THE INDIAN QUEEN.
THE INDIAN QUEEN.
THE INDIAN QUEEN.
THE INDIAN QUEEN.
CHAPTER I.THE STROKE FOR A THRONE.
An Indian council-fire was lighted on the banks of Seneca lake; the flames streamed up cold and white in the radiance of the setting sun, and the heavy clouds of smoke, tinged like rainbows by its beams, rolled away over the forest and floated in transparent mist over the Iroquois village built on a picturesque curve of the shore. The glory of midsummer lighted up the woods and lay warm and bright on the beautiful lake. It was the season when all that was poetical and picturesque in savage life wore its richest charms—when those rude natives forgot all the hardships of the cold, stern winter, and yielded themselves to the indolent enjoyment of the long, sunny days.
A great stillness lay over the Seneca village; the people had come out of their wigwams and were gathered as near the council-fire as they dared approach, their picturesque dresses lighting up the background until they looked like a flock of strange tropical birds hovering around the flames which they dared not approach. About the council-fire were grouped the leading chiefs of the Six Nations’ tribes, who, for several weeks past, had been participants in the unusual feasting and merriment which had made the old forest joyous.
It was a band of noble, stately-looking men, sitting in a circle in the red firelight, grave and dignified as Roman Senators gathered in their forum, listening calmly to the various speeches, weighing carefully each word and bringing all the vivid power of acute minds to bear upon the matters in question.
In their midst stood a woman in the fairest bloom of youth, with her crimson robes falling so royally about her, and her every gesture so full of intellect and refinement that any stranger unacquainted with her history and her designs, might have almost believed with the poor savages, that she was a directmessenger from heaven to work their good. This was Mahaska, the white queen, or Mahaska the Avenger, as she loved to call herself. She was Katharine, daughter of Frontenac, the French Governor-General of Canada, by an Indian woman who was daughter of the Seneca chief Nemono. When, in accordance with the will of their dying prophet, they brought the half-white girl Mahaska to be their principal ruler, most of the chiefs among the nations were so deeply impressed by the last revelations of their beloved prophet that they accepted her presence and the state which she took upon herself with the blind fidelity of humbler members of the several tribes; but there were a few who, either from personal ambition or the contempt for women which made a part of their savage education, opposed her will in every way that they dared, and were trying their utmost to raise up a party which would enable them to counteract her rapidly-increasing influence. Mahaska, perfectly acquainted with their plans, and confident of her power to thwart them, only waited for the best moment to crush their schemes forever by some daring act or some craftily-woven plot, whichever should best suit her purposes and be likely to produce the greatest effect on the tribe.
Mahaska’s present ambition was a desire to wage war against the Delawares—a powerful tribe residing south of the Iroquois territory—who had been known to speak slightingly of her claims. This she deemed a favorable opportunity to prove her warlike powers to the Indians, and stronger still was her desire to avenge the slightest affront offered her by that powerful tribe and to crush any daring spirit among her own people that had the audacity to dispute her power.
As the council-fire flamed up and the chiefs grew more and more attentive, she spoke in her bold, imaginative way, carrying the hearts of the people along with her by her resistless eloquence, and noting the effect she produced by the occasional murmurs which broke from the multitude stationed in the background, in spite of the utter silence and decorum it was their habit to preserve on such solemn occasions.
She ended her thrilling appeal and turned toward the chiefs, folding her statuesque arms over her bosom and with the flame-tinted light quivering like a glory around her.
“Mahaska has spoken,” she said; “let the chiefs weigh well her words.”
“Mahaska’s voice is like the wind sent by the Great Spirit,” returned the oldest chief in the assembly; “it goes straight to the hearts of her brethren.”
“Mahaska speaks only as the Great Spirit commands her,” she said, “from the wisdom of the visions which he sends to her in the night time.”
The little knot of chiefs who were opposed to her whispered ominously among themselves—the woman’s quick eye noticed this.
“Do the braves meet at the council-fire to hold secret consultations?” she demanded, turning toward the old chief Upepah.
“They meet to speak their thoughts and wishes,” he answered; “why is Mahaska troubled?”
She pointed toward the little group and said in a low, silky tone, which, after the savages learned to know her better, they knew covered the fiercest and bitterest anger:
“Because, the Fox whispers among his friends and sneers at Mahaska’s words.”
