The medicine-man interjected fierce dissent, and Awa's arguments were stilled.
"Make them release Black Robe," I suggested as Tawannears repeated to me what had been said.
A hush, as complete as the quietness of universal death, had descended upon these thousands of savages, whose glances turned from us, bound and helpless as we were, to the equally straitened figure of the Jesuit against the torture-stake.
"No," retorted the Seneca with a hint of humor, "but first, brother, we must make them release us."
He fastened his eyes upon Awa.
"For many sleeps we have endured the treatment Awa's ignorance led him to impose upon us," he declared. "We have been loath to slay any more of his people. We came hither to serve the Chahiksichahiks, to assure them of Tirawa's favor. But the time is arrived when we must know if we are to receive the respect due to Tirawa's messengers. Shall we burst our bonds—and in doing so slay this multitude—or will you do us honor?"
The medicine-man leaped forward, and slashed off our bonds. There were beads of perspiration on his brow. Awa, magnificent savage that he was, looked away from us, but I saw that his sinewy hands were shaking as they clutched his horse's bridle.
"It is well," said Tawannears. "Give my white brother, the Messenger, the knife, and he will free the Fore-goer, who has stood quietly at the torture-stake, holding back the wrath of Tirawa by the pleas that came from his lips."
The medicine-man offered me the knife.
"But must a messenger of Tirawa have a knife to cut hide thongs?" he inquired, curious as a child.
"No," answered Tawannears, "but if the power of Tirawa is used, the power of the thunder and the lightning which shakes the world, who shall say what harm may come? The Chahiksichahiks have been fools. Let them be satisfied with what has happened. If they are wise they will possess the favor of Tirawa. If they continue to be foolish Tirawa will wipe them out here on this spot!"
He raised his arm in a menacing gesture, and chiefs and medicine-men cowered before him.
"No, no," pleaded the medicine-man. "We have seen enough. Release the Black One with the thin face. We did not understand him. He spoke to us after the manner of the Comanche and the Dakota, telling us, as we thought, that our gods were not, that we must worship this one he spoke of. We did not understand him, that waft all. We were ignorant, but we meant no harm."
Tawannears shrugged his shoulders.
"That is to be decided," he said. "The Taivo will consult with Black Robe, and afterwards will speak through me. It is for him to decide."
I strode into the empty circle of people and walked slowly, so as not to seem undignified, up to the stake, stepping across the material for the fire which would now be roasting the priest but for our unexpected arrival, and the conjunction of circumstances it had set in train. The fire-makers had gone. There was nobody inside the circle except Black Robe and myself, and he stood yet, with his eyes shut, a trickle of Latin pattering from his lips.
For a moment I was shocked by the traces of suffering in that haggard face, the skin tight-drawn over the prominent bones, the cavernous eye-holes so shadowed, the deep lines graven in the pallid cheeks. I seemed to see in retrospect the labors he must have achieved in the years since we had parted. Who could imagine how far he had wandered, the hardships and suffering he had borne without the assistance of a single comforter of his own color? And this thought enabled me to envision as never before the ardent flame that was the driving force of his life, the ardent devotion to a creed which ignored every other consideration save that of the service to which he had dedicated himself. I warmed to him in that moment, forgetting ancient animus, brushing aside the barrier of hostile race and religion.
"Père Hyacinthe!" I said softly in French.
He did not open his eyes, but his lips ceased the Latin exhortations.
"I dream!" he exclaimed to himself, in that humble tone I had observed on a previous occasion when he forgot himself and his stern rôle and lapsed into some gentler habitude of the past.
"Was that Gaston's voice? So, I remember, he crept upon me as I read in the garden at Morbouil! Dear olden days! Their memory comes so seldom. So little time left for the work to be done. Ah, Jesus, the task is heavy—heavy——"
He opened his eyes, peered into mine.
"You!" he gasped.
"Yes, 'tis I, Father—Henry Ormerod!"
"My enemy! France's enemy!"
"Not your enemy! And never France's unless she wills it. I am come here to save you."
"How may that be?" he asked dumbly. "Are you alone amongst these savages?"
"Alone with my friends whom you know—and one woman."
"Then you cannot help me," he answered decisively. "You had best leave me, if you can. These people are the most independent of all the tribes. They fear naught save their own superstitions. And heretic though you be, I cannot wish you the death they plan for me."
"Yet you have not been moved by pity for me in the same case in former years," I said curiously.
He sighed.
"The truth is hard to see. I do not know. I have thought—— But I do not know."
I cut the lashings of his arms, stooped and freed his legs. Not a soul spoke. Amazement dawned in his face that was somehow more placid than I remembered having seen it.
"You see!" I said. "They gave me the knife to cut you free."
"Marvelous!" he murmured.
And he employed his first instant of freedom to reach down stiffly with his cramped arm and lift to his lips the crucifix which hung at his belt.
"How have you curbed them?" he asked—and he was yet governed by that mood of gentle humility, which was seldom of long continuance.
