It is pleasant to meet, on the borders of these two states, one of those persons who combines some of the good qualities of both; not, as so many of these adventurers do, the rapaciousness and cunning of the white, with the narrowness and ferocity of the savage, but the sentiment and thoughtfulness of the one, with the boldness, personal resource, and fortitude of the other.

Such a person was Alexander Henry, who left Quebec in 1760, for Mackinaw and the Sault St. Marie, and remained in those regions, of which he has given us a most lively account, sixteen years.

His visit to Mackinaw was premature; the Indians were far from satisfied; they hated their new masters.  From the first, the omens were threatening, and before many months passed, the discontent ended in the seizing of the fort at Mackinaw and massacre of its garrison; on which occasion Henry’s life was saved by a fine act of Indian chivalry.

Wawatam, a distinguished chief, had found himself drawn, by strong affinity, to the English stranger.  He had adopted him as a brother, in the Indian mode.  When he found that his tribe had determined on the slaughter of the whites, he obtained permission to take Henry away with him, if he could.  But not being able to prevail on him, as he could not assign the true reasons, he went away deeply saddened, but not without obtaining a promise that his brother should not be injured.  The reason he was obliged to go, was, that his tribe felt his affections were so engaged, that his self-command could not be depended on to keep their secret.  Their promise was not carefully observed, and, in consequence of the baseness of a French Canadian in whose house Henry took refuge,—­baseness such as has not, even by their foes, been recorded of any Indian, his life was placed in great hazard.  But Wawatam returned in time to save him.  The scene in which he appears, accompanied by his wife—­who seems to have gone hand in hand with him in this matter—­lays down all his best things in a heap, in the middle of the hall, as a ransom for the captive, and his little, quiet speech, are as good as the Iliad.  They have the same simplicity, the same lively force and tenderness.

Henry goes away with his adopted brother, and lives for some time among the tribe.  The details of this life are truly interesting.  One time he is lost for several days while on the chase.  The description of these weary, groping days, the aspect of natural objects and of the feelings thus inspired, and the mental change after a good night’s sleep, form a little episode worthy the epic muse.  He stripped off the entire bark of a tree for a coverlet in the snow-storm, going to sleep with “the most distracted thoughts in the world, while the wolves around seemed to know the distress to which he was reduced;” but he waked in the morning another man, clear-headed, able to think out the way to safety.