There are hours in the life of man when no actual grief oppresses him--when there is no imminent peril near--when no strong passion wrings his heart; and yet those hours are amongst the most dark and painful of his whole existence. They come on many occasions, and under various circumstances--often when some silent voice from within warns him of the instability of all human joy, and a gray shadow takes the place of the sunshine of life--often when the prophetic soul, seeing in the distant horizon a cloud no bigger than a man's hand, foretells the hurricane and the tempest that is to sweep away his brightest hopes for ever.
Such hours were those of Mr. Prevost during a great part of the night which succeeded his parting with Lord H----. He slept but little for several hours, and, though he knew not why, a gloomy, oppressive fancy seized upon him, that his household would be the one to suffer from the event which had lately passed.
The want of sleep in the earlier part of the night protracted the slumbers of the morning. He was usually the first person up in the house, and enjoyed many an hour of study or of thought before even the negroes were stirring. But this morning he was aroused by a distant knocking at the huts where the outdoor servants slept, and then by a repetition of the same sound at the door of the house itself.
Rising hastily, he got down in time to see the door opened by old Agrippa, and found a man on horseback bearing a large official-looking letter, addressed to Major-General Lord H----.
It proved to be a despatch from Sir William Johnson, requesting both Lord H---- and Mr. Prevost to attend a meeting of some of the chiefs of the Five Nations, which was to be held at Johnson Castle on the Mohawk in the course of the following day. Though the distance was not very great, the difficulty of travelling through that part of the country made it necessary to set out at once, in order to reach the place of rendezvous before night.
"I will mount my horse as soon as it can be got ready," said Lord H----, when he had read the letter and shown it to Mr. Prevost. "I suppose, in existing circumstances, you will not think it advisable to accompany me?"
"Most certainly I will go with you, my lord," replied his host. "As I said last night, the danger, though very certain, is not immediate. Weeks, months, may pass before these Indians feel assured that they cannot obtain possession of the actual slayer of their red brother; and, as many of the Oneidas will probably be present at this 'talk,' as they call it, I may, perhaps (though it is very doubtful), gain some insight into their thoughts and intentions. I will take my daughter with me, however, for I should not like to leave her here altogether alone. Her preparations may delay us for half-an-hour; but we shall have ample time, and the horse of the messenger, who will act as our guide, must have some little time to take rest and feed."
Edith was all gaiety and satisfaction at the thought of the expedition before her. She knew many of the Indians well; was acquainted with their habits and manners, and was a great favourite with several of the chiefs; but she had never been present at any of their great meetings, and the event before her had all the recommendation of novelty. The keen observer before whom she stood drew from her active eagerness an inference, partially true, though carried, perhaps, a little too far, that she was not in reality well satisfied with her residence in the wilderness--that it was oppressive to her, and that, though she might studiously conceal her distaste for such solitude, she was very glad to seize an opportunity of escaping from it to busier scenes.
However that might be, she was ready the first. A very brief time was spent at breakfast, and then the whole party set out on horseback, followed by a negro leading a packhorse, and preceded by the messenger of Sir William Johnson.
It was customary in those days in all lands for every gentleman to go armed with the sword at least; and in those parts of America which bordered upon the Indian territory, few people thought of going forth for any distance without a rifle as a protection, not alone against any hostile natives, but against wild beasts, which were then somewhat numerous. Mr. Prevost, the messenger, and the negro, were all thus armed; but Lord H----, who had hitherto worn nothing but the common riding-suit in which he had first presented himself, except in his unfortunate expedition with Captain Brooks, had now donned the splendid uniform of a major-general in the British service, and was merely armed with his sword and pistols in the holsters of his saddle.
Thus equipped, and mounted on a horse full of life and spirit from a four days' rest, he was certainly as gallant-looking a cavalier as ever presented himself to lady's eyes. But, to say sooth, his military station and his military dress were no great recommendation to Edith; for it is sad to say, but too true, that officers in the English army in those days had made themselves anything but popular or well esteemed in the American provinces. A more simple and more virtuous state of society certainly existed in the northern portion of the New World than in any part of the Old; and, coming from a luxurious and vicious scene to a completely different state of things, the English officer, despising the simpler habits of the people, displayed no slight portion of insolence and presumption, and carried to excess the evil habits which should have been disgraceful in any country. A great change has since come over his manners and character in almost every respect; but at that period he was notorious in the colonies for blasphemy, drunkenness, and depraved morals.
Thus, to be a military man was, as I have said, no great recommendation in the eyes of any lady who possessed self-respect, but in the case of Lord H---- it served to heighten the good qualities which were apparent in him, by showing him in a favourable contrast to the great body of his comrades. He swore not; in eating and drinking he carried moderation to abstemiousness; and in manners, though firm, easy, and self-possessed, there was not the slightest touch of overbearingness or presumption. Occasionally his tone was grave, almost to sternness; but at other times it was mild, and even tender; and there was something peculiarly gentle as well as bright in his smile and in his eyes.
The journey passed without incident. Deep woods succeeded each other for many miles, but not without interruption. Every now and then a bright stream would come dancing along in its autumnal freshness, and then the road would circle the edge of a small lake, sweet, and calm, and beautiful, reflecting the blue sky and the over-hanging branches of the pine and hemlock. At places where the maple grew, the forest would be all in a glow, as if with the reflection of some vast unseen fire; and then again, where the road passed through a deep valley, all would be dark, and sombre, and gloomy.
No Indian villages were passed, and not a human being was seen for seventeen or eighteen miles; though here and there a small log-hut, apparently deserted, testified to the efforts of a new race to wrest their hunting-grounds from an earlier race--efforts too soon, too sadly, too cruelly, to be consummated.
The softer light of early morning died away, and then succeeded a warmer period when the heat became very oppressive; for in the midst of those deep forests, with no wind stirring, the change from summer to winter is not felt so rapidly as in more open lands.
