Through the wide-spread woods which lay between the extensive territory occupied by the Mohawks and the beautiful land of the Oneidas, early on the morning of the day some of the events of which have been already recorded, a small troop of Indians glided along in their usual stealthy manner. They were in their garments of peace. Each was fully clothed according to the Indian mode; and the many-coloured mat of ceremony hung from their shoulders, somewhat encumbering them in their progress. They took the narrow trails; yet it was not so easy for them to conceal themselves, if such was their object, as it might have been in another dress, and at another time; for, except when passing a still brilliant maple, or a rich brown oak, the gaudy colouring of their clothing showed itself strongly against the dark evergreens or the white snow.
The party had apparently travelled from night into day; for, as soon as the morning dawned, the head man of the file stopped, and, without changing his position, and thus avoiding the necessity of making fresh prints in the snow, conversed over his shoulder with those behind him. Their conversation was brief, and might be translated into modern English thus:
"Shall we halt here, or go on farther? The day's eyes are open in the east."
"Stay here till noon," said an elder man behind him. "The Oneidas always go to their lodge in the middle of the day. They are children. They require sleep when the sun is high."
Another voice repeated the same advice; and, springing one by one from the trail into the thicket, they gathered together under a wide-spreading hemlock, where the ground was free from snow, and seated themselves in a circle beneath the branches. There they passed their time nearly in silence. Some food was produced, and also some rum--the fatal gift of the English; but very few words were uttered, and the only sentences worth recording were--
"Art thou quite sure of the spot, brother?"
"Certain," answered the one who had been leading; "the intelligence was brought by an Albany runner, a man of a true tongue."
From time to time, each of the different members of the group looked up towards the sky; and at length one of them rose, saying,--
"It is noon; let us onward. We can go forward for an hour, and then shall be near enough to reach the place, and return while the shadows are on the earth."
"We were told to spread out and enter by several trails," said the elder man of the party.
"It is not needful now," observed the one who seemed the leader; "when it can all be done between sun and sun."
His words seemed conclusive; and they resumed the path again, walking on stealthily in a single file as before. They had gone about three miles more, when a wild, fearful yell, such as no European would believe a human throat could utter, was heard near upon their right. Another rose up on their left, the instant after, and then another in their front. Each man stopped in breathless silence, as if suddenly turned to stone; but each with the first impulse had laid his hand upon his tomahawk. All listened for a repetition of the well-known war-whoop, and each man asked himself what such a sound could mean in a land where the Indians were all at peace amongst themselves, and where no tidings had been received of a foreign foe; but no one uttered a word, even in a whisper, to the man close to him.
Suddenly, a single figure appeared upon the trail before them,--tall, powerful, commanding; one well known to all there present. It was that of the Black Eagle, now feathered and painted for battle, with his rifle in his hand, and his tomahawk ready.
"Are ye Mohawks?" he demanded, as he came nearer. "Are we brethren?"
"We are Mohawks and brethren," replied the leader of the party; "we are but wandering through the forest, seeking to find something which has been lost."
"What is it?" asked Black Eagle, somewhat sternly; "nothing is lost that cannot be found. Snow may cover it for a time; but when the snow melts, it will come to light."
"It is a young lad's coat," said the cunning Mohawk; "but why is Black Eagle on the war path? Who has unburied the hatchet against the Oneidas?"
"The Black Eagle dreamed a dream," replied the chief, round whom numerous Oneidas, fully equipped for war, had by this time gathered; "and in his dream he saw ten men come from the mid-day into the land of the Oneida, and ten men from the side of the cold wind. They wore the garb of peace, and called themselves brothers of the children of the Stone. But the eyes of the Black Eagle were strong in his dream, and he saw through their bosoms, and their hearts were black; and a voice whispered to him, they come to steal from the Oneida that which they cannot restore, and to put a burden upon the children of the Stone that they will not carry."
"Was it not the voice of the singing bird?" asked the young Mohawk chief. "Was the dream sent by the bad spirit?"
"I know not," answered the Black Eagle. "Say ye! But the Black Eagle believed the dream, and, starting up, he called his warriors round him, and he sent Lynx-eyes, the Sachem of the Bear, to the north, and led his own warriors to the south, saying, 'Let us go and meet these ten men, and tell them, if they be really brethren of the Oneida, to come with us and smoke the pipe of peace together, and eat and drink in our lodges, and return to their own land when they are satisfied; but, if their hearts are black and their tongues double, then let us put on the war-paint openly, and unbury the long-buried hatchet, and take the war-path like men and warriors, and not creep to mischief like the silent copperhead.'"
The last words were spoken in a voice of thunder, while his keen black eye flashed, and his whole form seemed to dilate with indignation.
