The lodge of Black Eagle's sister was next in size and importance to that of the chief himself, and on it, too, some European skill had been expended. Though on a somewhat smaller scale, it was very much such another building as that which has been described by a writer of those times as the palace of a celebrated chief of the Mohawks. In a word, "It had the appearance of a good barn, divided across by a mat hung in the middle." It was only of one story, however; but the workmen who had erected it a good many years before, on their return from the completion of Fort Oswego, had added a door of European form, with a latch and a brass knob, which greatly increased its dignity in the eyes of the tribe.
The possessor of this mansion, who was held in great reverence all through the Oneida nation, and was supposed to have communication with the spiritual world, had obtained, I know not how, the name of the Grey Dove, although her features by no means displayed the characteristic meekness of the bird from which she derived her appellation, but bore a considerable resemblance to those of her brother, which certainly well accorded with his name.
When Otaitsa approached the door, she found it fastened, and she knocked twice with her hand before it was opened. A young girl then peeped out, and, seeing the Sachem's daughter, gave her admission at once into the outer apartment. The space on that side of the large mat which formed the partition was vacant; but a murmur of voices came from the division beyond, and a light shone through the crevices between the mat and the wall.
The feelings of Otaitsa's heart were too powerful to leave any timidity in her bosom; and, although she shared in some degree the feelings with which the other Oneidas regarded the Grey Dove, she advanced at once, drew back the corner of the mat, and entered the chamber beyond.
The scene was neither of a beautiful nor of a very solemn character; nevertheless, there was something very striking in it. Seated around a large fire in the middle, were a number of the elder women of the tribe, whose features and forms, once, perhaps, fair and lovely, had lost almost every trace of beauty. But their lineaments were strongly marked, and had, in many instances, a stern and almost fierce expression. Their eyes, jetty black, and in most cases as brilliant as in early youth, shone in the light of the fire like diamonds; and, in many an attitude and gesture, appeared much of that grace which lingers longer with people accustomed to a free and unconfined life, than with those of rigid and conventional habits.
Outside of the first and elder circle, sat a number of the younger women, from fifteen or sixteen years of age, up to five or six and twenty. Many of them were exceedingly beautiful; but the figures of their elder companions shaded them mostly from the glare of the fire, and it was only here and there that one of those countenances could be discovered which might offer, in many of the Indian tribes, fit models for painter or sculptor.
Seated, not on the ground like the rest, but on a small low settle at the further side of the inner circle, appeared Black Eagle's sister, gorgeously dressed almost entirely in crimson, with anklets and bracelets of gold, and innumerable glittering ornaments round her neck. She was much older than her brother. Her hair, almost as white as snow, was knotted up behind on the ordinary roller, without any decoration. Her features were aquiline, and much more prominent than those of Black Eagle; and her eyes were still keen and bright.
The moment they lighted upon Otaitsa, the exclamation burst from her lips,--
"She is come! the Great Spirit has sent her! Stand there in the midst, Blossom, and hear what we have resolved."
Otaitsa passed between two of the younger and two of the elder women, taking her place between the inner circle and the fire; and wonderfully bright and beautiful did she look, with the flame flashing upon her exquisite form and delicate features, and lighting up a countenance full of strong enthusiasm and pure emotion.
"Thy child hears thy words," she said, without pause or hesitation; for it must be remarked that the stoical gravity which prevailed at the conferences of the chiefs and warriors was not thought necessary among the women of the tribes. "What has the Grey Dove to say to the daughter of her brother?"
"The boy must not die!" exclaimed the old woman, in a firm and decided tone. "It is not the will of the Great Spirit; or, if he die, there shall be wailing in every lodge, and mourning amongst the children of the Stone. Art thou willing, Otaitsa, child of the Black Eagle, daughter of the Flower of the East, to do as we do, and to obey my voice?"
Otaitsa gazed round the circle, and saw a stern and lofty determination written on every countenance. Her own heart was not one to quail at any undertaking, known or unknown; and the only thing which could have deterred her from taking the pledge proposed, was the spirit of Christianity. But it must not be supposed that the Christianity of the Indian girl, notwithstanding all the labours of her missionary friend, was pure and unmixed with the characteristics of her people. All the daily habits of life, all that she saw, all that she heard around her, mingled the notions and the feelings of the Indian with the doctrines and the sentiments of the Christian. The first impulse was always Indian; the rectifying principle nearly Christian.
After gazing round them for an instant, she answered, "I am; I will do what thou sayest to save him, even unto death."
"She has said!" cried the old woman. "Now then, Blossom, this is thy task; thou shalt watch eagerly as a fox upon the hill-side, and bring word to me of the exact day and hour when the sacrifice is to be offered. Every one must watch."
"But how shall I discover?" asked Otaitsa. "The warriors tell not their secrets to women. The Black Eagle hides his thoughts from his daughter; he covers his face with a cloud, and wraps his purposes in shadows from our eyes."
"By little signs shalt thou know," returned the Grey Dove. "Small clouds prognosticate great storms. When thou seest any change, mark it well. If his head droops, and his eye seeks the ground more than common, bring or send the tidings unto me. If he be silent when he should speak, and hears not the words thou utterest--if he gazes up to the heaven as if he were seeking to know the changes of the weather, when all is clear--and if he looks at the tomahawk as it hangs upon the beam, with a dull and heavy eye--be sure the time is coming."
Otaitsa gave a wild start, and exclaimed,--
"Then it is this night! for all the signs you mention have been present. When I entered the lodge, his head was bowed down, and his eyes were fixed upon the ground. He was very sad. He heard me; but his thoughts seemed to wander. When he stopped my petition, and turned towards the door, his eyes rested gloomily on the hatchet; and when he stood without, they were lifted to the sky, as if looking for stars in the daytime. It is to-night! it is to-night! Oh, what shall be done?"
"Nay," answered the Grey Dove, with a kindly look, "it isnotto-night. Be comforted, my child. Not until to-morrow, at the hour of twilight, will the six moons have passed; and the Black Eagle speaks no word in vain. He will not lift the tomahawk a moment before the hour; but to-morrow will be the time, after the sun has set. The pale-faces have taken the war-path against each other; and the allies of the Black Eagle have called upon him to take wing, and help them. They have bade him paint himself for the battle, and come forth with his warriors. He has waited but for this; and now we know the day and the hour, for he will not tarry."