About an hour after noon Mr. Prevost proposed to stop, rest the horses, and take some refreshment; and a spot was selected where some fine oaks spread their large limbs over a beautifully clear little lake or pond, the view across which presented peeps of a distant country, some blue hills, at no very great elevation, appearing above the tops of the trees. It was a calm and quiet spot; and, while resting there for an hour, the conversation, as is generally the case, was tinged by the influence of the scene.
Mr. Prevost himself, though past the age when impressions of any kind are most readily received, had preserved much of the fresh and plastic character of youth, and gave himself up to any train of thought that might be suggested by circumstances. A casual word led his mind away from those drier topics on which he was often pleased to dwell, to friendship and to love; and he and Lord H---- discussed for some time a number of subjects which rarely arise between an elderly man and one in early middle age. Of the two, strange to say, Mr. Prevost, in dealing with such topics, seemed the most enthusiastic and fanciful. He would play with them, he would embellish them, he would illustrate them, as if he had been a young lover, with his imagination freshly kindled by the torch of the blind god. But in the little said by Lord H---- there was a depth, and a strength, and an earnestness, which more than made up for the lack of figurative adornment.
Edith said little--nothing, in truth, that bore upon the subject; but perhaps she did not think--perhaps she did not feel--the less. It must be a strange thing to a young girl's ears, I have often thought, when first in her presence are discussed, by the cool, fearless tongues of men, those deep sympathies, those warm affections, those tender and absorbing passions--like the famous Amreeta cup, good or evil, life or death, according to the spirit in which they are received--which form for her the keynote of the whole harmonies of her nature, the foundation of life's happiness or woe, the talisman of her whole destiny. Must she not shrink and thrill, as would the idolater at seeing profane and careless hands sport with the image of his god?
Needless, perhaps vain, were it to try and look into that young girl's heart. Suffice it, she was silent, or very nearly so--suffice it, that she thought and felt in her silence. Was it that the portals of a new world were opened to her, full of beauty and of interest, and that she stood on the threshold, gazing in voiceless awe?
At the end of an hour, the party again mounted, and pursued their way, still through forests and valleys, across streams, and by the side of lakes, till at length, just as the evening sun was reaching the horizon, a visible change took place in the aspect of the country; spots were seen which had been cultivated, where harvests had grown and been reaped; and then a house gleamed here and there through the woodland, and blue wreaths of smoke might be seen rising up. Tracks of cart-wheels channelled the forest path; a cart or waggon was drawn up near the road side; high piles of firewood showed preparation against the bitter winter; and everything indicated that the travellers were approaching some new but prosperous settlement.
Soon all traces of the primeval woods, except those which the little party left behind them, disappeared, and a broad tract of well-cultivated country spread out before them, with a fine river bounding it at the distance of more than a mile. The road, too, was comparatively good and broad, and half-way between the forest and the river, that road divided into two, one branch going straight on, and another leading up the course of the stream.
"Is Sir William at the Hall, or at his castle?" asked Mr. Prevost, raising his voice to reach the ears of his guide, who kept a little in front.
"He told me, sir, to take you to the Hall if you should come on, sir," replied the messenger. "There is a great number of Indians up at the castle already, and he thought you might, perhaps, not like to be with them altogether."
"Probably not," returned Mr. Prevost, drily; and they rode on upon the direct road, till, passing two or three smaller houses, they came in sight of a very large and handsome edifice, built of wood, indeed, but somewhat in the style of a European house of the eighteenth century.
As they approached the gates, Sir William Johnson himself, now in full costume of an officer of the British army, came down the steps to meet and welcome them; and little less ceremonious politeness did he display, in the midst of the wild woods of America, than if he had been, at the moment, in the halls of St. James's. With stately grace, he lifted Edith from her horse, greeted Lord H---- with a deferential bow, shook Mr. Prevost by the hand, and then led them himself to rooms which seemed to have been prepared for them.
"Where is my friend Walter?" he asked, as he was about to leave Mr. Prevost to some short repose; "what has induced him to deny his old acquaintance the pleasure of his society? Ha, Mr. Prevost, does he think to find metal more attractive at your lonely dwelling? Perhaps he may be mistaken; for, let me tell you, the beautiful Otaitsa is here--here, in this very house; for our good friend Gore has so completely Anglified her, that, what between her Christianity, her beauty, and her delicacy, I believe she is afraid to trust herself with four or five hundred red warriors at the castle."
He spoke in a gay and jesting tone; and every one knows the blessed facility which parents have of shutting their eyes to the love affairs of their children. Mr. Prevost did not, in the least, perceive anything in the worthy general's speech, but a good-humored joke at the boyish fondness of his son for a pretty Indian girl; and he hastened to excuse Walter's absence by telling Sir William that he had been sent to Albany on business by Lord H----. He then inquired, somewhat anxiously, "Is our friend the Black Eagle here, with his daughter?"
"He is here on the ground," replied Sir William, "but not in the house. His Indian habits are of too old standing to be rooted out like Otaitsa's, and he prefers a bear-skin and his own blue blanket to the best bed and quilt in the house. I offered him such accommodation as it afforded; but he declined with the dignity of a prince refusing the hospitality of a cottage."
"Does he seem in a good humour to-day?" asked Mr. Prevost, hesitating whether he should tell Sir William, at a moment when they were likely to be soon interrupted, the event which had caused so much apprehension in his own mind; "you know he is somewhat variable in his mood."
"I never remarked it," replied the other. "I think he is the most civilized savage I ever saw; far more than King Hendrick, though the one, since his father's death, wears a blue coat, and the other does not. He did seem a little grave, indeed; but the shadows of Indian mirth and gravity are so faint, it is difficult to distinguish them."
While these few words were passing, Mr. Prevost had decided upon his course, and he merely replied,--
"Well, Sir William, pray let Otaitsa know that Edith is here. They will soon be in each other's arms, for the two girls love like sisters."
