CHAPTER IX.

c309CHAPTER IX.MAHÉGA IS FOUND IN STRANGE COMPANY, AND WINGENUND DEFERS, ON ACCOUNT OF MORE IMPORTANT CONCERNS, HIS PLAN FOR THE LIBERATION OF HIS FRIENDS.—A COUNCIL, A COMBAT, AND A SKIRMISH, IN WHICH LAST THE CROWS RECEIVE ASSISTANCE FROM A QUARTER WHENCE THEY LEAST EXPECTED IT.We left Wingenund on his way to the Crow camp, revolving as he went various schemes for the deliverance of his friends. However slight was the faith which he was disposed to place in the honesty of Besha, he confidently believed that the horse–dealer’s self–interest would keep him true, at least for the time, to the party whence the greater rewards and presents might be expected. He knew also that Bending–willow was kindly disposed towards the prisoners, and would do all that was in her power towards engaging her impatient and hot–headed husband to favour their release. Nevertheless, the game to be played was a difficult one, especially as the consequence of any unsuccessful attempt might prove fatal to them as well as to himself.So intent was the youth upon these meditations that he forgot the distance and the difficulties of his circuitous route, his light elastic step bearing him over hill and vale with a speed of which he was scarcely conscious, and long before the sun went down he found himself at the further extremity of the mountain pass, which has been before mentioned as leading into the valley where the Crows were encamped, from a quarter exactly opposite to that where his own friends were stationed.As he was about to step across a small rivulet that trickledfrom the rocks above, lending a greener freshness to the narrow strip of grass through which it flowed, his attention was arrested by a recent footmark upon its margin. Starting with surprise, he stooped to examine it more carefully, it was plain and distinct, so that a less sagacious eye than his might have traced its form and dimensions. A single look satisfied him, and as he rose from his scrutiny, the name of Mahéga escaped from his lips.Without a moment’s hesitation he resolved to follow the trail of the Osage, and observe his movements, conjecturing that these probably boded no good to the Delaware party, although he felt at some loss to imagine what object could lead him to a quarter almost immediately opposite to that where they were encamped.The task which Wingenund had now undertaken was not an easy one, for the ground was hard and barren, and the short grass partly dried by the mountain winds and partly burnt by the summer sun, scarcely received any impression from the pressure of a foot, and the youth was compelled to pause so frequently in order to examine the scarcely perceptible marks of the trail, that his progress was far from being so rapid as he could have wished. Nevertheless he toiled perseveringly forward, his hopes being every now and then refreshed by finding on the descent of the steep hill–side an indication of the Osage’s tread that he could not mistake.Wingenund had followed the trail for several hours, when he caught a distant view of a slight column of smoke rising from a dell, the bottom of which was concealed by intervening heights. One of these, more rugged and lofty than the rest, lay at his right hand, and he climbed with some difficulty to the top of it, in hopes of being able thence to descry the spot whence the smoke arose. Neither was he disappointed in this expectation, for on reaching the height, he could see into the deep bosom of the mountain glen, where he clearly discerned a large body of men and horses, assembled round a fire; carefully noting the nature of the intervening ground, he redescended the hill, and again threw himself upon the trail of the Osage, which continued, as he expected, to lead him in the direction of the unknown band.As he advanced he felt the necessity of using the greatest caution lest he should inadvertently come within sight of anyscouts or stragglers from the valley below; but fortune and his own skill so far favoured his approach, that he reached unperceived a point whence he could more clearly see the circle assembled round the fire, and could distinguish the horses and the men sufficiently to ascertain that they belonged to some mountain tribe bent on a war excursion, as they had with them neither their women nor their lodges. With awakened curiosity and interest, the youth now crept to a spot at a little distance, where a confused pile of huge stones, here and there overgrown with stunted shrubs, offered a sheltered retreat, whence, without being himself seen, he could observe all that passed below. In making his way to the place he was somewhat surprised to find what might almost be called a beaten path, upon which the recent tracks of men and horses, as well as of bison, were clearly discernible.He had scarcely time to conceal himself, when he perceived two men coming directly towards his hiding–place, in one of whom he recognised the Osage chief, while the other belonged apparently to some tribe of Indians that he had never seen before. They came slowly up the path before–mentioned, stopping almost at every step, and conversing in the language of signs, by which means their expressions of mutual friendship were as intelligible to the quick–witted youth as they were to each other. The stranger was a fine–looking Indian, and though lower in stature than his gigantic companion, had the appearance of great muscular strength, and his dress betokened, according to Indian notions of magnificence, a chief of high degree. His black hair was clubbed behind his head, and fastened with several painted feathers bound with fillets of ermine; his hunting–shirt was of the skin of the mountain goat, and both it and his deer–skin leggins were ornamented with porcupine–quills, and fringed with the scalp–locks of enemies slain in battle; he carried in his hand a long lance, also decorated with scalp–locks, and at his back hung a quiver made from the skin of the panther, in which bristled a score of arrows beautifully tipped with sharp flint, and attached to it by a leather thong was a bow so short that it looked more like the plaything of a boy than the deadly weapon of a warrior.Wingenund wondered to what tribe the stranger might belong; and as the two Indians seated themselves upon afragment of rock only a few yards from the recess in which he was ensconced, he trusted that some signal would pass by which his curiosity might be afterwards satisfied; at all events, it seemed clear that they were already upon the best terms with each other, for they smiled and grinned, each placing a hand upon the heart of the other, after which Mahéga extended his arms like a flying bird, and then passed his right hand with a rapid movement round his own scalp; from which sign the youth instantly knew that their plot was to attack and kill the Upsarokas.“Double–tongued, cowardly snake!” said Wingenund to himself, “he made a league with the Dahcotahs to destroy his Lenapé friends, and now he makes one with a stranger tribe to destroy those with whom he eats and smokes.”That the youth rightly conjectured the object of the interview he could no longer doubt, when Mahéga, pointing directly to the valley where the Crows were encamped, repeated again the signals for attack and slaughter. Not a word passed during this time, excepting when the stranger drew from under his hunting–shirt a small whistle, made apparently either from a bone or a reed, and quaintly ornamented with stained quills and the down from the breast of some mountain bird; having applied this to his lips, he drew from it a peculiar sound, not remarkable for its shrillness, but different from any tone that Wingenund remembered to have heard before.After two or three attempts Mahéga succeeded in sounding it correctly; and nodding intelligently to the stranger, concealed it carefully in his belt; they then exchanged the names or war–cry, by which they were to recognise each other, Mahéga teaching his new friend to say “Washashee,” and learning in return to pronounce “Ka–in–na,” which he repeated three or four times so distinctly that Wingenund caught and remembered it. These preparatory civilities having passed, they proceeded to the interchange of presents, by which their alliance was to be cemented.Mahéga drew from his girdle a pistol, which he gave, together with a small leather pouch containing lead and powder, to the stranger chief, who received it with an air so puzzled and mysterious, that Mahéga could scarcely refrain from smiling. He turned the pistol over and over, looking down the barrel, and examining the lock with a curiosity that he carednot to conceal; he pointed it, however, towards a mark in an adjoining rock, and made a sound with his lips, which was intended to imitate its report, repeating at the same time the word “sachsi–nama,” as if to show that the name and use of the weapon were not strange to him, although he might never have seen one before. Mahéga then proceeded to show him how to use it, making signs that with it he might kill all his enemies; and upon the stranger expressing a wish to see an instance of its power, he placed a thin flat stone at the distance of a few yards, and split it in two at the first shot; after which he reloaded it, showing at the same time the use of the priming–pan and trigger.It was not without a look of gratified pride that he placed the pistol in his belt, repeating again and again, “sachsi–nama,” “nahtovi–nama.” He then unslung the short bow that hung at his back, and presented it, with the panther–skin quiver full of arrows, to the Osage chief, who received the gift with every appearance of satisfaction, and they parted, the former returning towards the encampment of his tribe, after he had told Mahéga that the name of the bow was “nutsi–nâma.”[84]For some time after the departure of his new ally, the Osage remained upon his seat examining the bow, which at first sight he had considered a mere toy, but which he found, to his astonishment, required all his force to draw it to its full power. Being formed of bone, strengthened throughout with sinew, it was stiff and elastic to an extraordinary degree; and although not more than three feet in length, would drive an arrow as far as an ordinary six–feet bow.When he had sufficiently examined his new acquisition, it occurred to the chief that he could not, without risk of detection,carry it into the Crow camp. He resolved, therefore, to hide it in a dry cleft of the rock, and take it out again after the issue of his plot should be decided.This resolution threatened to bring about an unexpected catastrophe, as it happened that he approached the very recess in which Wingenund was stationed. Drawing the knife from his belt, the youth stood in the inmost corner of the cavern, ready, as soon as discovery became inevitable, to spring upon his powerful enemy; but fate had otherwise decreed, and the Osage passed on to a higher and narrower cleft, where he deposited the quiver and the bow, carefully closing the aperture with moss and lichen.It was not until he had gone some distance on his homeward way, that Wingenund emerged from his hiding–place, and having possessed himself of the quiver and bow, returned slowly upon the Osage’s trail towards the Upsaroka camp, proving as he went the surprising strength of the weapon, and admiring the straightness and beauty of the war–arrows with which the quiver was supplied.[85]Following unperceived, and at some distance, the steps of the Osage, he found that the latter took a shorter, though a somewhat steeper and more rugged way than that by which he had come, so that very little more than two hours of brisk walking brought him within sight of the watch–fires of the Upsaroka camp, just as day closed, and their light began to shine more brightly through the valley. Availing himself of the shelter of a stunted pine, the youth lay down for some time, and did not re–enter the camp until late at night, when he made his way without interruption to Besha’s tent, giving to the outposts by whom he was challenged, the countersign taught him by the horse–dealer.On the following morning before sunrise, Besha was aroused by Wingenund, who told him that he had news of great importance to communicate to the Crow chiefs, and that no time should be lost before they were summoned to council. The horse–dealer rubbed his eyes as he wakened by degrees and listened to this intelligence, which he suspected at first to besome trick on the part of the youth for the liberation of his friends; but there was an earnest simplicity in his manner that carried conviction with it; and Besha endeavoured, as he threw on his hunting–shirt, and fastened his belt, to learn from the youth the nature and purport of his intelligence. The latter seemed, however, to be in no very communicative mood; he merely replied; “Wingenund speaks not the Upsaroka tongue; let Besha repeat to the council word after word what he hears, that will be enough; he will serve both the Crows and the Delawares, and will obtain thanks and presents from both. Let Mahéga, too, be called to attend the council.”The horse–dealer having departed upon his errand, Wingenund found an opportunity to detail briefly to Paul Müller and Ethelston the discovery that he had made on the preceding evening; but it may well be imagined that he could obtain from neither any information respecting the mountain tribe with whom the Osage was carrying on his treacherous intrigue.“Let my son boldly speak the truth,” said the missionary, “and leave the result to God.”“Wingenund never told a lie,” replied the young Delaware; and the bright, fearless expression of his countenance warranted the proud assertion.“How many are there in our crowded cities and churches,” said the missionary, looking after the youth as he re–entered the horse–dealer’s lodge, “who dare echo that speech? yet methinks, as far as memory and conscience serve him, he has said no more than the truth. I have known him from his childhood, and believe him to be as much a stranger to falsehood as to fear.”“They are cousins–german, my worthy friend,” said Ethelston, “and generally dwell together! I wonder not at the affection which Reginald bears to that youth; nature has stamped upon his countenance all the high and generous qualities that endear man to his brother. Let us endeavour to be present at the council which is now assembling; we have been such quiet prisoners that perhaps our guards will allow us to be spectators on this occasion.”Besha happening to pass at this moment, obtained for them the desired permission, which was the more readily granted that the Crow sentries themselves were desirous of seeing what was going forward, and knew that no danger could be apprehendedfrom the two unarmed captives. The spectacle that met their view when they issued from the lodge was striking and picturesque; runners had been sent throughout the camp, and all the principal chiefs, braves, and medicine–men were already assembled in a semicircle, the concave centre of which was formed by the lodge of White–Bull and his father, the latter of whom had put on for the occasion a magnificent head–dress of painted eagle–feathers which betokened his rank as head–chief of the band. The horse–dealer stood in front of his own lodge to the left, and frequent were the glances directed to him from all quarters, it having been generally understood that the council was summoned to consider matters brought forward by him. Behind him stood Wingenund, wrapped in a loose blanket, which partially concealed his features and covered entirely the rest of his person; on the opposite wing of the circle, and at a distance of twenty–five or thirty yards, stood Mahéga, his gigantic stature shown off to the best advantage by the warlike dress which he had put on complete for the solemn occasion, his neck and arms being covered with beads of various colours, and his fingers playing unconsciously with the weighty iron–pointed mace or war–club which had slain so many of those whose scalp–locks now fringed his leathern shirt and hose. The warriors and other Indians of inferior degree stood in the background, and some, anxious to get a better view of what was going forward, had perched themselves upon the adjoining rocks and cliffs, where their dusky forms, dimly seen through the mists which were now vanishing before the beams of the rising sun, gave a wild and picturesque effect to the scene.Nearly half an hour was consumed by the soothsayers or medicine–men in going through their formal mummeries to ascertain whether the hour and the occasion were favourable for the proposed business, and it was not until the medicine–pipe had been passed round, and the chief functionary