A staircase, rude indeed, but still a staircase, led from the more barn-like part of the building below to the upper floor; and in this respect appeared the first difference between this house--for it deserved the name--and the lodge, or Castle, of King Hendrick the younger, though both had been built by European workmen, and that of King Hendrick at the cost of the British government, which was not the case with the dwelling of the Oneida chief. As soon, however, as you reached the upper floor, the differences became more frequent and more remarkable. It was partitioned off into separate rooms, with regular doors to them.
When Edith entered the chamber of Otaitsa, she saw at once her tendency to European habits. Of rude manufacture, but still very correct as imitations, and not without a certain degree of uncouth ornament, were chairs, tables, writing materials, a bedstead and a bed; and from wooden pegs driven into the partition depended a few drawings, some coloured, some in pencil, but all very different from the gaudy daubs which, at a later period, pedlars were accustomed to take into the Indian territory as articles of barter.
As Edith's eye glanced round the room, she gleaned a general notion of all these things; but her mind was too full of deeper and sadder thoughts to suffer even curiosity to turn it from its course for a moment.
"There is no one in any other chamber here," said Otaitsa. "None comes up those stairs but myself and my father. Now, Edith, speak; for Otaitsa's heart is very heavy, and her mind misgives her sadly. Is it your father they have taken?"
"No, oh no!" answered Edith; "but one as dear."
She then went on briefly to relate all that had occurred, endeavouring to soften and prepare the way for intelligence which she feared would affect the Indian girl much. But Otaitsa darted at her own conclusions, divining the whole truth almost as soon as the words were spoken. She was far more affected than Edith had anticipated. She cast herself upon her fair companion's neck, and wept aloud.
"He was mine, Edith," she exclaimed, in the full confidence of sorrow. "He was mine--my betrothed--my loved! And they have hidden it from me--hidden it from all the Indian women here; for they knew that every one in the tribe loved him--though not as well as I. Where was the poor wanderer who passed your house with her infant on her back, who did not receive kindness from Walter Prevost?--where was the Indian girl who could say he did not treat her with as kindly gentleness as the highest white woman in the land? He was the tree which had grown up to shelter the hut of the woodman, giving him cool shade and comfort in the days of summer and of gladness, to be cut down and burnt for fire when the winter winds are singing in the bare branches. Oh, my brother--my brother! bad is the return they make thee, and hard the measure that they deal! But shall Otaitsa suffer this?" she cried, rising vehemently, and casting her arms abroad. "Shall the Black Eagle let the ravens pick out the eyes of his young in his own nest? No, my sister, no! they shall take Otaitsa's blood first--they shall shake the Blossom from the old bough that is no longer able to bear it up against the winds of Heaven. If the Black Eagle can no longer protect even his daughter's husband, let him cast away the tomahawk--let him lay down the rifle, and be a woman amongst the chiefs of his people!"
It was impossible, for some minutes, to stop Otaitsa's vehement burst of passionate sorrow; but at length Edith succeeded in somewhat calming her, beseeching her to still her agitation and anger, and to bend her whole mind to the consideration of what means could best be used to discover whither Walter had been taken, and to rescue him from the peril in which he was placed.
As soon as Otaitsa could listen, however, or rather as soon as she caught the sense of Edith's words, and appreciated their importance, it is wonderful how rapidly she became calm, stilled all the strong and struggling emotions in her heart, and directed every effort and energy of her spirit to the one great object before her. Enough of the Indian blood flowed along her veins--enough of Indian characteristics had been acquired in early youth--to give her a portion of that strong, stoical self-command which characterized the Indian warrior, rather than the woman of the race. The first burst of grief and indignation showed the woman, and perhaps, in some degree, not the pure Indian; but, the moment after, those who knew the character of the Five Nations best might have supposed her, not only a pure Indian, but a man, and a chief, so quietly did she reason upon, and ponder, the means of accomplishing her purpose. She remained at first, for two or three minutes, in perfect silence, revolving all the circumstances in her mind, and calculating every chance. Then she said,--
"The first thing, Edith, is for you to go back to your poor father--not that you are in any danger here; but it were well, if possible, that no one knew you had been with me, at least till I have discovered where they have hid our poor brother. The women here will all aid me, and never part their lips if I desire them not; for though the men think they are very shrewd in hiding the secrets of the nation from their wives and daughters, the women, when they please, can be as secret and as resolute too. At all events, whether your coming be known or not, it would be better you should go back before the chief's return. They have gone forth to hunt, they say; but whether it be the black bear, or the brown deer, or the white man, is in great doubt, dear Edith. At all events, they will not know the object of your coming. They may suspect, and probably will, that you came to inquire for your brother; but knowing that I was ignorant of his capture, and am still ignorant where they keep him, they will think you have gone back disappointed and in sorrow, and leave me unwatched to act as I will."
"But can I do nothing to aid?" asked Edith. "Remember, dearest Blossom, what it is to remain inactive and ignorant, while the fate of one so near and so dear hangs in the balance."
"You shall not remain in ignorance, dear Edith," replied Otaitsa. "With every possible opportunity (and I will find many) my sister shall know what the Blossom does, and if there be any way in which you could give help, you shall have instant tidings. At present I know not what is to be done to save our Walter from the power of the Snake. I know not even what they have decided themselves, or whether they have taken any decision; and I have much to think of, much to do. I must seek out those in whom I can place confidence; I must employ many to obtain me information; I must buy some, consult with others, and then judge what is to be done. You can rest here, my Edith, for this day; but to-morrow you must speed home again. But be sure of one thing; my tribe shall know that if Walter dies, Otaitsa will die too."
"That is no consolation," cried Edith, throwing her arms round her neck, with tears in her eyes; "oh, do not threaten anything rash, dear Blossom! Remember you are a Christian; and many things are forbidden to Christians, as a sin, which are regarded as virtues by pagan nations."
"No threat can be rash, no threat can be a sin," answered Otaitsa, "which may save a life, innocent, and good, and noble. I would not willingly offend, my sister; but my heart is open to God; and he will judge me in mercy, seeing my motives. And now, dear sister, sit you here, and I will send you food, such as we poor Indians eat. I myself may be away for a time, for there must be no delay; but I will return as soon as possible, and you shall know all that is done before you go. Do these blacks who are with you understand the Indian tongue?"