A few words sprang to Sir William Johnson's lips, which, had they been uttered, might, perhaps, have opened Mr. Prevost's eyes, at least, to the suspicions of his friend. He was on the eve of answering, "And, some day, they may be sisters." But he checked himself, and nothing but the smile which should have accompanied the words made any reply.
When left alone, the thoughts of Mr. Prevost reverted at once to more pressing considerations.
"The old chief knows this event," he said to himself; "he has heard of it--heard the whole, probably. It is wonderful how rapidly intelligence is circulated amongst this people from mouth to mouth!"
He was well nigh led into speculations regarding the strange celerity with which news can be carried orally, and was beginning to calculate how much distance would be saved in a given space, by one man shouting out the tidings to another afar off, when he forced back his mind into the track it had left, and came to the conclusion, from a knowledge of the character of the parties, and from all he had heard, that certainly the Black Eagle was cognizant of the death of one of his tribe by the hand of Captain Brooks, and that probably--though not certainly--he might have communicated the facts, though not his views and purposes, to his daughter, whose keen eyes were likely to discover much of that which he intended to conceal.
A curious and motley assembly was present that night in the halls of Sir William Johnson. There were several ladies and gentlemen from Albany: several young military men, and two or three persons of a class now extinct, but who then drove a very thriving commerce, and whose peculiar business it was to trade with the Indians. Some of the latter were exceedingly well-educated men; and one or two of them were persons, not only of enlightened minds, but of enlarged views and heart. The others were mere brutal speculators, whose whole end and object in life was to wring as much from the savage, and give as little in return, as possible.
Besides these, an Indian chief would, from time to time, appear in the rooms, often marching through in perfect silence, observing all that was going on with dignified gravity, and then going back to his companions at the castle. Amongst the rest was Otaitsa, still in her Indian costume, but evidently in gala dress, of the finest cloth and the most elaborate embroidery. Not only was she perfectly at her ease, talking to every one, laughing with many; but the sort of shrinking, timid tenderness which gave her so great a charm in the society of the few whom she loved, had given place to a wild spirit of gaiety, little in accordance with the character of her nation.
She glided hither and thither through the room; she rested in one place hardly for a moment; her jests were as light, and sometimes as sharp, as those of almost any Parisian dame; and, when one of the young officers ventured to speak to her somewhat lightly as the mere Indian girl, she piled upon him a mass of ridicule that wrung tears of laughter from the eyes of one or two elder men standing near.
"I know not what has come to the child to-night," said Mr. Gore, who was seated near Edith in one of the rooms; "a wild spirit seems to have seized upon her, which is quite unlike her whole character and nature--unlike the character of her people, too, or I might think that the savage had returned notwithstanding all my care."
"Perhaps it is the novelty and excitement of the scene," observed Edith.
"Oh, no," answered the missionary; "there is nothing new in this scene to her; she has been at these meetings several times during the last two or three years, but never seemed to yield to their influence as she has done to-night."
"She has hardly spoken a word to me," said Edith; "I hope she will not forget the friends who love her."
"No fear of that, my dear," replied Mr. Gore. "Otaitsa is all heart, and that heart is a gentle one. Under its influence is she acting now; it throbs with something that we do not know; and those light words, that make us smile to hear, have sources deep within her--perhaps of bitterness."
"I think I have heard her say," remarked Edith, "that you educated her from her childhood."
"When first I joined the People of the Stone," replied the missionary, "I found her there, a young child of three years old. Her mother was just dead; and, although her father bore his grief with the stern, gloomy stoicism of his nation, and neither suffered tear to fall nor sigh to escape his lips, I could see plainly enough that he was struck with grief such as the Indian seldom feels, and never shows. He received me most kindly; made my efforts with his people easy; and though I know not to this hour whether with himself I have been successful in communicating blessed light, he gave his daughter altogether up to my charge, and with her I havenotfailed. I fear in him the savage is too deeply rooted ever to be wrung forth, but I have madeherone of Christ's flock, indeed."
It seemed, as if by a sort of instinct, that Otaitsa discovered she was the subject of conversation between her two friends. Twice she looked round at them from the other side of the room, and at length glided across, and seated herself beside Edith. For a moment she sat in silence there; and then, leaning her head gracefully on her beautiful companion's shoulder, she said, in a low whisper--
"Do not close thine eyes this night, my sister, till thou seest me."
Having thus spoken, she started up, and mingled with the little crowd again.
It was still early in the night when Edith retired to the chamber assigned for her; for, even in the most fashionable society of those times, people had not learned to drive the day into the night, and make morning and evening meet. Her room was a large and handsome one; and though plainly, it was sufficiently furnished. No forest, as at her own dwelling, intercepted the beams of the rising moon; so she sat and contemplated the ascent of the queen of night, as she soared grandly over the distant trees.
The conduct of Otaitsa during that evening had puzzled Edith, and the few whispered words had excited her curiosity; for it must not be forgotten that Edith was altogether unacquainted with the fact of one of the Oneidas having been slain by the hands of Captain Brooks, within little more than two miles of her own abode. She proceeded to make her toilet for the night, however, and was almost undressed when she heard the door of her room open quietly, and Otaitsa stole in, and cast her arms around her.
"Ah, my sister," she exclaimed, "I have longed to talk with you." Seating herself by her side, she leaned her head again upon Edith's shoulder, but remained silent for several minutes.
The fair English girl knew that it was better to let her take her own time, and her own manner, to speak whatever she had to say; but Otaitsa remained so long without uttering a word, that an indefinable feeling of alarm spread over her young companion. She felt her bosom heave, as if with struggling sighs; she even felt some warm drops, like tears, fall upon her shoulder; and yet Otaitsa remained without speaking; till at length Edith said, in a gentle and encouraging tone,--
"What is it, my sister? There can surely be nothing you should be afraid to utter to my ear."
"Not afraid," answered Otaitsa; and then she relapsed into silence.
"But why do you weep, my sweet Blossom?" said Edith, after pausing for a moment or two, to give her time to recover her composure.
"Because one of your people has killed one of my people," answered the Indian girl sorrowfully. "Is not that enough to make me weep?"