Otaitsa still trembled; but her mind was much relieved for the moment. She knew her father well, and she saw the truth of what the Grey Dove said.
"How shall we stay him?" she inquired. "The Black Eagle bends not in his way like a serpent; he goes straight upon his path like a bird in the air. He hears not the voice of entreaty; his ears are stopped against the words of prayer. You may turn the torrent as it rushes down after the melting of the snow, or the rock as it falls from the precipice; but you cannot arrest the course of the Black Eagle, or turn him from his way."
"Be firm and constant," said the Grey Dove. "We are in the hands of the Great Spirit. Watch your father closely, Otaitsa, all to-morrow, from the mid-day till the setting sun--from the setting sun till the dawn, if it be needful. The moment he goes forth, come thou to me at the lodge of the Lynx, by the western gate of the palisade; there shalt thou find me with others. I know that thy young heart is strong, and that it will not quail. Watch carefully, but watch secretly. See if he take the tomahawk in his belt, and if his face be gay or gloomy. Mark every sign, and bring the news to me."
"They may go by the other gate, and steal round," said one of the women in the inner circle. "I will set my daughter, now waiting without, to watch that gate, and bring us tidings. She is still and secret as the air of night, and has the foot of the wind."
"It is good," said the Grey Dove, rising. "Let us all be prepared, for the boy must not die."
No more was said; for the old prophetess fell into one of those deep and solemn reveries, from which all present knew she could not easily be wakened, and which probably had acquired for her the reputation of conversing with the spirit-world.
One by one, slowly and silently, the women stole out of the lodge, dispersing in various directions the moment they quitted the door. Otaitsa remained till the last, in the hope that the Grey Dove would speak again, and afford her some further information of her plans; but the old woman remained silently gazing on the fire, with her tall figure erect and stiff, and probably perfectly unconscious of the departure of the others, till at length the Blossom followed the rest, and returned quietly to the great lodge.
The following day became dark and stormy about three o'clock in the afternoon. A sharp, cold wind succeeded to the mild breath of spring; and the Indians generally remained assembled round their fires, leaving the wide place within the palisade very nearly deserted.
Shortly before sunset, one Indian woman crept quietly forth, and took her way towards a hut near the eastern entrance of their village. Another followed very speedily; and before twilight had ended, and night begun, no less than twelve stood beneath the roof, with the Grey Dove in the midst of them. It was too dark for any one to see the face of another; for the night had fallen heavily and thick, and a blanket was stretched across the entrance. But the Grey Dove felt them one after another with her hands, asking a question of each, to which she seemed to receive a satisfactory answer.
"The thirteenth is not here," she said; "but she will come, and her heart will not fail."
A dead silence fell over them all after these words were spoken; that sort of stern, heavy, solemn silence which not unfrequently precedes the execution of some strong and terrible resolution. Yet, of those twelve, there were several gay and lively girls, as well as women fallen into the decline of life. Nevertheless, all were as still as death. The volatile lightness of youth, as well as the garrulity of old age, was hushed.
Suddenly, after they had waited about twenty minutes, the blanket was pushed aside, and another figure was added to the number. The voice of Otaitsa whispered--
"He is gone forth armed as if for battle; he has his tomahawk with him; his face was very sad. I saw the Old Cedar cross to the west gate, with others whom I knew in the darkness."
She spoke in eager haste, and gasped for breath; but the old woman took her by the arm, saying,--
"Be calm, be still! Now follow noiselessly. Then bend down as you pass through the maize; though, in this black night, who shall see us?"
She was the first to issue forth; then came Otaitsa; and the others followed one by one, with quick but silent steps, through the wide field of maize that swept round the palisade, and then into the neighbouring forest. Once, when they came near a spot where the polished mirror of the lake collected and cast back every ray of light that remained in the air, they caught sight of a dark file, shadowy and ghost-like as themselves, moving on at a little distance in the same direction. But it was soon lost, and the sight only served to hasten their footsteps.
Passing along a trail which cut across the neck of a little wooded promontory, they suddenly came in sight of the lake again, and, by its side, a low Indian hut, marked out plainly against the surface of the water. When within about thirty yards, the Grey Dove halted, whispered a word or two to those who followed, and then, bending down, crept closer to the lodge.
"Oh, let us hasten," whispered Otaitsa. "They are already there; I hear my father speaking."
"Hush, hush! be still!" ejaculated the old woman in the same tone. "The Black Eagle will do nothing hastily; it is for him a solemn rite. Let me first get near; then follow, and do what I do."
It was a sad and weary day to poor Walter Prevost, for he was without his consolation. The time of his long imprisonment, indeed, had been less burdensome than might have been supposed, although, during the first two or three weeks, many a fruitless effort to escape had wearied his spirits. He learned, however, that escape was impossible; he was too closely and too continually watched. There was nothing to prevent his quitting the hut; but the moment he did so, whether night or day, he was met by two or three armed Indians. They were kind and courteous to him, though they suffered him not to bend his steps in the direction of their castle, or village, nor to approach the lake, to the banks of which many a canoe was moored. Sometimes one of them would take him to hunt; but two or three others followed, and never separated from his side. They were not fond of speaking of his probable fate, and generally avoided the subject with true Indian skill; but once a young warrior, less experienced than the rest, related to him the messages which the great chief had sent by the runner Proctor, and Walter learned the decision regarding his own fate, and the chances on which it hung. That young Indian was never seen near him more. It was evident that he was looked upon as having betrayed counsel, and that he had been removed.
But, about that time, the greatest solace and balm he could receive was afforded him. Otaitsa suddenly appeared in the hut, and told him that, by promising to make no personal effort for his rescue, and to take no advantage of the freedom granted her to facilitate his escape by his own efforts, she had obtained permission to visit him for two hours each day. She had explained to him, however, that others, in whom she trusted, were busy in his cause; and that the Grey Dove herself, on whom all her people looked with the greatest reverence, had positively assured her he should not die.