"One of them certainly does," replied Edith; "that is to say, the language of the Mohawks."
"'Tis the same," returned Otaitsa, "or nearly the same. We may have altered a little; but, amongst the Five Nations, he who speaks one tongue understands all. Is it the man or the woman? and can we trust?"
"It is the man," answered Edith; "and I do believe he can be trusted."
"Then I go," resumed Otaitsa.
And, leaving Edith, she descended to the room below, and then issued forth amongst the Indian huts, gliding from one to another, and stopping generally for a few moments at those lodges before which was to be seen a high pole, bearing the ghastly trophies with which the Indians signalized the death of an enemy.
Strange, that with one so gentle and so kind, with one taught Christianity from her youth, and imbued with many notions different from those of the rest of the people, the horrid sight of human scalps, parched by the sun and dangling in the wind produced no appearance of horror and disgust. In truth, she hardly saw them, and looked upon the pole and its cruel trophies merely as an indication that there dwelt a famous warrior of the tribe.
Edith in the meanwhile remained for some time in sad meditation. During her rapid journey from the neighbourhood of the Hudson, not more than thirty miles from Lake Horicon, to the Oneida Lake, she had had little leisure for thought. It had passed almost as a dream, full of confused objects and feelings, but with little like reflection in it.
The sun was by this time disappearing beyond the western extremity of the lake, but still sufficiently above the gently sloping ground to pour a long stream of glorious light over the placid waters; and Edith, seated near the window, gazed over the calm and beautiful scene with that solemn feeling--that echo of the voice from another world--which seems to rise in every sensitive heart at the death of each new day. Something gone! something gone to eternity! another day on its twelve golden wings taking flight to the infinite and the irrevocable, bearing with it to the dark treasury of late an infinite mass and multitude of deeds, and thoughts, and feelings, crimes, offences, virtuous acts, and little kindnesses, human charities, and human passions, wishes, hopes, joys, sorrows, disappointments, and regrets: the smiles and tears of a whole world, gone with the departing day. Sad and solemn is that feeling. It is standing by the death-bed of a friend, and seeing the faint eyes closed for ever.
For ever! No, not for ever! There is a morning for all, when another day shall dawn; and well were it for some, if the deeds of the dead day could be forgotten.
Still, although we know that another day will rise--as surely as we know that another life will come--there is a sort of hopelessness, though that is too strong a word, in seeing the sinking sun take his parting look of the world. Perhaps it is not hopelessness; but it is a something which transfuses a portion of the twilight gloom into the chambers of the heart, and dims the light of hope, though not extinguishes it.
Edith was sad--very, very sad; and she felt that gazing on that scene made her still more so. It gave her a sensation of solitariness, of helpless homelessness in a new, wild world, the tendency of which was to depress and enervate; and, saying to herself--"I will hope still; I will not despond; I will think of nothing but action and endeavour," she rose and looked about the room for something to occupy the mind and drive away impressions that seemed to crush her energies.
There were many things around which might have answered the purpose, only strange from being found in that place: several books; a small needle-book, of ancient pattern, but evidently European, and what seemed to be an old sketch-book, with a lock and clasp upon it. It evidently dated from many years before; was somewhat soiled; and on one of the sides were two or three dark spots. They were not of ink, for, through the blackness, there was a red.
Passing by these objects, Edith's eyes turned towards the sketches hanging round the room. On one in particular the reflected light from the surface of the lake streamed as it passed from the window; and Edith, going near, examined it attentively. It represented the head of a young man, apparently from seven-and-twenty to thirty years of age, and was done well, though not exactly in a masterly manner. It was merely in pencil, but highly finished; and there seemed something in it very familiar to Edith's eye. The features were generally like those of her brother Walter--so like, that, at first, she imagined that the drawing must be intended to represent his head; but the nearer view showed that it was that of a much older person; and the dress was one long gone out of fashion.
She was still gazing and puzzling herself with the questions of whence these drawings could come, and whether they could be Otaitsa's own productions, when some Indian women entered, with their noiseless tread, and placed several carved bowls, filled with different kinds of food, before her. It was all very simple; but she was much exhausted, for she had tasted nothing from an early hour of the day, and the refreshment was grateful to her. The women spoke to her, too, in the Iroquois tongue; and their sweet, low-toned voices, murmuring in the sort of sing-song of the tribes, was pleasant to her ear. It spoke of companionship.
Their words, too, were kind and friendly; and she gathered from them that Otaitsa, in order to veil the real object of her coming, had been making inquiries as to whether any one had seen Walter Prevost. They assured Edith that they had not seen him--that he could not have come into the Oneida country, or some one in the Castle must have heard of him. A pale-face amongst them was very rare, they said; but the coming of Walter Prevost, whom so many knew and loved much, would have been noised abroad immediately. They said that his absence from his home was certainly strange, but added, laughing, that young warriors would wander, as Edith would discover when she was old enough.
Thus they sat and talked with her, lighting a lamp in a bowl, till Otaitsa returned; and then they left the two friends alone together.
Otaitsa was agitated evidently, though she tried hard to hide, if not to suppress, her emotions under Indian calmness; but her agitation was evidently joyful. She laid her small hand upon Edith's, and pressed it warmly.
"I have found friends," she said; "those who will work for me, and with me: my father's sister, who knew and loved my mother, and who is supposed by some to have a charm from the Great Spirit to make men love and reverence her--the wife of the Sachem of the Bear--the young bride of the Running Deer--the wife of the Grey Wolf--the wife of Lynxfoot--and many others. All these have vowed to help me, whatever it may cost. They all know Walter: they all have called him brother; and they all are resolute that their brother shall not die. But I must first work for him myself, dear Edith," she continued. Then, clasping her hands together with a burst of joy at the hope lighted up in her young, warm heart, she exclaimed--"Oh, that I could save him all by myself!--that I might buy him from his bonds by my own acts alone--ay, or even by my own blood! Huagh! Huagh! that were joyful indeed!"
Edith could hardly raise her mind to the same pitch of hope; still, she felt more satisfied--her object was accomplished. Otaitsa was informed of Walter's danger; and the bright, enthusiastic girl was already actively engaged in the effort to deliver him. There was something, too, in the young Indian--an eagerness, an energy, unusual in the depressed women of her race, and probably encouraged by the fond, unbounded indulgence of the chief her father--which seemed to breathe of hope and success; and it was impossible to look into her eager and kindling eyes, when the fancy that she could deliver her young lover all alone took possession of her, without believing that, if his deliverance was within human power, she would accomplish it.