"I think, Father, it has been through God's mercy," I answered. "But judge for yourself."
And I repeated to him, briefly, what had transpired since Awa proudly led his warriors into the circle around the torture-stake. A frown clouded the Jesuit's eyes, mouth formed a grim, hard line.
"What blasphemy is this?" he interrupted. "Man, would you mock the authority of heaven? You are no more messengers of the divine will than these savages themselves!"
"How can you be sure!" I asked.
"How can I——"
He paused abruptly, frowning in thought.
"Is it coincidence," I continued quickly, "that when you climbed the Mississippi bluff I would not let my companions kill you, as they desired—and for the matter of that, is it coincidence that once before the time of which I speak, I saved you from them, ay, and from the wrath of the Long House? Is it coincidence that we were the means of your passing the Mississippi, and that now we and you, alike in danger of death, are saved by the interlinking facts of our separate captivities!
"Ponder it, Père Hyacinthe! Where does coincidence begin and Providence end? Are you so wise that you can say what Heaven intends? Can you afford to throw away the life that has been returned to you? Have you the right to sacrifice four other people's lives? How do you know that what has happened today was not for the purpose of giving you another opportunity to preach your creed?"
He hesitated, head bowed.
"Go!" I said, honestly stirred. "Say what you please! I could stop you, but I will not take the responsibility of interfering with another man's sense of honor. I will leave with you the lives of my comrades."
He looked at me, puzzled, uncertain.
"I do not know," he repeated, "It seems different. You are a heretic, yet—I do not know. God's wonders strange—I do not know—-"
"Who does?" I asked,
He shook his head.
"I used to be sure," he said, more to himself than to me. "But—I do not know. I was reconciled to death. I had no fear of the torment. I hoped to move these people at the end. And now you say that they respect me, that I am free, I may do as I will."
"Yes."
"It is too much for me to decide, Monsieur Ormerod. Perhaps I grow weak. Well, we shall see. But I think it is as you say! I have been given a second opportunity to woo them for Christ. God's wonders—how strange! How impossible to comprehend! And you a heretic, the companion of a savage! It baffles me."
He paused suddenly.
"You spoke to me first?" he questioned. "There was—no other?"
"None."
"Strange!" he muttered to himself again. "Gaston—I thought I heard—the garden at Morbouil! Ah, Maman, Maman! So many, many years!"
To my surprise, Black Robe expressed a desire to accompany us on our continued journey East.
"I have said all that I have to say concerning what you have told these people about me," he said simply. "But I am sure I should lose favor in God's sight were I to continue my mission on the strength of the heathen superstitions you have aroused."
I pointed out to him that he would probably be exposed to additional dangers in our company after we had crossed the Mississippi.
"Say, instead, that you will not be exposed to so many dangers if I am with you, Monsieur Ormerod," he answered. "'Tis necessary for my soul's good, as I now realize, that I should return and seek the discipline of my superiors. I have wandered too long alone. My pride hath been unduly stirred. In my heart I have flouted the rules of my order. It is best that I should go to Quebec, and submit to the punishment my sins require."
"Sins? What sins?" I exclaimed.
"There are sins of the spirit as wicked as sins of the flesh," he returned enigmatically. "Whoso thinks himself worthy of martyrdom therein nourishes his own pride. But enough hath been said on this score. I will go with you."
"Why?" I asked. "'Tis not your wont to profess friendship for my people, Père Hyacinthe?"
His grim face creased in the rare smile that told of some hidden spring of kindliness, forgotten these many years.
"You are pertinacious—like all heretics. Go to! Is it forbidden that I should return good for good, as well as for evil?"
And no more could I extract from him. At intervals in the months that followed he would lapse into moods of dour fanaticism, but no matter how long they lasted the day would come when he would smile with childlike humility, and, silent always, contrive to invest himself with gentle friendliness. I do not pretend to understand the transformation of his character; but the fact remains that he was become a different man from the bigot who had accused us on the Ohio. He spoke to us only when occasion required; Kachina he ignored completely, much to her disgust. But he did his full share of the work, and his prestige sufficed to speed us on our way once the Mississippi was behind us.
We had many weary miles to go before we reached the Great River, however. Awa and his medicine-man and brother chiefs would have had us stay on in the Pawnee villages, and opposed our departure with as much ugliness as they dared exhibit to beings of semi-divine origin. But Tawannears placated them by explaining that the strong medicine I was going to present to the tribe could only wax to its full robust proportions after I had gone.
This medicine was prepared with many attendant ceremonies and considerable pomp under the Seneca's directions. Kachina sewed a bag of deerskin, and then, in the presence of all the Pawnee notables, I solemnly removed from my neck the bag which Guanaea had hung there—the arrow-slit having been repaired by Peter—and introduced its open mouth into the throat of the bag Kachina had made.