At first, their interviews were sad enough. Hope and fear kept up their battle in the heart; but in time those emotions passed away, and love and happiness were all that remained; or, if aught of fear mingled with those blessings, it was but enough, as it were, to sanctify their intercourse, to purify it of some portion of earthly passion, so that, even while they sat twined in each other's arms, their conversation would often be of death and future life, and happiness unmingled. She often called him "husband" to her father; but it was always "brother" when they were there alone.
Day after day, beneath the sunshine or the cloud, over the snow or the green earth, Otaitsa visited the hut. But she had grown anxious as the days rolled on. She had not calculated the time accurately; but she knew the appointed day was near, and Walter was not delivered. She accused herself of folly in having trusted to others; though she saw not how, watched as he was, his deliverance could be effected by herself. But she resolved now to bestir herself, and, if she lost her life in the attempt, to make one last great effort to set him free.
Such was her resolution on the preceding day, when, on parting with him, she whispered in his ear, lest any one should be listening without,--
"I shall not come to you again, my brother, till I come to save you. I know not how it will be; but, if I fail, Walter will not be long in heaven ere Otaitsa seeks him there."
He hardly believed she could keep her resolution of abstaining from at least one more interview. But the weary day passed by; the Indians who brought him food and fire appeared and disappeared; the rain fell heavily; the wind shook the hut; and Otaitsa did not come.
At length, the night began to fall, stern, gloomy, dark; a rayless sunset, a brief twilight, and then utter blackness. His spirit sank low indeed; his heart felt heavy and oppressed: he bent him down, stirred up the embers of his fire, piled more wood upon it, and kindled a bright, cheerful blaze. But it had no effect in raising his spirits or warming his heart. All within him was cheerless.
He sat and gazed into the fire, and thought of his absent home, and of the pleasant days of youth, and of the sweet dreams he had once cherished--the hopes that hung like faded pictures upon the wall of memory. A thousand little incidents, a thousand delightful recollections, came back upon him, while he sat and meditated, as if merely to make life more dear; when, suddenly, on the other side of the hut, a dark figure crossed the firelight, and then another, and another, and another, till they numbered six. They were all chiefs, and men of lofty mien; but stern, and grave, and silent. They seated themselves in a semicircle at the very further part of the hut, and for several minutes remained profoundly still.
He understood at once what it meant. The last hour of life was come; and the dead, heavy sinking of the heart which the aspect of death suddenly presented to an unprepared and unexcited mind, was the first sensation. True, the door stood at a little distance, on his right hand, and they were at the other end of the hut, with no one between him and the means of egress; but he knew their swiftness of foot and deadly aim too well. It was better to stay and to meet the worst there, than to fall by the thrown tomahawk in inglorious flight. He rallied his spirits: he called all his courage to his aid: he bethought him of how an Indian would die, and resolved to die boldly and calmly likewise.
Sitting still in silence, he gazed over the countenances of the chiefs, scanning their stern, hard features thoughtfully. Only two were there whom he knew; Black Eagle himself, and an old man with a white scalp-lock, whom he recollected having comforted and supported once when he found him ill and exhausted near his father's house. The others were all strangers to him: and nothing could be read upon their faces but cold, rigid determination. No passion, no anger, no emotion, could be traced; but there was something inexpressibly dreadful in gazing on those still, quiet countenances, with a knowledge of the bloody purpose of the men. To have died in battle--to have struggled with them fiercely for life--would have been nothing; but to sit there, coldly awaiting the moment of the ruthless blow, and to know that they expected it to be borne with the same quiet, stoical apathy with which it was dealt, was very, very terrible to the young European.
Yet Walter tried to nerve himself to the utmost against any sign of fear; and strove for resolution not to disgrace himself, his name, and family, even in the opinion of those wild Indians. There must have been apprehension in his eyes--in the straining eagerness with which he scanned them; but there was no other mark of alarm: not a muscle moved; the lip did not quiver; the brow was not contracted.
At length, after that long, solemn pause, the voice of Black Eagle was heard speaking low and softly.
"My son, thou must die," he said. "Thou art dear to me as a child; thy father is my brother; but thou hast drawn an evil lot, and thou must die. The morning of thy days has been short and bright; the night comes for thee before the day is well begun. The blood of our brother who was slain must be atoned for by the blood of one of the race that slew him--the white man for the red man. We have sought in vain for the murderer of our brother, or for some one who might have been a substitute for him whom we love. Each man here would have perilled his own head to find another in thy place; but it could not be. The pale-faces took fright at the news of what had been done, and none has been found within our territory. We know that the man who did the deed has been here. We fancied that he had come generously to pay the penalty of his own act; but fear was in his heart, and twice he escaped us. He is as cunning as the fox, and as swift to flee. Now, O thou son of my brother! thou must die; for the time has gone by that was given thee in the hope of some deliverance: the hours have run swiftly and in vain; and the last has come. We know that it is the custom of thy people to sing no war-song at their death; but to pray to their Good Spirit to receive them speedily into the happy hunting-grounds. We shall not think it want of courage if thou prayest; for the son of our brother Prevost will not disgrace his name at his death. Pray, therefore, to thy God; thy prayer shall be as it were a war-song, and, strengthened by it, thou shalt die as a man and a warrior."
Walter remained silent for a moment, while a terrible struggle went on in his heart; but resolution conquered, and he rose from the ground on which he was sitting, erect and firm; and, stretching forth his hand, he said,--
"Chiefs of the Oneidas, you are unjust. At this hour of my death, I tell you, you know not equity. Your laws are not of the Good Spirit, but of the bad; for it is evil to kill an innocent man, black and dastardly to slay a helpless man who trusted you and loved you; and, if it is by your law you do it, your law is bad, and the Good Spirit will condemn it. My father came and planted his tree amongst you; we grew up,--my sister and myself,--loving and confiding in your people. We made your tongue our tongue; and my heart became one with the heart of the daughter of your chief. Lo, now, how ye repay kindness, and love, and truth, with falsehood, cruelty, and death! You are great warriors, but you are not good men. In this last hour, I reproach you; and I tell you, with the voice of a dying man, as with the voice of one from the land of spirits, that, sooner or later, the great God of all men will make you feel that you have done an evil thing in my death."
