposition to use as the French have to call Marshal Soult the Duc de Dalmatie. The last may be the most honorable title, but it is not that by which he is the best known to his countrymen. Waubkenewh was an appellation, notwithstanding, of which the young Chippewa was justly proud; and he often asserted his right to use it, as sternly as the old hero of Toulouse asserted his right to his duchy, when the Austrians wished to style him “le Marechal DUC Soult.”
“And you are friendly to the Yankees, and an enemy to the red-coats?”
Waubkenewh grasped the hand of le Bourdon, and squeezed it firmly. Then he said, warily:
“Take care – Elkfoot friend of Blackbird; like to look at Canada belt. Got medal of king, too. Have Yankee scalp, bye’m by. Take care – must speak low, when Elkfoot near.”
“I begin to understand you, Chippewa; you wish me to believe that YOU are a friend to America, and that the Pottawatamie is not. If this be so, why have you held the speech that you did last night, and seemed to be on a war-path AGAINST my countrymen?”
“Dat good way, eh? Elkfoot den t’ink me HIS friend dat very good in war-time.”
“But is it true, or false, that Mackinaw is taken by the British?”
“Dat true too – gone, and warrior all prisoner. Plenty Winnebago, plenty Pottawatamie, plenty Ottowa, plenty redskin, dere.”
“And the Chippewas?”
“Some Ojebway, too” – answered Pigeonswing, after a reluctant pause. “Can’t all go on same path this war. Hatchets, somehow, got two handle – one strike Yankee; one strike King George.”
“But what is your business here, and where are you now going if you are friendly to the Americans? I make no secret of my feelings – I am for my own people, and I wish proof that you are a friend, and not an enemy.”
“Too many question, one time,” returned the Chippewa, a little distastefully. “No good have so long tongue. Ask one question, answer him – ask anoder, answer HIM, too.”
“Well, then, what is your business, here?”
“Go to Chicago, for gen’ral.”
“Do you mean that you bear a message from some American general to the commandant at Chicago?”
“Just so – dat my business. Guess him, right off; he, he, he!”
It is so seldom that an Indian laughs that the bee-hunter was startled.
“Where is the general who has sent you on this errand?” he demanded.
“He at Detroit – got whole army dere – warrior plenty as oak in opening.”
All this was news to the bee-hunter, and it caused him to muse a moment, ere he proceeded.
“What is the name of the American general who has sent you on this path?” he then demanded.
“Hell,” answered the Ojebway, quietly.
“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?”
“Hell – dat he name – good name for so’ger, eh?”
“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?”
“Hull – Hell – don’t know – just same – one good as t’other.”
“Yes, one will do as well as the other, if a body only understands you. So Governor Hull sent you here?”
“No gubbernor – general, tell you. Got big army – plenty warrior – eat Breesh up!”
“Now, Chippewa, answer me one thing to my likin’, or I shall set you down as a man with a forked tongue, though you do call yourself a friend of the Yankees. If you have been sent from Detroit to Chicago, why are you so far north as this? Why are you here, on the banks of the Kalamazoo, when your path ought to lead you more toward the St. Joseph’s?”
“Been to Mackinaw. Gen’ral says, first go to Mackinaw and see wid own eye how garrison do – den go to Chicago, and tell warrior dere what happen, and how he best manage. Understan’ dat, Bourdon?”
“Aye, it all sounds well enough, I will acknowledge. You have been to Mackinaw to look about you, there, and having seen things with your own eyes, have started for Chicago to give your knowledge to the commandant at that place. Now, redskin, have you any proof of what you say?”
For some reason that the bee-hunter could not yet fathom, the Chippewa was particularly anxious either to obtain his confidence, or to deceive him. Which he was attempting, was not yet quite apparent; but that one or other was uppermost in his mind, Ben thought was beyond dispute. As soon as the question last named was put, however, the Indian looked cautiously around him, as if to be certain there were no spectators. Then he carefully opened his tobacco-pouch, and extricated from the centre of the cut weed a letter that was rolled into the smallest compass to admit of this mode of concealment, and which was encircled by a thread. The last removed, the letter was unrolled, and its superscription exposed. The address was to “Captain – Heald, U. S. Army, commanding at Chicago.” In one corner were the words “On public service, by Pigeonswing.” All this was submitted to the bee-hunter, who read it with his own eyes.
“Dat good” – asked the Chippewa, pointedly-“dat tell trutb’lieve HIM?”