The Mohawks stood silent before him; and even the young chief who had shown himself the boldest amongst them, bent down his eyes to the ground. At length, however, after a long pause, he answered--
"The Black Eagle has spoken well; and he has done well, though he should not put too much faith in such dreams. The Mohawk is the brother of the Oneida: the children of the Stone and the men of blood[2]are one, though the Mohawk judges the Oneida hasty in deeds. He is a panther that springs upon his prey from on high, before he sees whether it be not the doe that nourished his young. He forgets hospitality--"
The eyes of the Black Eagle flashed fiercely for a moment; but then the fire went out in them, and a grave, and even sad look succeeded.
The young man went on boldly, however, saying--"He forgets hospitality. He takes to death the son of his brother, and sheds the blood of him who has eaten of the same meat with him. He waits not to punish the guilty, but raises his tomahawk against his friend. The Five Nations are a united people: that which brings shame upon one, brings it upon all. The Mohawk's eyes are full of fire, and his head bends down, when men say, 'The Oneida is inhospitable: the Oneida is hasty to slay; and repays faith, and trust, and kindness, by death.' What shall we say to our white father beyond the salt waters, when he asks us, 'Where is my son Walter, who loved the Oneidas, who was their brother, who sat by their council-fire and smoked the pipe of peace with them?' Shall we say, 'The Oneidas have slain him, because he trusted to the hospitality of the Five Nations, and did not fly?' When he asks us, 'What was his crime? and did the Oneidas judge him for it like calm and prudent men?' shall we answer, 'He had no crime, and the Oneidas took him in haste without judgment. He was full of love and kindness towards them--a maple tree overrunning with honey for the Oneidas; but they seized him in haste, when, in a few moons, they could have found many others?' If we say thus, what will our great father think of his red children? Black Eagle, judge thou of this; and, when thou dreamest another dream, see thou forked-tongued serpents hissing at the Five Nations, and ask, 'Who made them hiss?'--I have spoken."[3]
The feelings excited by this speech in all the Oneida warriors who heard it, would be difficult to describe. There was much anger; but there was more shame. The latter was certainly predominant in the breast of Black Eagle. He put his hand to his shoulder, as if seeking for his mantle to draw over his face; and, after a long pause, he said--
"Alas, that I have no answer! Thou art a youth, and my heart is old. My people should not leave me without reply before a boy. Go in peace. I will send my answer to him who sent thee; for our brethren, the Mohawks, have not dealt well with us in using subtlety. There are more of you, however. Let them each return to his home; for the children of the Stone are masters of themselves."
"Of us there are no more than thou seest," returned the young man.
Black Eagle gazed at him somewhat sternly, and then answered--
"Six men have entered the Oneida lands from this side, since morning yesterday, by separate ways. Let them go back. We give them from sun to sun, and no one shall hurt them. But if they be found here after that, their scalps shall hang upon the war-post."
Thus saying, he turned and withdrew with his warriors, while the young Mohawk and his companions glided back through the woods towards their own district, almost as silently as they came.
The returning path of the great Oneida chief was pursued by him and his companions with a slow and heavy tread. Not a word was spoken by any one; for deep grief and embarrassment were upon each; and all felt that there was much justice in the reproof of the young Mohawk. They had come forth with feelings of much indignation and anger at the intelligence which had been received of the interference of other tribes in the affairs of the Oneida people, and they still felt much irritation at the course which had been pursued; but their pride was humbled, and their native sense of justice touched by the vivid picture which had been given of the view which might be taken by others, of their conduct towards Walter Prevost. They knew, indeed, that that conduct was mainly attributable to one family of one Totem; but they felt that the shame fell upon the whole nation, and would be reflected to a certain degree upon the confederacy generally.
Nothing grieved or depressed the Indian so much as the sense of shame. It was produced, of course, by very different causes from those which affected a European: still it was very powerful; and Black Eagle felt that, in the case of Walter Prevost, the customs of his own people had been violated by his hasty seizure; and that he himself, the chief of the nation, was in some degree responsible in the eyes of all men for an act which he had permitted, if he had not done.
At this time, while the confederacy of the Five powerful Nations remained entire, and a certain apprehensive sense of their danger from the encroachments of the Europeans was felt by all the Indian tribes, a degree of power and authority had fallen to the great chiefs which probably had not been accorded to them in earlier and more simple times. The great chief of the Mohawks called himself King, and in some degree exercised the authority of a monarch. Black Eagle, indeed, assumed no different title than the ordinary Indian appellation of Sachem; but his great renown, and his acknowledged wisdom, had perhaps rendered his authority more generally reverenced than that of any other chief in the confederacy. The responsibility, therefore, weighed strongly upon him; and it was with feelings of deep gloom and depression that he entered the great Oneida village shortly before the hour of sunset.