He paused suddenly; for his eyes, turning somewhat in the direction of the door, saw a female figure enter, wrapped in the peculiar blanket or mantle of the Indian women. Another and another entered; and one by one the shadowy forms ranged themselves in line along the side of the hut, their faces but faintly seen by the flickering firelight. They were all as silent as death; and there they stood as solemn witnesses of the dreadful scene about to be enacted.
The eyes of all the chiefs were turned in the same direction as his own, and a moment or two of wonder and embarrassment passed; but then the voice of Black Eagle was raised loudly and sternly, saying,--
"Get you home to the Castle, Oneida women. This is no place for you. Meddle not with the business of warriors and of men. Dare not to intrude upon the sacrifice of atonement for our brother's blood."
"Who is it that speaks?" said the clear, shrill voice of the Grey Dove. "Is it the man of the black heart who slays the son of his brother? Who is it that dares to speak thus to her who sees the Great Spirit in her visions, and holds communion with the souls of the dead? Is it a man pure in heart and hand--a man whose purposes are good in the sight of the Great Spirit, and who is doing a deed pleasing in his sight? Is he taking the life of an enemy in the battle? Is he scalping a foe with whom he has fought and conquered? Lo, now, this is a brave deed, to slay the son of a friend, and a boy who has no power to resist. But the boy shall not die. If a pale-face has killed one of the children of the Stone, this boy has saved the life of more than one. His hand has been free, and his heart open to the Oneida, and his good deeds are more than enough to atone for the evil deeds of another. The ashes of thy pipe, Black Eagle, upon the hearth of Prevost, call out shame upon the murderer of his son."
"Get you hence, woman!" vociferated another chief. "We are not soft as water, to be turned in what course you will; we are the children of the Stone, and our heart is the rock."
"Be it so, then," cried Black Eagle's sister. "Look upon us now, oh, chiefs! We are here, your mothers, your sisters, your daughters, your wives; those you love best, those who best love you. See now what we are commanded to do by the voice of the Good Spirit. If you slay the youth, you slay us. Every lodge shall be left desolate; there shall be wailing through the village, and through the land. Now, my sisters, if their heart be a stone, let our heart be soft, and let the knife find it easily."
As she spoke, every mantle was thrown back, and every arm raised, and in every hand was seen the gleam of a knife.
Black Eagle covered his eyes with his mantle, but sat still. Walter sprang across, and cast himself at the feet of Otaitsa, exclaiming,--
"Hold, hold! for God's sake hold, my Blossom!"
"Back, back!" cried the girl, vehemently; "if thou diest, I die."
"All, all!" exclaimed the women, in the same determined tone.
At this moment, the old priest rose and stretched forth his hands.
"It is the voice of the Great Spirit," he ejaculated, in the tone of one inspired. "He speaks to us by their tongue; he tells us to forbear. The deed is evil in his sight; we must not do it. The blood of our brother is atoned for. It is the voice of the Great Spirit!"
"It is the voice of the Great Spirit--it is the voice of the Great Spirit!" exclaimed each of the chiefs. And Black Eagle, casting from him the tomahawk, took Walter in his arms, saying, in a low voice,--
"My son, my son!"
Otaitsa advanced a step towards them; but, before she reached her father, her sight grew dim, and she fell fainting at his feet.
The din of preparation was heard in the great castle of the Oneidas. With the first light of morning numerous small bands began to pour in, summoned secretly long before, to hold a war-council, and to march against the enemy. Before noon, larger bands began to appear, led by several of the noted warriors of the nation; and one very numerous body, coming across the lake in a little fleet of canoes, brought with them a great quantity of baggage, in the shape of tents and provisions, with women and even children.
The scene which took place when all were assembled, in number more than a thousand, is perfectly indescribable. Nor shall I attempt to give a picture of it. A long period of peace seemed only to have given the western warriors a sort of thirst for war; and their joy at the unburying of the hatchet and the march against an enemy brought forth demonstrations which, to any civilized eye, would have appeared perfectly frantic. Screaming, shouting, singing, dancing, striking the war-posts with their tomahawks, and shaking their rifles in the air, they seemed like beings possessed by some evil spirit; the quiet and grave demeanour was altogether cast aside; and the calmest and most moderate boasted outrageously of deeds done in the past, and which ought to be performed in the coming war.
About an hour after noon, however, a sudden and complete change came over the scene. In an open space before the great lodge, all the chieftains of the different Totems or tribes assembled; and the usual circle was formed around the great war-post of the Black Eagle. The younger warriors gathered in other rows, without the first; and the youths, the women, and the children, beyond them again.
One exception to the usual order took place. The great chief had, on either side of him, one of those both of whom he now called his children. Otaitsa, in her most brilliant apparel, stood upon his left; and Walter Prevost, armed and dressed like the Oneidas, with the sole difference that his head was not shaved like theirs, remained standing throughout the ceremony on his right.
As soon as all movement had ceased, and the stillness of death fell over the whole multitude, Black Eagle, in a speech of powerful eloquence, related all that had occurred on the preceding night, and justified the act of himself and the other chiefs in the eyes of the people. He said that he, himself, and five of his brethren, had been prepared to sacrifice the son of Prevost to atone for the blood of the Snake, and to satisfy the customs of the Oneidas, although each would rather have slain his own son; but that the Great Spirit had spoken by the tongue of his sister, and they had forborne.
When he had done, the Old Cedar rose, but uttered only a few words.
"It was the voice of the Great Spirit," he said; and immediately a murmur of "Koué! Koué!" ran round the assembly in confirmation of the act.
The chief then explained to his warriors why he had that day called them around him; for, although the object was already well known to all, and the news had spread that the English were marching against the French upon Lake Champlain, the Indians never acted in masses without solemn deliberation; and a war-speech, as they called it, was universally expected from their renowned leader. He dwelt at large upon the alliance between the English and the Five Nations, and upon the good faith with which the stipulations of their treaties had been maintained by the British provinces; he referred to "the talk" held some six months before, at the Castle of Sir William Johnson, skilfully mingling with his discourse the names of several persons most popular with the tribes; and he ended by exhorting his hearers to show their truth and friendship towards their English brethren, and to pour down their fiercest wrath upon the French, whom he spoke of contemptuously, as the brethren of the Hurons and the Alonquin.