"Indeed!" exclaimed Edith. "I am much grieved to hear it, Blossom; but when did this happen, and how?"
"It happened only yesterday," replied the girl, "and but a little towards the morning from your own house, my sister. It was a sad day!--it was a sad day!"
"But I trust it was none near and dear to thee, Blossom, or to the Black Eagle," said Edith, putting her arms around her, and trying to soothe her.
"No, no," answered Otaitsa; "he was a bad man, a treacherous man, one whom my father loved not. But that matters little. They will have blood forhisblood."
The truth flashed upon Edith's mind at once; for, although less acquainted with the Indian habits than her brother or her father, she knew enough of their revengeful spirit to feel sure that they would seek the death of the murderer with untiring eagerness, and she questioned her sweet companion earnestly as to all the particulars of the sad tale. Otaitsa told her all she knew, which was, indeed, nearly all that could be told. The man called the Snake, she said, had been shot by the white man Woodchuck, in the wood to the north-east of Mr. Prevost's house. Intimation of the fact had spread like fire in dry grass through the whole of the Oneidas, who were flocking to the meeting at Sir William Johnson's castle, and from them would run through the whole tribe.
"Woodchuck has escaped," Otaitsa said, "or would have been slain ere now; but they will have his life yet, my sister,"--and then she added slowly and sorrowfully, "or the life of some other white man, if they cannot catch the one."
Her words presented to Edith's mind a sad and terrible idea--one more fearful in its vagueness and uncertainty of outline than in the darkness of particular points. That out of a narrow and limited population, some one was foredoomed to be slain--that out of a small body of men, all feeling almost as brethren, one was to be marked out for slaughter--that one family was to lose husband, or father, or brother, and no one could tell which--made her feel like one of a herd of wild animals, cooped up within the toils of the hunters.
Edith's first object was to learn more from her young companion; but Otaitsa had told almost all she knew.
"What they will do I know not," she said; "they do not tell us women. But I fear, Edith, I fear very much; for they say our brother Walter was with Woodchuck when the deed was done."
"Not so, not so," cried Edith; "had he been so, I should have heard of it. He has gone to Albany, and had he been present I am sure he would have stopped it if he could. If your people tell truth, they will acknowledge that he was not there."
Otaitsa raised her head suddenly, with a look of joy, exclaiming,--
"I will make her tell the truth, were she as cunning a snake as he was; but yet, my sister Edith, some one else will have to die if they find not the man they seek."
The last words were spoken in a melancholy tone again; but then she started up, repeating,--
"I will make her tell the truth."
"Can you do so?" asked Edith; "snakes are always very crafty."
"I will try at least," answered the girl; "but oh, my sister, it were better for you, and Walter, and your father too, to be away. When a storm is coming, we try to save what is most precious. There is yet ample time to go; for the red people are not rash, and do not act hastily, as you white people do."
"But is there no means," asked Edith, "of learning what the intention of the tribe really is?"
"I know of none," replied the girl, "that can be depended upon with certainty. The people of the Stone change no more than the stone from which they sprang. The storm beats upon them, the sun shines upon them, and there is little difference on the face of the rock. Yet let your father watch well when he is at the great talk, to-morrow. Then, if the priest is very smooth and soft-spoken, and if the Black Eagle is stern and silent, and wraps his blanket over his left breast, be sure that something sad is meditated. That is all that I can tell you--but I will make this woman speak the truth if there be truth in her, and that, too, before the chiefs of the nation. Now, sister, lie down to rest. Otaitsa is going at once to her people."
"But are you not afraid?" asked Edith. "It is a dark night, dear Blossom. Lie down with me, and wait till the morning sunshine."
"I have no fear," answered the Indian girl; "nothing will hurt me. There are times, sister, when a spirit possesses us, that defies all and fears nothing. So has it been with me this night. The only thing I dreaded to face was my own thought, and I would not suffer it to rest upon anything till I had spoken with you. Now, however, I have better hopes. I will go forth, and I will make her tell the truth."
Thus saying, she left Edith's chamber, and, in about an hour and a half, she stood beside her father, who was seated near a fire kindled in one corner of the court attached to a large house, or rather fort, built by Sir William Johnson on the banks of the Mohawk, and called by him his Castle. Round the Sachem, forming a complete circle, sat a number of the head men of the Oneidas, each in that peculiar crouching position which has been rendered familiar to our eyes by numerous paintings. The court and the castle itself were well nigh filled with Indians of other tribes of the Five Nations; but none took any part in the proceedings of the Oneidas but themselves.
The only stranger who was present in the circle was Sir William Johnson. He was still fully dressed in his British uniform, and seated on a chair in an attitude of much dignity, with his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword. With the exception of that weapon, he had no arms whatever, and indeed it was his custom to sleep frequently in the midst of his red friends utterly unarmed and defenceless. The occasion seemed a solemn one, for all faces were very grave, and a complete silence prevailed for several minutes.
"Bring in the woman," said Black Eagle, at length; "bring her in, and let her speak the truth."
"Of what do you accuse her, Otaitsa?" asked Sir William Johnson, fixing his eyes upon his beautiful guest.
"Of uttering lies to the Sachem and to her brethren," answered Otaitsa. "Her breath has been full of the poison of the snake."
"Thou hearest," said Black Eagle, turning to a woman of some one or two-and-twenty years of age. "What sayest thou?"
"I lie not," answered the woman, in the Indian tongue. "I saw him lift the rifle, and shoot my brother dead."
"Who did it?" asked Black Eagle, gravely and calmly.
"The Woodchuck," answered the woman; "he did it. I know his face too well."
"Believe her not," rejoined Otaitsa. "The Woodchuck was ever a friend of our nation. He is our brother. He would not slay an Oneida."
"But he was my brother's enemy," answered the woman; "there was vengeance between them."
"Vengeance on thy brother's part," retorted the old chief; "more likely he to slay the Woodchuck, than the Woodchuck to slay him."
