The Half-Breed: A Tale of the Western Frontier is one of the few known works of long-form fiction written by Walt Whitman during the earliest part of his career. It tells the story of Arrow-Tip, a Native American who falls victim to frontier prejudice after the presumed murder of local blacksmith Peter Brown. Despite his presumed innocence, he is soon sentenced to die by hanging — even though there exists evidence that could possibly exonerate him. This narrative is further complicated by the presence of Boddo, a hideously deformed hunchback who is ostracized by the white settlers due to his mixed-race heritage. Fueled by spite and anger, Boddo uses this opportunity to take vengeance upon those who once tormented and humiliated him.
By : Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)
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Loudly rang merry peals of laughter from a group of children, of almost every age and size, as they emerged, one afternoon, through the door of the rude log school-house, in the little town of Warren, a place situated on one of the upper branches of the Mississippi. Less than seven years previously, the site on which the dwellings of the Warrenites now stood, had been a tangled forest, roamed by the savage in pursuit of game. An adventurous settler purchased a few hundred acres there, and with some companions, took up his abode, and gave it the name I have mentioned. The place numbered nearly three hundred inhabitants.
Loudly rang the laugh of the liberated children. Master Caleb, the teacher, stood in the door of his school-house, and gazed with a cheerful smile upon their noisy merriment. He was a pale young man, from the East—and, because that his strength did not allow him to engage in the heavy labours of his comrades, (for in the West, all men are comrades) he gladly accepted an offer from the fathers of the village to take charge of the education of the small people.
"Hurrah!" said one harum-scarum young elf, who was running and tearing like a mad tiger, "Hurrah! the master has given us a holiday, next Thursday, because he is going to Peter Brown's wedding! Hey! Hurrah!"
"But Bill!" said a larger and more sedate looking youth, addressing the elf, "Bill! be quiet, and do n't act so foolish. Can't you see Mr. Caleb is looking at you?
"Well," rejoined the other, "what if he—?"
The sentence which the exuberant child was about to utter was cut short suddenly, by a loud shout from seven or eight of his companions.
"Boddo! Boddo!" they cried, "Boddo is coming!" And they pointed with their mischievous fingers, to a turn in the road, at about ten rods distance, where a figure was seen slowly walking, or rather limping, towards them.
More than half the party started off on a gallop, and in a few moments they were at the side of him who had attracted their attention. Boddo, as the youngsters called him—and that was the name he went by all over the settlement—appeared to be a man of about seven-and-twenty years of age. He was deformed in body—his back being mounted with a mighty hunch, and his long neck bent forward, in a peculiar and disagreeable manner. In height he was hardly taller than the smallest of the children who clustered tormentingly around him.—His face was the index to many bad passions—which were only limited in the degree of their evil, because his intellect itself was not very bright; though the sedulous care of some one had taught him even more than the ordinary branches of education. Among the most powerful of his bad points was a malignant peevishness, dwelling on every feature of his countenance. Perhaps it was this latter trait which caused the wild boys of the place ever to take great comfort in making him the subject of their vagaries. The gazer would have been at some doubt whether to class this strange and hideous creature with the race of Red Men or White—for he was a half-breed, his mother an Indian squaw, and his father some unknown member of the race of the settlers.
"Why, Boddo," said the elf, Bill, "how-d'e-do? You lovely creature, I hav'nt seen you for a week!"
And the provoking boy took the hunchback's hand, and shook it as heartily as if they had been old friends forever. Boddo scowled, but it was of no avail. He was in the power of the lawless ones, and could not escape.
"What's the price of soap, Boddo?" said another urchin, pointing to the filthy hands and face of the Indian. And they all laughed merrily.
"Devils!" exclaimed the passionate half-breed, making an impotent attempt at blows, which they easily foiled; "why do you pester me? Go!—go away—or I shall turn upon you."
"O, Boddo! dear Boddo! do not let your sweet temper rise!" said little Bill, and he patted the Indian on his head, as a man would do to a child.
Boddo glanced up to him with an expression of hate which might have appalled any but the heedless one on whom he gazed. He turned round and round, like a wild beast in the toils; but wherever he cast his look, he saw nothing but villainous little fingers extended, and roguish eyes flashing. The poor fellow was indeed sadly beset, and was rapidly working himself up to a pitch of rage, which might have cost some of the thoughtless crew a broken head. At this moment, the tall boy who had reproved Bill in front of the school-house, came up, and, beholding the plight of the tormented one, offered his gentle interference.
"Boys! boys!" he cried, "do'nt let us bother this poor friend of ours any more. Come, now, are you not willing that he should go?"
He paused, and it was plainly a doubtful case, whether his mediation would be successful. The boys had just come from a three-hours' confinement to their lessons, and they felt disposed for any thing in the shape of mirth. So, like a prudent arbiter, Quincy Thorne, the tall lad, offered a kind of compromise between both difficulties:
"I'll tell you what!" said he, "Boddo shall say all about where he has been this afternoon, and what after; for I see he is just returned from a long tramp—and then we'll let him go. Hey, boys?"..
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