Edith felt that her duty so far was done, and that her next duty was towards her father, who she well knew would be painfully anxious till she returned, however confident he might have felt of her safety in the hands of the Indians, so long as there seemed no immediate chance of her being placed in such a situation. She willingly, therefore, agreed to Otaitsa's suggestion, to set out with the first ray of light on the following morning, Otaitsa promising that some Indian women should accompany her a day's journey on the way, who, by their better knowledge of the country, and their skill in the management of the canoe, would greatly facilitate her progress.
About an hour was spent in conversation, all turning upon one subject, and then the two girls lay down to sleep in each other's arms.
On the very same night which was passed by Edith Prevost in the great lodge of the Black Eagle, eight or ten wild-looking savages, if they could so be called, assembled apparently to deliberate upon some great and important question. The place they took for their meeting lay nearly twenty miles in a direct line from the Oneida lake, and was, even in the daylight, a scene of no inconsiderable beauty and grandeur.
At the hour of their meeting, however, which was about forty minutes after the sun went down, the surrounding objects were illuminated by a different and a more appropriate light. Their council-fire had been kindled on the top of a large flat mass of stone, in a very narrow dell or pass which separated a rugged and forest-bearing mountain from a spur of the same range, that seemed to have been riven from the parent chain by some rude and terrible convulsion of nature. Forty yards, at the widest part, was the expanse of this deep fissure; and on either side were huge masses of rock tumbled about in chaotic confusion, and blocking up the greater part of the bottom of the dell. From behind these rose the riven cliffs, rough and serrated, like the edges of two saws, the teeth of which would fit into each other if pressed together. But upon all the salient points, even where it seemed impossible for a handful of vegetable mould to rest, a tall tree had perched itself, spreading out its branches almost till they met those on the opposite side of the glen, through which no torrent rushed, neither had any spring burst forth when the earthquake rent the solid foundations of the mountain; but a dry, short turf covered all the earth accumulated below.
Between the great blocks of stone which encumbered the pass, wherever rain could penetrate, rose tall and graceful wild flowers; and, in the more open parts, the grassy carpet was freckled, in the springtime of the year, with many a curious little blossom. Tall pines and rugged hemlocks--some straight as a column, some strangely twisted and contorted--the great black oak, with innumerable other shrubs and trees, gathered wherever the banks of the dell were a little less precipitous; and, when one looked up, one perceived, by the overhanging branches, that the mountain-top was clothed with a dense covering of forest.
About half-way through the glen was the large flat stone--a sort of natural altar, on which the Indians had lighted their fire; and strange and wild was the scene, as those swarthy men, armed as if for battle, but not painted, sat around in the broad glare, each with his rifle resting on his arm, and each still and motionless as a statue hewn out of the brown rock. Up went the towering flame from the great pile of dry wood, sending a flickering light over tree and precipice; yet no one stirred, no one spoke, for several minutes. Each eye was fixed upon the fire, not as if watching it as an object of interest, but with the steady, thoughtful gaze which showed that the mind was busy with other things; and there was something very awful in that stern, cold silence.
At length, the Black Eagle began to speak, without moving from his seat--however, at least, first. His tone, too, was low and sad; though every word, in the sharp gutteral language of the Iroquois, was clear and distinct.
"For more than fifty winters," he said, "I have hovered over the land of the Oneidas; and my wing has not failed in its flight, my eyes have not been dazzled by the blaze of the sun, nor dimmed by the light of the moon. The dew has fallen upon me, and the summer's sun, and the winter's snow; and still are my feathers unruffled, and my flight as strong as in my youth. I am not a woman, that I should spare; nor a child, that I should weep. Who has seen a tear in my eye? or who has seen the tomahawk uplifted not to strike? Have I asked anything of my children, but to be the first in the battle? Have I ever forgiven the enemies of the children of the Stone? But we have made alliance with a great nation; we have taken presents from them; we have promised to live with them as brothers in the time of peace--to go to battle with them as brothers in the time of war. Our children are their children, and their children are ours. Moreover, with some of this nation our chiefs have entered into more strict bonds of friendship. We have sat by their fires, we have smoked the pipe of peace together; we are their brothers. One family came and built their lodge amongst us, swept down the forest, planted the corn-field. Their door was always open to the red man; their food was always shared with him. They said not, 'This is mine, and that is thine,' but they opened their arms and they said, 'Thou art my brother.' The children of the Stone loved them well; they were dear to the Black Eagle as his own eaglets. The mat in the house of Prevost was a pleasant resting-place to his forehead when he was tired.Hisdaughter was asmydaughter, and his son as of my blood and bone.
"A man came to his hearth whom we all know, a good man, a friend to the red man. Should my brother Prevost refuse to the Woodchuck room to burrow for one night? He went away, and, far from the house of our brother, he met an Oneida, of the Totem of the Tortoise; a man who had robbed him, and who had a lying tongue, a snake who hated him whom he had bitten. The tomahawk was bare, and the Oneida was killed; but the man took not his scalp, he sung no song of triumph over the children of the Stone. He slew him not as an enemy, but in self-defence; otherwise he would have twisted his finger in the scalp-lock, and the Oneidas would have mourned over a disgrace. It is right that there should be blood for blood; that the man who sheds the blood of the red man should die for his act; and that, if he or none of his relations could be found, some other man of his nation should be made the sacrifice.
"But what have I done that the son of my brother should be taken? Have I led you so often in the battle, have I covered my war-post with the scalps of your enemies, that the tree I planted should be rooted up when the forest is full of worthless saplings? Was there no other white man to be found in all the land, that you must take the child of him who loved and trusted us? Had a moon passed,--nay, had even a week gone by, that you might know that there was none but the beloved of the Black Eagle whom you might use for your sacrifice? Had you made sure even that you could not catch the murderer himself, and take his blood in requital of the blood he shed? Is the wisdom of our people gone by, is their cunning a thing of other days, that they could not lure the man they sought into their power, that they could not hunt down any other game, that they would not even try to find any one but the one we loved the best?