The chiefs turned toward the little party with frowning brows, and murmurs of disapprobation broke from the people in the background, over whom Mahaska’s influence already was almost boundless.
The braves with whom the Fox had been whispering dropped slowly from his side, not daring to support his cause however strongly their wishes might go with his. He was a middle-aged man, with a peculiar depth of firmness and sullen obstinacy in his face. Though he looked slightly discomposed by this unexpected address, he bore the dissatisfied glances with cold dignity.
“Mahaska came among her people because the Great Spirit sent her, and because the Senecas asked her to come,” continued the woman. “It is not well that, in the very outset of her work among you, designing chiefs should whisper among you like bad spirits to counteract her great purposes.”
A murmur went up from the crowd in echo to her words:
“It is not well, it is not well!”
“Mahaska has obeyed her people’s wishes; she has chosena husband from among their chiefs; if the Iroquois will listen to her she will lead them on to new glory.”
“They listen and cherish her words,” returned Upepah, the old chief. “Mahaska has seen them rejoice over her coming—she knows that the hearts of our braves and our young maidens have been gladdened by her presence; let her have faith in her people. She is a great chief.”
She turned slowly toward him and lifted her face full upon him and smiled with a power of fascination which lighted up her features into wonderful beauty.
“It has been the dream of Mahaska’s life to be with her people,” she answered; “every wish in her heart has turned toward them as a young bird pines for its nest in the green leaves.”
“They have watched for her coming,” he said; “the young maidens and children have been taught to speak her name with reverence; they will come like children to hear the wisdom which she has learned among the whites.”
“Let the chiefs listen too,” she exclaimed, with the arrogance natural to her; “Mahaska has visions such as never were unfolded to their greatest prophets; she will teach them arts which will make them able to combat the cruel whites who are seeking to tread out the red-man’s footsteps from the broad lands their fathers owned.”
“The Iroquois have not had babes and cowards for their chiefs,” said the Fox, unable to keep silent, however unfit the moment to dispute her wishes, or however dangerous to himself might be the result of bringing the angry feelings between them to an issue before the council.
Mahaska scanned his lofty figure from head to foot; the smile did not leave her features, but it looked on the hardness of her face like sunlight playing over ice, and the light in her eyes deepened and grew vicious like those of a serpent just ready to spring.
“The chief is not content with the woman chief his people have chosen,” she said, in her lowest, softest tone.
“Mahaska mistakes,” he answered; “the Fox welcome her willingly as his brothers, but he never heard that she was to sit at the council-fire and be treated as a chief.”
“When Mahaska is not a chief she leaves the tribe forever,” she replied calmly.
“Mahaska is married; why does not Gi-en-gwa-tah her husband speak for her?”
The young chief to whom he alluded rose on the instant and answered with stately pride:
“Gi-en-gwa-tah is chief of the Senecas, but he can not know the visions which Mahaska sees; the Great Spirit converses with her as he did with our prophet, but her husband is like his brethren, only a warrior; he can not understand words from the Great Spirit.”
Mahaska gave him an approving glance and moved nearer the council-fire.
“Let the Fox speak,” she said; “what are his thoughts?”
Thus unexpectedly confronted by the woman armed with the double spell of her gorgeous beauty and the spiritual influence which she had over the minds of a superstitious people, the chief was at loss to reply. For a few seconds he sat silent while Mahaska watched him with a look of grave expectation.
“Why is the Fox silent?” she cried.
“He is not a woman that his words should fall easily and are lost, like the rain,” he answered.
“No!” she exclaimed, “he is silent because he is true to his name—because he is crafty and wants to work under ground; he wishes to carry on his plans in the dark and uproot the love of the people for Mahaska, but when he looks in her face he has no courage to speak.”
“Is the chief a child that he should fear to look a woman in the face?” the chief returned, contemptuously.
A deadly sweetness deepened the smile that still played over Mahaska’s lips. She evinced no other sign of the fierce passion which raged in her soul and which made her determine that the struggle between them should not be prolonged until the weight of his influence and years should be able to tell against her claims. The strife between them should end then and there—either disgrace or death should be his portion; she would risk all her power in one daring act.