The same signs of approbation followed; and many another chief added his voice, raising the passions of the warriors to the highest pitch. One especially urged them to immediate action, telling them that the Mohawks had already marched; that they were with the English army; and that the faces of the children of the Stone would be red with shame if a Mohawk brought home more scalps than an Oneida.
Some were for setting out on the instant; but this proposal was overruled, and the following morning was appointed for the march to begin, as more war-parties were expected from different districts, and some had not come fully prepared for the long journey and important enterprise.
The council was succeeded by similar scenes to those with which the day began; and it must not be concealed that in many instances the dreadful "fire-water" was employed so far as even to produce beastly intoxication. Small drums and wild instruments of music, songs of every character, from the wailing lament or the religious chant, to the fierce and boastful war-song, rose from every part of the village; and it was not till the sun had completely set, that anything like quiet and order was restored.
Paint it in what colours we will, it was a barbarous and terrible, though exciting, scene; and Walter Prevost was well pleased to hear the noise gradually die away into low murmurs, and silence begin to resume its reign.
Then came a very, very happy hour. He sat with Otaitsa alone in the great lodge while the Black Eagle wandered amongst his people without; and, for the first time since his deliverance from death, the two had an opportunity of pouring forth to each other the many feelings which had accumulated in the last four-and-twenty hours.
"At this time last night," said the youth, "I was preparing to die."
"And at this time last night," returned the girl, gazing fondly upon his face as he sat with his arm clasped fondly round her, and her head leaning on his shoulder--"and at this time last night Otaitsa was ready to die with you. I have since thought it very wrong of me, Walter; and, fearing what I did was sinful, I have prayed part of the night to God for forgiveness; and another part I have spent in praise and thanksgiving. But I believe I was mad, my beloved; for I hardly know what I did, and followed blindly what they told me to do to rescue him for whom I would have sacrificed a thousand lives. Besides, I was surrounded by my countrywomen, and you know they do not think as we have been taught to think."
"If it was an error, it was a blessed one, my own Blossom," answered Walter; "for to it I owe my life; and life, when it is brightened by Otaitsa's love, is but too precious to me. The time will come, dear one, when we shall look back upon these days but as a painful dream; and the only bright reality that will last will be the memory of my Blossom's love, and all that she has done to save and bless me."
She gazed at him believingly; for hers was not a heart to doubt, and his was not a heart to be doubted; and she then said, with a sigh--
"But you are now going to battle, to risk your life and all our happiness. Still, though it may be strange, I would not stay you, though all I have learned from good Mr. Gore should make me look upon such things with horror; and, though I would fain have you stay away from danger, I suppose the habits of the people still cling about me, even though I hold a better faith than theirs."
"Fear not, dearest, fear not," answered Walter, boldly. "No harm will happen to me, I do trust and believe; and I only leave you for a few short weeks."
"You will not leave me at all, Walter," she rejoined--"no, never more. I will go with you, if not to the battle, as near it as I can be. I have my father's leave; the warriors of my race will defend me, and I will not part with my recovered treasure any more."
"Go to my father's house," said Walter, joyfully. "It is very near the spot, and Edith will rejoice to have you with her."
Otaitsa fixed her eyes upon vacancy, and fell into a deep reverie; and an expression came into her face, which Walter had remarked more than once before.
"Do you know, my beloved," he said, "that sometimes you strike me as very like our dear Edith--especially when you look thoughtful, as you did just now."
"It is very natural," said Otaitsa, nestling closer to him. "You do not know she is my cousin. My mother was your father's sister. Hush! not a word, especially in the ears of any of the tribe. My father knows it--but he will not know it, because, among the elder people of the nation, it was held contrary to our customs that cousin should marry cousin. I asked Mr. Gore, long ago, if it were against your law; but he said 'No,' that it was neither against law nor religion. He inquired why I asked so earnestly," she added, laughing, "but I would not tell him. Come with me into my chamber, and I will show you many things belonging to my mother. Stay, I will light my lamp."
What a beautiful thing is innocence! how free, how untrammelled, how boundless! and what a sad thing is its loss, to man, and to society! Surely, that loss implies slavery of the worst kind--slavery to which we voluntarily submit--bonds that we rivet round our own hands. He who thinks no evil, because he knows of none, is the only freeman on the earth's face.
Otaitsa bent down, and lighted her lamp, and guided her lover up to her little chamber; and there they sat and turned over many a long-stored treasure, and she showed him the picture of his own father, and of her mother, and of many of their mutual kin, and drawings of fair scenes in Europe, some of which he remembered well, with others of the land in which they then were, but of spots which he had never seen. There was one, also, which had been left unfinished, of a young, sweet child; and Walter gazed first upon the infant face, and then upon the bright, happy countenance beside him, and clasped his Blossom warmly to his heart. The book, too, with the drop of blood upon it, told its own tale to both their hearts.
"And where is Mr. Gore?" he asked, at length; "he seems to have left altogether his little flock; and I am sure I should have seen him during my captivity."
"He is coming back now," said Otaitsa. "My father would not let him return before. He was afraid that the breath of the good man would melt his icy purpose. He had a power over Black Eagle that none other had. I prayed and besought in vain. But had Mr. Gore been here, he would have conquered. Black Eagle knew it, and feared; and therefore he sent him hence, and would not let him return till the day was past."
"Would that he were here now!" ejaculated Walter, earnestly.
Otaitsa asked him, why; and he answered, with a warm kiss--
"That he might unite us for ever."
A flush came upon her cheek; but the low sound of a step was heard below, and, looking down the stairs, she said--
"Is that you, my father?"
"I come," replied the chief.
And, slowly mounting the stairs, he entered the chamber where they were. His eyes roved round the room in a manner which evidently showed that it was strange to him; and then he fixed them on the pictures which lay upon the table, lighted but faintly by the lamp. At first, he seemed not to distinguish what they were; but the moment he saw them clearly, he drew his mantle over his face, and turned towards the door. He uttered no word; he shed no tear; but he descended slowly, and Walter and Otaitsa followed.