"Remember, my children, that you are not rash and hasty, like the pale-face, but that you are the children of the Stone; and though, like it, unchangeable, and strong, you should be calm and still, likewise.--I have said."
There was a pause of several minutes before any one answered; and then a man of the middle age, not so tall as the Black Eagle by several inches, but with a peculiarly cunning and serpent-like look about his eyes, rose slowly from his seat, and, standing on the very point of the rock where he was placed, said, in a hard, cold tone,--
"The Black Eagle has spoken well. We are allies of the white man. The pale-face calls us his brother. He takes our hunting-grounds. He plants corn and feeds oxen amongst us. Where our foot was free to go, is ours no longer; it is his. He has taken it from us; and he is our brother. The Black Eagle loves the pale-face. He took a pale-face for his wife, and he loves all her race. He loves their religion. His daughter is of the religion of the white man. He himself has faith in their Gods. Their Great Spirit he adores, and he has made their medicine-man his son by adoption. Is the religion of the white man the same as the religion of the children of the Stone? IstheirGreat Spiritourgreat spirit? No; for I have heard his words spoken, and they are not the words that we are taught. The white man's Spirit tell us that we shall not do that which our Great Spirit tells us to do. It bids men spare their enemies, and to forgive. Ours tells us to slay our enemies, and to avenge. Which is the true Spirit? Our own; for the pale-face does not believe in his own Spirit, nor obey his commands. He does not spare his enemies; he does not forgive; but he takes vengeance as fiercely as the red man, and against his own law. Let us, then, obey the voice of our own Great Spirit, and do according to our own customs; for the white man knows his God to be false, or he would obey his commandments.
"Now, what would the Black Eagle have? Would he have us all turn Christians? Or would he have us obey the voice of the Maneto, and follow the customs of our fathers? Have we not done according to our own law? What do our traditions tell us? They say that thou shalt appease the spirit of thy brother who is slain, by pouring out the blood of the slayer. If his blood cannot be had, then that of one of his family, or of his friends. If his family and his friends are not to be found, then that of one of his nation. Lo! now, what is the case, chiefs and warriors of the Oneidas? You have a brother slain. His soul goes to the land of spirits; but his bow and his arrows hang idly at his back. His heart is sad and desolate. He howls for food and finds none. He wanders round and round the happy hunting-grounds, and looks in in sorrow; for he must not enter till the blood of atonement has been shed. He cries to you from the other side of the grave with a great cry: 'Give me rest!' Shall his brothers give him none?--shall they let him wander, cold and hungry, amidst frost and snow within sight of the blessed region, and prevent him from entering--or shall we take the first man we find of the race of him who slew him, and by his blood, poured out upon this very stone, appease the spirit of our dead brother, and let him enter the happy hunting-grounds, where his soul may find repose?
"Ye men of the family of the Snake! ye have done well to seize upon the pale-face whom ye first found; for ye have made sure of an atonement for the blood of your brother; and how could ye know that ye could find it if ye delayed your hand or abandoned your prey. And now let the chiefs and the warriors consider whether they will still keep their brother, who is dead, hungering and thirsting for months in the cold regions, or whether they will make the atonement this very night, and open the way for him into the happy hunting-grounds.--I have said."
Again a deep silence took possession of the throng, and it was not soon broken; but the eyes of the Black Eagle moved hither and thither round the circle, watching every face; and, when he gathered by a sort of kindling look in the eyes of one of the warriors that he was about to speak, he himself interposed, rising this time to his full height, and saying,--
"The medicine-man has spoken, and he has expounded the law; but he has counselled with words contrary to the law. The medicine-man has the law in his heart; but his words are the words of foxes. He has not unfolded the roll of the law into which the words of the Maneto were whispered; but he says truly that we are to shed the blood of the murderer of our brother to appease his spirit. If we cannot find him, we are to shed the blood of some one of his near kindred; if we cannot find one of them, the blood of one of his nation. But have ye sought for the murderer, ye brethren of the Snake? Can ye say that ye have tried to catch him? Have ye had time? Will your brother, who is gone, be contented with the blood of the first pale-face ye can find, when ye might find the real murderer? Will he lap like the dog at the first pool in his way? Will he not rather say: 'Give us the only sweet water that can allay our thirst?' Would ye mutter in our ears, and make us believe music? This is not the blood of him who shed our blood. This is not the blood of his kindred. The happy hunting-grounds will not open to the slain for this blood.
"Oneidas, it is the medicine-man who beguiles you from the customs of your fathers. They say: 'Wait till ye have searched diligently. Make sure that ye offer the best atonement that ye can. Do not kill the fox because the panther has mangled the game. Do not shoot the oriole for the thing that the hawk has done.' The son of my brother Prevost is no kin of the Yengee who slew the Snake. His blood will not atone if ye can find other blood more friendly to the murderer. The eyes of the Maneto are over all; he sees that ye have not sought as ye should seek."
Some moments after he had spoken, but with a less interval than had hitherto occurred between any of the speeches, a fierce-looking young warrior arose, and exclaimed,--
"Let him die. Why should we wait? The Woodchuck is safe in the land of the Yengees. He has taken himself far from the arrow of the Oneida. There is a cloud between us and him; and we cannot see through it. The Woodchuck has no kindred. He has often declared so when he has sat by the fire, and talked of the deeds he has done. He has boasted that he was a man alone; that his father was clay, and his mother grass, and the hemlock and the oak his brothers and his sisters. Neither him can we find, nor any of his kin; but we have taken what was nearest to him--his friend and the son of his friend. This is the blood that will appease the spirit of our brother. Let him die, and die quickly. Does the Black Eagle ask if this boy was his friend? The Black Eagle knows he was; but, moreover, it may be that he himself was companion of the murderer even when he killed our brother. They went forth together to seek for some prey. Was it not the red man that the wolves hunted? They killed a panther and a man when they were both together. That we know; for there were eyes of red men near. The blood of our brother was licked up by the earth. The skin of the panther was sent by this boy, our captive, to Otaitsa, the daughter of the Black Eagle. I took it from the runner this very day. The man who brought it is near at hand. The skin is here.--I have said."
And he threw the panther's skin down before him, almost into the flame of the fire.
A buzzing murmur ran round the Indians, and the keen mind of Black Eagle soon perceived that the immediate danger of poor Walter Prevost was greatly heightened.