As yet, though her influence was great, she could not count fully upon the savages. A few years later and the slavish submission to which she had reduced them was so entire that if she ever looked back upon that scene she smiled withcontempt at the hesitation and caution which she had been constrained to use. Her passion and desire for revenge now overswept all bounds, making her alike insensible to the future, personal safety, every thing that stood between her and the gratification of her unwomanly hate.
The words of the Fox were received with new signs of disapproval by the people; the elder chiefs looked puzzled and surprised; those who had promised to support him kept aloof; but all these things only excited the obstinacy of the Indian—he would not yield then. Gi-en-gwa-tah, Mahaska’s newly-made husband, had started forward at those contemptuous words, but a glance from his wife restrained him and he fell back among the leading chiefs, panting with rage.
Mahaska drew her figure to its full hight. She pointed her finger at the Fox with a look of withering scorn, and her voice rung out over the crowd clear and distinct as the tones of a trumpet:
“The chiefs hear!” she exclaimed; “the people hear; will they be silent? Years ago the Senecas were warned by their prophet that the granddaughter of the great Nemono would one day come among them; he bade them listen and obey her implicitly, and promised that she would make them the greatest tribe among all the Six Nations. Mahaska came—she had been reared by the Great Spirit for that purpose—even in her childhood she had visions such as never came to the wisest of your old men; she obeyed the voice of the prophet—she came among her people to lead them on to power and glory.”
Subdued acclamations went up, but she checked the sound by a gesture.
“Upon the very entrance to her career she is checked by this crafty Fox; he seeks to undermine her power; the Great Spirit has warned Mahaska how he plots against her, but she does not fear his snares. Mahaska must be respected and obeyed; her power is that of a prophet and a chief; she is led by the voice of the Manitou and she can never err. She will not argue with this base dog; she will not stand at the council-fire where he is permitted to stand; she will reveal no wishes of the Great Spirit—hold no communion with her people, until they promise to heed her will in all things.”
Even the presence of the chiefs could not restrain the cry of dismay which went up from the tribe at her words. The Fox heard the ominous sound and knew that his scheme of resistance had failed—the wily woman had forced on the struggle before he was prepared, and was crushing him under the suddenness of the blow; but to yield was not in his nature.
“The Fox was a great brave,” he said, “before Mahaska’s feet had learned to walk alone; her voice is only the voice of a woman; she has still many things to learn.”
There was a murmur from the crowd growing more and more excited; reverence to the girl had been taught them as a part of their religion, and they clung to the faith with all the blindness and intensity of their untutored natures.
Again Mahaska’s voice rung out with something so ominous and deep in its tone that even the obstinate savage quailed:
“Be silent while Mineto speaks through my voice,” she cried. Even her enemy started back and gazed on her with bated breath. “Mahaska came here at the request of her people,” she said, in that deep, persuasive voice that rolled like rich music through the throng. “She has been sent by the Great Spirit to give counsel to her people, to teach them new power and glory. Had she found already disobedience and insult? She will go away—will return to her white brethren. Let a boat be made ready—she will leave her people. Mineto commands it. When a chief of the tribes disputes her power she will not stay.”
There was a universal exclamation of terror at her words, and they crowded about her as if to prevent the fulfillment of her threat.
“The maiden speaks with too much fire,” still persisted the Fox; “her words leap out like a mountain torrent; those who rule should talk slowly and weigh well their words.”
At that instant a black cloud swept up the horizon and hovered directly over their heads; Mahaska was not slow to notice and to work upon their superstitious fears by pointing it out as an omen.
“Behold!” she exclaimed, pointing on high. “The Great Spirit sends a sign; he is angry with his people! Is this the welcome they give his messenger? Let them beware! Famine and pestilence shall weaken their strength; the whitemen shall take them as slaves; the glory of the Six Nations shall go out forever.”
They fairly trembled at her words, delivered with all the fire of an inspired prophetess. Angry murmurs rose around the chief who had incurred her anger; but with true savage obstinacy he would not yield.
“The Senecas have been a nation of warriors since the Great Spirit sent the red-men upon the earth,” said he; “it is not at the voice of a maiden that he will weaken their braves and destroy their women.”
The half-breed’s fury was now aroused to its deadliest heat.
“Either the lying-tongued warrior is given up to my vengeance,” she cried, “or I quit the tribe forever! Do not think to detain me—the Great Spirit would send down a chariot of fire from yonder cloud and bear me from your sight, did I not execute my wishes.”