Le Bourdon grasped the hand of the Indian, and gave it a hearty squeeze. Then he said frankly, and like a man who no longer entertained any doubts:
“I put faith in all you say, Chippewa. That is an officer’s letter, and I now see that you are on the right side. You play’d so deep a game, at first, hows’ever, that I didn’t know exactly what to make of you. Now, as for the Pottawattamie – do you set him down as friend or foe, in reality?”
“Enemy – take your scalp – take my scalp, in minute only can’t catch him. He got belt from Montreal, and it look handsome in his eye.”
“Which way d’ye think he’s travelling? As I understood you, he and you fell into the same path within a mile of this very spot. Was the meeting altogether friendly?”
“Yes; friendly – but ask too many question – too much squaw – ask one question, den stop for answer.”
“Very true – I will remember that an Indian likes to do one thing at a time. Which way, then, do you think he’s travelling?”
“Don’t know – on’y guess – guess he on path to Blackbird.”
“And where is Blackbird, and what is he about?”
“Two question, dat!” returned the Chippewa, smiling, and holding up two of his fingers, at the same time, by way of rebuke. “Blackbird on war-path; – when warrior on dat path, he take scalp if can get him.”
“But where is his enemy? There are no whites in this part of the country, but here and there a trader, or a trapper, or a bee-hunter, or a VOYAGEUR.”
“Take HIS scalp – all scalp good, in war time. An’t partic’lar, down at Montreal. What you call garrison at Chicago?”
“Blackbird, you then think, may be moving upon Chicago. In that case, Chippewa, you should outrun this Pottawatamie, and reach the post in time to let its men know the danger.”
“Start, as soon as eat breakfast. Can’t go straight, nudder, or Pottawatamie see print of moccasin. Must t’row him off trail.”
“Very true; but I’ll engage you’re cunning enough to do that twice over, should it be necessary.”
Just then Gershom Waring came out of the cabin, gaping like a hound, and stretching his arms, as if fairly wearied with sleep. At the sight of this man the Indian made a gesture of caution, saying, however, in an undertone:
“How is heart – Yankee or Breesh – love Montreal, eh? Pretty good scalp! Love King George, eh?”
“I rather think not, but am not certain. He is a poor paleface, however, and it’s of no great account how he stands. His scalp would hardly be worth the taking, whether by English or American.”
“Sell, down at Montreal – better look out for Pottawatamie. Don’t like that Injin.”
“We’ll be on our guard against him; and there he comes, looking as if his breakfast would be welcome, and as if he was already thinking of a start.”
Le Bourdon had been busy with his pots, during the whole time this discourse was going on, and had warmed up a sufficiency of food to supply the wants of all his guests. In a few minutes each was busy quietly eating his morning’s meal, Gershom having taken his bitters aside, and, as he fancied, unobserved. This was not so much owing to niggardliness, as to a distrust of his having a sufficient supply of the liquor, that long indulgence had made, in a measure, necessary to him, to last until he could get back to the barrels that were still to be found in his cabin, down on the shore of the lake.
During the breakfast little was said, conversation forming no material part of the entertainment, at the meals of any but the cultivated. When each had risen, however, and by certain preliminary arrangements it was obvious that the two Indians intended to depart, the Pottawatamie advanced to le Bourdon, and thrust out a hand.
“Thankee” – he said, in the brief way in which he clipped his English – “good supper – good sleep – good breakfast. Now go. Thankee – when any friend come to Pottawatamie village, good wigwam dere, and no door.”
“I thank you, Elksfoot – and should you pass this way, ag’in, soon, I hope you’ll just step into this chiente and help yourself it I should happen to be off on a hunt. Good luck to you, and a happy sight of home.”
The Pottawatamie then turned and thrust out a hand to each of the others, who met his offered leave-taking with apparent friendship. The bee-hunter observed that neither of the Indians said anything to the other touching the path he was about to travel, but that each seemed ready to pursue his own way as if entirely independent, and without the expectation of having a companion.
Elksfoot left the spot the first. After completing his adieus, the Pottawattamie threw his rifle into the hollow of his arm, felt at his belt, as if to settle it into its place, made some little disposition of his light summer covering, and moved off in a southwesterly direction, passing through the open glades, and almost equally unobstructed groves, as steady in his movements as if led by an instinct.
“There he goes, on a bee-line,” said le Bourdon, as the straight form of the old savage disappeared at length, behind a thicket of trees. “On a bee-line for the St. Joseph’s river, where he will shortly be, among friends and neighbors, I do not doubt. What, Chippewa! are you in motion too?”
“Must go, now,” returned Pigeonswing, in a friendly way. “Bye’m by come back and eat more honey-bring sweet news, hope-no Canada here,” placing a finger on his heart-“all Yankee.”