The women and children were all assembled to see the warriors pass; all, excepting Otaitsa, who sat before the door of Black Eagle's great lodge, with her head bent down under an oppressive sense of the difficulties and dangers of her coming task.
Black Eagle saw her well, and saw that she was moved by deep grief; but he gave no sign even of perceiving her; and, moving slowly and with an unchanged countenance to the door, he seated himself beside her, while his warriors ranged themselves around, and the women and young people formed another circle beyond the first. It was done without concert and without intimation; but all knew that the chief would speak before they parted.
Otaitsa remained silent, in the same position, out of reverence for her father; and, after a pause, the voice of Black Eagle was heard, saying,--
"My children, your father is grieved. Were he a woman, he would weep. The reproach of his people, and the evil conduct of his allies, would bring water into the eyes that never were moist. But there is a storm upon us--the heaviest storm that ever has fallen. The waters of our lake are troubled, and we have troubled them ourselves. We must have counsel. We must call the wisdom of many men to avert the storm. Let, then, three of my swiftest warriors speed away to the heads of the eight tribes, and tell them to come hither before the west is dark to-morrow, bringing with them their wisest men. Then shall my children know my mind, and the Black Eagle shall have strength again."
He paused; and Otaitsa sprang upon her feet, believing that intelligence of what she had done had reached her father's ears.
"Ere thou sendest for the chiefs, hear thy daughter."
Black Eagle was surprised; but no sign of it was apparent on his face. He slowly bowed his head; and the Blossom went on:--
"Have I not been an obedient child to thee? have I not loved thee, and followed thy lightest word? I am thy child altogether. Thou has taken me often to the dwelling of the white man, because he is of my kindred. Thou hast often left me there, whilst thou hast gone upon the war-path, or hunted in the mountains. Thou hast said, 'They are of our own blood. My wife--my beloved--was of high race amongst the pale-face people of the east; the daughter of a great chief. I served her in the day of battle, and she became mine; and true and faithful, loving and just, was the child of the white chief to the great Sachem of the Oneidas. Shall I keep her daughter from all communication with her kindred?' Young was I,--a mere child,--when first thou tookest me there; and Edith was a sister, Walter a brother to me. They both loved me well, and I loved them; but my love for the brother grew stronger than for the sister, and his for me. We told our love to each other; and he said--'When I am old enough to go upon the war-path, I will ask the Black Eagle to give me Otaitsa; and the red chief and the white chief shall again be united, and the bonds between the Oneidas and the English people shall be strengthened.' And we dreamed a dream that all this would be true; and pledged ourselves to each other for ever. Now what have I done, my father? The brethren of the Snake and the chief Apukwa, contrary to the customs of the Oneida, seized upon my betrothed, carried off my husband captive within four days after their brother was slain by a white man, but not by my Walter. It is not for me to know the laws of the Oneidas, or to speak of the traditions of our fathers; but in this, at least, I knew that they had done evil: they had taken an innocent man before they had sought for the guilty. I found the place where they had hid him. I climbed to the top of the rock above the chasm: I descended the face of the precipice. I tied ropes to the trees for his escape. I loosened the thongs from his hands and from his feet; and I said, 'This night thou shalt flee, my husband, and escape the wrath of thine enemies.' All this I did; and what is it? It may be against the law of the Oneidas, but it is the law of a woman's own heart, placed there by the Great Spirit. It is what my mother would have done for thee, my father, hadst thou been a captive in the hands of thine enemies. Had I not done it, I should not have been thy child; I should have been unworthy to call the Black Eagle my father. The daughter of a chief must act as the daughter of a chief. The child of a great warrior must have no fear. If I am to die, I am ready."
She paused for a moment; and Black Eagle raised his head, which had been slightly bowed, and said, in a loud, clear voice--
"Thou hast done well, my child. So let every Indian woman do for him to whom she is bound. The women of the children of the Stone are not as other women. Like the stone, they are firm; like the rock, they are lofty. They bear warriors for the nation. They teach them to do great deeds."
"Yet bear with me a little, my father," rejoined Otaitsa; "and let thy daughter's fate be in thy hand before all the eyes here present. Apukwa and the brethren of the Snake had set a watch, and stole upon me and upon my white brother, and mocked thy daughter and her husband, and bound his hands and feet again, and said that he should die."
It is rare that an Indian interrupts the speech of any one; but the heart of the chief had been altogether with Otaitsa's enterprise; and he now exclaimed, with great anxiety--"Then has he not escaped?"
"He has not," replied Otaitsa; "it went as I have said. Walter Prevost is still in the hands of the brethren of the Snake, and of Apukwa; and he is not safe, my father, even until the nation shall have decided what shall be his fate. When the nation speaks," she continued, emboldened by her father's approbation, "then will Otaitsa live or die; for I tell thee, and I tell all the warriors here present, that if my husband is slain for no offence by the hand of an Oneida, the daughter of the chief dies too."