“Let Mahaska decide!” exclaimed numberless voices; but the chiefs about the council-fire were silent, scarcely knowing how to act in this strange turn of affairs.
“Mahaska will not wait,” she cried, in a strong voice; “the chiefs hear the voice of the people; let them give up the lying dog or Mahaska leaves them forever. Behold the black cloud—how it spreads and deepens—coming nearer and nearer to snatch Mahaska from her tribe. So Mineto speaks; his voice breaks from the cloud.”
A low roll of thunder preceded her words by a single moment.
“No, no!” shouted the crowd. “Mahaska shall not go—give up the Fox to her—give him up! give him up!”
The doomed man sat motionless in his place; not a muscle quivered; not a line in his face betrayed the terrible suspense which he endured.
“Will the chiefs speak?” cried Mahaska; “are they dumbor do they dare to hesitate?”
She flung up both arms toward the black cloud and muttered words in a language unknown to them. The heavy cloud settled lower and lower as if approaching slowly at some mandate of her own. A quiver of flame ran through it, and the thunder that had but muttered before boomed out fearfully. Chiefs and people were alike terrified at the ideaof her being suddenly snatched from among them by supernatural means, and they cried out like the voice of one man:
“Let Mahaska’s will be obeyed. She is our prophet and Gi-en-gwa-tah is our chief.”
Rendered desperate by his situation, the doomed savage exclaimed:
“The Senecas are dogs to be led by a woman. The Delawares were right—they are dogs and cowards.”
A sudden rush was made toward the spot where he stood, but the woman sprung between the savages and her victim.
“Back!” she shouted. “Who dares to come between Mahaska and her prey!”
Her hair had broken loose from its coronet of feathers and streamed heavily over her shoulders; her rich dress flashed out in the firelight as the dusk increased; her face was like that of some beautiful fiend.
Before any one could move again she snatched a tomahawk from the belt of the nearest chief and flung it with unerring aim. A low, dull, horribleswashfollowed. The Indian gave one terrible cry—a fierce leap into the air, and fell dead upon the ashes of the council-fire.
“Mahaska has obeyed the great Mineto!” she exclaimed; “so perish all her enemies.”
She saw the savages standing stupefied, and pointed again to the cloud, which began to drift slowly away, sending back fiery threads of lightning.
“Behold!” she cried. “The cloud-chariot is floating off—Mahaska will stay with her people, but they must obey her, worship her, for she and Mineto are one!”
She rushed toward the prostrate body—tore off the eagle plume that decorated his head, fastened it in her hair, still crying wildly:
“Mahaska is sister to the Great Spirit; who dares doubt her now? She has killed a warrior and wears his plume. Mineto made her a prophet. She has made herself a chief.”
The warriors gathered in a circle around the council-fire. Mahaska stood in the center with one foot on the breast of her prostrate foe.
“Speak!” she said; “is Mahaska your prophet and your chief?”
“Mahaska is our prophet and our white queen. Gi-en-gwa-tah is her husband and our chief,” was the steadfast reply.
For one moment Mahaska’s face was as the thunder-cloud, but with acute foresight she saw that her power had been tasked to the utmost. The tribe was not prepared to acknowledge her as the supreme head of its warriors, and she was not yet strong enough to brave the band of chiefs that surrounded her.
Her face cleared. She looked down at the body of her foe and spurned it with her foot. With a fierce gesture she wrenched away the tomahawk which the dead chief still clutched in his hand, wielding it aloft.
“Mahaska has won her right to be called a chief,” she cried out, with fierce pride. “Do her people doubt now?”
Again that great shout went up:
“Our queen, our queen! We accept the gift of the Great Spirit. Mahaska shall be our queen forever!”
She stepped proudly into the center of the ring, her hand still grasping the tomahawk.
“Chiefs,” she cried, “behold Mahaska is now indeed a queen. The lightning crowns her. The great Mineto shouted from the sky when she clove that traitor’s skull.”
They crowded about her with subdued acclamations and lowly reverence; and there she stood in the fading glories of the sunset, with that cruel smile upon her lips, that deadly light in her eyes, to receive the homage of her people; yet her bosom heaved in its rage, that they had insisted on sharing her sovereignty with Gi-en-gwa-tah. She was queen, but he was chief and her husband.