"If she have a witness, let her bring him forward," said Otaitsa. "We will believe her by the tongue of another."
"I have none," cried the woman, vehemently. "I have none; but I saw him kill my brother with my own eyes, and I cry for his blood."
"Didst thou not say that there were two white men with him?" asked Otaitsa, raising up her right hand. "Then in this thou hast lied to the Sachem and thy brethren, and who shall say whether thou speakest the truth now?"
A curious sort of drowsy hum ran round the circle of the Indians; and one old man said--"She has spoken well."
The woman in the meanwhile stood silent and abashed, with her eyes fixed upon the ground; and the Black Eagle said, in a grave tone,
"There was none."
"No," said the woman, lifting her look firmly, "there was none; but I saw two others in the wood hard by, and I was sure they were his companions."
"That is guile," said Black Eagle, sternly. "Thou didst say that there were two men with him, one the young, pale-face Walter, and the other a tall stranger; and thou broughtest a cloud over our eyes, and madest us think that they were present at the death."
"Then methinks, Black Eagle," said Sir William Johnson, using their language nearly as fluently as his own, "there is no faith to be put in the woman's story, and we cannot tell what has happened."
"Not so, my brother," answered Black Eagle. "We know that the Snake was slain yesterday, before the sun had reached the pine tops. We believe, too, that the Woodchuck slew him, for there was enmity between them, and the ball which killed him was a large ball, such as we have never seen but in that man's pouch."
"That is doubtful evidence," said Sir William, "and I trust my brother will let vengeance cease till he have better witnesses."
The Indians remained profoundly silent for more than a minute; and then the old man who had spoken once before, replied--
"If our brother will give us up Woodchuck, vengeance shall cease."
"That I cannot do," answered Sir William Johnson. "First, I have no power; secondly, he may be tried by our laws; but I will not lie to you. If he can show he did it in self-defence, he will be set free."
Again there was a long silence; and then Black Eagle rose, saying--
"We must take counsel."
His face was very grave; and as he spoke, he drew the large blue blanket which covered his shoulders over his left breast with the gesture which Otaitsa had described to Edith as indicating some dark determination. Sir William Johnson marked the signs he saw, and was too well acquainted with the Indian character to believe that their thirst for blood was at all allayed; but neither by expression of countenance nor by words did he show any doubt of his red friends, and he slept amongst them calmly that night, without a fear of the result.
At an early hour on the following morning, all the arrangements were made for the great Council or "Talk" that was about to be held. Some large arm-chairs were brought forth into the court. A few soldiers were seen moving about, and some negro servants. A number of the guests from the Hall came up about nine o'clock, most of them on horseback; but when all were assembled, the body of white men present were few and insignificant compared with the multitude of Indians who surrounded them. No one showed or entertained any fear, however, and the conference commenced and passed off with perfect peace and harmony.
It is true that several of the Indian chiefs, and more especially King Hendrick as he was called, the son of the chief who had been killed near Port George a year or two before, made some complaints against the English government for neglect of the just claims of their red allies. All angry feeling, however, was removed by a somewhat large distribution of presents; and, after hearing everything which the Indians had to say, Sir William Johnson rose from the chair in which he had been seated, with Lord H---- and Mr. Prevost on either side, and addressed the assembly in English, his speech being translated, sentence after sentence, by an interpreter, according to his invariable custom when called upon to deal publicly with the heads of the Five Nations.
The whole of his address cannot be given here; but it was skilfully turned to suit the prejudices and conciliate the friendship of the people to whom he spoke. He said that their English father, King George, loved his red children with peculiar affection; but that, as his lodge was a long way off, he could not always know their wants and wishes. He had very lately, however, shown his great tenderness and consideration for the Five Nations, by appointing him, Sir William Johnson, as Indian agent, to make known, as speedily as possible, all that his red children desired. He then drew a glowing picture of the greatness and majesty of the English monarch, as the Attotarho, or chief leader of a thousand different nations, sitting under a pine-tree that reached to the sky, and receiving every minute messages from his children in every part of the earth.
A hum of satisfaction from the Indians followed this flight of fancy; and then the speaker went on to say that this great chief, their father, had long ago intended to do much for them, and still intended to do so, but that the execution of his benevolent purposes had been delayed and impeded by the machinations of the French,theirenemies andhis, whom he represented as stealthily lying in wait for all the ships and convoys of goods and presents which were destined for his Indian children, and possessing themselves of them by force or fraud. Rich as he might be, he asked how was it possible that their white father could supply all their wants, when he had so many to provide for, and when so many of his enemies had dug up the tomahawk at once. If the chiefs of the Five Nations, however, he said, would vigorously aid him in his endeavours, King George would speedily drive the French from America; and, to show his intention of so doing, he had sent over the great chief on his right hand, Lord H----, and many other mighty warriors, to fight side by side with their red brethren. More, he said, would come over in the ensuing spring; and with the first flower that blossoms under the hemlock-trees, the English warriors would be ready for the battle, if the Indian chiefs there present would promise them cordial support and co-operation.
It must not be supposed that, in employing very exaggerated language, Sir William had any intention of deceiving. He merely used figures suited to the comprehension of his auditors; and his speech gave the very highest satisfaction. The unusually large presents which had been distributed--the presence and bearing of the young nobleman who accompanied him, and a natural weariness of the state of semi-neutrality between the French and English, which they had maintained for some time, disposed the chiefs to grant the utmost he could desire; and the conference broke up with the fullest assurance of support from the heads of the Iroquois tribes--assurances which were faithfully made good in the campaigns which succeeded.
All was pleasant ease at the house of Sir William Johnson, from which the stateliness of his manner did not at all detract; for, when blended with perfect courtesy, as an Irishman, perhaps better than any man, can blend it, stateliness does not imply restraint.