had turned gravely to the north, south, east, and west, blowing to each quarter successively a whiff of medicine–smoke, that he gave his permission for the council to proceed with its deliberations.During all this time a profound silence reigned throughout the camp, the women suspending their scolding, chattering, and domestic avocations, and even the children peeping, halffrightened, from behind their mothers, or stealing away to some spot where they might laugh and play without fear of being whipped for disturbing the solemnities.The venerable father of White–Bull now returned the great pipe to the medicine–men, saying, in a voice distinctly audible throughout the circle: “Besha has called the chiefs and braves of the Upsaroka together; they are come—their ears are open—let the one–eyed man who brings horses from the far prairies, speak with a single tongue.”Thus called upon, the horse–dealer stepped forward, saying: “Besha is neither wise in council, nor a chief among warriors; he has travelled far among the eastern tribes, and he knows their tongues; he stands here to give out of his mouth what goes in at his ear. Let the Upsaroka warriors listen; they are not fools, they will soon know if lies are told to them. Let them look at this youth; his blanket is that of Besha’s slave; he is not what he seems; he is a son of the Lenapé, a friend of the Whites; yet he is come alone into the camp to show to the Upsaroka that a snake is crawling among their lodges.”A murmur ran through the assembly as Besha pronounced these words, and pointed to Wingenund, who, throwing the blanket into the hollow of his left arm, advanced to the front, and with a slight inclination to the old chief, awaited his permission to proceed.The youth, the graceful form, the open countenance, and the dignified bearing of Wingenund, as he stood forward in the assembled circle, prepossessed the Crows strongly in his favour, and they awaited with excited curiosity the intelligence that he had to communicate; but their chief did not appear disposed to gratify their impatience, for after whispering a few words to a messenger who stood beside him, he relapsed into silence, scanning with a fixed gaze the countenance of the young Delaware. The latter bore the scrutiny with modest, yet undisturbed composure, and not a voice was raised in the council until the return of the messenger, conducting a Crow doctor or conjuror, somewhat advanced in years, who took his station by the chief, and gave a silent assent to the whispered orders that he received.It may well be imagined with what mingled feelings of surprise and indignation the haughty Osage beheld the youngDelaware thus standing forward in the midst of the council–circle; that his presence boded no good to himself he well knew; but how and wherefore he came, and why he, belonging as he did to a hostile band, was thus permitted to appear before the assembly of Crow warriors, he was quite at a loss to understand. His suspense, however, was not destined to be of long duration, for as soon as Besha, in obedience to a signal from the chief, had desired Wingenund to speak what he had to say, the youth came another step forward, and said in a clear voice—“There is a snake among the lodges of the Upsaroka; a hidden snake, that will bite before its rattle is heard.”The Crows looked from one to the other as Besha translated this sentence, and the old conjuror gave a slight nod to the chief, indicating that the youth’s meaning was rightly given. It may be as well to inform the reader that the said conjuror had in early life been taken prisoner by the Pawnees, with a party of whom he had been conveyed to a great council held with the Indian agents at St. Charles’s, in Missouri, respecting the cession and appropriation of territory. Several of the western Delawares had been present at this meeting, which was protracted for many weeks, and the Crow prisoner had picked up a smattering of their tongue, which, however slight it might be, had occasioned him to be sent for on this occasion to check any propensity for untruth that might be entertained by the horse–dealer. Whether the latter was influenced by these, or by other motives, he rendered faithfully the conversation that ensued, and therefore it is not necessary to notice further the part played by the interpreter.“Who is it that speaks?” demanded the old chief, with dignity: “the Crows open not their ears to the idle words of strangers.”“Then let them shut their ears,” replied the youth, boldly. “Before another sun has set they will wish they had listened to the words of Wingenund!”“Who is Wingenund? Is he not an enemy? have not his people shed Upsaroka blood? why, then, should they believe his words?”“Wingenund is the son of a Lenapé chief. For a thousand summers his fathers have hunted over forest and plain beyond the Great River. Wingenund has heard of their deeds, andhe will not stain his lips with a lie. The Lenapé have taken Crow scalps in defence of their own, Wingenund will not deny it; but he came here to serve his white friends, not to hurt the Upsaroka.”On hearing this bold reply, White–bull bent his brow fiercely upon the speaker; but the youth met his eye with a look of bright untroubled confidence, while he quietly awaited the chief’s further interrogation.“Let the son of the Lenapé speak, but let him beware,—if his tongue is forked, the Upsaroka knives will cut it out from his head.”“Wingenund is not a woman, that he should be frightened with big words; when he speaks, the truth comes from his lips; and if he chooses to be silent, the Upsaroka knives cannot make him speak,” replied the youth, with a look of lofty scorn.“Is it so?—we shall see,” cried White–bull, springing forward, at the same time drawing his knife, with which he struck full at the naked breast of the youth. Not a muscle moved in the form or countenance of Wingenund; his eye remained steadily fixed on that of the Crow, and he did not even raise in his defence the arm over which his blanket was suspended. Nothing could have saved him from instant death, had not White–bull himself arrested the blow just as it was falling, so that the point of the knife scratched, but did not penetrate the skin. Wingenund smiled, and the Crow warrior, partly ashamed of his own ebullition of temper, and partly in admiration of the cool courage of the young Delaware, said to his father, “Let him speak: there are no lies upon his tongue.”The old man looked for a moment sternly at his son, as if he would have reproved him for his violence, in interrupting the business of the council, but apparently he thought it better to let it pass; and, turning towards Wingenund, he said, in a milder tone than he had yet used, “Let the young stranger speak if he will, his words will not be blown away; if he has seen a snake, let him show it, and the chiefs of the Upsaroka will owe him a debt.”Thus appealed to, Wingenund, slowly raising the forefinger of his right hand, pointed it full upon Mahéga, saying, in a loud voice, “There is the snake! Fed by the hand of theUpsaroka, clad in their gifts, warmed by their fire, he now tries to bite them, and give them over to their enemies, even as his black heart and forked tongue have before destroyed those whom he called brothers.”It is beyond the power of words to paint the rage of the conscious Osage, on hearing this charge: he concealed it, however, by a strong effort, under a show of just indignation, exclaiming aloud, “The Upsaroka warriors are not fools, that they should believe the idle words of a stranger boy, a spy, who stole into their camp by night, and now tickles their ears with lies.”“The young Lenapé must tell more,” said the old chief, gravely, “before the Upsaroka can believe bad things of a warrior who has smoked and fought with them, and has taken the scalps of their enemies.”Thus called upon, Wingenund proceeded to relate distinctly the circumstances narrated in the last chapter. His tale was so clearly told, his description of the locality so accurate, that the attention of the whole council was riveted, and they listened with the most profound attention. A cloud gathered upon the brow of White–bull, and the gigantic frame of Mahéga swelled with a tempest of suppressed passion. Independently of the dangers that now threatened him, his proud spirit chafed at the thought of being thus tracked, discovered, exposed, and disgraced by a boy; and his fury was heightened by observing the bright eye of the Delaware youth fixed upon him with a steady searching gaze, indicative at once of conscious truth and triumph. Still he resolved to hold out to the last; he trusted that after the great services he had rendered in battle to the Crows, they would at least believe his word, before that of an unknown youth, who came amongst them under such suspicious circumstances. These reflections passing rapidly through his mind, restored his disturbed self–possession, and enabled him to curl his haughty features into an expression of sneering contempt.Great was the excitement among the Crows, as Wingenund described, with unerring minuteness and accuracy, the dress and equipments of the stranger with whom Mahéga had held the interview; and there was dead silence in the council when the interpreter was ordered to inquire whether he knew to what tribe the strange Indian belonged.“Wingenund knows not,” he replied; “but he heard the name that was taught to the Osage, as the battle–cry of his new allies.”“E–chĭ–pētă!” shouted the impetuous White–bull, who had already recognised in the youth’s description one of the warriors of the Black–feet, the hereditary enemies of his tribe.“It was not so,” replied Wingenund gravely. “Ka–in–na[86]was the name; it was twice spoken.”A deep murmur ran round the assembly, White–bull exchanged a significant glance with the nearest of his braves, and again a profound silence reigned throughout the assembly.Mahéga now felt that the crisis of his fate was at hand, and that every thing must depend on his being able to throw discredit on the tale of Wingenund. This was not, however, an easy task, for he suspected Besha of a secret leaning to the Delaware side, while the fierce and lowering looks of the bystanders showed him how little was wanting to make the smothered flame burst forth.These indications did not escape the aged chief, who spoke a few words in a serious and warning tone, the purport of which was to remind them that the present council was sacred to the Medicine, and was not to be desecrated by any violence or shedding of blood. He concluded by saying, “Let the Washashee speak for himself, and let Besha give his words truly, if he does not wish to have his ears cut off.”Thus admonished, the horse–dealer lent all his attention to the Osage, who came forward to address the council with an imposing dignity of manner that almost made the most suspicious of his hearers doubt the truth of the accusations brought against him.Being now in front of the semicircle, which was not more than twenty yards in width, he was directly opposite to Wingenund, who stood forward a few feet in advance of its other wing. The contrast offered by the stature and bearing of the accuser and the accused, the slight active frame, the youth and grace of the one, and the haughty air and gigantic bulk of theother, struck Ethelston so forcibly that he could not forbear whispering to Paul Müller, “Worthy father, does not the scene recall to mind the meeting between the Hebrew shepherd and the giant of Gath?”“It does, my son; and I misjudge the looks of the Osage if they part hence without the shedding of blood. I have long studied his countenance, and, however skilfully he has subdued its expression, I can trace the full storm of passions raging within his breast.”Further discourse was prevented by the commencement of the Osage’s speech, which he delivered with a tone and gesture of indignation, suitable to one who declared himself injured and belied.He began by recapitulating the services that he had rendered to the Crows, the faithful warriors that he had lost in their cause, and their valuable presents concealed in the câche, to which he was even now conducting them; on the other hand, he painted the injuries they had received from the Lenapé, who had come into their country in league with the white–skins, the bane of their tribe and race, that their hands were still wet with Upsaroka blood; and “whose is the forked tongue,” said he, “that is to cover with lies and dirt the fame of the great chief of the Washashee, the sworn brother of the Upsaroka?—Who but a boy, a stranger, a liar, and a spy, telling his idle dreams to the council to break the friendship of warriors whom his cowardly tribe, and their pale–faced allies, dared not meet in the field!”During the whole of this tirade, which was delivered with much vehemence and gesticulation, Wingenund stood motionless as a statue, his calm eye fixed upon the excited countenance of his opponent with an undisguised expression of contempt.Receiving no reply, Mahéga continued: “Chiefs and brothers, you are wise in council—men of experience; your ears will not be tickled with the idle songs of this false–tongued singing–bird; a messenger who brings such news to the great council of the Upsaroka—who tells them that their brother who has fought by their side, and smoked at their fire, is a forked snake, he must bring something better able to convince them than the cunning words coming from his own lying lips!”These words, supported by the commanding tone assumed by the Osage, were not without their effect upon the minds of that fierce and deeply–interested assemblage.Wingenund waited until the speech of his antagonist had been translated to them, when he replied, with unmoved composure, “If the Crow warriors require better witness than words, it is not difficult to find; they have already been told that the Kainna stranger gave to Mahéga a present of a bow and arrows, which he hid in the rocks; Wingenund took them out, and here they are.”As the youth spoke he dropped the blanket that had been thrown over his left arm and shoulder, holding up to the council the bow and arrows, which all present instantly recognised as being made and ornamented by the Black–feet.“Are the warriors yet convinced,” continued the youth, raising his voice, “or do they wish for more? If they do, let them seize the Washashee wolf, they will find in his belt—“He was not allowed to finish the sentence; the storm that had long been brooding, now burst in all its fury. Mahéga, driven to desperation by the damning evidence brought against him, and reckless of all save the gratification of his fierce revenge, whirled his iron–pointed mace around his head, and launched it with tremendous force at Wingenund.Never had the latter, even for an instant, taken his falcon eye off the Osage; but so swift was the motion with which the weapon was thrown, that although he sprung lightly aside to avoid it, the spiked head grazed and laid open his cheek, whence it glanced off, and striking an unlucky Crow who stood behind him, felled him, with a broken arm, to the ground. Even in the act of stooping to escape the mace, Wingenund fitted an arrow into the Black–foot bow which he held in his hand; and rising quick as thought, let it fly at his gigantic adversary, with so true an aim, that it pierced the windpipe, and the point came out at the back of his neck, close to the spine. While the Osage, half strangled and paralysed, tugged ineffectually at the fatal shaft, Wingenund leaped upon him with the bound of a tiger, and uttering aloud the war–cry of the Lenapé, buried his knife in the heart of his foe. With one convulsive groan the dying Osage fell heavily to the earth; and ere the bystanders had recovered from theirastonishment, his blood–stained scalp hung at the belt of the victorious Delaware.For a moment all was tumult and confusion; the few remaining Osages made a rush towards Wingenund to avenge the death of their chief, but they were instantly overpowered and secured with thongs of pliant bark, while White–bull sprang into the arena of combat, and in a voice of thunder shouted to his warriors to stand back and unstring their bows.During the brief but decisive conflict the appearance of Wingenund was so much changed, that Ethelston declared to his friend afterwards that he should not have recognised him. The muscles of his active frame swelled with exertion, while the expanded nostril and flashing eye gave to his countenance an expression of fierce excitement, almost amounting to ferocity. Now that the struggle was over he resumed, without an effort, the habitual quiet gentleness of his demeanour, and turning to Besha, said, “Let the Upsaroka chiefs look below the belt of that dead wolf; perhaps they will find the signal whistle of the Kainna.”The horse–dealer stooped; and searching, as he was directed, found a small leathern bag, on opening which there fell out, as Wingenund had said, the whistle of the Black–foot chief; a yell of indignation burst from the assembly, some of the nearest of whom vented their rage by bestowing sundry kicks upon the inanimate remains of the treacherous Osage.Popularity is a plant that springs up as suddenly, and perishes as rapidly, among the tribes of the Western wilderness, as among the mobs of Paris or of London; and Wingenund, whose life would scarcely have been safe had he been found an hour earlier in the Crow camp, was now its hero and its idol. To say that the youth was not elated, would be to say that he was not human; for he had avenged the slaughter of his kindred, and had overcome the most powerful and renowned warrior in the Missouri plains, the fell destroyer of the race of Tamenund. But so well had he been trained in the school of self–command, that neither Ethelston, nor Paul Müller who had known him from his childhood, could trace in his demeanour anything different from its usual quiet modesty; and they waited, with no little impatience, to see what results would ensue from this triumph in respect of their own release.The Crow chiefs and warriors did not forget, in the excitementof the scene just described, the threatened attack to which the treachery of Mahéga had exposed them; and they now crowded round Wingenund, while White–bull put many questions to him, through Besha, respecting the position and apparent numbers of the Black–feet, to all of which he answered with a precision that increased the high opinion that they already entertained of his quickness and intelligence. White–bull even condescended so far as to explain to him his own projects for withdrawing his band from the neighbourhood of the formidable Kainna to some more secure position. A slight smile curled the lip of the young Delaware, as he said to Besha, “The counsel of the Crow chief does not seem good to Wingenund: if White–bull will agree to his terms, he will place the Kainna chief, and half a score of his best warriors, as captives in this camp before to–morrow at midday.”A general murmur of surprise followed these words; and White–bull, somewhat nettled, inquired what might be the terms proposed.