“God be with you, Chippewa-God be with you. We shall have a stirring summer of it, and I expect to hear of your name in the wars, as of a chief who knows no fear.”
Pigeonswing waved his hand, cast a glance, half friendly half contemptuously, at Whiskey Centre, and glided away. The two who remained standing near the smouldering fire remarked that the direction taken by the Chippewa was toward the lake, and nearly at right angles to that taken by the Pottawattamie. They also fancied that the movement of the former was about half as fast again as that of the latter. In less than three minutes the young Indian was concealed in the “openings,” though he had to cross a glade of considerable width in order to reach them.
The bee-hunter was now alone with the only one of his guests who was of the color and race to which he himself belonged. Of the three, he was the visitor he least respected; but the dues of hospitality are usually sacred in a wilderness, and among savages, so that he could do nothing to get rid of him. As Gershom manifested no intention to quit the place, le Bourdon set about the business of the hour, with as much method and coolness as if the other had not been present. The first thing was to bring home the honey discovered on the previous day; a task of no light labor, the distance it was to be transported being so considerable, and the quantity so large. But our bee-hunter was not without the means of accomplishing such an object, and he now busied himself in getting ready. As Gershom volunteered his assistance, together they toiled in apparent amity and confidence.
The Kalamazoo is a crooked stream; and it wound from the spot where le Bourdon had built his cabin, to a point within a hundred yards of the fallen tree in which the bees had constructed their hive. As a matter of course, Ben profited by this circumstance to carry his canoe to the latter place, with a view to render it serviceable in transporting the honey. First securing everything in and around the chiente, he and Gershom embarked, taking with them no less than four pieces of fire-arms; one of which was, to use the language of the west, a double-barrelled “shot-gun.” Before quitting the place, however, the bee-hunter went to a large kennel made of logs, and let out a mastiff of great power and size. Between this dog and himself there existed the best possible intelligence; the master having paid many visits to the prisoner since his return, feeding and caressing him. Glad, indeed, was this fine animal to be released, bounding back and forth, and leaping about le Bourdon in a way to manifest his delight. He had been cared for in his kennel, and well cared for, too; but there is no substitute for liberty, whether in man or beast, individuals or communities.
When all Was ready, le Bourdon and Gershom got into the canoe, whither the former now called his dog, using the name of “Hive,” an appellation that was doubtless derived from his own pursuit. As soon as the mastiff leaped into the canoe, Ben shoved off, and the light craft was pushed up the stream by himself and Gershom without much difficulty, and with considerable rapidity. But little driftwood choked the channel; and, after fifteen minutes of moderate labor, the two men came near to the point of low wooded land in which the bee-tree had stood. As they drew nigh, certain signs of uneasiness in the dog attracted his master’s attention, and he pointed them out to Gershom.
“There’s game in the wind,” answered Whiskey Centre, who had a good knowledge of most of the craft of border life, notwithstanding his ungovernable propensity to drink, and who, by nature, was both shrewd and resolute. “I shouldn’t wonder” – a common expression of his class – “if we found bears prowling about that honey!”
“Such things have happened in my time,” answered the bee-hunter, “and twice in my experience I’ve been driven from the field, and forced to let the devils get my ‘arnin’s.”
“That was when you had no comrade, stranger” returned Gershom, raising a rifle, and carefully examining its flint and its priming. “It will be a large family on ‘em that drives us from that tree; for my mind is made up to give Doll and Blossom a taste of the sweets.”
If this was said imprudently, as respects ownership in the prize, it was said heartily, so far as spirit and determination were concerned. It proved that Whiskey Centre had points about him which, if not absolutely redeeming, served in some measure to lessen the disgust which one might other-wise have felt for his character. The bee-hunter knew that there was a species of hardihood that belonged to border men as the fruits of their habits, and, apparently, he had all necessary confidence in Gershom’s disposition to sustain him, should there be occasion for a conflict with his old enemies.
The first measure of the bee-hunter, after landing and securing his boat, was to quiet Hive. The animal being under excellent command, this was soon done; the mastiff maintaining the position assigned him in the rear, though evidently impatient to be let loose. Had not le Bourdon known the precise position of the fallen tree, and through that the probable position of his enemies, he would have placed the mastiff in advance, as a pioneer or scout; but he deemed it necessary, under the actual circumstances, to hold him as a reserve, or a force to be directed whither occasion might require. With this arrangement, then, le Bourdon and Whiskey Centre advanced, side by side, each carrying two pieces, from the margin of the river toward the open land that commanded a view of the tree. On reaching the desired point, a halt was called, in order to reconnoitre.
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 spy-glass, 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.