A suitable interval having elapsed, I removed my bag, rehung it about my neck, fastened the neck of the new bag and entrusted it—quite empty—to the chief medicine-man, with strict injunctions never to open it lest the medicine escape. The Pawnee were satisfied. They felt capable of whipping any confederacy of near-by tribes, and were convinced that they would never lack for buffalo-meat, horses or warriors. There was nothing they would not do for us. When we finally departed for the East Awa and five hundred warriors rode with us and compelled an Osage village to supply us with a canoe for use on the Mississippi.
We were many days paddling below the mouth of the Ohio, with the current against us, both on the Father of Waters and after we had turned east into the first stream; and Indian Summer had begun when we reached the mouth of the Ouabache. Here we expected to part with Black Robe, but he surprised me again.
"You are yet many weeks' journey from your own country, Monsieur Ormerod," he said. "And if you continue by water you must paddle against the current all the way. Why do you not strike overland direct?"
"Because your people and the tribes they control would certainly not approve of it," I answered with a laugh.
"Come with me to Vincennes," he offered. "I will secure you safe-conduct to Jagara."
"Are you sure——" I began hesitantly.
"That I can do what I say!" he interrupted. "I have some authority in New France. You may rest confidence in my pledge. I, myself, will attend you so far as Jagara. 'Tis on my way to Montreal and Quebec."
I consulted with the others, anticipating Tawannears and Corlaer would be unwilling to trust him; but both assented promptly.
"Black Robe is no longer a hater of those who do not believe in his god," responded the Seneca to my query as to his changed attitude. "He has learned that we are honest in what we think. He has learned, too, that love is the servant of truth."
"Ja," said Peter. "Andt he remembers der time he was a man before he was a bpriest."
"He is a nasty old ant," declared Kachina. "He flaps like a raven.Ugh! I hate him!"
We paddled up the Ouabache to Vincennes, undisturbed by the savages along the river. The French garrison at the trading-post eyed us with suspicion, but made no objection to our presence. On the trip overland to Le Detroit, the French post on the straits betwixt the Huron Lake and the Lake of the Eries, the priest guided us past the scowling scrutiny of tribe after tribe, to whom Tawannears' presence was a menacing reminder of their dreaded enemies, the People of the Long House. Savages, traders, habitants, trappers, soldiers of the Lilies, all bowed and stood aside at sight of that gaunt figure, the crippled hand upraised in blessing. Under the skirts of his threadbare robe he carried us through the heart of the new empire France was creating below the Lakes, saving us I know not how many months of dangerous, roundabout traveling. And from Le Detroit he escorted us to the fortress at Jagara, which the great French soldier-statesman of the wilderness, Joncaire, had built to form a bulwark against the Iroquois.
'Twas here we said good-by, in the woods on the edge of the glacis, sloping up to the stone walls of the fort. In the distance we heard the subdued roar of the mighty falls. On the walls of the fort stood the white-coated sentinels of France. At our feet commenced a tenuous trail, the Northern approach to the Western Door of the Long House.
Black Robe gave Tawannears the Iroquois salute of parting. He pressed Peter's hand. On Kachina he bestowed his blessing.
"There is a place on Christ's bosom for you, my daughter," he said in the Seneca dialect, which she had mastered.
She scowled back at him in a way that must have compelled a man with a sense of humor to laugh.
"We are not Christians," Tawannears stated proudly. "The gods of our people are good enough for us. Have they not reunited us in the face of death—and beyond!"
The priest sighed and drew me to one side.
"Do you ever pray, Monsieur Ormerod?" he asked.
"I have done so."
"Forget not one Louis Joseph Marie de Kerguezac. He is dead, Monsieur, although he lives. I pray you, forget him not. He needs your prayers, ay, heretic or not, he needs them! So, too, I fear doth one Hyacinthe, of the Order of Jesus, a hard man, who hath wreaked harm under cover of saintliness. Ah, God, how little do we know what we do!"
"Hard you have been in times past, Father," I replied, "but I bear testimony you have redeemed yourself in my eyes—albeit I hold I, nor any other man, may judge you after what you have suffered for your faith."
He considered this, crucifix in hand.
"Who can say!" he said at length. "I have lived over-much self-centered. Never trust yourself too far, Monsieur Ormerod. Man is—man! You, too, have suffered. Therefore you will know that suffering is worth while—so long as you do not seek satisfaction in it. You, Monsieur, went forth to forget a woman—near four years ago, was it not? Have you—forgotten?"
'Twas my turn to think.
"Not forgotten," I decided, stirred, but not resentful. "Yet the pain is dead. Say, rather, reconciled to loss."
His face was contorted with agony.
"Four years, and reconciled! Monsieur Ormerod, I have striven to forget for twenty years, and the pain still burns my soul! I chose the wrong way, the wrong way!"
He turned and stumbled from the forest, hands outthrust before him, as he walked blindly toward the fort.
"The wrong way! The wrong way!"
They were the last words I heard him speak. Months later, in New York, the news came from Quebec that the famous Père Hyacinthe, called far and wide the Apostle to the Savages, was serving a disciplinary sentence as scullery servant in the headquarters of the Order of Jesus.