"Koué, koué!" murmured the chiefs, in a low, sad tone, as they gazed upon her, standing in her great beauty by her father's side, while the setting sun looked out from beneath the edge of the snow-cloud, and cast a gleam of rosy light around her.
"He is not safe, even till the word is spoken," said Otaitsa: "for they are bad men that hold him. They took him contrary to our customs. They despise our laws. They are Honontkoh, and fear nothing but the tomahawk of the Black Eagle. They drink blood. They slay their mothers and their brethren. They are Honontkoh!"
A murmur of awe and indignation at the hated name of the dark secret order existing amongst the Indians, but viewed with apprehension and hatred by all the nobler warriors of the tribes, ran round the circle; and Black Eagle rose, saying--
"Let them be examined; and, if the stripe be found upon them, set honest men to guard the lad. To-morrow, at the great council, we will discuss his fate; and the Great Spirit send us dreams of what is right! Come with me, my child. The Blossom is ever dear."
Thus saying, he turned and entered the lodge.
The promise of the sunset was verified. The succeeding day dawned bright and clear. The wind had shifted to the south-west; and, as frequently happens in the American autumn, the cold and icy breath of the north-east had been succeeded by a wind as soft and gentle as the warmest sigh of spring. In large masses, the snow fell from the boughs of the hemlock and the pine; the white surface of the earth's covering glistened as if with shining scales, as the upper surface began to melt; and, drop after drop, the water trickled from the extreme boughs of the trees, till the fully-risen sun sent the snow away dissolved into the streams and into the lake. It was like the recovery of the mind from sorrow, under the bright influence of happier days.
Only here and there, a patch of snow was still seen upon the tops of the hills, or in the more shady parts of the forest; only here and there upon the sky lingered the fragment of a cloud; but, instead of the dark, heavy, gray mass which had palled the heavens on the preceding day, that cloud was as light and soft as the down of the swan.
About two o'clock, several long lines of Indian chiefs and warriors might be seen approaching the great Oneida village. Soon after, a great fire was lighted before the door of the principal lodge; and, as on the preceding evening, the warriors were ranged in a circle round, and the women and children in another beyond.
The great chief, dressed in all the glittering finery of the Indian peace-costume, with feathers, and red and white head-dress, and crimson mantle, and embroidered shirt, and over-dress, and medals innumerable hanging round his neck, took the seat of honour with a grave dignity such as few civilized monarchs have ever, after the greatest study, been able to attain. He wore no warlike weapons; nothing but a single knife appeared in his girdle; and in his hand he carried the richly-ornamented calumet, or pipe of peace.
Close behind her father sat Otaitsa, with her heart greatly troubled, less perhaps with fear than with expectation. The Black Eagle had been kind and tender with her when they were alone together. He had held her to his heart with a display of fondness such as an Indian rarely shows openly to his child. He had listened to the whole tale of her love for Walter Prevost without a word of disapprobation or reproach; and sometimes even a playful smile had come upon his dark stern face as her words recalled the memory of feelings experienced in youth--like a well-remembered song heard again after a long lapse of years. Instead of reprehending her attempt to deliver Walter, he commended it highly.
"It was thy part, my child," said he; "thou shouldst have been a boy, Otaitsa; the warrior's spirit is in the maiden's bosom."
But when she came to speak of her lover's fate--to plead, to sue, to entreat--the stern, grave coldness of the Indian chief returned; and though she could see that he was full of fixed resolves, she could in no degree discover what they were. The explanation of them she knew was now to come; and it may be imagined, with what eager and intense interest she listened for every word.
There was, of course, some little confusion as the multitude took their places; but it was soon hushed, and then a deep silence ensued. The great pipe was lighted, and sent from hand to hand till it had passed all round the circle; and then, and not till then, Black Eagle rose and spoke.
"Have my words been heard?" he asked; "have my warriors examined whether any of the dark and infernal order of the Honontkoh are amongst us."
He seated himself again as soon as he had made the inquiry; and, after a moment's pause, two middle-aged warriors who had been with him on the preceding day rose, and took a step forward, while one of them said,--
"We have heard thy words, and examined. The brother of the Snake, Apukwa the medicine-man, and the Flying Squirrel, are Honontkoh. The stripe is upon them, and upon none else."
"It is well," said the chief, rising again. "Bring forward that man who was taken at our Castle-door last night."
Half-a-dozen young men sprang upon their feet, and speedily brought from the door of a neighbouring lodge the half-breed runner, Proctor, whom we have seen with Brooks and Lord H----, at Albany. He had a calumet in his hand, the sign of a peaceful mission; and he showed no fear, for he knew that his life would be respected, although he had learned by this time that the Oneidas had been greatly excited by some acts referring to the very object of his mission.