On that part of Lake Champlain, or Corlear, as it was called by the Indians, where, quitting the narrow basin which it occupies, from its southern extremity to some distance northward of Ticonderoga, it opens out into a broader sheet of water, and sweeps round the small peninsula of Crown Point, a large canoe was seen crossing to the Canada side, with about sixteen or seventeen persons on board. There was no attempt at concealment, no creeping along under the shelter of the banks; but boldly and openly the Indians paddled on within range of the guns of the French fort, and then directly across the bows of two large, flat-bottomed boats, orbateaux, accompanied by several light canoes, each containing six or seven men, which were going down the lake in the direction of Ticonderoga.
From each of the larger boats, the flag of France was conspicuously displayed; but, as the canoe above mentioned seemed bearing straight for the shore fully in possession of France, its movements for a time appeared to excite no attention. Neither thebateaux, nor the canoes, altered their course, the men on board the former continuing a shouted conversation in a mixed jargon, part French, part Indian, with their dusky companions in the lesser craft, who kept as nearly alongside as possible.
At length, however, it would seem some suspicion was excited. Perhaps it might have been by the sight of two figures, male and female, in the stern of the canoe, whose dress at once showed them to belong to none of the Indian tribes, and was also somewhat different from that of either the Canadian colonists, or the native French. The two parties were now within less than a hundred yards of each other, and it seemed doubtful whether the large canoes would clear the eastern boat without trouble. But suddenly a voice was raised loudly in the foremostbateau, and a question was put in French, as to whither the others were bound, and who they were.
The Indians were silent, for they did not understand the words addressed to them; but Woodchuck whispered to Edith, eagerly, "Answer, answer! if you can speak their jargon. Better be in the hands of French officers, than these incarnate devils."
Edith's eyes had been cast down, and were so full of bitter tears, that she had seen nothing since they left the western shore. But now she looked up, and, in an instant, her presence of mind returned. It is true, she did not speak at once, for she feared her voice would not reach the boat; but it was nearing the canoe fast; and, in a moment after, the question was repeated in a more peremptory and distinct tone.
"Tell them we are allies of the great French chief," said Apukwa, who seemed to comprehend, in some degree, the meaning of the call; "say we are going to join our Canada Father." And he glared at her, fiercely, as he spoke.
"We are English," exclaimed Edith, exerting her utmost power of voice; "we are English, and Iroquois, going I know not whither."
Instantly, at a signal from thebateaux, the light canoes dashed out with extraordinary rapidity; and, before any effectual effort could be made to escape, the larger canoe was surrounded, while the yells of the Hurons announced that they recognized, at length, a band of ancient enemies. With a fiend-like look at Edith, Apukwa drew his tomahawk from his belt; but, the brother of the Snake spoke some words to him in a low tone, the weapon was replaced, the men ceased to work the paddles, and every face assumed the stillness of perfect indifference.
The yells and whoops of the Hurons still continued, and their canoes came rushing nearer, so that one danger seemed only to be escaped to encounter a still greater. Their fierce faces, and dark, half-naked forms, tattooed and painted, were seen all round, and the tomahawk and the knife were brandished as if for immediate action. But one of the larger boats bore right down amongst them, and soon grappled the canoe in which Edith and her companion were. A handsomely-dressed middle-aged man stood up in the stern as it came near, and, turning to an Indian by his side, who seemed a chief, said to him in French--
"Keep your people quiet, Great Elk."
A few words were then spoken, or rather shouted, by the Indian to the others in the canoes, in a language which Edith did not at all understand, and in an instant every Huron sank down in silence, and the light skiffs lay quietly upon the water, or only moved slightly with the momentum they had already received from the paddles. Then, raising his hat and plume with an air of much grace, the French officer addressed Edith, saying--
"Will you have the goodness to explain to me, mademoiselle, who and what you are, and how you came to be in the position in which I find you? I am sorry to be obliged to detain a lady, but you have too many men with you for me to suffer your canoe to pass."
"I am the daughter of an English gentleman," replied Edith. "I have been attacked and captured, with the friend who was escorting me from my father's house to that of Colonel Schneider; my two servants were murdered--at least, one of them I am sure was. These Indians, who are with me, are Iroquois, who are taking me forcibly across the lake towards Canada, and I have little doubt that I shall be put to death also, if you do not save me from their hands."
"This is a strange story, mademoiselle," returned the officer. "The Iroquois and your countrymen are in alliance."
"I cannot account for it," answered Edith; "they are certainly Iroquois, for they speak no other language, except a few words of English. You must ask them what is the meaning of their conduct, if you have any on board who can speak their tongue."
The officer turned once more to his Indian companion, and addressed some words to him in French; but the chief shook his head, and then, drawing his eyelids together, as if to see more distinctly, gazed into the canoe, scanning the persons of the Indians closely.
"They are Iroquois," he said, at length, in broken French; "let us scalp them."
This proposal, however, the officer did not think fit to comply with, at least for the time; and he replied with a laugh,--
"Wait a little, my friend. The Great Elk shall have scalping enough soon. We will take them ashore with us, at all events, and, perhaps, may learn more. Then, if they are really enemies, you shall exercise your skill upon them to your heart's content. The lady and her English companion, however, I claim as my prisoners.--Permit me, mademoiselle, to assist you into the boat. You will be safer here, and may trust to the honour and courtesy of a French gentleman."
"I have no fears on that score, sir," answered Edith, rising; and, with the aid of the officer and Woodchuck, she passed into the other boat, which, flat-bottomed and heavily laden, was not much higher above the water than the canoe. Woodchuck followed her closely, but not without exciting the wrath of the Honontkoh. They had sat, ever since the canoe had been grappled by the boat, with the utmost tranquillity; not a limb, not a feature had moved; and to the eye of an observer, ignorant of their habits, they would have seemed perfectly indifferent to all that was taking place. In fact, one of them appeared actually going to sleep; for the sun, which had now broken out after the storm, shone full on his face, and his eyes were closed, and his head bent. But the moment that Woodchuck put his foot over the side of thebateau, a yell of disappointed rage burst from every lip; and, unable to contain himself, Apukwa rose and poured forth a few words of Huron, mixed with a good deal of Iroquois.
"Hold your tongues!" exclaimed the French officer, waving his hand imperiously. "Tow them along behind us; and you, Great Elk, command your people to keep close around them, and see that they do not cut the rope, and slip away."
The orders were given as he directed, and the arrangements made; but when all was completed, and the boat was once more moving along the lake, the Indian by his side pulled the officer's sleeve, thus interrupting a speech he had just begun with a gallant air to Edith, and seemed to explain something to him in a low tone.