On the afternoon of the second day after leaving Jagara we were challenged by an out-flung party of Seneca Wolves, Watchers of the Door, who made the forest aisles ring with their whoops of joy when they recognized Tawannears, clamoring for the story of our wanderings. But at his first question joy was turned to sadness, for they gave us the sorry tidings that Donehogaweh, the Guardian of the Door, lay at the point of death from a gangrened wound that had festered about the barbed head of a Miami arrow, shot into his shoulder during his last punitive raid.
We forgot all else in our haste to reach Deonundagaa in time to see the Royaneh before his end; and there remained a lingering splash of color in the Western sky as we trotted out of the forest, crossed the gardens and entered the village streets lined by the long ganasotes and thronged with mourning people. They exclaimed with amazement at sight of Corlaer's vast bulk and Tawannears' familiar figure. An irregular column formed at our heels, warriors who strove for a word with members of our escort, gossiping women and children who babbled and shrieked amongst themselves.
So we came to the open space by the council lodge. Beside its entrance Donehogaweh lay on a pallet of skins, in compliance with his request to pass in the outer air. A group of Royanehs and chiefs sat about him, sternly watching, their sympathy unspoken, their faces emotionless. Guanaea hovered over him, equally silent, but unable to restrain the sorrow that was revealed in her eyes and trembling lips. 'Twas her cry of astonishment gave him the first intimation of our coming. He turned his great head, with its gray-streaked scalp-lock, and his fever-bright eyes dwelt upon us almost unbelievingly.
"Is it indeed you, oh, my sister's son?" he asked weakly. "Do I see with you Otetiani, the white son of my old age, and Corlaer of the fat belly? Or do evil dreams taunt me again?"
"We are here, oh, my uncle," answered Tawannears kneeling by the pallet and drawing Kachina down beside him.
"And who is the maiden with you?"
"She is your daughter."
"My daughter? Not——"
Guanaea emitted a little shriek and ran closer.
"Gahano?" questioned the dying Royaneh.
The group of chiefs bent forward, startled out of their stoical self-control. Guanaea knelt beside Tawannears and Kachina, her eyes boring into the girl's face.
"Yes, she is Gahano," said Tawannears. "Tawannears and his white brothers have been to the Land of Lost Souls, which is beyond the sunset. They have passed the barriers of Haniskaonogeh. They have ventured upon the altar of Hawenneyu. They have crossed the mountains at the end of the world, where all is ice and snow. They have traversed Dayedadogowar, the Great Home of the Winds. And in the Land of Lost Souls they had speech with Ataentsic and Jouskeha, as is told in the traditions of our people, and the Lost Soul of Gahano came from a pumpkin shell and danced, and we took her and fled to our own country."
"She is different from the Gahano I bore," protested Guanaea, breaking the dead silence that ensued, whilst the blazing eyes of the old Royaneh probed the faces of the pair beside him.
Kachina peered sideways at her a thought mutinously, but held her peace, failing any sign from Tawannears.
Donehogaweh feebly nodded his head.
"She would look different," he announced. "Who would not look different after death? Shall I look the same an hour hence? Yes, she is different—and yet like the Gahano who was. And in truth did you find the Land of Lost Souls, Tawannears?"
'Twas Corlaer who answered, speaking with a resonant ease that so oddly became him when using an Indian dialect instead of English.
"It was all exactly as foretold in the legends," he said. "This maiden had come there direct from the custody of the Great Spirit. She was delivered in charge of him who was Jouskeha. Ataentsic was not willing to give her up, but Jouskeha aided us and we took her by force, the Great Spirit aiding us."
That was a long speech for the Dutchman. I felt myself called upon to support him.
"If that was not the Land of Lost Souls," I declared, "then the legends of the Hodenosaunee are a mockery."
"Yo-hay!" cried Donehogaweh, and he heaved himself to his haunches. "Welcome back to my lodge, Gahano, although you go from it to——"
He choked and fell dead.
"Woe! Woe!" wept Guanaea. "The pine-tree is fallen! The light is clouded. In my lodge now all is darkness and despair!"
Tawannears caught her hand.
"But see, you who are almost my mother," he said. "I have brought back to you the daughter who was lost to you. We will be son and daughter to you in your loneliness."
Guanaea would not be comforted.
"Who am I to scorn the generosity of Hawenneyu?" she cried. "Who am I to doubt the deeds of great warriors? I am only a woman, only a mother whose offspring left her, only a widow whose man went ahead of her into the land of shadows. Yet I cannot take this new Gahano to my breast. She is not to me as the child I suckled or the maiden whose waywardness I curbed. Nay, I can only mourn. I am an old woman. I have outlived my time! I will cover my face and sit by the ashes of the fire and weep!"
She threw her robe around her head and tottered away to the lodge she had shared with Donehogaweh, attended by the old women of her clan.
Ganeodiyo, senior Royaneh of the Senecas, stooped over and closed the eyes of his dead colleague, then rose.
