CHAPTER XI.A NEW LINK IN THE CHAIN.
Mahaska sat motionless until she heard her husband’s footsteps die away from the outer room; then she laid the child back among the cushions and hurried to the window. She then pushed the draperies aside and looked out. From her stand she could see far up the lake, which was lying placid and bright in the afternoon sun. The whole scene was one of such pleasant summer tranquillity, so out of tune with her wild thoughts, that she gazed upon it as a lost spirit might look into heaven. She saw Gi-en-gwa-tah come out upon the bank accompanied by a couple of his men—stood there and watched the canoe unmoored, and all their preparations made complete. They were off at last, paddling swiftly up the lake; but still she watched them until the barque became a mere speck in the distance. Then she putsilver whistle to her lips and blew a shrill call—her usual summons to the squaws who attended upon her. When an Indian woman came in she motioned her to take away the child, resumed her eager walk for a few moments’ reflection, but soon hurried from the house. She walked down into into the village, pausing to speak kindly to a group of women sunning themselves on the grass, followed, as she always was, by looks of love and awe when she appeared among her people, and made her way toward the lodge inhabited by the old chief, Upepah.
He was sitting there in characteristic indolence, surrounded by several chiefs nearest his own age and dignity. When they saw Mahaska enter so unexpectedly they arose, with the grave courtesy she had taught them as her due, waiting in silence for her to declare the errand which had led to that unusual visit. Knowing that they were all in favor of her schemes against the French, there was no need for argument and persuasion.
“The queen has come to hold council with her father,” she said to the old chief, “and with the wise chiefs gathered about him.”
“It is well,” Upepah answered; “let the queen speak.”
She motioned them to be seated, and sat down among them, calm and deliberate in every action as was in accordance with their habits.
“The queen has tidings from the English chief,” she said; “his nation are out on the war-path against the French.”
They never asked how her information was acquired; in their strong faith in her supernatural powers they believed it easy for her to attain any knowledge.
“The time has come,” she continued, “to prove to the English that the chiefs were not deceiving them in their protestations of friendship—are they ready?”
They looked at each other with a little doubt. The gifts and promises of the British had made them eager for the new alliance; but the burning eloquence of Gi-en-gwa-tah had made them somewhat ashamed of the treachery they meditated, and they hesitated to take the first decisive step which should complete their double-dealing. Mahaska saw what was in their minds, and hastened to remove the fear that they were going to be called upon to commence open hostilityagainst their former allies. She had planned leading them to open war by degrees, entangling them so completely that a positive outbreak would be unavoidable.
“The English chief does not ask them to make ready for the war-path,” she said. “This is what he wishes, and the prophet has bidden Mahaska urge its fulfillment upon the chiefs.”
They listened eagerly, glad to depend upon the will of the spirits, as pronounced by the queen’s lips, and so cast from their minds any personal blame in the matter.
“Let the chiefs send out a band of warriors to watch the movements of the French—nothing more is desired. Mahaska herself will go with them. If, while they are gone, the French are guilty of any bad faith toward the Senecas, the chiefs will not have been the first to break the treaty.”
They looked from one to another, well content to have the matter thus arranged, and Upepah said:
“The queen speaks wisely—let it be as she wishes.”
“No time must be lost,” she urged; “before the sun is in the heavens to-morrow, Mahaska and her warriors must be on their way.”
“Let the queen decide,” they answered.
“Her own band will be enough,” she continued, certain that not a man among them would oppose her will in any way, but rather would second her efforts to bring on an outbreak between the French and the tribe.
She conversed with them for some time; all the plans were completed, and her guard warned to be in readiness at the appointed hour.
“The chiefs have acted wisely,” she said, as she arose to go; “the prophet is pleased with them.”
A satisfied murmur ran through the group. On the instant the thought flashed through her mind to choose this moment to plant in their minds a feeling of suspicion against Gi-en-gwa-tah stronger than she had ever yet ventured to arouse.
“The queen’s dreams are troubled,” she said, in a troubled tone, turning again toward them.
They looked at her in surprise, and then waited.
“The time has not come for her to speak openly; but her spirits have whispered strange words in her ear.”
“Will she repeat them to the chiefs?”
“She can tell them, because they are old men and very wise; but let them be silent for the present.”
“They will not reveal Mahaska’s words until she wills it.”
She went close up to the old men, and whispered:
“The prophet fears that the chiefs forced a choice upon Mahaska too quickly. The chief they made for her husband is false and ambitious, hating her for her visions and the love the people bear her. The prophet has warned Mahaska against his treachery; she will watch night and day; the spirits will make it known to her; then she will bring the matter before the whole people. Let the chiefs be silent until she returns.”