"Let the law be announced to us," he said. "The roll of the law is here; but let it not be read by the tongue of a fox. Let the man of ancient times read it. Let the warrior and the priest who kept it for so many years now tell us what it ordains, according to the interpretation of old days, and not according to the rashness of boys, who would be chiefs long before a scalp hangs at the door of their lodge. I can see," he cried, in a loud voice, starting up from his seat, and waving his arm, as if some strong emotion overpowered his habitual calmness,--"I can see the time coming when the intemperance of youth, and the want of respect for age and for renown, will bring low the power of the Oneidas, will crush the greatness of the Five Nations into dust. So long as age and counsel were reverenced, they were a mighty people, and the scalps of their enemies were brought from every battle-field. They were a wise people, for they listened to the voice of experience, and they circumvented their enemies. But now the voice of boys and striplings prevails. They take presents, and they sell themselves for baubles. They drink the fire-water till they are no more men--till reason has departed, and courage and strength are not in them. They use the lightning, and they play with the thunder; but the tomahawk and the scalping-knife are green rushes in their hands. Let the law be announced, then; let it be announced by the voice of age and wisdom, and let us abide by his words, for they are good."
Thus saying, he stepped across the little chasm between him and the second speaker on this occasion, and took up a heavy roll which lay beside the priest or medicine-man. It consisted of innumerable strings of shells sawn into long strips like the pendants of an ear-ring, and stained of three separate colours, black, red, and white. These were disposed in various curious groups, forming no regular pattern, yet not without order; and so many were there in this roll, that, though each was very small, the weight of the whole could not have been less than twenty or thirty pounds.
Thus loaded, and bearing this burden with the appearance of great reverence, Black Eagle carried the roll half round the circle, and laid it upon the knees of a man evidently far advanced in life: although his shaved head and long white scalp-lock showed, to an Indian eye at least, that he still judged himself fit to accompany the warriors of the tribe to battle.
The chief then slowly resumed his seat, and once more profound silence spread over the assembly. The eyes of all were, it is true, directed towards the old man whose exposition of their laws and customs was to be final; but not a limb stirred, and even the very eagerness of their gaze was subdued into a look of tranquil attention, except in the case of the young man who had spoken so vehemently, and whose relationship as a brother to the slain Indian excused, in the sight of his tribe, a good deal of unwonted agitation.
For about two minutes after receiving the roll, the old priest remained motionless, with his eyes raised towards the flame that still towered up before him, licking and scorching the branches of a hemlock tree above.
At last, his fingers began to move amongst the carved shells; and, unloosing rapidly some thongs by which the roll was bound, he spread out the seemingly tangled mass in fair order. Then, bending down his head, he seemed to listen as if for a voice.
"The law of the Oneidas cannot change," he said, at length. "It is as the will of Hawaneyoh, the Great Spirit. A white man must die for the blood spilt by a white man. But the spiller of the blood must be sought for, or our brother will still be shut out from the happy hunting-grounds. Listen not to the song of singing-birds against the young man, thou brother of the Snake. Neither do thou make trouble in the Five Nations, because the blossom of the Black Eagle's tree cannot be reached by thy hand."
The open allusion to that which he thought was one of the deep secrets of his bosom was too much for even the Indian stoicism of the brother of the Snake; and he drew his blanket or mantle over his chest, as if to hide what was within. Black Eagle, however, though probably taken as much by surprise as any one by the old man's words, remained perfectly unmoved, not a change of expression even appearing upon his rigid features, though the speaker paused for a full minute, as if to let what he had said produce its full effect.
"Remember," continued the priest, "the prophecy of the child of the sky, Tohganawatah, when our fathers, under his counsel, joined themselves together in a perpetual league, a lifetime before a pale-face was seen in the land. He said, 'When the white-throats shall come, if ye suffer dissensions among yourselves, ye shall pull down the Long House of the Five Nations, cut down the tree of Peace, and extinguish the council-fire for ever.' And wilt thou, brother of the Snake, bring this cloud upon thy people? Thou shalt search for him who spilt thy brother's blood, till the moon have changed and waxed and waned again; and then thou shalt come before Sachems of the eight Totems, and make manifest that thou hast not been able to find him or any of his kindred. Then shall the Sachems choose a pale-face for the sacrifice, and let him die the death of a warrior by the stroke of the tomahawk. But they shall make no delay; for thy brother must not be shut out from the hunters gone before, more than two moons.--Hiro, I have spoken.
"Koué, Koué! It is well!" said all the Indians present, but one; and, rising from their seats, they raised the roll of their law reverently, and one by one glided down the path which led to the opening of the dell.
Slowly up the steep middle street of Albany walked the great, powerful form of the Woodchuck, about the hour of noon. He was clothed in his usual shaggy habiliments of the forest, with his rifle on his shoulder, his hatchet and his knife in his belt. But his step had none of the light activity of former times; and his face, which always had a grave and sedate air, was now covered with heavy gloom. Altogether, he was a very singular-looking man.
Though situated inland, and in one of the most central parts of the provinces, the streets of Albany from time to time presented so many strange figures of different kinds--Indians, negroes, half-breeds, scouts, soldiers, sailors, Dutchmen, Englishmen, and hunters--that the wanderer, however odd his appearance, attracted very little attention as he went. Slowly he found his way up to the gates of the fort, and easily obtained admission to the person he sought. He found him in a mere barrack-room, with the simplest possible furniture, and no ornament whatever to distinguish it as the dwelling of a man of rank. The little camp-bed in one corner of the room, the plain deal table, not even painted, at which he sat writing; the two or three hard wooden stools, without backs, were all such as might have been used in a camp, or carried with an army, without much adding to theimpedimenta; yet there was something about the young nobleman himself which instantly informed a visitor that he was in the presence of no common man. He turned his head as Woodchuck entered, and, as soon as he perceived who it was, he nodded, saying, "Immediately, immediately," and resumed his writing.