"Well, we shall soon find out," said the Frenchman, with a gay laugh. "If they be Iroquois, who are about to become Hurons, and take service under his Majesty, we will make them fight for us while we are going. We shall not have too many hands to help us, Great Elk, and they'll make a good reinforcement to your party. As for the lady and her attendant, I will take care of them." Then turning to Edith, with a courteous smile, he spread hisroquelaurein a more convenient part of the boat, and assisted her to seat herself more comfortably, saying--"Mademoiselle is a great deal too charming to travel any more with such savages. But may I know the name of this gentleman? Can he not speak French?"
"Not a word, I believe," replied Edith.
"That is singular!" exclaimed the Frenchman, giving expression to the general feeling of his nation, who seem to believe that the French language is one of those blessings of God which it is strange that he should deny to any of his creatures. "What is his name?"
It instantly passed through the mind of Edith that, if she gave her good companion the name of Captain Brooks, she would be certain to cause his detention as a prisoner of war; and she therefore merely replied--"He is called Woodchuck."
"Voodchick!" exclaimed the Frenchman; "quel drôle de nom!Is Monsieur Voodchick in the army?"
To the question thus put, Edith could fairly answer in the negative; for Brooks, though he had seen no little fighting in his day, was merely one of those amateur soldiers, then very common in the provinces, who rarely missed an opportunity of joining some band of volunteers in times of war with France, or fighting upon their own hand, according to the Scotchman's expression, as one of the extensive class called Stragglers. They generally bore away from the field, especially if they distinguished themselves, some military title, such as captain or major, without having commanded half-a-dozen men in their lives.
After having asked his questions and settled his conduct, the French officer's next business was, of course,politesse; and he would fain have engaged his lovely companion in gay and lively conversation during the rest of their little voyage; but Edith, though her mind was greatly relieved to find herself freed from the power of the Honontkoh, had many a subject of melancholy contemplation to occupy her. The dark and dreary consideration of her brother's fate--the uncertainty of what might befall her father and her lover--the separation from all most dear to her--the doubt, even now, whether she might not herself be detained a prisoner amongst strangers--all these reflections tormented her beyond endurance. Moreover, the war in America had hitherto been conducted by the French upon principles the most barbarous, and the most opposed to the ordinary characteristics of that nation. The scene which succeeded the capture of Fort William-Henry was a black and damning spot, never to be obliterated from the minds of men; and although it has been put forth by an American author as the only stain upon the character of Montcalm, Mr. Cooper must surely have forgotten the violated capitulation of Oswego, the death of the gallant De la Court, and the scalping and massacre of the sick in the hospital. All that we can trust is, that these barbarities were only permitted, not encouraged. But how can we account for or excuse--how can we even palliate--the voluntary delivery of twenty of the garrison into the hands of the savages, to be tortured to death under the very eyes of the French soldiery, in direct violation of the articles of capitulation, as compensation for the loss of twenty Indians? It is a fact which has never been denied, or it would be too horrible for belief.
Edith replied briefly, therefore, to the compliments and pretty speeches of her military companion; and in the meanwhile the boat proceeded rapidly over the surface of the lake, passed Crown Point, and entered the narrow portion of Champlain, which stretches from that promontory towards the spot where the Sounding Waters, as the Indians called the outlet of Lake George, flow into the greater lake near Ticonderoga.
The French officer, somewhat baffled in his attempts to make her speak, tried his fortune with Woodchuck, but with still less success; for, to everything he said in French, he received what can hardly be called an answer in English, and generally, it must be said, not a very civil speech, as Brooks was filled with all the absurd prejudices of his country, and never uttered the word "Frenchman," without coupling it with the epithet "rascally."
The voyage was brought to a close before night fell, for the boat stopped short by a mile or two of Ticonderoga, and somewhat further to the north of the spot where the ferry now exists. The scene would have appeared beautiful had Edith's mind been free to enjoy it; for in front were seen the tops of the several bold eminences round the French fort. On the one side were those rich lands, varied at that time with scattered masses of forest, though now highly cultivated, known as the New Hampshire grants; and, to the westward, a varied country, rising gradually to the foot of the Mohigan mountains.
The spot chosen for the landing was a secluded cove in the woods, where the shelving rocks broke through the soil, and dipped gradually into the water. Boats and canoes were all speedily hauled up, and the commander of the party, with delicate attention, handed Edith out, and then gave orders to his men to follow him, which was effected with rapidity and precision. The savages, under the orders of their chief, took care of the Iroquois prisoners, and apparently, by no slight act of forbearance, resisted the great temptation to possess themselves of their scalps.
When all had disembarked, the canoes were drawn safely up under concealment of the bushes on either side, and the voyageurs pushed off, and took their way up the lake again.
"I fear, mademoiselle," said the captain of the Frenchmen, who might have amounted in number to sixty or seventy, "I must trouble you to take a somewhat fatiguing promenade of four or five miles--at least, I am told that such is the distance, for I have never been here myself, and do not know the way."
"Then are we not going to Fort Ticonderoga?" asked Edith.
"Not so," replied the officer; "we are going a little beyond, and I shall have no opportunity of detaching any party whom I could trust to send you into the fort to-night. The Indians, indeed, could be spared--at least, a sufficient number to escort you--but I should really be apprehensive, from what I know of their habits, that you might not be quite so safe in their charge as under the protection of my musketeers, with your devoted servant at their head. We will endeavour to make you as comfortable as we can for the night; and I doubt not that, early to-morrow, I shall be visited by some superior officer, who will have the honour of conveying you to the fort."
"Then am I to consider myself as a prisoner?" asked Edith, in a cold tone. "I did not know that it was the habit of French officers to make women captives."
"So," replied the Frenchman, with a graceful bow; "we ourselves are much more frequentlytheircaptives; but, my dear lady, within the limits of this garrison I myself have no command--am merely acting under orders, and feel myself imperatively bound to send you and your companion, Monsieur Voodchick, to the commandant of the fortress, who will act, I am sure, as he finds befitting. I only regret that I cannot do so at once; but my orders are strict, my route marked out, and I am told to hasten across this small peninsula as fast as possible without approaching the fortress. It is certainly a rather long walk; but, if you feel fatigued, I can easily make my men construct a little litter and carry you. We shall find some preparations made for us where we are going, though I am afraid not very suitable for your use."