“They are,” said Wingenund, “first, that the two white prisoners shall be immediately restored to their friends; secondly, that the Osages shall be given up to the Lenapé; thirdly, that there shall be peace and friendship between the friends of Wingenund and the Upsaroka until the snow falls again upon the earth.”The leaders having conversed apart for a few minutes, White–bull said, “If Wingenund fails, and the Kainna take many scalps from the Upsaroka, what will happen then?”“They will take the scalp of Wingenund too,” replied the youth calmly.Again the Crow chiefs consulted together for some time, and at length they resolved to agree to the terms proposed by Wingenund. The medicine–pipe was brought, and was passed from the chief to him, as well as to Ethelston and the missionary; after which Wingenund said to White–bull, “There is no time to be lost; let sixty of the best warriors be chosen, twenty to go with Wingenund, and forty with White–bull; and let one be found, very large and tall; let him put on the dress of Mahéga; Wingenund will take the whistle, and all will be ready.”A short time sufficed to collect and marshal the party; and Ethelston was, at his own earnest request, permitted to jointhe band led by the Delaware youth, being anxious to see the manœuvres about to take place, and Besha having made himself responsible for his fidelity.Wingenund led the way at a swift pace, until he gained the summit of the first range of hills; nor did he slacken it until he had crossed the valley beyond, and stood upon the opposite brow of the heights, whence the Black–foot band was visible. Here he concealed and halted his party, until he had crept forward and examined all the range of hills within sight. As soon as he had satisfied himself that all was quiet, he drew his party gently on, and at length succeeded in hiding White–bull and his forty men behind some rocks in the steepest and narrowest part of the gorge leading down to the glen below. His quick eye had noted the spot before, and a more minute inspection now convinced him that there was no other pass by which the enemy could ascend the height, and that a handful of determined men might defend it against ten times their number.Having warned White–bull to keep his own men close, and to stir neither hand nor foot until he heard the Lenapé war–cry, which was the appointed signal, he retreated with his own band of twenty men to the point where the interview between Mahéga and the Black–foot had taken place, which was about forty yards higher up the mountain, and where the gorge was almost as narrow and precipitous as at the pass below. Here he concealed his men among the rocks, and Ethelston primed and loaded three rifles, which they had taken from the Osages, and which were now destined for the use of Wingenund and himself.For several weary hours the youth watched in vain for the approach of the Black–feet; and any nerves less steady than his own would have been shaken by the remembrance of the disagreeable consequences that might result from the failure of his plot. He lay, however, still and motionless as the stone upon which his elbow rested, until, just as the grey hue of evening was beginning to steal over the landscape, he descried an Indian slowly ascending the steep, followed at a distance by a long line of warriors. A low whistle from Wingenund warned his party to be ready, but he moved not until the advancing band were sufficiently near for him to recognise in their leader the chief who had conferred with Mahéga on the preceding day.While they were approaching in careless security, the Crows prepared for the attack, each man being provided with a tough halter of bison–hide, in addition to his usual weapons of bow, knife, and war–club; and the leader of the Black–feet had already passed the lower gorge (where White–bull and his party were concealed), ere he sounded the signal preconcerted with Mahéga. Wingenund immediately replied by a similar sound drawn from the whistle which he had secured, desiring at the same time the Crow who wore the dress of the slain Osage to show himself at the edge of the rock skirting the pass. The Black–foot chief, completely deceived, toiled lazily up the steep and narrow ascent, beckoning to his men to follow; and just as he reached the upper station, Wingenund, seeing that twelve or fourteen of them were now fairly caged between the party below and his own, leapt from his concealment upon the astonished leader of the Black–feet, and dealing him a blow on the head that stunned and disabled him, shouted aloud the war–cry of the Lenapé.No sooner was the signal uttered, than White–bull rushed from his ambuscade, and seized the pass below; so that the unfortunate Black–feet, enclosed between the two parties, panic–struck by the suddenness of the attack, and the fall of their leader, could neither fight nor fly; and in spite of their desperate but unavailing attempts at resistance, were all in the course of a few minutes disarmed and securely bound.Meanwhile the main body of their comrades made a gallant attempt to force the lower pass, but it was so stoutly defended by the Crows, and was in itself so narrow and difficult, that they were soon forced to retire with loss. Neither could those who succeeded to the command bring them again to the attack. The war–cry of the Lenapé had never before been heard in these glens, and the dismayed Black–feet thought that the evil spirits were fighting against them; while to increase their terror, Ethelston and Wingenund fired two of the rifles over their heads, the bullets from which whistled past them, and the echoes of their report, prolonged by the rocks and crags around, died away at length like the muttered thunder of a distant storm. Terrified by the suddenness of the attack, and by the noise of the fire–arms, ignorant of the number, position, and even of the nation, of their unexpected assailants, and fearful that another manœuvre might cut off their retreat,they fled precipitately down the mountain–side, and halted not until they brought their tale of disgrace and disaster into the Kainna camp.In the course of a few hours after the events above narrated, Wingenund and White–bull stood together before the lodge of the aged chief of the Crows, whom the former addressed as follows:—“My father, see there the Kainna chief, and twelve of his best warriors; they are prisoners; their life hangs upon my father’s breath; the promise of Wingenund has not been blown away by the wind.”Besha having duly translated this address, was desired by the old chief (whose astonishment was scarcely exceeded by his delight) to bestow the highest praise that he could express upon the young Delaware’s skill and courage; to which effusion of complimentary eloquence he replied: “My father, Wingenund has not seen many summers; he has no skill in speech, nor experience in council; but he knows that the Great Spirit loves a single tongue, and a true heart. Mahéga was cunning as a wolf, swift as a deer, strong as a bison–bull; but there was poison in his heart, and lies dwelt under his tongue, like snakes under a smooth stone. What is the end? The mountain–buzzards pick his bones; and when his children ask,—where is the grave of Mahéga? there shall be none to answer. My father, when the sun has risen, the treaty shall be made, the pipe of peace shall be smoked, and the Medicine of the white tent shall bring many good things to the Upsaroka.”Having thus spoken, Wingenund retired to the lodge of Besha; and the captive Black–feet having been placed under a guard, White–bull remained in consultation with his father, while the other warriors soon forgot in sleep the fatigues of the past eventful day.c310CHAPTER X.WINGENUND AND HIS FRIENDS RETURN TOWARDS THEIR CAMP.—A SERIOUS ADVENTURE AND A SERIOUS ARGUMENT OCCUR BY THE WAY.—SHOWING, ALSO, HOW THE EXTREMES OF GRIEF, SURPRISE, AND JOY MAY BE CROWDED INTO THE SPACE OF A FEW MINUTES.The result of the consultation between White–bull and his father was, that the terms of the treaty made with Wingenund should be strictly observed; but lest the ingenuous reader should be misled into the belief that this resolution was influenced by any considerations of good faith or honesty, it may be as well to inform him that the advantages and disadvantages of the two opposite courses were discussed with the most deliberate calculation, and the path of honour was at length selected upon the following grounds:—First.It was expedient to make friends with the allied band, inasmuch as the latter were formidable enemies, from their courage, skill, and equipment.Secondly.They had many bales of cloth, blankets, and other goods, of which they would probably make liberal presents to their friends: and,Thirdly.The Crows having just incensed and triumphed over their hereditary foes the Black–feet, they might expect reprisals from the latter; in which event, the alliance of a band commanding upwards of twenty “medicine–fire–weapons,” was not to be despised.Having embraced this resolution, and communicated it by secret messengers to the principal braves and conjurers, the worthy sire and son summoned them to a grand council on the following morning, at which the treaty was ratified in due form; Wingenund, Paul Müller, and Ethelston representing the allied band, and each party loading the other with praises and compliments, until the oily tongue of Besha was almost weary of translating and retranslating their expressions of mutual amity and fidelity.The four unhappy survivors of Mahéga’s band were now brought forward, their arms being securely pinioned behind them, and Besha inquired of Wingenund his wishes concerningthem. It needed only a word from his lips, and they would have been stabbed, burnt, or more slowly tortured to death on the spot. The youth looked at them sternly for a moment, and Paul Müller trembled lest the vengeful instinct of his race should guide his decision; but he replied, “Wingenund will take them with him to the Lenapé camp. War–Eagle, Netis, and the Black Father shall hold a council, and what they think best it shall be done.”Ethelston, Paul Müller, and Wingenund now prepared to bid adieu to their Crow friends, it having been agreed that White–bull, accompanied by some of his principal braves, should visit the Delaware camp on the following day to interchange presents, and confirm the alliance thus happily and unexpectedly commenced; and, as a further proof of his friendly disposition, the Crow chief permitted Bending–willow to send a girdle of delicate fawn–skin, adorned with feathers and stained quills, to the “Great Medicine of the white tent.”Wingenund had still kept possession of the three Osage rifles, one of which was in the hands of Ethelston; and the other two he now loaded, and offered one to Paul Müller.“Nay, my son,” said the missionary, smiling, “these hands are not skilled in the use of the firelock; neither do they desire to be acquainted with any weapon more dangerous than this oaken staff. The shedding of human blood would ill beseem a humble minister of the Gospel of Peace.”“The words of the Black Father,” said the youth respectfully, “are full of goodness and truth; but he must not forget that the path lies over rough and dangerous places; that there are four prisoners, who may attempt to overcome or escape from us, and that we may meet enemies by the way; therefore Wingenund wished to give the Black Father a weapon to defend himself.”“The motive, my son, was natural and blameless; nevertheless, I purpose to abstain from handling any deadly weapon, and to entrust my personal safety to Him who has so marvellously preserved us through trials, captivity, and dangers innumerable. My children,” continued the worthy man, in the English tongue, “before we depart hence to revisit our friends, let us together thank God for the great mercies shown to us; let us implore his further protection for ourselves and all dear to us; and let us humbly entreat him, in his own good time,to soften, turn, and enlighten the hearts of these benighted children of the wilderness, so that they may hereafter, with us, be brought to his heavenly kingdom.”As he said these words, the venerable missionary dropped upon his knees, Ethelston and Wingenund kneeling beside him, while he uttered a fervent prayer, which embraced, in simple, yet eloquent language, all the objects above alluded to.Great was the surprise of the Crows at the attitude of the three, and their sudden abstraction from all that was passing around; but Besha having whispered to the chief that they were talking to the Great Spirit, he made a signal that profound silence should be observed, fearful that if they were disturbed, or anyways annoyed, they would invoke evil upon himself and his tribe.The prayer was concluded, and they were about paying their farewell salutations to the chiefs, when the low wailing of a female voice from an adjoining lodge caught the missionary’s ear—an ear to which the accents of distress ever found immediate entrance. Having desired Besha to inquire into the cause of her complaint, he learnt that she was the wife of the man who had been struck down by Mahéga’s war–club, after it had grazed the cheek of Wingenund, and that her husband was now lying in a state of great misery and suffering. In spite of a gesture of impatience from the Delaware youth, whose feet burned to be upon the homeward path, the missionary approached the sufferer, and carefully examined his condition. He found that the bones of the broken arm had been joined with tolerable skill and success, and that it was well secured by bandages to a straight splinter of pine–wood; but, whether owing to the roughness of the treatment, or the pain he had undergone, he was now in a high and dangerous state of fever. The missionary had still concealed in his girdle a small bag, containing, among other medicines, a few powders exactly adapted to the emergency; of these he mixed one with a little water, and having given it to his patient, left another with Besha, desiring that it might be administered at noon, and that no meat should be given to him until the following day. “With these remedies, and with the blessing of the Great Spirit,” said he, as he retired, “the man will soon be well.”