While they were still full of wonder and anger at her words, she passed quickly from among them, and took her way back to her palace by the lake. She had gained her ends; from that expedition she would not return until by some covert act she had put it out of the power of the tribe to continue at amity with the French; but the fiercest exultation in her breast was at the thought of the suspicion she had aroused against Gi-en-gwa-tah—a suspicion which should be carefully fanned until it burst into a flame that would consume him. It was now sunset; Gi-en-gwa-tah would not return until nightfall, and there was little fear of his even learning any thing about the expedition until morning. Then it would be too late for him in any way to thwart her.
That had been a long, dreary afternoon to the unhappy chief. When they reached their place of destination he left his companions to their sport and wandered away into the forest, anxious to be alone with the host of strange thoughts which had suddenly forced his mind into such restless activity. He could not have explained the feelings which tortured his heart; but, even in his untutored state, his faculties were singularly sensitive and imaginative. He was suffering the horrible grief and jealousy a civilized man might, when the first doubt in regard to the woman he loved arose in his mind—a doubt that she had never returned his affection—that, back in the life of which he knew so little, lay the only dream of love her heart had ever known.
There came, too, for the first time, a fear that she employed her supernatural gifts to further her own ends, her ambition and her hatred. He did not doubt the gifts ascribed to her, but he began to understand how all her powers tended toward absolute dominion, and he was stunned to see this woman, whom he had looked upon as a creature of a higher sphere, prove herself capable of using her prophetic wisdom as a means of personal aggrandizement.
But, even with the idea that she had loved the French Governor, there came no thought of accepting the means of revenge in his power against the man. By joining her plans the opportunity would have offered itself; but a reason like that could not tempt him to urge his people to break their pledge and plunge into a causeless war with those he knew to be friends.
So, in the midst of these torturing reflections, the long afternoon passed away, and in the dusk of evening he returned to his companions.
Their canoe sped swiftly down the lake, and once more Gi-en-gwa-tah entered his dwelling, but now dark shadows walked beside him and stood between him and the woman he had so blindly worshiped.
Mahaska received him with her brightest smiles, making not an allusion to what had happened, but conversing only of his day’s sport. She sat opposite him at the supper, spread, according to her habits, after the fashion of the whites, so gay and fascinating that he tried to think the dreadful thoughts of the day had been roused only by his own fancy.
He did not go down into the village, so no warning of the proposed expedition reached him, and Mahaska sat smiling at the success of her maneuvers as she furtively watched him.
The moon came up broad and full, and streamed into the apartment where they sat. Mahaska had an appointment at that hour, and, without deigning any explanation, she arose to go out.
“Mahaska is going away?” he asked.
“The prophet bade her be on the lake to-night in the moonlight; let Gi-en-gwa-tah go to his rest; perhaps Mahaska’s spirits will set the matter which troubles him at rest.”
He allowed her to depart in silence, no idea of opposition entering his mind. Those midnight communings on the lakealways had been her habit since she came among the Indians, so that there was nothing in her going out to excite his distrust.
Left to himself, all Gi-en-gwa-tah’s painful reflections returned, and he went out into the night to forget them in a hurried walk. With no thought of attempting to watch Mahaska he walked along the shore above his dwelling, lost in the sad thoughts which crowded upon his mind. He plunged into the depths of the forest and rushed away through its shadows, feeling a sense of relief in rapid action. Miles beyond the Indian village he came out upon the shore again, and stood on a little eminence looking across the lake. The moonlight lay soft and clear upon the waters; the shadows of the great trees were reflected in its depths; the summer wind sighed up softly from the wilderness and rippled the bosom of the lake until the broad sheet of silvery water sparkled and shone as if countless gems had been flung up from its depths. The tranquillity of the scene must have soothed the most agitated mind.
Unconsciously the chief’s mood changed, and he stood looking across the waves with a feeling of rest that he had not known during the whole long day. Suddenly his quick eye caught an object far out in the lake. He gazed intently; it drifted nearer until Gi-en-gwa-tah saw distinctly a canoe with Mahaska seated in it, the moonlight playing about her like a halo. He was turning away, believing that light supernatural, and a thrill of awe ran through his frame that he should unwittingly have been a spectator of her secret watch. Just then his eye was attracted by an object which changed the whole current of his thoughts. A canoe moved close by that in which Mahaska sat, and a man was clearly visible in it. Was it only a shadowy barque that he saw? Did her spirits take visible shapes and thus appear to her.