Edith evidently saw that remonstrance was in vain; and, saying that she should prefer to walk, she took the arm of Woodchuck, and explained to him, as they went, all that had passed between her and the Frenchman.
"I guess he is going to form an ambuscade," said Woodchuck. "If so, Miss Prevost, our army must be near, and we shan't be long in their hands. I wish to Heaven I could get away from them, and had but a horse to carry me," he added, thoughtfully, and with a sigh. "But it's no use wishing. God knows his own ways best! Them Hurons look very much like as if they would eat the Oneidas before they've done. Pray God they mayn't take such a fancy to us too!"
Thus saying, he took the place which was assigned to him and Edith in the march. A number of Indians preceded, several little parties moved upon the flanks, and the small body of French infantry marched on, two abreast, for the trail was barely wide enough for that number. Woodchuck and Edith followed them, and the French officer, with the Indian whom he called the Great Elk, walked next, succeeded by the Iroquois prisoners, a large quantity of baggage borne on men's shoulders, and the remainder of the Huron auxiliaries.
It was now twilight in the forest; and, for more than an hour after darkness had fallen upon the earth, the weary and rather perilous march was continued. Once, a small stream was crossed, Woodchuck taking up his fair companion in his sturdy arms, and bearing her over like an infant. Nothing of any note occurred, except a slow and low-toned conversation in the rear, which led Edith to believe that the Iroquois, her late captors, had found some of the other band of natives with whom they could converse; but she could not distinguish anything that was said.
Weary and exhausted, the sight of a fire at length glimmering through the trees, was exceedingly pleasant to her eyes; and, a minute or two after, a scene presented itself which might have looked dreary and comfortless enough under other circumstances, but which had a cheerful and comfortable aspect, after that long and gloomy march.
The trail which they had followed terminated in a small open space, flanked on three sides by low earthworks of no very regular construction, but evidently designed by an experienced military hand. The outer surface of these works was partially concealed by a thicket; and great care had been taken not only to preserve the brambles and the large-leaved raspberry, but to fill every gap in this shrubby screen with branches of pine, and hemlock, and maple. Within these embankments the ground had, to a certain extent, been cleared, though two or three of the larger trees had been left standing, to prevent a vacancy being apparent without. About the middle of the open space, a number of rude huts had been erected of small felled trees and branches; and before one, somewhat larger than the rest, a sentinel was seen planted, who, at the moment Edith came in sight, stood motionless, presenting arms as his comrades filed into the little quadrangle. Behind the soldier, and between him and the hut, was a large, blazing fire, which threw out his dark figure sharply outlined upon the flame.
"Ah, this will do," said the French captain, in a tone of relief. "The commandant has been careful of us. Mademoiselle, I welcome you to my redoubt, and will do the best to make the evening pass pleasantly to you. Now bring in the baggage, tell the cook to get supper ready, and you, Pierrot, see that hut properly arranged for this young lady's accommodation. I calculated on sleeping upon a very comfortable bear-skin to-night; but I will most willingly resign it to you, mademoiselle, in the hope of your passing a good night's rest."
Edith would fain have declined accepting a sacrifice so enhanced; but the captain insisted, and his servant, whom he called Pierrot, at once set about the preparations for her comfort with a degree of skill and dexterity truly French. In the meantime, while Edith, sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, waited till all was ready, and while a group of stragglers unpacked the baggage which had just been deposited from the sturdy shoulders of the bearers, the French officer called his friend the Huron chief to council; and Apukwa and the other Oneidas were brought before him, accompanied by two young Hurons, who undertook to act as interpreters. Many were the questions asked; and what between the captains' ignorance of Indian manners and the interpreter's ignorance both of French and Iroquois, the worthy officer seemed completely puzzled.
At length, however, after consulting the Great Elk in a low voice, he exclaimed,--
"Tell them that, if their tale be really true--though I've got my doubts, for I never heard of Freemasons amongst Indians before, and that must be what you mean by Honontkoh--but, if their tale be really true, they can stay here with us, and prove their devotion to the service of his Majesty Louis XV., king of France, by fighting the English at our side. They shall be sharply watched, however," he added, in a low voice, as if speaking to himself.
Apukwa heard his words translated; and then, saying something in reply, pointed to Edith and her English companion, with a look of two much meaning to be misunderstood.
"Nothing of the kind," answered the French officer, without waiting for the words which seemed about to follow. "Tell him there's but one choice: either to prove their story and their loyalty by fighting on our side, or to pass under the fire of these gentlemen." And he laid his hand upon a pile of muskets which stood close beside him.
This intimation was quite sufficient. The Honontkoh agreed to stay and fight, without any further conditions; and the Frenchman then gave strict directions, both to his own soldiers and to the Hurons, by whom they were much more likely to be efficiently obeyed, that their very doubtful allies should be kept continually in sight. He then seemed to cast all thought of the affair behind him, and turned towards Edith, who was already in the hut, saying,--
"I hope, mademoiselle, Pierrot has taken good care of you."
"With all the skill and courtesy of a Frenchman, monsieur," she answered, really pleased with the attention and almost fatherly kindness of the old soldier who had been arranging the hut.
"Then, now that you have the means of rest, it only remains to provide you with meat and drink," said the officer. "I see they have spread my table-cloth on the grass there. Will you and your friend come and partake of my fare? Pray make my words understood to him."
Woodchuck readily agreed to accept the Frenchman's hospitality; but Edith declined taking more than a little bread and some wine, alleging that she needed rest more than anything else. The French officer, however, would not be content with this, but with his own hands brought her some savory mess, which would not have disgraced a Parisian dinner-table, some choice wine, and, what was still more valuable to her, a small lamp. He then closed the hurdle-door of the hut upon her, and returned to his meal with Woodchuck, keeping up with him for half an hour a silent conversation by nods and signs, one half of which was probably unintelligible to both. The Frenchman then took possession of another hut, and invited Woodchuck to share it with him for the night.
But the stout woodsman declined any other covering than the sky; and stretching himself across Edith's door, was soon in profound slumber.