“Did I understand rightly,” said Ethelston to Wingenund,“that White–bull comes over to–morrow with his braves to complete the treaty with us, and exchange presents?”“It is so settled,” replied the youth.“Would it not then be better to let him and his men bring with them the Osage prisoners? They are four desperate men, and only we two are armed; if they mutiny by the way, we shall be obliged to shoot them in self–defence.”“My brother does not know the Washashee and the Upsaroka,” said Wingenund, smiling; “both of them love the Pale–faces and the Lenapé as the wolf loves the deer. No, my brother, let the prisoners go with us; our eyes must be open; if they try to run away or do us harm, the rifle must keep them quiet.”The youth spoke these words in a low, determined tone; and Ethelston feeling that he could not gainsay their truth, listened while Wingenund repeated the warning to the Osages in their own tongue, informing them that if they made the slightest attempt to escape, or demonstration of violence by the way, they would be instantly shot; a sullen and silent inclination of the head, signifying that he was understood, was the only reply; and once more greeting their Crow allies, the little party moved off in the direction of the Delaware camp, Wingenund leading the way, with a loaded rifle in his hand, the Black–foot bow and quiver slung at his back, and a knife and pistol, taken from one of the Osages, being fastened in his girdle; next came the four prisoners, with their arms still pinioned, but their legs entirely at liberty; Paul Müller and Ethelston brought up the rear; the latter carrying two loaded rifles, one in his hand, and the other slung over his shoulder.It was a beautiful summer morning, the grey mists had arisen from the valley and curled in spiral folds round the rugged and precipitous rocks that frowned above it. Short and scant as was the herbage, still as it glistened in the early dew, and hung forth its diamond drops in the sun, it imparted a touch of sweetness to scenery, the dreary barrenness of which might otherwise have oppressed the mind of the traveller with a feeling of desolation. Never, perhaps, over that, or over any other mountain track, passed a lighter foot or a more rejoicing heart than that of our young friend Wingenund. The dreams of boyhood, dreams that a few weeks ago he had himself deemed visionary, or at least remote, were already accomplished;he had won the gold spurs of Indian chivalry: in the dance, or the council, or the field, neither envy nor detraction could now forbid his mixing with the braves and warriors of his tribe; and his heart exulted within him as he thought of presenting to Netis and War–Eagle the scalp of their arch–enemy, the insolent captor of Prairie–bird, the great warrior of the Osages, slain by his own hand. These were feelings which the boy–hero could share with none, for with Ethelston he was as yet little acquainted, and Paul Müller he knew to be averse to all thoughts of strife and conflict; still the feelings arose unchecked and unrepressed within his bosom when he remembered the name by which he was called, the deeds of those who had borne it before him; and mingled with these memories of the past came the proud reflection, that wherever the Delaware tongue was yet spoken among the scattered bands of the Ancient People on the banks of Missouri and Ohio, of Susquehana and Miami, the song of Lenapé warrior and Lenapé maiden would tell how the scourge of their tribe, Mahéga, the Bloody–hand, had been slain by Wingenund, the brother of War–Eagle!The events of the preceding days had been to the youth the realised romance of his life; and as he strode along the mountain side, he felt as if his expanded chest were a world too narrow for the high emotions that swelled within it.Perhaps it may seem unnatural to the reader, that amidst all the excitement of awakened hope, ambition, and exultation, the youth forgot not for a moment the perils by which he was surrounded. It is our business to describe the Indian character, not as it might be, if designed “to point a moral or adorn a tale,” but as it is, with all those lights and shades which distinguish it from that of white men; and one of the most remarkable features—one which has also escaped the observation of those writers who are chiefly quoted as authority on this subject—is that power of reserved abstraction which the mind of the Indian acquires as a result of an early and constant habit of control over the will. Thus, during the wildest flight of his imagination, and the highest aspirations of his ambitious hopes, under an excitement which would have rendered an English youth of his years blind, and deaf, and careless for the moment of all that was passing around, the quick eye of Wingenund roved with incessant motion fromhill to vale, embracing every hollow that might contain an ambush, and every crag near his path that might give shelter to a foe.Ethelston conversed little with the missionary, for there was a thought which lay close to his heart, and made its pulses throb more quickly at every step that he made towards the Delaware camp. Already they were within a few miles of it, when, in passing a streamlet that flowed across their path, Wingenund suddenly turned and proposed to his companions to refresh themselves with a drink.Passing the Osages, he came back to Ethelston, and said to him, while the missionary filled a small tin cup with water, “My brother’s eyes have been shut, let him be ready now; one of the prisoners is free, and has almost cut the bands of a second.”Accustomed to dangers and emergencies, Ethelston did not start nor take any outward notice of the young Delaware’s observation; but he replied, “It is true, I have been heedless; but it is not too late to repair the error: seize him while he is drinking, I will secure the others; do not take life if it can be avoided.”Wingenund took the hint and carried the cup round, offering a draught to each of the pinioned Osages, without appearing to notice the severed thong hanging from the wrist of the one who had freed himself.Thus thrown off his guard, and thinking he was unsuspected, the Osage stooped to drink from the cup, when Wingenund seized him with his left hand, and, presenting a pistol to his breast, said to him in his own tongue, “If you stir, you die.”Reckless of consequences, and despairing of mercy in the Delaware camp, the fierce Osage sprang upon the youth, and strove to wrench the pistol from his grasp. Being a powerful man, he might have succeeded in the attempt, had not a blow from the butt end of Ethelston’s rifle laid him stunned and prostrate on the ground.The three other prisoners, seeing their comrade’s helpless condition, ceased from the violent efforts which they had been making to free themselves, and by the time that he had recovered from the effects of the blow, his arms were pinioned more strongly than before, and the thongs by which the others were fastened were re–examined and secured.While engaged in this operation, Wingenund showed to Ethelston a sharp flint with which the Osage had cut his own bands, and had begun to separate those of his next comrade in the line of march: a few minutes more and his hands would also have been free, in which case the task of our two friends would not have proved so easy.Ethelston well understood Wingenund’s meaning as the latter showed him the half–cut thong on the wrist of the second Indian, and he said, “I confess I was blind, my young friend, and am ashamed of myself! you will have but a low opinion of my talents as a warrior.”“My brother’s eye may have wandered a little,” replied the youth, smiling, “because he is not skilled in the Washashee tricks; but his heart is in the right place, and his hand knows how to strike; a few suns will rise and set before the skull of that dog forgets what my brother bestowed upon it.”“It was time to strike hard, because I did not wish to strike twice. As I had requested you not to shoot, I felt that I had made myself answerable for your safety, and if that second fellow had succeeded in freeing his hands, we might have had some troublesome work of it. But tell me, Wingenund, how did you, while walking in front, discover what was passing behind you?”“The Osage told me himself,” replied the youth, again smiling.“I do not understand you, for assuredly he never spoke.”“Not with his tongue, but plainly enough with his face. I looked round once or twice, and my eye met his; I saw there was mischief, for he looked too good. When I passed to ask you for the cup, I looked again, quickly, but closer, and saw that his hands were free, though he kept them together as before.”Ethelston could not forbear laughing at the youth’s notion of the ill–favoured Osage, “looking too good;” but feeling both amused and interested by his replies, he again said, “I must own my admiration of your quick–sightedness, for doubtless the Osage tried to make the expression of his face deceive you.“He has not the face of an Indian warrior,” said the youth, scornfully. “When a deed is to be done or concealedlet my brother try and read it in the face of War–Eagle, or any great chief of the Lenapé! As well might he strive to count the stones in the deepest channel of the great Muddy River,[87]or the stars of heaven in a cloudy night!”The party had now struck a broad trail, leading across the valley, and up the opposite height, in the direction of the Delaware camp; the Osage prisoners were therefore sent to the front, and ordered to march forward on the trail by which means Wingenund enjoyed the advantage of watching their movements, while he continued to converse with his friends.“I own,” said Ethelston, “that I had not before considered a command over the muscles of the countenance as being a matter of so much importance in the character of an Indian warrior.”“Nevertheless the youth is right in what he says,” replied Paul Müller. “Where cunning and artifice are so often resorted to, a natural and unconcerned air of candour is an admirable shield of defence: the quickness of sight which you lately observed in Wingenund, is an hereditary quality in his race. The grandfather of Tamenund was so celebrated for it, that he was called by a name signifying ‘The man who has eyes in his back:’ he was killed only twenty years ago, during the fierce irruption made by a band of the five nations into the valley of Wyoming, to which the old man had retired in the hope of closing his eyes in peace.”“I have heard of that tragedy,” said Ethelston; “indeed, it occurred while I was at school on the banks of the Muskingum; and often as the boys went or returned, they used to frighten each other with cries of ‘The Indians!’ but I have since been much absent from my own country, and never rightly understood who were the actors in that scene of terror, and what were the tribes usually known by the name of the Six Nations, for so I have always heard them called.”“There were in fact only five,” replied the missionary; “for although the Tuscaroras joined the confederation, they did not originally belong to it. These five are known among white men by the following names:—The Mohawks, Oneidas, Cayugas, Onondagas, and Senecas; and it was a band of the latter that made the irruption into the valley of Wyoming. I dare say that Wingenund knows more of them than I do, for he often heard Tamenund speak of them, and he knew their history like the traditions of his own tribe.”“Wingenund has not forgotten,” replied the youth, “what his grandfather taught him concerning the Five Nations. The names spoken by the Black Father are those commonly given them; but they call themselves otherwise.”“Tell me, Wingenund,” said Ethelston, “the names by which they are known among themselves?”“The Mohawks are called Coningionah. The Oneidas, Oni–eut–kah; or ‘The people of the standing–stone.’ The Cayugas, Senanda Wanandu–nah; ‘The people of the great pipe.’ The Onondagas, Nundagekah; ‘People of the small hill.’ The Senecas, Nundawâ–gah; ‘People of the big hill.’ But the council name of the last is different.”“What do you mean by the council name?”“Many of the nations have more than one name, and the council name is never spoken except by the chiefs and wise men in council; the women and boys seldom know it; and if they do, they must not speak it.”“Did Tamenund tell you the council name of the Senecas?”“Yes; it is Oni–hoout, ‘Those who shut the door;’ because the Senecas live the furthest to the south–west, and guard the others from the approach of their enemies.”[88]“It always appeared to me,” said Ethelston, turning to the missionary, “that the variety and arbitrary alteration ofIndian names present an insuperable barrier in the way of any inquiry into their national or local history.”“Certainly, my son; the difficulty is great, and proceeds from various causes:—First, because it is frequently, perhaps generally, the case among Indian nations, that the son takes the name of the mother, and not, as with us, that of the father. Secondly, there often are, as you have just learnt from Wingenund, two or three names by which the same person or tribe is designated. Thirdly, nothing is more common than for a warrior to receive a new name from any daring or remarkable feat that he may have performed, in which case his former name is dropped, and soon forgotten: and, lastly, it must be remembered, that we, American, Germans, and English, have obtained the greater part of our Indian nomenclature, both as to persons and places, from the French; who, in the various capacities of possessors, adventurers, missionaries, voyageurs, hunters, and interpreters, have overrun almost the whole of this continent before us.”“It is, then, your opinion that the French travellers and writers from whom these names have been chiefly derived, have been very careless and inaccurate in their transcription of them?”“Extremely so. When they first reached and descended the Mississippi, they called it the ‘Colbert;’ afterwards, on finding what a magnificent river it became when it received the waters of the Missouri, they call it ‘La rivière St. Louis,’ by which name it was known for many years, until insensibly it recovered its Indian appellation. When the adventurers came to any unknown tribe, they called them by some name descriptive of the accidental circumstances under which they first saw them, and these names they have ever since retained. Thus, the Winnebagoes in the north happened, when first visited, to be drying fish in their camp, and thence obtained the pleasant name by which they are now known, ‘Les Puans!’ Another band, some of whom had accidentally been scorched, by the prairie and underwood near their encampment taking fire, have ever since been called ‘Les Bois–Brulés;’ another, ‘Les Gros Ventres.’[89]The Dahcotah nation they have called ‘Les Sioux;’ the Aricará, ‘Les Ris;’and so forth, until it is difficult, if not impossible, to recognise any of the original Indian names under their French disguise.”“I grant this,” said Ethelston. “Yet we must not forget that the English have in several instances laid themselves open to the same charge; otherwise the great nation to which our young friend belongs would not have been called after a Norman baron! But you will surely allow that the early French missionaries in North America were men of great piety, learning, and enterprise?”“It is true, my son, many of them were so; and none can feel more grateful than I do to such of them as laboured sincerely in the service of the Gospel. Yet I am bound to say, that in the best authorised account which they sent to France from Natchez of the surrounding country,[90]there is so much pedantry, prejudice, and fancy, mingled with highly interesting information, that the book cannot be quoted as one possessing historical authority. A writer who gravely infers that the Mississippi Indians came from the north–eastern straits, from the identity of the Choctaws with the people of Kamchâktâ (or Royaume des Chactas), must expect that some of his other arguments and speculations should be received with diffidence.—But see, we have reached the summit of this range, and Wingenund’s sparkling eye is already fixed upon the tent of Prairie–bird.”