CHAPTER VIITHE FIRST STORM.
Some new trouble had again broken out with a neighboring tribe, and Gi-en-gwa-tah went with a band of warriors to desolate their territory.
Mahaska, ever on the alert, perceived that a favorable moment had arrived for bringing the great body of chiefs to her views in regard to the English alliance. She had been craftily at work for weeks, but now she intended to urge her cause with boldness.
Delegates from several of the Six Nations chanced to be there, and that, added to the absence of Gi-en-gwa-tah, rendered the time a favorable one for acting promptly. She feared the honest rectitude of the chief, and knew that he would have great influence among the people; so she trusted to having matters so far settled before his return that any opposition on his part would prove useless.
The old chiefs were debating about the council-fire upon some unimportant matter. She sent them word, by one of her honorary body-guard, that she was coming to hold a consultation. Mahaska had appropriated to herself a guard of one hundred warriors, to be always at her command. When she wished to go upon the war-path the band swelled to twicethat number, and, during all the after years of her life, it was a mark of high distinction to be chosen a member of that body.
She had not yet gone personally into battle, though the time came when there was no carnage in which she did not take part—when for years and years her very name was a sickening terror among the whites, and the sight of one of the white queen’s private guard was a signal for coming slaughter which knew neither distinction nor mercy.
She presented herself among the chiefs, who received her with all possible honor, and waited to hear her errand.
“Queen Mahaska’s sleep has been troubled for many nights,” she said; “her visions have been vague and indistinct; but, of late, her anchor, the prophet Nemono, has spoken clearly to her again, and bid her speak words of wisdom to the chiefs.”
They bowed their heads, saying:
“We will hear the words of the great prophet.”
“For many, many moons,” continued Mahaska, “the Six Nations have been friends with the French; they have aided them in their wars, and have given their young men to die for them; they have helped them to preserve power and dominion to which they had no right. Is it not true? Let the chiefs answer.”
“It is true,” they said with one voice.
“But what have the French done in return for the red-men?” she went on, her voice deepening and her form dilating with new majesty. “They have offered many promises, but Mahaska can find no trace of their fulfillment. They have taken lands which were yours; they have treated your young men harshly; they have refused to buy your furs at honest prices—was this the conduct offriends? They laugh at you; they say that the chiefs are old squaws to be cheated with presents of tobacco and beads. Mahaska has dwelt among them; she knows their thoughts. They will spurn you like dogs when you have worked their bidding! Have the Six Nations no warriors that they submit to such insults?”
She hurried on with a passionate speech which carried her hearers blindly along the stream of her eloquence. She urged upon them the advantages of an alliance with the English,assuring them that it was desired by the prophet. She threatened them with the anger of the Great Spirit if they refused to obey, and, at length, worked them up to a pitch of enthusiasm which rendered them ready and willing to concede to her desires.
Three chiefs were appointed as a delegation to confer with the English Governor, from whom Mahaska had received such offers of friendship. She sent by them letters of instruction to the British authorities, and when every thing was done that was necessary to her plans she awaited Gi-en-gwa-tah’s return with composure, satisfied that it was then too late for him to demur to her schemes with any success.
The war-party came back at last, and when Gi-en-gwa-tah learned what had happened during his absence he was greatly troubled, and burning with indignation. He called a council at once, and made a speech full of feeling and honor to the chiefs, which was coldly received. During his absence Mahaska quietly and subtly had done much to undermine his influence; he was, therefore, totally at a loss to account for the change he perceived among his people.
He sought the queen with his mind full of bitterness. She understood these signs of discontent the moment she looked in his face, and said, coldly:
“Gi-en-gwa-tah brings back more frowns than scalps from the war-path.”
The cutting sarcasm increased his irritation.
“The queen has done an evil thing,” he said, gloomily; “she has listened to the voice of lying spirits.”
Mahaska sprung to her feet in sudden fury. She had grown so accustomed to undisputed sway that even the slightest opposition roused her to terrible passion.
“Who comes into Mahaska’s presence with false words?” she cried. “Has Gi-en-gwa-tah drank too much fire-water on his bloodless war-path that he enters here with such folly on his tongue?”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah speaks wisely,” he answered, with quiet dignity. “The French are our brothers; Mahaska should not have urged the chiefs to break their long-respected pledge.”