Captain Brooks drew a stool to some distance, and fixed his eyes first of all upon the young soldier, seeming to examine his countenance and form with great care. He then turned to another person whom the room contained, and scanned him with thorough accuracy. He seemed to be an Indian, if one might judge by complexion and features; yet he was dressed like one of the followers of the British army. The sort of hunting-tunic he wore was not the ordinary Ga-ka-ah, or Indian skirt, but a mere sort of cloth frock with sleeves, fastened round his waist by a leathern belt. It was of a peculiar colour, then very much worn both by men and women, of the hue of dead leaves, and called philomot; and on his head he wore a curious sort of cap of untanned leather, much of the same hue. It was certainly a well-devised dress for the purpose of concealing a wanderer through the woods in the autumn season; but, as I have before said, it was assuredly not Indian; and the long hair, though as black as jet, with a slight shading of moustache upon the upper lip, showed that in all probability there was some white blood in his veins, though not apparent on the surface. The man had much of the Indian impassible gravity, however; and, though he must have seen that he was undergoing a very severe scrutiny by the eyes of Woodchuck, no movement of any of the muscles of the face betrayed his consciousness, and he remained still and statue-like, with his gaze turned earnestly forward upon Lord H----.
The nobleman soon concluded his letter, and, beckoning the man up, placed it in his hands with some money.
"Take that to Mr. Prevost," he said, "and tell him, moreover, that I shall myself be up to-morrow before nightfall."
"Stay a moment," interposed Woodchuck; "I may have something to say too, that will make changes. I guess the half-breed had better wait outside a bit."
"Go down to the guard-room," said Lord H----, turning to the man, "and wait there till I send to you." Then, giving an inquiring look to Woodchuck, he added, "He tells me he can reach Mr. Prevost's house this night, if he sets out at once."
"To be sure he can," answered Woodchuck. "If he's the man I believe him to be, he'd go half as fur agin."
The runner took not the slightest notice of the conversation regarding himself and his own powers, nor, indeed, of the sort of intimation of recognition uttered by Captain Brooks.
"Is not your name Proctor?" said Woodchuck, at last. "I guess it be, though you look older since I saw you."
The other merely nodded his head; and Woodchuck continued, with a sort of grunt of satisfaction,--
"That'll do; he can speak, my lord, though he never do, except at very rare times. Them Ingian devils are as silent as snakes themselves; but this man beats them all. I travelled some two hundred miles with him, ten year or more agone, and never heard the sound of his voice in the whole way but once, and then he said three words and a half, and stopped."
"I know he can speak," said Lord H----, "for he told me how long he would take to go. Go down, Mr. Proctor, as I told you, and wait in the guard-room. You shall hear from me in a minute."
"He runs like a deer," said Woodchuck, as the man left the room, "but his way is generally to trot on at a darnation swingeing sort of rate, which does not seem to trouble his shanks at all; a sort of trot, like, carries him through everything and over everything--brambles, and bushes, and hills, and stones, and rocks, land or water, all the same. I do believe he'd trot across the Hudson, without much knowing or caring what was anything. The Indians call him Mungnokah; but, as his father's father was an Englishman, we call him Proctor."
"But can he be relied upon?" asked Lord H----. "He was recommended to me very strongly by General Webb, who employed him upon some difficult services."
Woodchuck mused. "Webb's recommendation," he said, at length, "is not worth much; for what would one give for any word out of the mouth of a man who would suffer a gallant comrade to fall, and a noble garrison to be butchered, without striking one stroke, or moving one step to their assistance? But if I recollect right, this Proctor is the runner who contrived to get through Montcalm's army and all the savage devils that were with him, and carried poor Munro's despatches to Webb. What became of the other one, nobody knows; but I guess we could find his scalp, if we sought well amongst the Hurons. Yes, this must be the man, I think; and if it be, you couldn't find a better. At all events, you can trust him for holding his tongue, and that's something in a runner. He wouldn't get up words enough in ten years to tell any secret you wanted to keep. And now, general, I've come to talk with you about what's to be done; and I think we had better settle that before the man goes. He'll get to Prevost's to-night, if he stays these two hours; and I guess we can settle sooner than that, for I've thought the matter over, and made up my mind."
"And to what conclusion have you come?" asked Lord H----.
Brooks looked down, and rubbed his great hands upon his knees for a moment, as if he hesitated to give the resolution he had formed, after so painful a struggle, the confirmation of uttered words.
"Not a pleasant one," he said, at length--"not one easily hit upon, my lord, but the only one--after all, the only one. I had a sore tussle with the devil last night, and he's a strong enemy. But I beat him--manful, hand to hand. He and I together, and no one to help either of us."
The nobleman thought that his poor friend's wits were beginning to wander a little; and, to lead him back from the diabolical encounter he spoke of, he said, changing the subject abruptly, "I suppose I could send no one better than this man Proctor?"
"I'll tell you what it is, Lord H----," answered Woodchuck, "I must go myself. There's no one can save Walter Prevost but Brooks. He's the man who must do it."
"And do you think it possible?" asked Lord H----, seeing the great probability of his companion himself being captured by the Indians, and yet hesitating whether he ought to say a word to deter him from his purpose.
"I do think it possible," said Woodchuck, with a grim smile; "for you see, if these Ingians get the man they want, they can't and darn't take any other."
Lord H---- grasped the rough hand of the hunter, saying, in a tone of much feeling, "You are indeed a noble-hearted man, Captain Brooks, if I understand you rightly, to go and give yourself up to these savages, to save your young friend. Nobody could venture to propose such a thing to you, because his having fallen into their hands was not your fault, and life is dear to every one; but--"
"Stay, stay, stay!" cried Woodchuck, "don't get along too fast. You've said two or three things already that want an answer. As to life, it is dear to every one; and I myself am such a fool, that I'd rather, by a good bit, go lingering on here, amongst all this smoke, and dirt, and dull houses, and rogues innumerable, than walk up there and be tomahawked, which is but the matter of a moment after all; for them Ingians isn't long about their work, and do it completely. Howsoever, one always clings to Hope; and so I think that, if I can get up there amongst the woods and trails that I know so well, I may perhaps find out some means of saving the poor boy and my own life too; and, if I can, I'll do it, for I'm not going to throw away my life like a bad shilling. If I can't do it, why then I'll save his life, cost what it will. I shall soon know all about it, when I get up there, for the squaws are all good, kind-hearted critturs; and if I can get hold of one of them, she'll be my scout soon enough, and fish out the truth for me, as to where the boy is, and when they are going to make the sacrifice. Lord bless you, they set about these things, them Ingians, just as orderly as a trial at law. They'll do nothing in a hurry; and so I shall have time to look about me, and see what's to be done without risking Walter's life in the meanwhile. Then you see, my lord, I've got this great advantage: I shall have a walk or two in my old haunts, among them beautiful woods. The snow will be out by that time; and, to my mind, there's no season when the woods look so well, and the air feels so fresh and free, as in a wintry day, with the ground all white, and wreaths of snow upon every vine and briar, and them great big hemlocks and pines rising up like black giants all around one. Some folks don't like the winter in the woods; but I could walk on, or go on, in a sleigh through them for ever. Why, that month among the woods, if I'm not caught sooner, would be worth ever so many years in this dull, dirty place, or any other city; for Albany, I take it, is as good as most of them, and perhaps better."