"Tawannears has spent many moons upon a twisting trail," he said. "He and his white brothers have made us proud of them. They have done what no other warriors have done. There was a stain upon the women of their tribe, but they have wiped it off. It is well! Our eyes are dazzled by the splendor of their achievement. Our ears do not hear distinctly, for the cries of the enemies they vanquished. The face of the maiden they have recovered seems strange to us, but we shall grow accustomed to her again. Her feet will seek out the ways she knew of old. All will be as it was before. She will seem as though she had never departed.
"Na-ho!"
"Peter," I said, when we were alone together in the guest-chamber of the ganasote of the bachelors of the Wolf Clan, "have we done well to lie?"
He regarded me with twinkling eyes.
"Lie?"
"Yes, lie," I insisted. "Have we not lent our countenance to an essential falsehood?"
He meditated.
"Ja, we liedt—maype," he admitted finally. "Dot is, we saidt dot what Tawannears saidt was so—andt dot's no lie."
"How?"
"You pelief dot Tawannears peliefs what he says?"
"Yes."
"He wouldt die if he fought idt was not true." Corlaer spoke with extraordinary vehemence for him. "You nefer knew a man who worshiped der trut' more than Tawannears. What he says he saw andt didt is true—isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Andt what you don't pelief is true is dot 'Lost Souls' pusiness, eh?"
"Yes."
"But Tawannears peliefs idt is true—don't he?"
"Yes, yes, Peter. I've already said so."
"What is a lie, then, eh? You t'ink der Lost Souls is—funny-pusiness. Tawannears t'inks idt is gospel. Now, who is lying—you or Tawannears?"
"But——"
"Nein, nein! Not so quick. Tawannears knew what he was looking for, eh? Andt you didt not. Why shouldt you say dot Tawannears is lying any more than you? You saw what Tawannears saidt dot you wouldt see. He was right in dot, eh?"
"Yes, but——"
"So idt is," continued Peter inexorably. "Tawannears peliefs what he saidt. You do not. If anybody lies, you lie. Idt is your lie, not Tawannears'. But how can you be sure Tawannears is wrong?"
"The girl Kachina—Guanaea——"
"Kachina looks like Gahano. Andt it is like Donehogaweh saidt—if she has peen deadt, how can she look der same? Nein!"
"But Guanaea!" I insisted.
"She is a woman, andt women are funny beoble. She nefer liked Gahano pefore."
"And what do you think, yourself, Peter?"
"I pelief what Tawannears says. Idt is goodt for him to pelief idt. Idt hurts nopody, eh? So I pelief.Ja, dot's goodt!"
The forest trees and the brown grass stubble of the meadow beneath their skeleton boughs were powdered lightly with snow, except where a tiny fire burned, its smoke floating upward into the overhanging tree-tops. On the far side of the field, backed by the roofs of the village, was massed the population of Deonundagaa, men, women and children. Besides the fire the robes of the seven surviving Royanehs of the Senecas, headed by Ganeodiyo, each with his assistant behind him, made a splash of vivid color.
Dimly through the bare foliage I glimpsed the long file of the Royanehs of the other four nations—the Mohawks, Dagoeoga, the Shield People; the Onondagas, Hodesannogeta, the Name-Bearers; the Oneidas, Neardeondargowar, Great Tree People; the Cayugas, Sonushogwatowar, Great Pipe People. The Tuscaroras, sixth nation in the great league, had no representation in the Hoyarnagowar, because the founders had created only so many names, or seats, and no Iroquois would have thought of altering the framework they built; but a group of Tuscarora chieftains followed in the train of the Royanehs, mute witnesses by right to what should transpire.
I have seen many ceremonies in my day. I have watched the Pope celebrate mass in St. Peter's. I have attended at the mummery of the French Court, with the splendor of Versailles and the Louvre for background. But I have never seen aught more imposing than the rites of the condoling council of the Iroquois, the ceremonies by which at one and the same time they express their appreciation of a great man who has died and install his successor, beginning with the ceremony Deyughnyonkwarakta, "At the Wood's Edge."
Slowly, at a sign from Hoyowenato, the Keeper of the Wampum, the long file of the Royanehs paced out from the forest and formed in a half-circle opposite the little group of Seneca Royanehs, with the fire betwixt them. Then Ganeodiyo, spokesman for the Senecas, stepped forward with arms outflung in welcome to the visitors. His trained orator's voice rolled in the measured cadences of the stately ritual, opening with the sentence—
"Onenh weghniserade wakatyerenkowa desawennawenrate ne kenteyurhoton!"
"Now, today, I have been greatly startled by your voices coming through the forest to this opening."
And proceeding in the set phrases of the greeting:
"You have come with troubled minds through all obstacles. You kept seeing the places where they met on whom we depended, my offspring. How then can your mind be at ease? You kept seeing the footmarks of our forefathers; and all but perceptible is the smoke where they used to smoke the pipe together. Can, then, your mind be at ease when you are weeping on your way?