“There it is!” said the youth; “they have moved it since I came away, and placed it on that point nearer the stream.”Little did he suspect what had occurred during his brief absence, as, with a foot light and elastic as his heart, he put himself at the head of his little party, and led the way swiftly towards the camp.As the party drew near the camp they fell in with the outpiquet on guard in that quarter, consisting of one of the Delaware braves and two of his men, to whom Wingenund entrusted his Osage prisoners, adding, “Give them water and food, but let them not escape.”The brave looked full in the face of the youth, then his eye roved from the scalp at his belt to the pinioned Osages, and a grim smile played across his features; but they almost instantly relapsed into the grave and gloomy expression thatthey had before worn; not another word was spoken, and the three passed on towards the white tent. As they drew near, they saw a group of hunters, among whom were Pierre and Bearskin, sitting round a smouldering fire, some smoking, and others engaged in mending their mocassins or cleaning their pistols and rifles. There was neither joke nor song amongst them; and although they started up to welcome their rescued and returning friends, the latter perceived that something was wrong, and it was with aching and foreboding hearts that they returned the friendly greeting, and passed onwards towards the tent, before which they saw Reginald and Baptiste in earnest conversation.Reginald no sooner saw them, than he sprung forward to embrace Ethelston, exclaiming, “God be praised for this great and unexpected comfort!”Ethelston looked in his friend’s face; and its expression confirming his apprehensions, his lip grew pale and trembled; he gasped for breath, as, pressing Reginald’s hand within his own, he said, “Speak—speak! tell me what has happened?” then pointing to the tent, he added, “Is she safe?—is she well?”“She is safe—she is well!” replied Reginald; “nevertheless—“Ethelston heard no more, but a deep groan relieved the oppression of his heart, as he ejaculated, “Blessed be the God of Mercies!” and covering his face with his hands, stood for a moment in silence.Reginald was surprised at this extraordinary emotion in his friend, usually so composed and calm, and at the deep interest that he took in one whom, although betrothed to his intended brother–in–law, he had not yet seen. But he added, gravely, “God knows, my dear friend, that my gratitude is not less fervent than yours. Precious as her life is, it has however been ransomed at a price dearer to me than aught else on earth besides herself. Wingenund,” he continued, addressing the youth, and affectionately taking his hand, “you are the son of a race of heroes; is your heart firm? are you prepared to suffer the griefs that the Great Spirit thinks fit to send?”They youth raised his dark eyes to the speaker’s face; and subduing by a powerful effort the prescient agony of his soul, he said in a low tone, “Let Netis speak on; the ears ofWingenund are ready to hear what the Great Spirit has sent.”“Dear Wingenund, alas! War–Eagle, our beloved brother is—““Dead!” interrupted the youth, letting the butt of his rifle fall heavily to the ground.“Nay, not yet dead, perhaps worse than dead; for he is hurt beyond all hope of cure, yet suffers torture such as none but himself could endure without complaint.”It was fearful for those who stood by to witness the agonising struggle of emotions that convulsed the frame of the young Delaware on receiving this announcement; for War–Eagle had been to him not only a brother, but father, companion, and friend, the object on whom all the affections of his young heart had been concentrated with an intensity almost idolatrous! Yet even in the extremity of anguish he forgot not the rude yet high philosophy of his race and nurture; he could not bear that any human eye should witness his weakness, or that any white man should be able to say that Wingenund, the last of the race of Tamenund, had succumbed to suffering. Terrible was the internal conflict; and while it was yet uncertain how it might end, his hand accidentally rested upon his belt, and his fingers closed upon the scalp of Mahéga; instantly, as if by magic, the grief of the loving brother was crushed by the stoic pride of the Indian warrior.“War–Eagle is not dead; his eyes shall look upon the scalp of his great enemy slain by the hand which he first taught to use a bow; and when he goes to the hunting–fields of the brave, our fathers may ask him, ‘Where is the scalp of the destroyer of our race?’” Such were the thoughts that shot like wildfire through the brain and through the breast of the young Delaware, as with a countenance almost haughty in its expression, he drew up his graceful form to its full height, saying, “Where is War–Eagle? Wingenund would see him. Let the Black Father go too; perhaps his healing skill might avail.”“I will not deceive you, dear Wingenund; no human skill can avail our departing friend. He is now within the tent; Prairie–bird watched with him all the night; she spoke to him often words from God’s own book, and they seemed to comfort him, for he smiled, and said he would gladly hear more.She has retired to take a few hours’ sleep, then she will return and resume her sad but endearing task.”“Wingenund will go to him; but first let Netis say whence the wounds of War–Eagle came. Have enemies been near the camp?”With the eloquence of deep feeling Reginald briefly related the circumstances attending War–Eagle’s devoted and heroic defence of Prairie–bird from the bears.Ethelston and Paul Müller listened with suspended breath, and as he concluded exclaimed together, “Noble, brave, and generous War–Eagle!” while the youth, pressing his lips together as if steeling his breast against softer impressions, said in a low tone, “‘Twas well done; few are the warriors whose single knife has reached the heart of a grisly bear. Let us go on to the tent.”Reginald led the way, and, lifting the flap, entered, followed by Ethelston, Wingenund, and Paul Müller.The chief was seated in the centre, propped by bales of cloth and fur; his sunken eye was closed from sleeplessness and exhaustion, and a blanket loosely thrown over his shoulders, covered the emaciated remains of his once powerful and athletic frame. At his side lay his favourite pipe, his war–club, knife, and rifle; while the faithful Lita, stretched at his feet, strove in vain to restore their natural warmth, by applying to them hot stones enveloped in the shreds of a blanket, which she had torn up for the purpose. The entrance of the party was not unmarked by the wounded chief, and a smile passed over his wasted features when he unclosed his eyes, and recognised Wingenund and the two others whom he had rescued from the Crows.“The Black Father is welcome,” he said, in a faint, but cheerful voice, “and so is the friend of Netis; and War–Eagle is glad to see the face of his brother Wingenund.”We have seen how the youth had, by a desperate effort, nerved himself to bear, without giving way, the description of his brother’s wounds and hopeless condition; yet when the feeble tones of that loved voice thrilled upon his ear, when his eye fell upon the wasted frame, and when he saw written upon that noble countenance proofs not to be mistaken, of torture endured, and death approaching, the string which had refused to be relaxed started asunder, and he fell senseless to the ground, while a stream of blood gushed from his mouth.Half–raising himself by the aid of his yet unwounded arm, War–Eagle made a vain effort to move towards his young brother, and his eye shone with something of its former eager lustre, as he said, in a voice louder than he was deemed capable of uttering, “Let the Black Father lend his aid and skill to the youth; he is the last leaf on the Unâmi branch; dear is his blood to the Lenapé.”“Dearer to none than to me,” said the missionary, raising and supporting the unconscious youth, “for to him I owe my liberty, perhaps my life. ’Tis only the rupture of a small blood–vessel; fear not for him, my brave friend, he will soon be better.”While Paul Müller, assisted by one of the Delawares who stood at the entrance of the tent, carried the youth into the open air, and employed the restoratives which his experience suggested, the chief mused upon the words which he had last heard, and inquired, addressing himself to Reginald, “What said the Black Father of his life and liberty being given by Wingenund?”“Tell the chief, Ethelston, what has befallen, and how you and Paul Müller were rescued by Wingenund. In my deep anxiety for my suffering friend, I was satisfied with seeing that you had returned in safety, and never inquired how you escaped.”Ethelston drew near to the wounded chief, so that he might distinctly hear every syllable spoken, and said, “War–Eagle, as surely as Prairie–bird owes her life and safety to your devoted courage, so surely do the Father and I owe our lives and liberty to that of Wingenund. Can you listen now, and follow me while I tell you all that has happened?”The chief gave a silent nod of assent, and Ethelston proceeded in the simple language of true feeling, to relate to him the events recorded in the last chapter. At the commencement of the narrative, the chief, expecting, probably, that the escape had been effected by some successful disguise or stratagem, closed his eyes, as if oppressed by the torturing pains that shot through his frame; but he opened them with awakened interest, when the scene of the council was described, and at the mention of Mahéga’s name, he ejaculated “Ha!”—his countenance assumed a fierce expression, and his hand unconsciously grasped the war–club that lay beside him.Reginald listened with deep interest, and even Lita, who hadhitherto appeared insensible to every thing except the sufferings of her beloved lord, threw back the long hair from her eyes, marvelling what this might be that so excited and revived him; but when Ethelston related the catastrophe, how Mahéga had thrown his club, slightly grazing the youth, and how the latter had, in presence of the assembled Crows, killed and scalped the great Osage, the breast of the Delaware warrior heaved with proud emotions, which quelled for the moment all sense of the pains that racked his frame: his eye lightened with the fire of other days, and waving the war–club over his head, he shouted, for the last time, the war–cry of his tribe.As the chief fell back exhausted upon his rude pillow, the gentle voice of Prairie–bird was heard from the adjoining compartment of the tent, calling Lita to explain the meaning of the loud and unexpected cry by which she had been aroused from her slumber. Lita withdrew; and while her mistress made her rapid and simple toilet, informed her of the safe return of the Black Father and Wingenund, and that the latter having been seized with a sudden illness, the friend of Reginald had remained by the chief, and had communicated some intelligence, which seemed to affect him with the most extravagant joy and excitement.So anxious was the maiden to see her beloved preceptor, and so hastily did she fold the kerchief in the form of a turban round her head, that several of her dark tresses escaped from beneath it, and fell over her neck. The first dress that came to her hand was one made from a deep–blue Mexican shawl, of ample dimension, given to her by the missionary. Fastening this round her slender waist with an Indian girdle, and a pair of mocassins upon her delicate feet, she went forth, catching up as she left the tent a scarf, which she threw carelessly over her shoulders. Greeting War–Eagle hastily, but affectionately, as she passed, she flew with a glowing cheek and beating heart to the spot where the missionary still bent with anxious solicitude over the reviving form of Wingenund.“My father—my dear father!” she exclaimed, seizing his hand; “God be praised for thy safe return!”The venerable man embraced her tenderly, and after contemplating for a moment her countenance beaming with filial affection, he placed his outspread hands upon her head, saying, with impressive solemnity, “May the blessing of God restupon thee, my beloved child, and upon all near and dear to thee, for ever!”Prairie–bird bowed her head meekly while breathing a silent amen to the holy man’s benediction, and then turned to inquire of her young brother how he now felt, and of Paul Müller into the cause of his sudden illness.Wingenund was sufficiently recovered to speak to her gratefully in reply, and to press the hand which she held out to him; but he was much reduced by loss of blood, and the missionary, putting his finger to his lips, enjoined him quiet and silence for the present. He continued, however, in a low voice to explain to her the strange events that had lately occurred, and how he and the friend of her betrothed owed to the heroism of Wingenund their life and liberty.While the maiden listened with absorbed attention, every passage in the brief but eventful tale was legible on her eloquent countenance. As Reginald stood at a little distance gazing earnestly upon its changeful loveliness, he was startled by a suppressed ejaculation from some one at his side, at the same time that his arm was seized and pressed with almost convulsive force. He turned, and saw his friend Ethelston, who, finding that War–Eagle had fallen into a tranquil sleep had stolen out of the tent to the side of Reginald, where he first caught a sight of the maiden as she listened to the missionary’s narrative. Reginald again observed with astonishment that his friend, usually so calm, trembled from head to foot: his eye rested upon the group with a preternatural fixedness, and his lips moved inaudibly, like those of a man scarcely recovered from a trance. “Gracious Heaven! what can have happened? Edward,youare not surely ill! that would indeed fill the cup of our trials to the brim. Speak to me! let me hear your voice, for your looks alarm me!”Ethelston made no reply, but he pointed with his finger towards Prairie–bird, and two or three large tear–drops rolled down his cheeks.While this was passing, Paul Müller had brought his tale to a conclusion, and his eye happening to light upon Ethelston, he continued (still addressing Prairie–bird), “And now, my dear child, it only remains for me to tell you the cause of our beloved young brother’s weakened condition. The extremes of joy and of anguish will sometimes sweep before them themightiest bulwarks that can be raised in the heart of man by his own unaided strength. Wingenund opposed to the stroke of affliction sent from on high not the meek, trusting endurance of Christian resignation, but the haughty resistance of human pride. Already he sees and repents his error, and the mist is clearing away from his eyes; but you, my dear child, have been better taught; you have learnt, in all trials and in all emergencies, to throw yourself upon the mercy of your heavenly Father, and to place your whole trust in his gracious promises of protection. We are more apt to forget this duty when our cup overflows with joy than when his chastening hand is upon us; but it should not be so. Promise me, then, promise me, my beloved child, that in weal or in woe, in the rapture of joy as in the extremity of sorrow, you will strive to remember and practise it.”Awed by the unusual solemnity of his manner, the maiden bowed her head, and said, “I promise.”Scarcely had she said these words, when Reginald came forward, leading his friend Ethelston, who had by a strong effort recovered from his extreme agitation, and regained something of his usual composure. “Prairie–bird,” said Reginald, “I wish to make known to you, my most faithful companion, my tried and attached friend Ethelston. You must love him now for my sake; when you know him, you will do so for his own.”Leaning on the missionary’s arm, the maiden raised herself from her stooping posture to greet the friend of her betrothed. “I have heard much——,” she said, with her sweet natural dignity of manner; but she suddenly stopped, starting as if she had seen a ghost, and clinging closer to Paul Müller’s arm, while her earnest gaze encountered the eyes of Ethelston fixed upon her with an expression that seemed to shake the nerves and fibres of her heart. To Reginald their silence and agitation was an incomprehensible mystery: not so to the missionary, who still supported Prairie–bird, and whispered to her as she advanced a step nearer to the stranger, “Your promise.” She understood him, for he heard her breathe the Almighty’s name, as Ethelston also advanced a step towards her; and again their looks dwelt upon each other with a fixed intensity that spoke of thoughts too crowded, and confused, and mysterious, for expression. At length Ethelston, whose strong and wellbalancedmind had triumphed over the first shock of emotion, addressed the maiden, saying, “Have the latter years been so happily spent that they have quite banished from the mind of Prairie–bird the memory of early days?”At the sound of his voice the maiden started, as if she had received an electric shock; her bosom heaved with agitation, and her eyes filled with tears.Again the missionary whispered, “Your promise!” while Ethelston continued, “Has she forgotten her own little garden with the sun–dial? and poor Mary, who nursed, and dressed, and taught her to read? Has she forgotten the great Bible full of prints, of which she was so fond; and the green lane that led to Mooshanne? Has Evy forgotten her Edward?”