The conference with the Indians had not ended until too late an hour for Mr. Prevost and his companions to return to his dwelling on the day when it took place; and, as Walter was not expected with the answers to Lord H----'s despatches for at least two days more, the party were not unwilling to prolong their stay till the following morning. Several of the guests, indeed, who were proceeding to Albany direct, set out at once for their destination, certain of reaching the well-inhabited parts of the country before nightfall; and it was at one time proposed to send a letter by them to young Walter Prevost, directing him to join his father at the Hall.
The inconveniences which so frequently ensue upon deranging plans already fixed caused this scheme to be rejected; and while her father, Lord H----, and their host, wandered forth for an hour or two along the banks of the beautiful Mohawk, Edith remained at the Hall, not without hope of seeing Otaitsa present herself with some intelligence.
The Indian girl, however, did not appear, and gloomy thoughts thronged fast upon poor Edith. She strove to banish them; she schooled herself in regard to the folly of anticipating evils only possible; but who ever mastered completely those internal warnings of coming peril or woe which as often come to cloud our brightest days, as to darken the gloom of an already tempestuous sky. Edith's chief companion was an old lady, nearly related to Sir William, but very deaf and very silent; and she had but small relief in conversation.
In the meantime, the three gentlemen and a youngaide-de-camppursued their way amongst the neat farmhouses and mechanics' shops which had gathered round the Hall. Mr. Prevost gave way to thoughts apparently as gloomy as those which haunted his daughter, but in reality not so; for his was a mind of a discursive character, which was easily led by collateral ideas far away from any course which it was at first pursuing; and, though he had awoke that morning full of the considerations which had engaged him during the preceding day, he was now busily calculating the results of the meeting which had just been held, and arriving at conclusions more just than were reached by many of the great statesmen and politicians of the time.
Lord H----, on his part, paid no little attention to the demeanour and all the proceedings of their host. The character of his mind was the exact reverse of that of Mr. Prevost, attaching itself keenly to one object, and being turned from its contemplation with difficulty. His thoughts still dwelt upon the consequences which were likely to ensue from the death of the Oneida by the hands of Captain Brooks, without anything like alarm, indeed, but with careful forethought for those who, in a few short days, had won for themselves a greater share of the warm affections which lay hidden in his heart than he often bestowed upon any one.
As they quitted the door of the house, a mere trifle called his attention to something peculiar in the conduct of Sir William Johnson, and led him to believe that the mind of that officer was not altogether at ease, notwithstanding the favourable result of the meeting with the Indians.
After they had taken a step or two on their way, Sir William paused suddenly, turned back, and ordered a servant to run up to the top of the hill, and there watch till he returned.
"Mark well which paths they take," he said, without specifying the persons of whom he spoke, "and let me hear if you see anything peculiar."
The man seemed to understand him perfectly; and Lord H---- watched everything with the utmost attention. In the course of their ramble, not less than nine or ten persons came up at different times, and spoke a word or two to Sir William Johnson. First a negro, then a soldier, then an Irish servant, then another white man, but with features of a strongly-marked Indian character. Each seemed to give some information in a few words uttered in a low tone, and each departed as soon as he had spoken, some with a brief answer, some with none.
The evening which succeeded their walk passed somewhat differently from the preceding one. Fewer persons were present; the conversation was more general and intimate, and Sir William Johnson, seating Edith at the old-fashioned instrument which, in those days, supplied the lack of pianofortes, asked for a song which, it seems, he had heard her sing before. She complied without any hesitation, with sufficient skill and management of her voice to show that she had been well taught, but with tones so rich, so pure, and so melodious, that every sound in the room was instantly hushed, and Lord H---- approached nearer and nearer to listen.
Music, I suppose, may be considered as the highest language--the language of the heart and spirit. Mere words can only reach or convey a very limited class of ideas, the distinct and the tangible; but music can convey the fine, the indistinct, the intangible shades of feeling and of thought which escape all other means of expression. It is only, however, to those who understand the language; but Lord H---- was full, not only of the love, but of the science of music; and he drew closer and closer to Edith, as she sang, and, at length, hung over her, with his face turned away from the other guests in the room, and bearing, written on it, feelings which he hardly yet knew were in his heart.
Sir William Johnson was standing on the other side of the beautiful girl's chair; and, as she concluded one of the stanzas, he raised his eyes suddenly to the face of Lord H----, with a look of great satisfaction. What he saw there made him start, and then smile, for the characters written on the nobleman's countenance were too plain to be mistaken, and Sir William, who was not without his share of worldly wisdom, at once divined that Edith Prevost was likely to be a peeress of England.
"What a fine musician she is!" exclaimed the older general to Lord H----, after he had conducted Edith to her former seat, but before the enthusiasm had subsided; "one would hardly expect to find such music in these wild woods of America."
"She is all music," said Lord H----, in an absent tone, and then added, rousing himself, "but you must not attribute such powers and such perfections, altogether, to America, Sir William, for I find that Miss Prevost was educated in Europe."
"Only till she was fourteen," replied the other; "but they are altogether a most remarkable family. If ever girl was perfect, it is herself. Her father, though somewhat too much given to dream, is a man of singular powers of mind; and her brother Walter, whom I look upon almost as a son, is full of high and noble qualities and energies, which, if he lives, will certainly lead him on to greatness."
"I think so," returned Lord H----. And there the conversation dropped for the time.
The rest of the evening passed without any incident of notice; and by daybreak on the following morning the whole household were on foot. An early breakfast was ready for the travellers, and nothing betrayed much anxiety on the part of their host, till the very moment of their departure. As they were about to set forth, however, and just when Edith appeared in her riding-habit, or Amazon, as it was then called, and the hat, with large floating ostrich plumes, usually worn at that time by ladies when on horseback--looking lovely enough, it is true, to justify any compliment--Sir William took her by the hand, saying, with a gay and courteous air,--
"I am going to give you a commission, my fair Hippolyta, which is neither more nor less than the command of half-a-dozen dragoons, whom I wish to go with you for a portion of the way, partly to exercise their horses on a road, which is marvellously cleared of stumps and stones, for this part of the country, partly to examine what is going on a little to the north-east, and partly to bring me the pleasant intelligence that you have gone, at least half way to your home in safety."