"Great thanks, therefore, that you have safely arrived. Now let us smoke the pipe together. Because all around are hostile agencies, which are each thinking—'I will frustrate their purpose.' Here thorny ways, and here falling trees, and here wild beasts lying in ambush. Either by these you might have perished, my offspring, or here by floods you might have been destroyed, my offspring, or by the uplifted hatchet in the dark outside the house. Every day these are wasting us; or deadly invisible disease might have destroyed you, my offspring."
The echoing voice went on, flexing the emotions of the words like a great organ. The orator recited the rules the forefathers had laid down. He repeated the traditional list of the villages of the three original clans, the Wolf, the Tortoise and the Bear. Then the fire was put out, and one by one the Royanehs marched from the meadow to the council house of the village, where a new fire was kindled by Ganeodiyo, and they sat in a wide circle on robes placed for them by their assistants.
Hoyowennato produced the pipe of ceremony from its case; the mystically-carven soapstone bowl was filled with tobacco and he handed it to Ganeodiyo, who lighted it with a coal from the council fire, blew the required puffs to the four quarters and to the earth and the sky and passed it on to Tododaho, senior of all the Royanehs, he who sits beside the ancient undying council fire of the League, which has burned for ages of ages at Onondaga. The pipe went the rounds of the circle and was returned to Hoyowennato, who replaced it in its case.
Tododaho rose.
"My offspring, now this day we are met together," he intoned. "The Great Spirit has appointed this day. We are met together on account of the solemn event which has befallen you. Now into the earth he has been conveyed to whom we have been wont to look. Therefore in tears we have smoked together.
"Now, then, we say, we wipe away the tears, so that in peace you may look about you.
"And further, we suppose there is an obstruction in your ears. Now, then, we remove the obstruction carefully from your hearing, so that we trust you will easily hear the words spoken.
"And also we imagine there is an obstruction in your throat. Now, therefore, we say, we remove the obstruction, so that you may speak freely in our mutual greetings.
"Now again another thing, my offspring. I have spoken of the solemn event which has befallen you. Every day you are losing your great men. They are being borne into the earth; so that in the midst of blood you are sitting.
"Now, therefore, we say, we wash off the blood-marks from your seat, so that it may be for a time that happily the place will be clean where you are seated.
"And now, that our hearts may be prepared for the instructions of our forefathers and the memory of their greatness, we sing the hymn 'Yondonghs Aihaigh.'"
Almost a hundred voices boomed out the rhythmic lines:
"I come again to greet and thank the League;I come again to greet and thank the kindred;I come again to greet and thank the warriors;I come again to greet and thank the women.My forefathers—what they established—My forefathers—hearken to them!"
And after the song was ended, Tododaho walked up and down the council house, crying out:
"Hail, my grandsires! Now hearken while your grandchildren cry mournfully to you—because the Great League which you established has grown old.
"Even now, oh, my grandsires, that has become old which you established—the Great League! You have it as a pillow under your heads in the ground where you are lying—this Great League which you established; although you said that far away in the future the Great League would endure."
A second time they sang the hymn, and then Tododaho called the roll of the founders, commencing with Tehkarihhoken and ending with Tyuhninhohkawenh, and after each name the Royanehs thundered the responses:
"This was the roll of you,You who were joined in the work,You who completed the work,The Great League!"
Tododaho reseated himself, and a Royaneh of the Cayugas rose to speak for the so-called Younger Nations—the Cayugas, Oneidas and Tuscaroras.
"Now our uncle has passed away," he recited, "he who used to work for all, that they might see the brighter days to come—for the whole body of warriors and also for the whole body of women, and also for the children that were running around, and also for the little ones creeping on the ground, and also for those that are tied to the cradle-boards; for all these he used to work that they might see the bright days to come. This we say, we Three Brothers.
"Now another thing we will say, we Younger Brothers. You are mourning in the deep darkness. I will make the sky clear for you, so that you will not see a cloud. And also I will give the sun to shine upon you, so that you can look upon it peacefully when it goes down.
"Now, then, another thing we say, we three Younger Brothers. If any one should fall—it may be a principal chief will fall, a Royaneh, and descend into the grave—as soon as possible another shall be put in his place. This we say, we three Younger Brothers.
"Now I have finished. Now show me the man!"
A hush mantled the council house. All eyes turned toward the door where Tawannears stood with Peter and me. Ganeodiyo and another Seneca Royaneh rose from their places and crossed the room to us. At a sign Tawannears went to meet them. They took position, one on each side, with their hands under his elbows, and so guided him into the center of the circle around the council fire. Three times they walked him around the circuit of Royanehs. Then Ganeodiyo spoke.
"Denehogaweh is dead, oh, Royanehs! Our eyes have been blinded with tears. Our hearts have been heavy. Loudly we have cried our grief. But the forefathers laid down rules for us to follow and we have followed them. A vacant place must be filled. Work laid aside must be completed. The places left by the founders must be carried on that our children may continue to have peace.
"Behold, oh, Royanehs, after the tradition of our people, as required by the founders, the wise women of the Wolf Clan gathered in Council. They considered deeply. Donehogaweh was dead. Another of his line must succeed him. Donehogaweh was the Guardian of the Western Door. No foes entered the Long House after he kept watch. Who should endeavor to take his place?