“’Tis he—’tis he! ’tis Eddy! my own, my long–lost brother!” cried the maiden aloud, as she threw herself into his arms; and looking up into his face, she felt his cheek as if to assure herself that all was not a dream, and poured out her grateful heart in tears upon his bosom. She did remember her promise, and even in the first tumult of her happiness, she sought and derived from him to whom she owed it, strength to endure its sudden and overwhelming excess.“’Tis even so,” said the missionary, grasping the astonished Reginald’s arm; “for some time I had suspected that such was the case; Prairie–bird, my beloved pupil, and your betrothed bride, is no other than Evelyn Ethelston, the sister of your friend. My suspicions were confirmed and almost reduced to certainty, during the first conversations that I held with him in St. Louis; for he, being several years older than you, remembered many of the circumstances attending the disappearance and supposed destruction of his little sister by the Indians, when his father’s house was ravaged and burnt. I foresaw that they must meet when he left the settlements in search of you, and though I prepared him for the interview, I thought it better to say nothing to her or to you, but to leave the recognition to the powerful voice of Nature. You see the result in that fraternal embrace, and I have in a little bag, given to me by Tamenund when at the point of death, proofs of her identity that would convince a sceptic, were you disposed to be one—the cover of a child’s spelling–book, in which her name is written at length (possibly by Ethelston), and a little kerchief, with the initials E. E. in the corner, both of which werein her hand when she was carried off by the Indian who spared and preserved her!”While the missionary felt beneath the folds of his dark serge robe for the bag which he had always carefully kept suspended by a ribbon from his neck, Reginald’s memory was busy in recalling a thousand indistinct recollections of early days, and in comparing them with those of a more recent date.“Well do I remember,” he exclaimed, “missing my sweet little playmate in childhood; and how all allusion to the terrible calamity that befel our nearest neighbour and friend, was forbid in our family! Scarcely ever, even in later years, have I touched upon the subject with Ethelston, for I saw that it gave him pain, and brought a cloud over his brow. Now, I can understand the wild and troubled expression that came across her countenance when she first saw me near the Osage camp, and first heard my voice, and how she started, and afterwards recovered herself, when I told her of Mooshanne! How blind have I now been to every thing save her endearing qualities, and the ten thousand graces that wait upon her angelic form! See how like they are, now that a tide of feeling is poured into the countenance of my steady and composed friend. Jealous as I am of her time, and of every grain of her affection, I must not grudge them a few minutes of undisturbed intercourse after a separation of so many years! Come, worthy Father, let us employ ourselves in tending and ministering to War–Eagle and Wingenund, and let us not forget that to them, next to Heaven, we are indebted for the life and happiness of every single member of our miraculously reunited circle.”“You have a warm and a kindly heart, my young friend,” said the missionary, “and that is a blessing without which all the other blessings of Heaven may fall like showers upon the Lybian desert. I know how you must long to pour out your feelings of affection on this occasion to your friend, and to your betrothed; but believe me, you will not have done amiss by following the first promptings of your heart. Let us, as you propose, endeavour to soothe and comfort the sufferers; Wingenund is now sufficiently recovered to listen while you relate to him these strange occurrences; only caution him not to speak too much at present. I will return to the side of War–Eagle, and although it be too late now for us to attempt any remedy for his bodily pains, who shall limit the power ofthe Almighty, or circumscribe the operation of his hands? Who knows whether He may not think fit, even at the eleventh hour, to touch that stern and obdurate heart with a coal from His altar? And, oh! my dear young friend, if such be His blessed purpose, I would not forego the privilege of being the humble instrument in effecting it for all the wealth, the honours, the happiness, that earth can bestow.”Reginald looked after the worthy missionary until he disappeared within the tent, then sighing heavily, he said to himself, “If zeal, honesty, and true piety can render any human means available, assuredly that excellent and holy man’s attempt will not be made in vain; and yet I fear that nothing short of a miracle can soften or subdue the stern pride of War–Eagle’s spirit. How deeply anxious do I feel for the issue! for I cannot forget that it was in defence of Prairie–bird that he incurred this fearful torture, ending in an untimely death! His life sacrificed that mine might be happy with her! Where, where, my generous Indian brother, shall I find, among the cities and crowded haunts of civilized man, truth, self–denial, and devoted affection like thine? At least I will strive to fulfil the wish that I know to be nearest thy heart, by cherishing in my bosom’s core thy beloved brother Wingenund!”Thus meditating, Reginald sat down by the young Delaware, and strove, by awakening his interest in the strange events lately brought to light respecting Prairie–bird, to wean him from the deep dejection caused by his brother’s hopeless plight.

c309CHAPTER IX.MAHÉGA IS FOUND IN STRANGE COMPANY, AND WINGENUND DEFERS, ON ACCOUNT OF MORE IMPORTANT CONCERNS, HIS PLAN FOR THE LIBERATION OF HIS FRIENDS.—A COUNCIL, A COMBAT, AND A SKIRMISH, IN WHICH LAST THE CROWS RECEIVE ASSISTANCE FROM A QUARTER WHENCE THEY LEAST EXPECTED IT.We left Wingenund on his way to the Crow camp, revolving as he went various schemes for the deliverance of his friends. However slight was the faith which he was disposed to place in the honesty of Besha, he confidently believed that the horse–dealer’s self–interest would keep him true, at least for the time, to the party whence the greater rewards and presents might be expected. He knew also that Bending–willow was kindly disposed towards the prisoners, and would do all that was in her power towards engaging her impatient and hot–headed husband to favour their release. Nevertheless, the game to be played was a difficult one, especially as the consequence of any unsuccessful attempt might prove fatal to them as well as to himself.So intent was the youth upon these meditations that he forgot the distance and the difficulties of his circuitous route, his light elastic step bearing him over hill and vale with a speed of which he was scarcely conscious, and long before the sun went down he found himself at the further extremity of the mountain pass, which has been before mentioned as leading into the valley where the Crows were encamped, from a quarter exactly opposite to that where his own friends were stationed.As he was about to step across a small rivulet that trickledfrom the rocks above, lending a greener freshness to the narrow strip of grass through which it flowed, his attention was arrested by a recent footmark upon its margin. Starting with surprise, he stooped to examine it more carefully, it was plain and distinct, so that a less sagacious eye than his might have traced its form and dimensions. A single look satisfied him, and as he rose from his scrutiny, the name of Mahéga escaped from his lips.Without a moment’s hesitation he resolved to follow the trail of the Osage, and observe his movements, conjecturing that these probably boded no good to the Delaware party, although he felt at some loss to imagine what object could lead him to a quarter almost immediately opposite to that where they were encamped.The task which Wingenund had now undertaken was not an easy one, for the ground was hard and barren, and the short grass partly dried by the mountain winds and partly burnt by the summer sun, scarcely received any impression from the pressure of a foot, and the youth was compelled to pause so frequently in order to examine the scarcely perceptible marks of the trail, that his progress was far from being so rapid as he could have wished. Nevertheless he toiled perseveringly forward, his hopes being every now and then refreshed by finding on the descent of the steep hill–side an indication of the Osage’s tread that he could not mistake.Wingenund had followed the trail for several hours, when he caught a distant view of a slight column of smoke rising from a dell, the bottom of which was concealed by intervening heights. One of these, more rugged and lofty than the rest, lay at his right hand, and he climbed with some difficulty to the top of it, in hopes of being able thence to descry the spot whence the smoke arose. Neither was he disappointed in this expectation, for on reaching the height, he could see into the deep bosom of the mountain glen, where he clearly discerned a large body of men and horses, assembled round a fire; carefully noting the nature of the intervening ground, he redescended the hill, and again threw himself upon the trail of the Osage, which continued, as he expected, to lead him in the direction of the unknown band.As he advanced he felt the necessity of using the greatest caution lest he should inadvertently come within sight of anyscouts or stragglers from the valley below; but fortune and his own skill so far favoured his approach, that he reached unperceived a point whence he could more clearly see the circle assembled round the fire, and could distinguish the horses and the men sufficiently to ascertain that they belonged to some mountain tribe bent on a war excursion, as they had with them neither their women nor their lodges. With awakened curiosity and interest, the youth now crept to a spot at a little distance, where a confused pile of huge stones, here and there overgrown with stunted shrubs, offered a sheltered retreat, whence, without being himself seen, he could observe all that passed below. In making his way to the place he was somewhat surprised to find what might almost be called a beaten path, upon which the recent tracks of men and horses, as well as of bison, were clearly discernible.He had scarcely time to conceal himself, when he perceived two men coming directly towards his hiding–place, in one of whom he recognised the Osage chief, while the other belonged apparently to some tribe of Indians that he had never seen before. They came slowly up the path before–mentioned, stopping almost at every step, and conversing in the language of signs, by which means their expressions of mutual friendship were as intelligible to the quick–witted youth as they were to each other. The stranger was a fine–looking Indian, and though lower in stature than his gigantic companion, had the appearance of great muscular strength, and his dress betokened, according to Indian notions of magnificence, a chief of high degree. His black hair was clubbed behind his head, and fastened with several painted feathers bound with fillets of ermine; his hunting–shirt was of the skin of the mountain goat, and both it and his deer–skin leggins were ornamented with porcupine–quills, and fringed with the scalp–locks of enemies slain in battle; he carried in his hand a long lance, also decorated with scalp–locks, and at his back hung a quiver made from the skin of the panther, in which bristled a score of arrows beautifully tipped with sharp flint, and attached to it by a leather thong was a bow so short that it looked more like the plaything of a boy than the deadly weapon of a warrior.Wingenund wondered to what tribe the stranger might belong; and as the two Indians seated themselves upon afragment of rock only a few yards from the recess in which he was ensconced, he trusted that some signal would pass by which his curiosity might be afterwards satisfied; at all events, it seemed clear that they were already upon the best terms with each other, for they smiled and grinned, each placing a hand upon the heart of the other, after which Mahéga extended his arms like a flying bird, and then passed his right hand with a rapid movement round his own scalp; from which sign the youth instantly knew that their plot was to attack and kill the Upsarokas.“Double–tongued, cowardly snake!” said Wingenund to himself, “he made a league with the Dahcotahs to destroy his Lenapé friends, and now he makes one with a stranger tribe to destroy those with whom he eats and smokes.”That the youth rightly conjectured the object of the interview he could no longer doubt, when Mahéga, pointing directly to the valley where the Crows were encamped, repeated again the signals for attack and slaughter. Not a word passed during this time, excepting when the stranger drew from under his hunting–shirt a small whistle, made apparently either from a bone or a reed, and quaintly ornamented with stained quills and the down from the breast of some mountain bird; having applied this to his lips, he drew from it a peculiar sound, not remarkable for its shrillness, but different from any tone that Wingenund remembered to have heard before.After two or three attempts Mahéga succeeded in sounding it correctly; and nodding intelligently to the stranger, concealed it carefully in his belt; they then exchanged the names or war–cry, by which they were to recognise each other, Mahéga teaching his new friend to say “Washashee,” and learning in return to pronounce “Ka–in–na,” which he repeated three or four times so distinctly that Wingenund caught and remembered it. These preparatory civilities having passed, they proceeded to the interchange of presents, by which their alliance was to be cemented.Mahéga drew from his girdle a pistol, which he gave, together with a small leather pouch containing lead and powder, to the stranger chief, who received it with an air so puzzled and mysterious, that Mahéga could scarcely refrain from smiling. He turned the pistol over and over, looking down the barrel, and examining the lock with a curiosity that he carednot to conceal; he pointed it, however, towards a mark in an adjoining rock, and made a sound with his lips, which was intended to imitate its report, repeating at the same time the word “sachsi–nama,” as if to show that the name and use of the weapon were not strange to him, although he might never have seen one before. Mahéga then proceeded to show him how to use it, making signs that with it he might kill all his enemies; and upon the stranger expressing a wish to see an instance of its power, he placed a thin flat stone at the distance of a few yards, and split it in two at the first shot; after which he reloaded it, showing at the same time the use of the priming–pan and trigger.It was not without a look of gratified pride that he placed the pistol in his belt, repeating again and again, “sachsi–nama,” “nahtovi–nama.” He then unslung the short bow that hung at his back, and presented it, with the panther–skin quiver full of arrows, to the Osage chief, who received the gift with every appearance of satisfaction, and they parted, the former returning towards the encampment of his tribe, after he had told Mahéga that the name of the bow was “nutsi–nâma.”[84]For some time after the departure of his new ally, the Osage remained upon his seat examining the bow, which at first sight he had considered a mere toy, but which he found, to his astonishment, required all his force to draw it to its full power. Being formed of bone, strengthened throughout with sinew, it was stiff and elastic to an extraordinary degree; and although not more than three feet in length, would drive an arrow as far as an ordinary six–feet bow.When he had sufficiently examined his new acquisition, it occurred to the chief that he could not, without risk of detection,carry it into the Crow camp. He resolved, therefore, to hide it in a dry cleft of the rock, and take it out again after the issue of his plot should be decided.This resolution threatened to bring about an unexpected catastrophe, as it happened that he approached the very recess in which Wingenund was stationed. Drawing the knife from his belt, the youth stood in the inmost corner of the cavern, ready, as soon as discovery became inevitable, to spring upon his powerful enemy; but fate had otherwise decreed, and the Osage passed on to a higher and narrower cleft, where he deposited the quiver and the bow, carefully closing the aperture with moss and lichen.It was not until he had gone some distance on his homeward way, that Wingenund emerged from his hiding–place, and having possessed himself of the quiver and bow, returned slowly upon the Osage’s trail towards the Upsaroka camp, proving as he went the surprising strength of the weapon, and admiring the straightness and beauty of the war–arrows with which the quiver was supplied.