“Is Gi-en-gwa-tah to come between the queen and her dreams?” she demanded. “Mahaska hears the words ofwisdom from the lips of the great prophet—can Gi-en-gwa-tah translate them better than she? Let him beware how he opposes the wishes of the Manitou—how he brings shame on Mahaska!”
The chief looked in astonishment at the rage in her countenance—she was beginning to drop the mask which she had worn since their marriage.
“The red-men have no complaint to make against the French,” he urged.
“Let Gi-en-gwa-tah go and sew wampum with the squaws!” she insolently exclaimed. “He has not the spirit of a chief.”
The chief’s haughty spirit rose to meet her own at this insult, and he answered:
“The queen speaks biting words because she is a woman. Gi-en-gwa-tah can not fling them back in return.”
Her rage kindled more hotly at the response, and she exclaimed, in a low, terrible voice:
“Gi-en-gwa-tah’s feet are on hollow ground—let him take heed lest it give way under him.”
“What does Mahaska mean?” he demanded, quickly.
“That the people will cease to be the slaves of the false-tongued French; that, if Gi-en-gwa-tah does not join the other chiefs, he will lose caste in the tribe.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah will not consent to a wrong,” he said; “he will tell the people that they are deceived.”
“And Mahaska will go among them and say: ‘Regard that man—you desired him to be the husband of the queen whom you have reverenced and obeyed; he comes to you and says that her visions are false—her words those of lying spirits!’ Follow me to the council-fire—speak, and Mahaska will answer;come!”
She made a movement as if to rush away at once, but the chief did not move. His head sunk upon his breast—his face was dark with sorrowful thoughts. The idea of strife between himself and his idolized wife was terrible to him; he was perplexed and sorely at a loss how to act. He could not bear to think that this injustice should go on until the Six Nations had betrayed their trust, and proved themselves false to their pledges; yet, at the same time, it cut him to the heart to act in opposition to Mahaska’s wishes. He was too simpleminded and too full of his first love for her to think, as yet, that she could wittingly be acting a treacherous part. He had felt the most implicit faith in her prophesies. It was not her truth he suspected, but he feared that she had been deceived by some false dream-spirit.
“Why does not Gi-en-gwa-tah follow?” cried Mahaska, tauntingly. “Let him go among the people and tell them that their queen is a child—that she deceives herself and them—why does he not come?”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah only asks his wife to reflect.”
“Mahaska’s thoughts are like the flight of an eagle,” she interrupted; “and they fly alway toward the sun—Gi-en-gwa-tah’s thoughts are like owls that doze while others act.”
He was greatly irritated by her open contempt and unrestrained sarcasm, but he still answered with grave dignity that expressed far more sorrow than anger.
“When the chiefs return from their mission we will hold council again,” he said; “bitter words will not bring wisdom either to Gi-en-gwa-tah or the queen.”
“The Six Nations shall obey Mahaska,” cried the infuriated woman, cold and terrible in her rage; “sorrow and desolation shall smite him who opposes her! The race of Gi-en-gwa-tah shall become extinct—the children he hopes for, to be sunshine in his old age, shall rise up to curse him. Let him beware; he struggles against the Great Spirit; he will be uprooted like a pine tree smitten by the tempest.”
She looked a heathen prophetess inspired by her deity; her hands were outstretched, her form erect, her eyes blazing with passion. In spite of his firmness the chief was greatly troubled by her words.
“Mahaska’s heart has gone away from the chief,” he said, mournfully.
Words of deeper scorn rose to her lips. Her first impulse was to rush forth among the people, denounce him as a traitor and a coward and rouse all their fury against him. But she checked herself; it was better to wait. The people’s attachment to him was very great, and she might injure her own influence by too sudden action.
She therefore changed her demeanor; assumed a kindlier air; sat down by him and conversed more quietly—using allher arts to blind his clear judgment—appealing to his love—exercising unmercifully her great control over his mind; but through it all, the honest dictates of his soul broke through and through her schemes, and, in spite of the pleadings of his heart, refused to be convinced.