"The wise women pondered, oh, Royanehs. They continued to ponder. They remembered that Donehogaweh had a nephew, Tawannears, Warden of the Door. He was his uncle's prop, his right hand, a tried warrior, feared by the enemies of the Great League, respected by the subject nations, the friend of our friends.
"Oh, Royanehs, we present him to you! He is no longer Tawannears. He is Donehogaweh! He is the Guardian of the Western Door. Give him your favor!"
"Aigh! Aighhaigh! Kwa, Kwa!" applauded the Royanehs.
Peter and I slipped out of the door as they formed in procession and took our station with Kachina—for I cannot bring myself to give her the name Gahano by which Tawannears always addressed her—to watch the formal presentation to the assemblage of Senecas gathered in the open around the gaondote, or war-post. A shout of approval came from the people when Tawannears, now Donehogaweh, was led forth by Tododaho and Ganeodiyo.
"The Guardian of the Door!" they cried. "He is favored by Hawenneyu!Kwa! Kwa!"
Kachina clapped her hands with glee—one of many tricks that proved to me her Caucasian origin.
"He has his uncle's place!" she exclaimed. "I was afraid that fat old she-ant, Guanaea, would make trouble for him. I will put a snake in her bed some night."
"Nonsense!" I rebuked her. "She is your mother. Her eyes are clouded by grief. Be kind, and she will learn to love you."
"Love me!Hai, I care not whether she loves me. I have Tawannears' love, and that is enough."
Peter plucked me by the sleeve.
"Come!" he whispered.
I followed him behind the nearest ganasote, and he pointed to a narrow opening in the wall of the forest opposite, the throat of the great trail of the Long House.
"Here is no blace for us," he said. "We hafe saidt goodt-by to Tawannears—who is no longer Tawannears. He has a new life to lif. He must be an Indian of Indians. He has a wife andt a mother-in-law——"
"Who is not his mother-in-law," I gibed.
"Ja, berhaps. But dot doesn't matter now. We are white men. He is an Indian. We don't do him no goodt for a time. We petter go, andt leafe him to himself."
"Yes," I agreed slowly. "You are right, Peter. 'Tis strange how tactful you can be—and how talkative. But where shall we go?"
He gave me a curious look.
"It's petter you go home, eh?"
"Home?"
"Ja! New York—der gofernor—andt——"
He left the sentence unfinished, for which I was duly grateful. I was conscious of no impelling urge to return to civilization. The zest which had attended our homeward journey was gone from me. But I could not argue against Peter's suggestion. The governor expected a report from me. For the rest, I shrugged my shoulders. But I did not hunger for the house in Pearl Street. I did not even attempt to picture what awaited me there.
A snowstorm overtook us near the headwaters of the Mohawk, and after securing snowshoes from an Oneida village we decided we might as well save time by pushing straight southeast through the forest country on the west bank of Hudson's River, avoiding Fort Orange* and the contiguous settlement, and crossing the river at the first point we came to where the ice would hold. Corlaer knew every inch of this wild land, and was never at a loss to steer a bee-line in any direction he fancied.
* Albany.
But as a result of this we saw no other white men until we reached the outlying villages above New York, and their residents could give us no tidings of the town's affairs, for they had been cut off by the great drifts since Christmas—a feast to which we had given no thought. We had completely lost track of days and were not even sure of the month. For years we had regulated ourselves by the seasons. It was hot or cold, Winter or Summer, with us. We let it go at that.
The burghers of the Out-ward eyed us askance for the wastrels we seemed in our deerskin shirts and leggings, bearskin robes belted about us, hair and beard sweeping our shoulders. And as it chanced, we saw none we knew until we reached the Broadway just above the Green Lane, when honest John Allen, my clerk, turned the corner in face of us and would have passed on, with an uneasy glance for our ruffian pair.
"How, now!" I cried. "Is it so you greet your master, John?"
He dropped his bundle of papers in the snow and his chin sagged to his chest.
"'Tis never you, Master Ormerod! Why, we had given you up two years gone—all, that is, save Master Burnet. But for him the magistrates would have settled your estate."
Now, why it was I know not, but at this I was smitten with an insane desire to laugh, and I rocked my sides so that people across the way deemed me witless and hastened by us.
"I am glad there is one man of intelligence left," I said when I had found my breath again. "But I never doubted the governor, John."
"He is governor no longer, sir."
"What?"
Even Peter fetched out a shrill Dutch curse.
"Ay, sir. But last month the Lords of Trade gave him notice transferring him to Massachusetts. He sailed ten days since."
"He is gone hence?"
"'Tis so, sir."
"But who has his place!"
"Master Montgomery, sir. And oh, Master Ormerod, things are very different from what they were. The malcontents in the town have the new governor's ear. There is much ado about municipal reforms, and small thought to the fur-trade and the alliances with the savages that Master Burnet gave thought to."