Lord H---- looked in his face in silence, and Edith turned a little pale, but said nothing. Mr. Prevost, however, went directly to the point, saying, "You know of some danger, my good friend; you had better inform us of all the particulars, in order that we may be upon our guard."
"None whatever, Prevost," answered Sir William, "except the general perils of inhabiting an advanced spot on the frontiers of a savage people, especially when anything has occurred to offend them. You know what we talked about yesterday morning. The Oneidas do not easily forgive; and, in this case, they will not forgive. But I have every reason to believe that they have taken their way homeward for the present. My people traced them a good way to the west, and it is only from some chance stragglers that there is any danger."
Mr. Prevost mused, without moving to the door, which was opened for them to depart, and then said, in a meditating kind of tone, "I do not think they will attack any large party, Sir William, even when satisfied that they cannot get hold of the man who has incensed them. These Indians are a very cunning people, and they often satisfy even their notions of honour by an artifice, especially when two duties, as they consider them, are in opposition to one another. Depend upon it, after what passed yesterday, they will commit no act of national hostility against England. They are pledged to us, and will not break their pledge. They will attack no large party, nor slay any Englishman in open strife, though they may kidnap some solitary individual, and, according to their curious notions of atonement, make him a formal sacrifice, in expiation of the blood shed by another."
"You know the Indians well, Prevost," said Sir William Johnson, gravely; "marvellously well, considering the short time you have been amongst them."
"I have had little else to do than to study them," responded the other, "and the subject is one of great interest. But do you think I am wrong in the view I take, my good friend?"
"Quite the contrary," replied Sir William, "and that is the reason I send the soldiers with you. A party of eight or ten will be perfectly secure; and I would certainly advise that, for the next two or three months, or till this unlucky dog, Brooks, or Woodchuck as he is called, has been captured, no one should go any distance from his home singly. Such a party as yours might be large enough. I am not sure that my lord's red coat, which I am happy to see he has got on to-day, might not be sufficient protection; for they will not risk anything which they themselves deem an act of hostility against the English government. Still, the soldiers will make the matter more secure till you have passed the spot where there is any chance of their being found. I repeat, I know of no peril; but I would fain guard against all, where a fair lady is concerned." And he bowed gracefully to Edith.
Little more was said; and taking leave of their host, Mr. Prevost's party mounted their horses, and set out, followed by a corporal's guard of dragoons, a small body of which corps was then stationed in the province of New York, although, from the nature of the country in which hostilities had hitherto been carried on, small opportunity had as yet been afforded them of showing their powers against an enemy. Nor would there have been any very favourable opportunity for so doing in the present instance, even had Mr. Prevost and his companions been attacked; for though the road they had to travel was broad and open, compared to an ordinary Indian trail, yet, except at one or two points, it was hemmed in with impervious forests, where the action of cavalry would be quite impossible, and under the screen of which a skilful marksman might bring down his man, himself unperceived.
Sir William Johnson was nevertheless sincere in saying that he believed the very sight of the English soldiers would be quite sufficient protection. The Indians, he knew right well, would avoid anything like a struggle or a contest, and would more especially take care not to come into collision of any kind with the troops of their British allies. It was likely that they would depend entirely upon cunning to obtain a victim wherewith to appease their vengeance; but on this probability he did not choose altogether to rely. He saw his friends depart, however, with perfect confidence, as the soldiers went with them; and they proceeded without seeing a single human being after they quitted his settlement, till they reached the shores of the small lake near which they had halted on their previous journey, and where they again dismounted to take refreshment.
It was a very pleasant spot, and well fitted for a resting-place; nor was repose altogether needless, though the distance already travelled was not great either for man or horse. But the day was exceedingly oppressive, like one of those which come in what is called the Indian summer, when the weather, after many a frosty day, becomes suddenly sultry, as if in the middle of June, and the air is loaded with thin yellow vapour, well deserving the term of "smoky," usually given to it on the western side of the Atlantic. Yet there was no want of air; the wind blew from the south-east, but there was no freshness on the breeze. It was like the Sirocco, taking away strength and firmness from all it breathed upon; and the horses, after being freed from the burden they bore, stood for several minutes with bent heads and heaving sides, without attempting to crop the forest grass beneath the trees.
Thus repose was sweet, and the look of the little lake was cool and refreshing. The travellers lingered there somewhat after the hour at which they had proposed to depart, and it was the negro who took care of the luggage who first warned them of the waning of the day.
"Massa forget," he said, "sun go early to bed in October. Twelve mile to go yet, and road wuss nor dis."
"True, true," replied Mr. Prevost, rising. "We had better go on, my lord, for it is now past two, and we shall barely reach home by daylight. I really think, corporal," he continued, turning to the non-commissioned officer, who had been seated with his men hard by, enjoying some of the good things of life, "that we need not trouble you to go farther. There is no trace of any Indians, or indeed of any human beings, in the forest, but ourselves. Had there been so, my good friend Chundo, here, would have discovered it, for he knows their tracks as well as any of their own people."
"Dat I do, massa," replied the negro, to whom he pointed. "No Ingin pass dis road since yesterday, I swear."
"My orders were to go to the big blazed Basswood-tree, sir, four miles farther," observed the soldier, in a firm but respectful tone, "and I must obey orders."
"You are right," said Lord H----, pleased with the man's demeanour. "What is your name, corporal?"
"Clithero, my lord," replied the man, with a military salute--"Corporal Clithero."
Lord H---- bowed his head; and the party, remounting, pursued their way. The road, however, as the negro had said, was more difficult in advance than it had been nearer to Sir William Johnson's settlement, and it took the whole party an hour to reach the great Basswood-tree, which had been mentioned, and which was marked out from the rest of the forest by three large marks upon the bark, hewn by some surveyor's axe when the road had been laid out. There the party stopped for a moment or two, and with a few words of thanks, Mr. Prevost and his companions parted from their escort.