[85]Following unperceived, and at some distance, the steps of the Osage, he found that the latter took a shorter, though a somewhat steeper and more rugged way than that by which he had come, so that very little more than two hours of brisk walking brought him within sight of the watch–fires of the Upsaroka camp, just as day closed, and their light began to shine more brightly through the valley. Availing himself of the shelter of a stunted pine, the youth lay down for some time, and did not re–enter the camp until late at night, when he made his way without interruption to Besha’s tent, giving to the outposts by whom he was challenged, the countersign taught him by the horse–dealer.On the following morning before sunrise, Besha was aroused by Wingenund, who told him that he had news of great importance to communicate to the Crow chiefs, and that no time should be lost before they were summoned to council. The horse–dealer rubbed his eyes as he wakened by degrees and listened to this intelligence, which he suspected at first to besome trick on the part of the youth for the liberation of his friends; but there was an earnest simplicity in his manner that carried conviction with it; and Besha endeavoured, as he threw on his hunting–shirt, and fastened his belt, to learn from the youth the nature and purport of his intelligence. The latter seemed, however, to be in no very communicative mood; he merely replied; “Wingenund speaks not the Upsaroka tongue; let Besha repeat to the council word after word what he hears, that will be enough; he will serve both the Crows and the Delawares, and will obtain thanks and presents from both. Let Mahéga, too, be called to attend the council.”The horse–dealer having departed upon his errand, Wingenund found an opportunity to detail briefly to Paul Müller and Ethelston the discovery that he had made on the preceding evening; but it may well be imagined that he could obtain from neither any information respecting the mountain tribe with whom the Osage was carrying on his treacherous intrigue.“Let my son boldly speak the truth,” said the missionary, “and leave the result to God.”“Wingenund never told a lie,” replied the young Delaware; and the bright, fearless expression of his countenance warranted the proud assertion.“How many are there in our crowded cities and churches,” said the missionary, looking after the youth as he re–entered the horse–dealer’s lodge, “who dare echo that speech? yet methinks, as far as memory and conscience serve him, he has said no more than the truth. I have known him from his childhood, and believe him to be as much a stranger to falsehood as to fear.”“They are cousins–german, my worthy friend,” said Ethelston, “and generally dwell together! I wonder not at the affection which Reginald bears to that youth; nature has stamped upon his countenance all the high and generous qualities that endear man to his brother. Let us endeavour to be present at the council which is now assembling; we have been such quiet prisoners that perhaps our guards will allow us to be spectators on this occasion.”Besha happening to pass at this moment, obtained for them the desired permission, which was the more readily granted that the Crow sentries themselves were desirous of seeing what was going forward, and knew that no danger could be apprehendedfrom the two unarmed captives. The spectacle that met their view when they issued from the lodge was striking and picturesque; runners had been sent throughout the camp, and all the principal chiefs, braves, and medicine–men were already assembled in a semicircle, the concave centre of which was formed by the lodge of White–Bull and his father, the latter of whom had put on for the occasion a magnificent head–dress of painted eagle–feathers which betokened his rank as head–chief of the band. The horse–dealer stood in front of his own lodge to the left, and frequent were the glances directed to him from all quarters, it having been generally understood that the council was summoned to consider matters brought forward by him. Behind him stood Wingenund, wrapped in a loose blanket, which partially concealed his features and covered entirely the rest of his person; on the opposite wing of the circle, and at a distance of twenty–five or thirty yards, stood Mahéga, his gigantic stature shown off to the best advantage by the warlike dress which he had put on complete for the solemn occasion, his neck and arms being covered with beads of various colours, and his fingers playing unconsciously with the weighty iron–pointed mace or war–club which had slain so many of those whose scalp–locks now fringed his leathern shirt and hose. The warriors and other Indians of inferior degree stood in the background, and some, anxious to get a better view of what was going forward, had perched themselves upon the adjoining rocks and cliffs, where their dusky forms, dimly seen through the mists which were now vanishing before the beams of the rising sun, gave a wild and picturesque effect to the scene.Nearly half an hour was consumed by the soothsayers or medicine–men in going through their formal mummeries to ascertain whether the hour and the occasion were favourable for the proposed business, and it was not until the medicine–pipe had been passed round, and the chief functionary had turned gravely to the north, south, east, and west, blowing to each quarter successively a whiff of medicine–smoke, that he gave his permission for the council to proceed with its deliberations.During all this time a profound silence reigned throughout the camp, the women suspending their scolding, chattering, and domestic avocations, and even the children peeping, halffrightened, from behind their mothers, or stealing away to some spot where they might laugh and play without fear of being whipped for disturbing the solemnities.The venerable father of White–Bull now returned the great pipe to the medicine–men, saying, in a voice distinctly audible throughout the circle: “Besha has called the chiefs and braves of the Upsaroka together; they are come—their ears are open—let the one–eyed man who brings horses from the far prairies, speak with a single tongue.”Thus called upon, the horse–dealer stepped forward, saying: “Besha is neither wise in council, nor a chief among warriors; he has travelled far among the eastern tribes, and he knows their tongues; he stands here to give out of his mouth what goes in at his ear. Let the Upsaroka warriors listen; they are not fools, they will soon know if lies are told to them. Let them look at this youth; his blanket is that of Besha’s slave; he is not what he seems; he is a son of the Lenapé, a friend of the Whites; yet he is come alone into the camp to show to the Upsaroka that a snake is crawling among their lodges.”A murmur ran through the assembly as Besha pronounced these words, and pointed to Wingenund, who, throwing the blanket into the hollow of his left arm, advanced to the front, and with a slight inclination to the old chief, awaited his permission to proceed.The youth, the graceful form, the open countenance, and the dignified bearing of Wingenund, as he stood forward in the assembled circle, prepossessed the Crows strongly in his favour, and they awaited with excited curiosity the intelligence that he had to communicate; but their chief did not appear disposed to gratify their impatience, for after whispering a few words to a messenger who stood beside him, he relapsed into silence, scanning with a fixed gaze the countenance of the young Delaware. The latter bore the scrutiny with modest, yet undisturbed composure, and not a voice was raised in the council until the return of the messenger, conducting a Crow doctor or conjuror, somewhat advanced in years, who took his station by the chief, and gave a silent assent to the whispered orders that he received.It may well be imagined with what mingled feelings of surprise and indignation the haughty Osage beheld the youngDelaware thus standing forward in the midst of the council–circle; that his presence boded no good to himself he well knew; but how and wherefore he came, and why he, belonging as he did to a hostile band, was thus permitted to appear before the assembly of Crow warriors, he was quite at a loss to understand. His suspense, however, was not destined to be of long duration, for as soon as Besha, in obedience to a signal from the chief, had desired Wingenund to speak what he had to say, the youth came another step forward, and said in a clear voice—“There is a snake among the lodges of the Upsaroka; a hidden snake, that will bite before its rattle is heard.”The Crows looked from one to the other as Besha translated this sentence, and the old conjuror gave a slight nod to the chief, indicating that the youth’s meaning was rightly given. It may be as well to inform the reader that the said conjuror had in early life been taken prisoner by the Pawnees, with a party of whom he had been conveyed to a great council held with the Indian agents at St. Charles’s, in Missouri, respecting the cession and appropriation of territory. Several of the western Delawares had been present at this meeting, which was protracted for many weeks, and the Crow prisoner had picked up a smattering of their tongue, which, however slight it might be, had occasioned him to be sent for on this occasion to check any propensity for untruth that might be entertained by the horse–dealer. Whether the latter was influenced by these, or by other motives, he rendered faithfully the conversation that ensued, and therefore it is not necessary to notice further the part played by the interpreter.“Who is it that speaks?” demanded the old chief, with dignity: “the Crows open not their ears to the idle words of strangers.”“Then let them shut their ears,” replied the youth, boldly. “Before another sun has set they will wish they had listened to the words of Wingenund!”“Who is Wingenund? Is he not an enemy? have not his people shed Upsaroka blood? why, then, should they believe his words?”“Wingenund is the son of a Lenapé chief. For a thousand summers his fathers have hunted over forest and plain beyond the Great River. Wingenund has heard of their deeds, andhe will not stain his lips with a lie. The Lenapé have taken Crow scalps in defence of their own, Wingenund will not deny it; but he came here to serve his white friends, not to hurt the Upsaroka.”On hearing this bold reply, White–bull bent his brow fiercely upon the speaker; but the youth met his eye with a look of bright untroubled confidence, while he quietly awaited the chief’s further interrogation.“Let the son of the Lenapé speak, but let him beware,—if his tongue is forked, the Upsaroka knives will cut it out from his head.”“Wingenund is not a woman, that he should be frightened with big words; when he speaks, the truth comes from his lips; and if he chooses to be silent, the Upsaroka knives cannot make him speak,” replied the youth, with a look of lofty scorn.“Is it so?—we shall see,” cried White–bull, springing forward, at the same time drawing his knife, with which he struck full at the naked breast of the youth. Not a muscle moved in the form or countenance of Wingenund; his eye remained steadily fixed on that of the Crow, and he did not even raise in his defence the arm over which his blanket was suspended. Nothing could have saved him from instant death, had not White–bull himself arrested the blow just as it was falling, so that the point of the knife scratched, but did not penetrate the skin. Wingenund smiled, and the Crow warrior, partly ashamed of his own ebullition of temper, and partly in admiration of the cool courage of the young Delaware, said to his father, “Let him speak: there are no lies upon his tongue.”The old man looked for a moment sternly at his son, as if he would have reproved him for his violence, in interrupting the business of the council, but apparently he thought it better to let it pass; and, turning towards Wingenund, he said, in a milder tone than he had yet used, “Let the young stranger speak if he will, his words will not be blown away; if he has seen a snake, let him show it, and the chiefs of the Upsaroka will owe him a debt.”Thus appealed to, Wingenund, slowly raising the forefinger of his right hand, pointed it full upon Mahéga, saying, in a loud voice, “There is the snake! Fed by the hand of theUpsaroka, clad in their gifts, warmed by their fire, he now tries to bite them, and give them over to their enemies, even as his black heart and forked tongue have before destroyed those whom he called brothers.”It is beyond the power of words to paint the rage of the conscious Osage, on hearing this charge: he concealed it, however, by a strong effort, under a show of just indignation, exclaiming aloud, “The Upsaroka warriors are not fools, that they should believe the idle words of a stranger boy, a spy, who stole into their camp by night, and now tickles their ears with lies.”“The young Lenapé must tell more,” said the old chief, gravely, “before the Upsaroka can believe bad things of a warrior who has smoked and fought with them, and has taken the scalps of their enemies.”Thus called upon, Wingenund proceeded to relate distinctly the circumstances narrated in the last chapter. His tale was so clearly told, his description of the locality so accurate, that the attention of the whole council was riveted, and they listened with the most profound attention. A cloud gathered upon the brow of White–bull, and the gigantic frame of Mahéga swelled with a tempest of suppressed passion. Independently of the dangers that now threatened him, his proud spirit chafed at the thought of being thus tracked, discovered, exposed, and disgraced by a boy; and his fury was heightened by observing the bright eye of the Delaware youth fixed upon him with a steady searching gaze, indicative at once of conscious truth and triumph. Still he resolved to hold out to the last; he trusted that after the great services he had rendered in battle to the Crows, they would at least believe his word, before that of an unknown youth, who came amongst them under such suspicious circumstances. These reflections passing rapidly through his mind, restored his disturbed self–possession, and enabled him to curl his haughty features into an expression of sneering contempt.Great was the excitement among the Crows, as Wingenund described, with unerring minuteness and accuracy, the dress and equipments of the stranger with whom Mahéga had held the interview; and there was dead silence in the council when the interpreter was ordered to inquire whether he knew to what tribe the strange Indian belonged.“Wingenund knows not,” he replied; “but he heard the name that was taught to the Osage, as the battle–cry of his new allies.”“E–chĭ–pētă!” shouted the impetuous White–bull, who had already recognised in the youth’s description one of the warriors of the Black–feet, the hereditary enemies of his tribe.“It was not so,” replied Wingenund gravely. “Ka–in–na[86]was the name; it was twice spoken.”A deep murmur ran round the assembly, White–bull exchanged a significant glance with the nearest of his braves, and again a profound silence reigned throughout the assembly.Mahéga now felt that the crisis of his fate was at hand, and that every thing must depend on his being able to throw discredit on the tale of Wingenund. This was not, however, an easy task, for he suspected Besha of a secret leaning to the Delaware side, while the fierce and lowering looks of the bystanders showed him how little was wanting to make the smothered flame burst forth.These indications did not escape the aged chief, who spoke a few words in a serious and warning tone, the purport of which was to remind them that the present council was sacred to the Medicine, and was not to be desecrated by any violence or shedding of blood. He concluded by saying, “Let the Washashee speak for himself, and let Besha give his words truly, if he does not wish to have his ears cut off.”Thus admonished, the horse–dealer lent all his attention to the Osage, who came forward to address the council with an imposing dignity of manner that almost made the most suspicious of his hearers doubt the truth of the accusations brought against him.Being now in front of the semicircle, which was not more than twenty yards in width, he was directly opposite to Wingenund, who stood forward a few feet in advance of its other wing. The contrast offered by the stature and bearing of the accuser and the accused, the slight active frame, the youth and grace of the one, and the haughty air and gigantic bulk of theother, struck Ethelston so forcibly that he could not forbear whispering to Paul Müller, “Worthy father, does not the scene recall to mind the meeting between the Hebrew shepherd and the giant of Gath?”