I clapped an arm on Peter's fat shoulder.
"Then here are two shall give Master Montgomery somewhat to think on," I proclaimed. "We'll tell him of the Wilderness Country, eh, Peter? We'll acquaint him with the doings of the French! We'll make plain to him the empires and kingdoms that lie waiting the Englishman, if he have but the courage of his ancestors!"
"Nein," said Peter. "You go."
"But you?"
"I go wit' John here."
"Have it your own way," I returned cavalierly. "Shall I find the governor in the fort, John?"
"Ay, sir." He hesitated. "But sure, Master Ormerod, you'll stop in Pearl Street. Elspeth and——"
"Anon, anon," I said airily. "I am not much of a home-body, John."
And I swaggered on my way, poor fool, secretly fearful of the memories that Pearl Street might evoke.
At the fort I was recognized by an officer, and he passed me into the governor's house with a celerity that made me fume all the more during the hour I must cool my heels in his anteroom. But all things end in time, even the whims of jacks-in-office. A liveried servant opened the inner door, and I was ushered in my motley forest-garb into a room which expressed in every detail the finicking niceties of its occupant.
A small man, with a pompous carriage, insignificant features expressing vanity and pride, Master Montgomery made no effort to disguise his displeasure that a citizen should have ventured to appear before him so roughly dressed.
"Master Ormerod?" he said. "Ah, yes, I am aware who you are, sir. The late—ah—governor was pleased to give me some account of you, and of the—ah—ridiculous mission upon which he was pleased to dispatch you. Close to four years gone, was it not? You have been overlong, sir. I——"
"One moment," I interrupted. "You call my mission ridiculous. Are you aware, sir, that I have traveled where no Englishman has been before? Do you understand the value of the information I bring? Does it mean nothing that I have news of the French dispositions in the Wilderness Country?"
He waved me to silence.
"You attach unnecessary importance to your wanderings, Master Ormerod," he reproved me. "Here, sir, we have work sufficient to occupy us for many generations. The—ah—failures of my predecessor, I venture to assert, may be ascribed to his unfortunate predilection to extravagant views and policies. The day for such delusions, I assure you, is past. Here in New York we are now occupied with the important task of improving the lot of our loyal, law-abiding citizens, and the abatement of hindrances to trade and commerce."
He selected a paper from several on the table before him.
"I have here a draft of a new charter I am issuing to the citizens! Too little attention has been paid to such matters, and it shall be my care to——"
"Do I understand you have no ear for my report, your Excellency?" I broke in.
"Some other time, Master Ormerod. At the present, I am occupied with affairs of serious moment."
"But the French——"
"Tut, tut, sir," he remonstrated severely. "Here is overmuch stress upon the French. Another fault of my—ah—distinguished predecessor was to exaggerate the animosity of the French. Treat the French fairly, live and let live, so you may construe my policy. I have no fault to find with French expansion. There is land enough for all on this continent. As for the near-by savages, we have humored them more than is good for them. In future——"
How I got from that room I do not remember, but in some way I dammed the flow of pompous rhetoric and futile reasoning, brushed by all who would have questioned me in the fort, and found my way by oft-trodden paths into Pearl Street. I was still seething with indignation as the red-brick house came in view. When I tapped at the door none answered me, so I pushed it open and entered the wide hallway. I called, but no answer was returned. And then I heard a bubbling chuckle of mirth in the rear garden, capped by Corlaer's squeaking laughter.
It was as if a secret hammer tapped at my heart. I caught my breath, and stepped softly through the corridor to the door which gave on the garden. On the steps below me sat stout Scots Elspeth, heedless of the snow, and John Allen, both of them helpless with laughter; and in the garden's center a small, lusty urchin in breeches, a wooden scalping knife clutched in one mitten-covered fist, circled cautiously the ponderous figure of Corlaer, who contrived a most realistic mimicry of panic-fear.
"And now I shall scalp you!" the urchin shrieked gleefully.
But Peter gestured him towards me, and the boy turned with a glad cry. The knife dropped from his hand. There was a scurry of feet, and two arms were stretched up to me, two brown eyes—eyes that it seemed I had looked into so many times before—shone into mine.
"You have come back!" shouted the treble voice. "John said you would! And so did Master Burnet! Do you always wear a beard! Will you buy me clothes like those you and Peter wear? Will you teach me to cast the tomahawk and shoot with the bow and arrow? Will you take me to live with the Indians? Did you kill very many this time? What did you find beyond the sunset?"
I swept him in my arms, gray eyes beaming steadily through the mist that veiled my sight.
"I found contentment—and love," I said.
Elspeth burst into tears.
"Hecht, but them's the bonny worrds," she blubbered. "The master's hame and richt in his mind again!"
My son's bubbling laughter stirred me afresh, and I peered over his shoulder to perceive Corlaer waltzing like a clumsy bear, with John Allen's sedate person clasped against his enormous belly. And I sat down beside the boy and laughed, too, laughed as I had laughed in bygone years, with the joyous vigor of a happy heart.
THE END