Standing in the midst, then, as calm and collected as he had been in the fort at Albany, he hardly gave a glance around the circle, but looked straight, with a cold and inexpressive countenance, at the chief before whom he was placed.
"What hast thou to say?" demanded Black Eagle.
The man remained silent, although there was an evident movement of his lips as if to speak.
"Fear not," said Black Eagle, mistaking the ineffectual effort to speak for a sign of apprehension, although it really proceeded from an habitual unwillingness to hear the sound of his own voice; "thou shalt go in safety, whatever be thy message. Art thou dumb, man? Is thy tongue a stone?"
"I am not dumb--I am not afraid," said the runner, with a strong effort. "Great chiefs in Albany send me to say, 'Give us the boy.'"
There he stopped, for it had cost him much to utter so many words.
"Were they war chiefs?" demanded Black Eagle, aloud.
The man nodded his head, and Black Eagle asked--
"Did they threaten the Oneidas? Did they say they would unbury the hatchet?"
The runner shook his head; and the chief asked--
"What did they say, then, would befall us if we refused to comply?"
"Shame!" replied Proctor, aloud.
Black Eagle suddenly drew his mantle over his face.
A low murmur spread around, like the hum of a hive of bees. When it had subsided, the chief again rose, and with an air of grave, sad dignity, looked round upon his people.
"Ye have heard, O children of the Stone," he said, in a rich, clear, deep-toned voice, "what the chiefs of the pale-faces say of the Oneida nation; and there are warriors here who were with me yesterday, when our brethren, the Mohawks, reproached me with treachery and inhospitality towards our pale-face brother, Prevost; and the Black Eagle had nothing to answer. Ye know the history. Why should I sing again the song of yesterday? A man of our nation was slain by one of the Yengees; and the brethren of the dead man seized upon the son of Prevost, who is alsoourson, without searching for him who had spilt the blood. This was contrary to the custom of the Five Nations. But they say the man was not to be found--he was already beyond our territory; and we must take the first we can find to appease the spirit of our brother. Now Prevost is a good man, loved by all the Five Nations, a brother to the red man, a friend who trusted us. So hard do the Mohawks and the Onondagas think this deed, that they have dealt subtly with the Oneidas, and striven to rescue our captive from our hands by the crooked ways of the serpent. The pale-face chiefs, too, have sent men into our land, and think darkly of the Oneidas. But the Black Eagle saw what they did, and spread his wings and drove them forth. He had no answer for the reproaches of the Mohawks or of the Yengees. He will give them both their answer this day by the messenger; and the children of the Stone will thereby know his mind. Let them say if it be good."
Then turning to Proctor, he stretched out his hand towards the south, saying--
"When thou goest hence, two of my warriors shall go with thee to the Castle of the Mohawk, and thou shalt say, 'Why hast thou dealt subtly with the Oneida? If thou hadst aught against him, why didst thou not send a messenger of peace to tell thy brother thy mind? or why didst thou not appeal to the great council of the Five Nations to judge between thee and him? If thou wilt unbury the hatchet, and cut down the tree of peace, and bring trouble into the Five Nations, that the pale-face may prevail and our Long House be pulled down to the ground, paint thy face, and dance the war-dance, and come upon the battle-way; but follow not the trail of the serpent, to steal unperceived into thy brother's land.'"
A murmur of approbation followed this bold speech; but the next moment the chief continued, still addressing Proctor, and saying--
"When thou hast thus spoken to the Mohawk, thou shalt go on to the pale-face chiefs at Albany, and to them thou shalt say, 'The children of the Stone have heard your message. They are the children of the great King. He is their father and they love him; but the Oneidas have their own laws, and are led by their own chiefs. They take the war-path against your enemies as against their own; and ye are glad in the day of battle when they fight the Frenchmen by your side. It is sweet to them that you have used no threats; and they would not have their white brother think darkly of them. They love, too, the chief, Prevost. They love his son as a brother; but one of their own children has been slain by one of yours, and their law must be fulfilled. His spirit must not be shut out from the happy hunting-grounds. They will mourn as a whole nation for Walter Prevost; but Walter Prevost must die, unless the murderer be taken. Thus says the Black Eagle, the great chief of the Oneida nation; he who has taken a hundred scalps of his enemies, and fought in fifteen battles with your foes and his. Give us up the murderer if ye would save the boy. He is in your land: you can find him. Do justly by us in this matter, and walk not in the trail of the fox to deceive us, and to save from us our captive.'"
Then pausing for an instant, he somewhat lowered his voice, but spoke the succeeding words very slowly and distinctly, in order that every syllable might not only be impressed upon the mind of the man he addressed, but be clearly heard and comprehended by all the people around.