"How dim the air along the path is!" ejaculated Lord H----, looking on; "and yet the sun, getting to the west, is shining right down it through the valley. One could almost imagine it was filled with smoke."
"This is what we call a smoky day in America," replied Mr. Prevost; "but I never knew the Indian summer come on us with such a wind."
No more was said on that matter at the time; and, as the road grew narrower, Mr. Prevost and the negro, as best acquainted with the way, rode first, while Lord H---- followed by Edith's side, conversing with her in quiet and easy tones; but with words which sometimes caused the colour to vary a little in her cheek.
These words were not exactly words of love. Write them down, and they might have very little meaning--less application; but all things have such a harmony throughout the universe, that everything separated from its accessories means nothing, or worse than nothing. His tones, I have said, were low and easy; but they were tender, too. His words were not words of love, but they had a fire in them that nothing but love could give; and the contrast between the low, easy tone, and that rich, glowing language, added all that was needful to give them the meaning of the heart, rather than the meaning of dictionaries. He spoke of her singing the night before, and of music in general; he spoke of the beauties of the scenery, the tints of the landscape; he spoke of the old world and the new, and society and solitude. But it mattered not; whatever he spoke of, he thought of Edith Prevost, and there was something that showed her he did so.
Thus they went on for some four miles farther; and the evening was evidently closing round them rapidly, though no ray had yet passed from the sky. Suddenly Mr. Prevost drew in his rein, saying, in a low but distinct voice to the negro, "What is that crossing the road?"
"No Ingin," cried the negro, whose eyes had been constantly bent forward.
"Surely there is smoke drifting across the path," said Mr. Prevost, "and I think I smell it also."
"I have thought so for some time," said Lord H----, who was now close to them with Edith. "Are fires common in these woods?"
"Not very," answered Mr. Prevost, "but the season has been unusually dry. Good heavens! I hope my fears are not prophetic: I've been thinking all day of what would become of the Lodge if the forest were to take fire."
"We had better ride on as fast as possible," said the nobleman; "for then, if the worst happens, we may be able to save some of your property."
"We must be cautious, we must be cautious," returned the other in a thoughtful tone. "Fire is a capricious element, and often runs in directions the least expected. I have heard of people getting so entangled in a burning wood as not to be able to escape."
"O yes," cried the negro; "when I were little boy, I remember quite well, Massa John Bostock, and five other men wid him, git in pine wood behind Albany, and it catch fire. He run here and dere, but it git all round him, and roast him up black as I be. I saw dem bring in what dey fancied was he, but it no better dan a great pine stump."
"If I remember," observed Lord H----, "we passed a high hill somewhere near this spot where we had a fine clear view over the whole of the woody region round. We had better make for that at once. The fire cannot yet have reached it, if my remembrance of the distance is correct; for though the wind sets towards us, the smoke is as yet anything but dense. It may be miles off, even beyond your house."
"Pray God it be so!" ejaculated Mr. Prevost, spurring forward; "but I fear it is nearer."
The rest followed as quickly as the stumps and the fallen trees would let them; and at the distance of half a mile began the ascent of the hill to which Lord H---- had alluded. As far as that spot the smoke had been growing denser and denser every moment; apparently pouring along the valley formed by that hill and another on the left, through which valley, let it be remarked, the small river in which Walter had been seen fishing by Sir William Johnson, but now a broad and very shallow stream, took its course onwards toward the Mohawk. As they began to ascend, however, the smoke decreased, and Edith exclaimed, joyfully,--
"I hope, dear father, the fire is farther to the north."
"We shall see, we shall see," said Mr. Prevost, still pushing his horse forward. "The sun is going down fast; and a little haste will be better on all accounts."
In about five minutes more the summit of the hill was reached, at a spot where, in laying out two roads which crossed each other there, the surveyors had cleared away a considerable portion of the wood, leaving, as Lord H---- had said, a clear view over the greater part of the undulating forest country, lying in the angle formed by the upper Hudson and the Mohawk. Towns have now risen up; villages are scattered over the face of the land; rich fields of wheat and maize, gardens, orchards, and peaceful farmhouses, greet the eye wherever it is turned from the summit of that hill; but it was different then. With the few exceptions of a small pond or lake, a rushing stream, or a natural savanna of a few hundred acres, it was all forest; and the only sign of man's habitation which could be descried at any time was the roof and chimneys of Mr. Prevost's house, which, in general, could be discerned rising above the trees, upon an eminence a good deal lower than the summit which the travellers had reached. Now, however, the house could not be seen.
The sight which the country presented was a fine but a terrible one. On the one side, the sun, with his lower limb just dipped beneath the forest, was casting up floods of many-coloured light, orange and purple, gold, and even green, upon the light fantastic clouds scattered over the western sky; while above, some fleecy vapours, fleeting quickly along, were all rosy with the touch of his beams.
Onward to the east and north, filling up the whole valley between the hill on which they stood, and the eminence crowned by Mr. Prevost's house, and forming an almost semi-circular line, of some three or four miles in extent, was a dense, reddish-brown cloud of smoke, marking where the fire raged, and softening off at each extreme into a bluish grey. No general flame could be perceived through this heavy cloud; but, ever and anon, a sudden flash would break across it, not bright and vivid, but dull and half obscured, when the fierce element got hold of some of the drier and more combustible materials of the forest. Once or twice, too, suddenly, at one point of the line or another, a single tree, taller, perhaps, than the rest, or more inflammable, or garmented in a. thick matting of dry vine, would catch the flame, and burst forth from the root to the topmost branch like a tall column of fire; and here and there, too, from what cause I know not--perhaps, from an accumulation of dry grass and withered leaves, seized upon by the fire and wind together--a volley of bright sparks would mingle with the cloud of smoke, and be thrown up, for a moment, to the westward.
It was a grand, but an awful, spectacle; and, as Mr. Prevost gazed upon it, thoughts and feelings crowded into his bosom, which even Edith herself could not estimate.