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The Lake Gun
by
“And do you, an educated man, believe in this tale?” asked Fuller.
“I can not say. The things learned in childhood remain the longest on the memory. They make the deepest marks. I have seen the evil that a demagogue can do among the pale-faces; why should I not believe the same among my own people?”
“This is well enough, as respects the curse on the demagogue; but lakes do not usually–“
Fuller had got thus far, when the Seneca, as if in mockery, emitted the sound that has obtained the name of the “Lake Gun” among those who have lived on its banks in these later times. Perhaps it was, in part, the influence of the Seneca’s legend, united to the opinions and statements of the inhabitants of that region, which conspired to make our traveler start, in awe and surprise; for, certainly, the deep- mouthed cannon never gave forth a more impressive and sudden concussion on the ear.
“It does, indeed, sound very like a gun!” said Fuller, after a long pause had enabled him to speak.
“It is the voice of the Great Spirit, forbidding See-wise to fish,” answered the Seneca. “For a time the demagogue has all the talking to himself, but, sooner or later, the voice of truth is heard, which is the voice of the Manitou. But I must go nearer to the tree–ha! what has become of it?”
Fuller looked, and, sure enough, the speck on the water had vanished. This might have been by an unobserved movement in a current; or it might have been owing to a sudden variation in the light; certain it was, no tree could now be seen. Fuller then proposed to use his boat, in endeavoring to get nearer to the “Jew.” The Seneca gave a very cheerful assent, and, throwing his light summer blanket, with an air of manly grace, over a shoulder, he followed to the water-side.
“Most red men,” resumed the young warrior, as he took his place in the boat, “would see something marvelous in this appearance and disappearance of the swimming Seneca, and would hesitate about going any nearer to him; but this is not my feeling–error is strengthened by neglecting to look into truth. I hope yet to go near See- wise.”
Fuller hardly knew what to think of his companion’s credulity. At times he appeared to defer to the marvelous and the traditions of his tribe; then, again, the lights of education would seem to gleam upon the darkness of his superstition, and leave him a man of inductive reason. As for himself, he was probably not altogether as much of the last as his pride of race would have led him to hope.
Peter had seen nothing, but he had heard the “Gun.”
” ‘T was a mere flash in the pan to what I have heard, when the lake is in ‘arnest,” said the old fellow, with the love of exaggeration so common with the vulgar. “Still, it was a gun.”
“A signal that the ‘Wandering Jew’ is near by; so, haul aft the sheets, and let us depart.”
In a quarter of an hour the boat was lying with her foresheet hauled over, and her helm down, within a hundred yards of the object of the long search of the whole party. It was deep water, and a slight ripple under what might be termed the cutwater of the tree indicated a movement. Perhaps a lower current forced forward the roots, which, in their turn, urged the trunk ahead. As often happens in such cases, the accidental formation of the original fracture, aided by the action of the weather, had given to the end of the trunk a certain resemblance to a human countenance. Peter was the first to point out the peculiarity, which he looked upon uneasily. Fuller soon observed it, and said the aspect was, in sooth, that of a demagogue. The forehead retreated, the face was hatchet- shaped, while the entire expression was selfish, yet undecided. As for the Seneca, he gazed on these signs with wonder, mingled with awe.