"Thou shalt say, moreover, to our brethren, the pale-face chiefs at Albany, 'The Black Eagle finds that Walter Prevost has fallen into the hands of bad men, men who are not to be trusted, dealers in dark things, vultures whose heads are bare, but whose hearts are covered. The Black Eagle will take the boy from their hands, and will treat him well, and keep him in safety till the hour come. As ye have said that the Oneidas are hasty, that they do rashly, that they have not sought as they ought to seek--for six moons will Black Eagle keep the lad in peace, as his own son, to see whether ye will give him up the murderer of an Oneida. But, as the chief would slay his own son, if the laws of his people required it at his hands, so will he and the chiefs of his nation slay Walter Prevost, if, in six moons, ye do not give him up the murderer. He shall die the death of a warrior, with his hands unbound, and, as Black Eagle knows the spirit that is in him, he is sure he will die as a warrior should.' This thou shalt say to the English chiefs; let them look to it; the fate of the boy depends upon their counsel. Give him a roll of wampum for his reward, and let him go in peace."
His commands were immediately obeyed, and the half-breed runner removed from the circle.
Then, turning to the warriors without reseating himself, the chief demanded--
"Have I said well?"
The usual words of approbation followed, repeated by almost every voice present; and then Black Eagle resumed, in a sterner tone, saying--
"And now, my children, what shall be done to the Honontkoh? I have already removed the captive from their hands; for they are a people without faith. They live in darkness, and they wrap themselves in a shadow. They take their paths in deceit, and we see blood and dissension follow them. Already have they raised against us the wrath of our brethren of the Five Nations; they have brought the yellow cloud of shame upon the Oneidas. They have well nigh severed the threads which hold the roll of our league together. They have laid the hatchet to the root of the tree which we and our English father planted. I say, let them go forth from amongst us. The Totem of the Tortoise casts them forth. We will not have our lodges near their lodges. They shall not dwell within our palisade. Let them betake themselves to the darkness of the forest, and to the secret holes of the rock; for darkness and secrecy are the dwelling-places of their hearts. Or let them go, if they will, to the deceitful Hurons, to the people beyond Horicon, and fight beside the deceitful Frenchmen. With us they shall not dwell; let them be seen no more amongst us.--Is my judgment good?"
A general cry of approbation followed; the council broke up, and the warriors commenced wandering about, those who came from a distance seeking hospitality in the neighbouring lodges; for the great lodge itself could not afford room for all.
To her own little chamber, Otaitsa retired at once; and, barring the door, went down upon her knees, to offer up thanksgiving and prayer--thanksgiving, for hope is ever a blessing--prayer, for danger was still before her eyes. Safe for the next six months she knew Walter would be, in the careful custody of her father; but she still prayed earnestly that her mother's God would find some way of deliverance, for the sake of Him who died to save mankind.
More than five months had passed, months of great trouble and anxiety to many. The usual tragedies of life had been enacted in many a house, and in many a home: the dark, ever-recurring scene of death and suffering and grief had passed through the dwellings of rich and poor. Many a farce, too, in public and private, had been exhibited to the gaze; for, in the history of each man and of all the world, the ridiculous and the grand, the sad and the cheerful, stand side by side in strange proximity.
The woods, blazing in their autumnal crimson when last we saw them, had worn and soiled, in about a fortnight, the glorious vestments of the autumn, and cast them to the earth; and now they had put on the green garments of the summer, and robed themselves in the tender hues of youth. The rivers and the streams, bound in icy chains for many a month, now dashed wildly and impetuously along in the joy of lately-recovered freedom, and, swollen by the spring rains, in some places became torrents; in some places, slowly flooded the flat land, marching over the meadows like a vast invading army.
The beasts of the forest were busy in their coverts, the birds in the brake, or on the tree-top; the light clouds skimmed along the soft blue sky; and the wind tossed the light young branches to and fro in its sport. Everything was gay and active on the earth, and over the earth; everything spoke of renewed life, and energy, and hope.
To the fancy of those who have not seen it, the vast primæval forest presents an idea of monotony; and certainly, when seen from a distance, it produces that impression on the mind. Looming dark and sombre, thick and apparently impenetrable, over upland and dell, over plain and mountain, it conveys a sensation of solemnity by its very sameness; and, though the first sight is sublime, its long-continued presence is oppressive. But penetrate into its depths, and you will find infinite variety; now the dense, tangled thicket, through which the panther and the wild cat creep with difficulty, and into which the deer cannot venture; now the quaking morass, unsafe to the foot, yet bearing up the tamarach or cedar, with its rank grasses, its strangely-shaped leaves, and its rich and infinitely varied flowers; now the wide grove, extending for miles and miles, with the tall bolls of the trees rising up distinct and separate, and with little or no brushwood hiding the carpet of dry pine-spindles and cones on which they stand; then the broad savanna, with its grass knee-high, green and fresh and beautiful, and merely a tree here and there to shelter some spot from the sun, and cast a soft blue shadow on the natural meadow; and then again, in many spots, a space of ground where every characteristic of the forest is mingled--here thick and tangled brush, there a patch of open green, here the swamp running along the brook-side, there the sturdy oak or wide-spreading chestnut, standing far apart in reverence for each other's giant limbs, shading many a pleasant slope, or topping the lofty crag.