He stood spell-bound, divided between the superstition which made a part of his religious belief, and the jealous pang which wrung his breast. While he watched, trying to believe that it was no human shape or earthly barque, he saw the canoes parted company. Mahaska rowed swiftly away down the lake while the other boat sped off in a contrary direction.
Gi-en-gwa-tah watched the strange canoe disappear, still divided in his feelings—one moment tempted to rush up the shore and attempt to keep the barque in sight, the next checking the impulse as a wicked thought which, if carried out, might bring destruction not only upon himself but his whole people. Mahaska’s canoe had disappeared and the boat he watched was turning a distant point. At that moment a clear whistle sounded from it. He listened; no supernatural tones were they. Fragments of a melody he had heard among the pale-faces during his visits to Quebec, were given out by the whistler with careless grace.
Before the chief could recover from his stupefaction the canoe had disappeared, and Gi-en-gwa-tah stood alone in the still midnight, with his most terrible fears confirmed, his heart wrung and tortured with pangs undreamed before, and, worse than all, his religious faith—the faith in the spiritual powers of the queen which had made her so holy an object in his eyes—shaken to its very foundation.
After these first moments of agony, he rushed away down the shore, suddenly plunged anew into the forest and buried himself in its depths, not trusting himself to return to his dwelling until a few hours’ reflection had given him back something of his old strength and composure.
The gray dawn was breaking over the lake when Gi-en-gwa-tah emerged from the forest and approached his own dwelling. He saw Mahaska’s body-guard, increased till its number consisted of at least two hundred and fifty warriors, drawn up before the entrance to the palace. Filled with astonishment at the sight, with his mind so racked by the suspicions of the past that he was doubtful what their appearance there at that hour might portend, he rushed through the groups of savages collected about and entered the house. In one of the inner rooms he met Mahaska, face to face. She was attired after her usual fashion when going upon a long journey, and every thing about her betokened the haste of approaching departure.
“What are Mahaska’s warriors stationed by her palace for?” he asked, abruptly, with a sudden conviction that some treachery was intended by this sudden and secret move. “Whither is Mahaska going?”
She looked at him with undisguised triumph.
“The chiefs have desired Mahaska to go into the forest,” she said, “and watch the movements of the pale-faces; they are at war.”
“This hides some treachery toward our friends” he exclaimed; “Mahaska means evil.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah mutters still like an old squaw,” she said, scornfully; “but his words are weak as the wind; Mahaska is going forth.”
“Let her wait!” he exclaimed, passionately; “Gi-en-gwa-tah will see the chiefs; there have been false whispers in their ears.”
“The squaws of burthen may obey Gi-en-gwa-tah; the warriors who serve under him may heed,” she cried, “but Mahaska is queen of the Senecas and a prophet in the whole Six Nations; let the young brave choose other words when he speaks to her.”
Astounded at her air of defiance, and yet not to be put aside, Gi-en-gwa-tah plead earnestly with her for a few moments, but his words were idle. It was too late now to seek the chiefs; there was nothing for it but submission—the wily woman had outwitted him. She turned away without even a show of parting, and passed out of the house where her horse awaited. Gi-en-gwa-tah gave some order to one of the savages and followed. Mahaska was in her saddle, exchanging last words with a few of the elder chiefs who had come up to witness her departure, when Gi-en-gwa-tah rode up to her side mounted on his war-horse.
She stared at him in haughty anger and surprise.
“Whither goes Gi-en-gwa-tah?” she demanded.
“With Mahaska and her warriors,” he replied, with quiet firmness which she well understood.
For an instant it seemed as if she would give way to the storm of passion which this determination aroused; but it was checked by a sudden thought of the danger of such a course to her schemes at that moment of their initiation.
Let him go—she would not oppose it. During this journey the long-sought opportunity to ruin him should be found; in his blind obstinacy he had rushed toward the fate she held in store for him. Her brow cleared; she gathered up her reins with a smile.
“Mahaska is glad that the chief accompanies her; he shall be one of her warriors now.”
He did not return the smile, for he understood perfectly the meaning she intended to convey—that the expedition was entirely under her control, and that, in accompanying it, he went without any authority. Still, he did not falter in his resolve; hemustlearn the truth of his doubts concerning her. Besides that, his presence might be the means of preventing any trouble between her party and the French; but, in that, he counted upon an influence which he no longer possessed. Mahaska’s guard were bound to her by blind devotion, and her slightest wish would be their law. With them the chief was powerless.