"But I am afraid that in the winter your plan of getting information would not succeed very well," said Lord H----. "In the first place, the Indian women are not likely to go very far from their wigwams, amongst which you would hardly venture; and, in the next place, your feet would be easily tracked in the snow; for these Indians, I am told, are most cunning and pertinacious hunters, and will follow any tracks they see for miles and miles."
"I've dodged an Ingian afore now," said Captain Brooks, with a look of some self-importance, "and in the snow too. I've got the very snow-shoes I did it in. I can walk in my snow-shoes either way, one as well as t'other; and so I made 'em believe that I was going east when I was going west, and going west when I was going east. Sometimes I had the shoes on the right way, and sometimes the wrong, so they could make nothing of it. And they think still--for, Lord help you, they are sometimes as simple as children--that the devil must have given me a lift now and then; for when I got where the trees grew thick together, so that the branches touched, and I could catch a great bough over my head by a spring, I would get up and climb along from one to another like a bear or a squirrel, sometimes two or three hundred yards before I came down again. I saw a set of them once upon the trail; and when they came where the tracks stopped, they got gaping up into the tree with their rifles in their hands, as if they were looking after a painter; but I was a hundred yards off or more, and quite away from the right line. Then, as to the women, I've thought about that, and I've laid a plan in case I can't get hold of any of them. Now I am going to tell you something very strange, my lord. You've heard of Freemasons, I dare say?"
Lord H---- nodded his head with a smile, and Woodchuck continued--
"Well, they've got Freemasons among the Ingians--that's to say, not exactly Freemasons, but what comes much to the same thing:[1]people who have got a secret among themselves, and who are bound to help each other in good or evil, in the devil's work or God's, against their own nation, or their own tribe, or their own family; and who, on account of some devilry or other, dare not, for the soul of them, refuse what a brother asks them. It's a superstition at the bottom of it, and it's very strange; but so it is."
While he had been speaking, he had unfastened his coat at the collar, drawn his arm out of the sleeve, and bared it up above the elbow, where there appeared a small blue line tattooed on the brown skin.
"There," he said, "there's the mark!"
"You do not mean to say you are one of this horrible association?" asked Lord H----, with a grave look.
"Not exactly that," answered Woodchuck; "and as to its being a horrible association or not, that's as folks use it. It may be for bad, and it may be for good; and there are good men amongst them. I am a sort of half-and-half member, and I'll tell you how it happened. I went once in the winter up into the woods to hunt moose by a place where there's a warm spring which melts the snow and keeps the grass fresh; and the big beasts come down to drink, and, mayhap, eat too. Well, as soon as I got there, I saw that some one had been before me; for I perceived tracks all about, and a sort of stable in the snow for the moose, such as hunters often make to get a number together, and to shoot them down when they herd in it. There were moose-tracks, too, and some blood on the snow. So I thought that the Ingians had killed some, and scared the rest away.
"I was going back by another trail, when I came upon an old man lying partly against a basswood-tree, just as quiet as if he was a corpse; and I should have thought he was as dead as a stone, if I hadn't seen his shining eyes move as I passed. Never a word did he say, and he'd have lain there and died outright rather than call for help. But I went up to him, and found the old crittur had been poked terribly by a moose all about his chest and shoulders. So I built up a little hut for him with boughs, and covered it over with snow, and made it quite snug and warm. I took him in and nursed him there; and, as I was well stocked with provisions, parched corn and dry meat and such like, I shared with him.
"I couldn't leave the poor old crittur there to die, you know, my lord, and so I stayed with him all the time, and we got a couple of deer, and prime venison steaks we had of them; and at last, at the end of five weeks, he was well enough to walk. By that time we had got quite friendly together; and I went down with him to his lodge, and spent the rest of the winter with him. I had often enough remarked a blue line tattooed upon his arm; and sometimes he would say one thing about it and sometimes another, for these Ingians lie like parrots. But at last he said he would tattoo a line on my arm; and when he had done it he told me it was the best service he could render me in return for all those I had rendered him. He said that if ever I met any of the Five Nations tattooed like that, and spoke a word which he taught me, they would help me against their own fathers. He told me something about them and about their set, but he would not tell me all.
"I was quite a young lad then, and the old man died the next year, for I went to see him, and found him just at the last gasp. I have since heard a good deal about those people, however, from other Ingians, who all have a dread of them, and call them the children of the devil; so I take care not to show my devil's mark amongst them, and have never had need to use it till now."
"How will it serve you now?" asked Lord H----, not at all liking or confiding in the support of such men.
"Well, if I can get speech of one of them, even for an instant," replied Woodchuck, "I can get together a band of the only men who will go against the superstitions of their people, and help me to set the poor boy free; and they will do it, whether they be tortoises, or bears, or wolves, or snipes, or stags."
"What--what!" exclaimed Lord H----, in utter amazement. "I do not understand what you mean."
"Only names of their Totems or tribes, my lord," answered Brooks. "These Ingians are queer people. You must not judge of them or deal with them as you would other men; and these are the only critturs amongst them I could get to help me, if their habits came in the way in the least bit. Now, you know, though I may do something by myself, I may not be able to do all. If I get the boy out of the hole where they have, doubtless, hid him, I have to find out where it is first, and to make sure that we are not followed and overtaken afterwards. I would fain save my life if I can, my lord," he continued, looking up in the face of his companion with a sort of appealing look. "I think a man has a right to do that if he can."