It was under one of these large trees, on a high bank commanding the whole prospect round for many and many a mile, and in the eastern part of the province of New York, that three red men were seated in the early summer of 1758. A little distance in advance of them, and somewhat lower down the hill, was a small patch of brush, composed of fantastic-looking bushes, and one small blasted tree. It formed, as it were, a sort of screen to the Indians' resting-place from all eyes below, yet did not in the least impede their sight as it wandered over the wide forest world around them. From the elevation on which they were placed, the eye of the red man, which seems, from constant practice, to have gained the keenness of the eagle's sight, could plunge into every part of the woods around where the trees were not actually contiguous. The trail, wherever it quitted the shelter of the branches; the savanna, wherever it broke the outline of the forest; the river, where it wound along in its course to the ocean; the military road from the banks of the Hudson to the head of Lake Horicon; the smallest pond, the little stream, were all spread out to view as if upon a map.
Over the wide, extensive prospect the eyes of those three Indians wandered incessantly, not as if employed in searching for some definite object, the direction of which, if not the precise position, they knew, but rather as if they were looking for anything which might afford them some object of pursuit or interest. They sat there nearly two hours in the same position; and during the whole of that time not more than four or five words passed between them.
At length they began to converse, though at first in a low tone, as if the silence had its awe even for them. One of them pointed with his hand towards a spot to the eastward, saying, "There is something doing there."
In the direction to which he called the attention of his companions was seen spread out, in the midst of the forest and hills, a small, but exquisitely beautiful lake, seemingly joined on to another, of much greater extent, by a narrow channel. Of the former, the whole extent could not be seen; for, every here and there, a spur of the mountain cut off the view, and broke in upon the beautiful waving line of the shore. The latter was more distinctly seen, spread out broad and even, with every little islet, headland, and promontory, marked clear and distinctly against the bright, glistening surface of the waters.
Near the point where the two lakes seemed to meet, the Indians could descry walls, and mounds of earth, and various buildings of considerable size; nay, even what was probably the broad banner of France, though it seemed but a mere whitish spot in the distance.
At the moment when the Indians spoke, coming from a distant point on the larger lake, the extreme end of which was lost to view in a sort of indistinct blue haze, a large boat or ship might be seen, with broad white sails, wafted swiftly onward by a cold north-easterly wind. Some way behind it, another moving object appeared--a boat likewise, but much more indistinct; and, here and there nearer in shore, two or three black specks, probably canoes, were darting along upon the bosom of the lake, like water-flies upon the surface of a still stream.
"The pale-faces take the war-path against each other," said another of the Indians, after gazing for a moment or two.
"May they all perish!" exclaimed the third. "Why are our people so mad as to help them? Let them fight, and slay, and scalp as many of each other as they can, and then the red men tomahawk the remainder."
The other two uttered a bitter malediction, in concert with this fierce, but not impolitic, thought; and then, after one of their long pauses, the first who had spoken, resumed the conversation, saying--
"Yet I would give one of the feathers of the White Bird to know what the pale-faces are doing. Their hearts are black against each other. Can you not tell us, Apukwa? You were on the banks of Horican yesterday, and must have heard the news from Corlear."
"The news from Albany matters much more," answered Apukwa. "The Yengees are marching up with a cloud of fighting-men; and people know not where they will fall. Some think Oswego; some think Ticonderoga. I am sure that it is the place of the Singing Waters that they go against."
"Will they do much in the war-path?" asked the brother of the Snake; "or will the Frenchman make himself as red as he did last year, at the south end of Horicon?"
"The place of the Singing Waters is strong, brother," replied Apukwa, in a musing tone, "and the Frenchmen are great warriors; but the Yengees are many in number, and they have called for aid from the Five Nations. I told the Huron who sold me powder, where the eagles would come down; and I think he would not let the tidings slumber beneath his tongue. The great-winged canoes are coming up Corlear very quick; but I think my words must have been whispered in the French chief's ear, to cause them to fly so quickly to Ticonderoga."
A faint, nearly-suppressed smile came upon the lips of his two companions as they heard of this proceeding; but the younger of the three said--
"And what will Apukwa do in the battle?"
"Scalp my enemies," replied Apukwa, looking darkly round.
"Which is thine enemy?" asked the brother of the Snake.
"Both," answered the medicine-man, bitterly; "and every true Honontkoh should do as I do; follow them closely, and slay every man that flies, be his nation what it may. So long as he be white, it is enough for us. He is an enemy; let us blunt our scalping-knives on the skulls of the pale-faces. Then, when the battle is over, we can take our trophies to the conqueror, and say, 'We have been upon thy side.'"
"But will he not know?" suggested the younger man; "will he listen so easily to the song?"
"How should he know?" asked Apukwa, coldly. "If we took him red men's scalps, he might doubt; but all he asks is white men's scalps, and we will take them. They are all alike, and they will have no faces under them."
This ghastly jest was highly to the taste of the two hearers; and, bending down their heads together, the three continued to converse for several minutes in a whisper. At length, one of them said--
"Could we not take Prevost's house as we go? How many brothers did you say would muster?"
"Nine," answered Apukwa; "and our three selves make twelve." Then, after pausing for a moment or two in thought, he added, "It would be sweet as the strawberry and as easy to gather; but there may be thorns near it. We may tear ourselves, my brothers."
"I fear not," returned the brother of the Snake; "so that I but set my foot within that lodge, with my rifle in my hand, and my tomahawk in my belt, I care not what follows."
"The boy's to die," rejoined Apukwa; "why seek more in his lodge at thine own risk?"
The other did not answer; but, after a moment's pause, he asked--"Who is it has built the lodge still farther to the morning?"
"One of the workers of iron," answered Apukwa, meaning the Dutch. "He is a great chief, they say, and a friend of the Five Nations."
"Then no friend of ours, my brother," responded the other speaker; "for though it be the children of the Stone who have shut the door of the lodge against us, and driven us from the council-fire, the Five Nations have confirmed their saying, and made the Honontkoh a people apart. Why should we not fire that lodge too, and then steal on to the dwelling of Prevost?"
"Thy lip is thirsty for something," said Apukwa. "Is it the maiden thou wouldst have?"
The other smiled darkly; and, after remaining silent for a short space, answered--
"They have taken from me my captive; and my hand can never reach the Blossom I sought to gather. The boy may die, but not by my tomahawk; and, when he does die, I am no better, for I lose that which I sought to gain by his death. Are Apukwa's eyes misty, that he cannot see? The spirit of the Snake would have been as well satisfied with the blood of any other pale-face; but that would not have satisfied me."
"Yet making Prevost's house red will not gather for thee the Blossom," answered Apukwa.
The third and younger of the Indians laughed, saying----
"The wind changes, Apukwa, and so does the love of our brother. The maiden in the lodge of Prevost is more beautiful than the Blossom. We have seen her thrice since this moon grew big; and my brother calls her the Fawn, because she has become the object of his chase."
"Thou knowest not my thought," said the brother of the Snake, gravely. "The maiden is fair, and she moves round her father's lodge like the sun. She shall be the light of mine, too; but the brother of the snake forgets not those who disappoint him; and the boy Prevost would rather have seen the tomahawk falling, than know that the Fawn is in his lodge."
The other two uttered that peculiar humming sound by which the Indians sometimes intimate that they are satisfied; and the conversation which went on between them related chiefly to the chances of making a successful attack upon the house of Mr. Prevost. Occasionally, indeed, they turned their eyes towards the boats upon Lake Champlain, and commented upon the struggle that was about to be renewed between France and England. That each party had made vast preparations was well known, and intelligence of the extent and nature of those preparations had spread far and wide amongst the tribes, with wonderful accuracy as to many of the details, but without any certain knowledge of where the storm was to break.
All saw, however, and comprehended, that a change had come over the British government; that the hesitating and doubtful policy which had hitherto characterized their military movements in America was at an end; and that the contest was now to be waged for the gain and loss of all the European possessions on the North American continent. Already was it known amongst the Five Nations, although the time for the transmission of the intelligence was incredibly small, that a large fleet and armament had arrived at Halifax, and that several naval successes over the French had cleared the way for some great enterprise in the north. At the same time, the neighbourhood of Albany was full of the bustle of military preparation; a large force was already collected under Abercrombie for some great attempt upon the lakes: and from the west news had been received that a British army was marching rapidly towards the French posts upon the Ohio and the Monongahela.
The Indian nations roused themselves at the sound of war; for, though some few of them acted more regularly in alliance with one or the other of the contending European powers, a greater number than is generally believed cared little whom they attacked, or for whom they fought, or whom they slew; and were, in reality, but as a flock of vultures spreading their wings at the scent of battle, and ready to take advantage of the carnage, whatever was the result of the strife.