"Assuredly," replied Lord H----; "the love of life is implanted in us by God, himself, and all which can be expected of us by our country or our fellow-men is a readiness to sacrifice it when duty requires us to do so. But now, my good friend, I have another plan to propose. It is probable that hostilities have ceased for this year; and, since I saw you last night, a small party of the scouts, which you know we always have in pay, has been put at my disposal for the very purposes we have in view. They are all acquainted with wood warfare, with Indian habits, and with the art of tracking an enemy or a friend. Would it not be better for you to have these six men with you to give you assistance in case of need? Your own life, at all events, would be more secure."
"I think not," answered Woodchuck, musingly; "they might cumber me. No, my lord, I had better go alone. As for my own life, I may as well tell you at once, I have made up my mind to lose it, or save the boy. The devil put it hard to me that it was no fault of mine he was trapped; that my life was as good to me as his was to him, and a great deal more. But, knowing that it does not do to stand parleying with that gentleman, I said, 'Peter Brooks, it is your fault; for, if you had not shot the Ingian, Walter would never have been taken. Your life is not as good to you or anybody else as his is to him and all the world. He's quite a lad, and a young lad too, with many a bright year before him. You'll never see fifty again, and what's your fag-end worth to any one?' 'Not a stiver,' answered conscience; and so I resolved to go. Now, as to these men, the scouts, some of them are capital good fellows, and might help me a great deal when once I'm in the thick of the business. But seven men can't get all together into the Oneida country without being found out, I'll tell you what, my lord; if you'll let me place them where I want, one by one, in different places, and they slip into the country quietly, one at a time, they may do good service, and not be discovered."
"Will it not be dangerous so to divide your force?" asked Lord H----.
"Ingian ways with Ingian people," answered Woodchuck. "But I don't think you understand the thing, my lord. You see, through a great part of this Ingian territory, we English have built a little fort here, and a little fort there, all the way up the shores of Ontario, where they made sad work of it last year at Oswego. Well, if I stow away these scouts at the different posts, the nearest I can to Oneida creek, they will be only at arm's length, and can stretch out their hand to help whenever they're called upon. They'll be able to get in, one by one, quite easily; for I've a great notion some of the Ingians have got a spite at Walter, and are not very likely to look for any one in his stead. If they caught me, they'd be obliged to have me; and if the scouts went all together they'd stop them, for they don't like their number; but one at a time they'll pass well enough, if they understand their business, which is to be supposed."
"I see your plan now," said Lord H----, "and perhaps you are right. You can concentrate them upon any point very rapidly. They shall be sent for, and put under your command this very day."
"No need of command," answered Woodchuck; "scouts don't like to be commanded; and if they don't help with a good will, better not help at all. Just you tell them what I'm about. Let them know that a young man's life is at stake, and they'll work well for it, if they're worth a penny. And now, my lord, you call up that man Proctor, and send him off to Prevost's house. Call him up here--call him up here. I've got this large powder-horn which I want to send back, though it's a doubt whether the man can muster words enough to tell who it comes from, and I must get him to do so one way or another."
"I can take it to-morrow myself," said Lord H----.
But Woodchuck shook his head.
"That won't do," he said, with a shrewd look; "the runner must take it. He'll tell Prevost before some of his negroes, and the negroes will tell any Ingians that are prowling about, and so it will get round that I've left the hunting-grounds for good, and I shall slip in the more easily. Always think of everything when you can; and if you can't do that, think of as much as possible. A hunter's life makes one mighty cautious. I'm as careful as an old raccoon, who always looks nine ways before he puts his nose out of his hole."
Lord H---- called up the runner, and into his hands was delivered the powder-horn for Mr. Prevost, with Woodchuck's message repeated over and over again, and manifold injunctions not to forget it.
"Tell him I took it that unlucky day I shot the Ingian," said Woodchuck, "and I don't like to keep what's not my own. It's nearly as good as stealing, if not quite. There, Master Proctor, you can get up words enough to say that, can't you?"
The man nodded his head, and then turned to the door, without any further reply, beginning his peculiar sort of trot before he reached the top of the stairs, and never ceasing it till he arrived at the door of Mr. Prevost's house.
In the meanwhile, Lord H---- made Captain Brooks stay to partake of his own very frugal dinner, while the scouts were being collected and brought to the fort. They came about two o'clock, ready prepared, at least in part, for what was to follow; for in the little town of Albany such an adventure as that which had befallen Walter Prevost was a matter of too much interest not to spread to every house, and to be told at every fireside. Most of the men, accustomed to continual action and enterprise of various kinds, were very willing to go, with the prospect of a fair reward before them. Life was so often perilled with them, dangers and difficulties so often encountered, that existence without activity was rather a burden than otherwise. Each, probably, had his selfishness of some kind; but only one, in whom it took the form of covetousness, thought fit to inquire what was to be his recompense beyond the mere pay for this uncovenanted service.
"Your recompense will be nothing at all," answered Woodchuck, at once, without waiting for Lord H---- to speak. "I won't have you with me. The man who can try to drive a bargain when a brave boy's life is at stake is not fit to have a share with us. There, go along, and knit petticoats; you may get a dollar apiece for them. That's the sort of winter work fit for you."
The man then sullenly stalked out of the room, and all other matters were soon settled with his companions. The method of their entrance into the Oneida territory, the different routes they were to take, and the points where they were to halt till called upon, were all arranged by Woodchuck with a sort of natural military skill which was more than once displayed by many of the American people during after wars.
The part of the nobleman who was present was merely to listen, and give some letters to officers commanding different posts. But he listened well pleased and attentively, for his was a mind always eager to acquire information and direction from the experience of others; and the insight which he gained into the habits of the new people amongst whom he was might have been highly serviceable to others as well as himself, had not a sort of pedantry prevailed amongst the older officers in the British army at that time, and for many succeeding years, which prevented them from adapting their tactics to the new situations in which they were placed.
Wolfe was a splendid exception--but Wolfe was a young man, coming in the dawning of a better day; and even had he not been so, it is probable that his genius, like that of Wellington, would have shown him that he was born tomakerules, rather than observe them.
As soon as the scouts were gone, Woodchuck rose to take his leave also; and, as Lord H---- shook him very warmly by the hand, the good man said, in a tone of strong feeling--
"Thank you, my lord, for all your kindness. You'll be glad to know I feel very happy; and I'll tell you why--I'm doing something, and I'm doing my duty."