“It does, my son; and I misjudge the looks of the Osage if they part hence without the shedding of blood. I have long studied his countenance, and, however skilfully he has subdued its expression, I can trace the full storm of passions raging within his breast.”Further discourse was prevented by the commencement of the Osage’s speech, which he delivered with a tone and gesture of indignation, suitable to one who declared himself injured and belied.He began by recapitulating the services that he had rendered to the Crows, the faithful warriors that he had lost in their cause, and their valuable presents concealed in the câche, to which he was even now conducting them; on the other hand, he painted the injuries they had received from the Lenapé, who had come into their country in league with the white–skins, the bane of their tribe and race, that their hands were still wet with Upsaroka blood; and “whose is the forked tongue,” said he, “that is to cover with lies and dirt the fame of the great chief of the Washashee, the sworn brother of the Upsaroka?—Who but a boy, a stranger, a liar, and a spy, telling his idle dreams to the council to break the friendship of warriors whom his cowardly tribe, and their pale–faced allies, dared not meet in the field!”During the whole of this tirade, which was delivered with much vehemence and gesticulation, Wingenund stood motionless as a statue, his calm eye fixed upon the excited countenance of his opponent with an undisguised expression of contempt.Receiving no reply, Mahéga continued: “Chiefs and brothers, you are wise in council—men of experience; your ears will not be tickled with the idle songs of this false–tongued singing–bird; a messenger who brings such news to the great council of the Upsaroka—who tells them that their brother who has fought by their side, and smoked at their fire, is a forked snake, he must bring something better able to convince them than the cunning words coming from his own lying lips!”These words, supported by the commanding tone assumed by the Osage, were not without their effect upon the minds of that fierce and deeply–interested assemblage.Wingenund waited until the speech of his antagonist had been translated to them, when he replied, with unmoved composure, “If the Crow warriors require better witness than words, it is not difficult to find; they have already been told that the Kainna stranger gave to Mahéga a present of a bow and arrows, which he hid in the rocks; Wingenund took them out, and here they are.”As the youth spoke he dropped the blanket that had been thrown over his left arm and shoulder, holding up to the council the bow and arrows, which all present instantly recognised as being made and ornamented by the Black–feet.“Are the warriors yet convinced,” continued the youth, raising his voice, “or do they wish for more? If they do, let them seize the Washashee wolf, they will find in his belt—“He was not allowed to finish the sentence; the storm that had long been brooding, now burst in all its fury. Mahéga, driven to desperation by the damning evidence brought against him, and reckless of all save the gratification of his fierce revenge, whirled his iron–pointed mace around his head, and launched it with tremendous force at Wingenund.Never had the latter, even for an instant, taken his falcon eye off the Osage; but so swift was the motion with which the weapon was thrown, that although he sprung lightly aside to avoid it, the spiked head grazed and laid open his cheek, whence it glanced off, and striking an unlucky Crow who stood behind him, felled him, with a broken arm, to the ground. Even in the act of stooping to escape the mace, Wingenund fitted an arrow into the Black–foot bow which he held in his hand; and rising quick as thought, let it fly at his gigantic adversary, with so true an aim, that it pierced the windpipe, and the point came out at the back of his neck, close to the spine. While the Osage, half strangled and paralysed, tugged ineffectually at the fatal shaft, Wingenund leaped upon him with the bound of a tiger, and uttering aloud the war–cry of the Lenapé, buried his knife in the heart of his foe. With one convulsive groan the dying Osage fell heavily to the earth; and ere the bystanders had recovered from theirastonishment, his blood–stained scalp hung at the belt of the victorious Delaware.For a moment all was tumult and confusion; the few remaining Osages made a rush towards Wingenund to avenge the death of their chief, but they were instantly overpowered and secured with thongs of pliant bark, while White–bull sprang into the arena of combat, and in a voice of thunder shouted to his warriors to stand back and unstring their bows.During the brief but decisive conflict the appearance of Wingenund was so much changed, that Ethelston declared to his friend afterwards that he should not have recognised him. The muscles of his active frame swelled with exertion, while the expanded nostril and flashing eye gave to his countenance an expression of fierce excitement, almost amounting to ferocity. Now that the struggle was over he resumed, without an effort, the habitual quiet gentleness of his demeanour, and turning to Besha, said, “Let the Upsaroka chiefs look below the belt of that dead wolf; perhaps they will find the signal whistle of the Kainna.”The horse–dealer stooped; and searching, as he was directed, found a small leathern bag, on opening which there fell out, as Wingenund had said, the whistle of the Black–foot chief; a yell of indignation burst from the assembly, some of the nearest of whom vented their rage by bestowing sundry kicks upon the inanimate remains of the treacherous Osage.Popularity is a plant that springs up as suddenly, and perishes as rapidly, among the tribes of the Western wilderness, as among the mobs of Paris or of London; and Wingenund, whose life would scarcely have been safe had he been found an hour earlier in the Crow camp, was now its hero and its idol. To say that the youth was not elated, would be to say that he was not human; for he had avenged the slaughter of his kindred, and had overcome the most powerful and renowned warrior in the Missouri plains, the fell destroyer of the race of Tamenund. But so well had he been trained in the school of self–command, that neither Ethelston, nor Paul Müller who had known him from his childhood, could trace in his demeanour anything different from its usual quiet modesty; and they waited, with no little impatience, to see what results would ensue from this triumph in respect of their own release.The Crow chiefs and warriors did not forget, in the excitementof the scene just described, the threatened attack to which the treachery of Mahéga had exposed them; and they now crowded round Wingenund, while White–bull put many questions to him, through Besha, respecting the position and apparent numbers of the Black–feet, to all of which he answered with a precision that increased the high opinion that they already entertained of his quickness and intelligence. White–bull even condescended so far as to explain to him his own projects for withdrawing his band from the neighbourhood of the formidable Kainna to some more secure position. A slight smile curled the lip of the young Delaware, as he said to Besha, “The counsel of the Crow chief does not seem good to Wingenund: if White–bull will agree to his terms, he will place the Kainna chief, and half a score of his best warriors, as captives in this camp before to–morrow at midday.”A general murmur of surprise followed these words; and White–bull, somewhat nettled, inquired what might be the terms proposed.“They are,” said Wingenund, “first, that the two white prisoners shall be immediately restored to their friends; secondly, that the Osages shall be given up to the Lenapé; thirdly, that there shall be peace and friendship between the friends of Wingenund and the Upsaroka until the snow falls again upon the earth.”The leaders having conversed apart for a few minutes, White–bull said, “If Wingenund fails, and the Kainna take many scalps from the Upsaroka, what will happen then?”“They will take the scalp of Wingenund too,” replied the youth calmly.Again the Crow chiefs consulted together for some time, and at length they resolved to agree to the terms proposed by Wingenund. The medicine–pipe was brought, and was passed from the chief to him, as well as to Ethelston and the missionary; after which Wingenund said to White–bull, “There is no time to be lost; let sixty of the best warriors be chosen, twenty to go with Wingenund, and forty with White–bull; and let one be found, very large and tall; let him put on the dress of Mahéga; Wingenund will take the whistle, and all will be ready.”A short time sufficed to collect and marshal the party; and Ethelston was, at his own earnest request, permitted to jointhe band led by the Delaware youth, being anxious to see the manœuvres about to take place, and Besha having made himself responsible for his fidelity.Wingenund led the way at a swift pace, until he gained the summit of the first range of hills; nor did he slacken it until he had crossed the valley beyond, and stood upon the opposite brow of the heights, whence the Black–foot band was visible. Here he concealed and halted his party, until he had crept forward and examined all the range of hills within sight. As soon as he had satisfied himself that all was quiet, he drew his party gently on, and at length succeeded in hiding White–bull and his forty men behind some rocks in the steepest and narrowest part of the gorge leading down to the glen below. His quick eye had noted the spot before, and a more minute inspection now convinced him that there was no other pass by which the enemy could ascend the height, and that a handful of determined men might defend it against ten times their number.Having warned White–bull to keep his own men close, and to stir neither hand nor foot until he heard the Lenapé war–cry, which was the appointed signal, he retreated with his own band of twenty men to the point where the interview between Mahéga and the Black–foot had taken place, which was about forty yards higher up the mountain, and where the gorge was almost as narrow and precipitous as at the pass below. Here he concealed his men among the rocks, and Ethelston primed and loaded three rifles, which they had taken from the Osages, and which were now destined for the use of Wingenund and himself.For several weary hours the youth watched in vain for the approach of the Black–feet; and any nerves less steady than his own would have been shaken by the remembrance of the disagreeable consequences that might result from the failure of his plot. He lay, however, still and motionless as the stone upon which his elbow rested, until, just as the grey hue of evening was beginning to steal over the landscape, he descried an Indian slowly ascending the steep, followed at a distance by a long line of warriors. A low whistle from Wingenund warned his party to be ready, but he moved not until the advancing band were sufficiently near for him to recognise in their leader the chief who had conferred with Mahéga on the preceding day.While they were approaching in careless security, the Crows prepared for the attack, each man being provided with a tough halter of bison–hide, in addition to his usual weapons of bow, knife, and war–club; and the leader of the Black–feet had already passed the lower gorge (where White–bull and his party were concealed), ere he sounded the signal preconcerted with Mahéga. Wingenund immediately replied by a similar sound drawn from the whistle which he had secured, desiring at the same time the Crow who wore the dress of the slain Osage to show himself at the edge of the rock skirting the pass. The Black–foot chief, completely deceived, toiled lazily up the steep and narrow ascent, beckoning to his men to follow; and just as he reached the upper station, Wingenund, seeing that twelve or fourteen of them were now fairly caged between the party below and his own, leapt from his concealment upon the astonished leader of the Black–feet, and dealing him a blow on the head that stunned and disabled him, shouted aloud the war–cry of the Lenapé.No sooner was the signal uttered, than White–bull rushed from his ambuscade, and seized the pass below; so that the unfortunate Black–feet, enclosed between the two parties, panic–struck by the suddenness of the attack, and the fall of their leader, could neither fight nor fly; and in spite of their desperate but unavailing attempts at resistance, were all in the course of a few minutes disarmed and securely bound.Meanwhile the main body of their comrades made a gallant attempt to force the lower pass, but it was so stoutly defended by the Crows, and was in itself so narrow and difficult, that they were soon forced to retire with loss. Neither could those who succeeded to the command bring them again to the attack. The war–cry of the Lenapé had never before been heard in these glens, and the dismayed Black–feet thought that the evil spirits were fighting against them; while to increase their terror, Ethelston and Wingenund fired two of the rifles over their heads, the bullets from which whistled past them, and the echoes of their report, prolonged by the rocks and crags around, died away at length like the muttered thunder of a distant storm. Terrified by the suddenness of the attack, and by the noise of the fire–arms, ignorant of the number, position, and even of the nation, of their unexpected assailants, and fearful that another manœuvre might cut off their retreat,they fled precipitately down the mountain–side, and halted not until they brought their tale of disgrace and disaster into the Kainna camp.In the course of a few hours after the events above narrated, Wingenund and White–bull stood together before the lodge of the aged chief of the Crows, whom the former addressed as follows:—“My father, see there the Kainna chief, and twelve of his best warriors; they are prisoners; their life hangs upon my father’s breath; the promise of Wingenund has not been blown away by the wind.”Besha having duly translated this address, was desired by the old chief (whose astonishment was scarcely exceeded by his delight) to bestow the highest praise that he could express upon the young Delaware’s skill and courage; to which effusion of complimentary eloquence he replied: “My father, Wingenund has not seen many summers; he has no skill in speech, nor experience in council; but he knows that the Great Spirit loves a single tongue, and a true heart. Mahéga was cunning as a wolf, swift as a deer, strong as a bison–bull; but there was poison in his heart, and lies dwelt under his tongue, like snakes under a smooth stone. What is the end? The mountain–buzzards pick his bones; and when his children ask,—where is the grave of Mahéga? there shall be none to answer. My father, when the sun has risen, the treaty shall be made, the pipe of peace shall be smoked, and the Medicine of the white tent shall bring many good things to the Upsaroka.”Having thus spoken, Wingenund retired to the lodge of Besha; and the captive Black–feet having been placed under a guard, White–bull remained in consultation with his father, while the other warriors soon forgot in sleep the fatigues of the past eventful day.

c309

MAHÉGA IS FOUND IN STRANGE COMPANY, AND WINGENUND DEFERS, ON ACCOUNT OF MORE IMPORTANT CONCERNS, HIS PLAN FOR THE LIBERATION OF HIS FRIENDS.—A COUNCIL, A COMBAT, AND A SKIRMISH, IN WHICH LAST THE CROWS RECEIVE ASSISTANCE FROM A QUARTER WHENCE THEY LEAST EXPECTED IT.

We left Wingenund on his way to the Crow camp, revolving as he went various schemes for the deliverance of his friends. However slight was the faith which he was disposed to place in the honesty of Besha, he confidently believed that the horse–dealer’s self–interest would keep him true, at least for the time, to the party whence the greater rewards and presents might be expected. He knew also that Bending–willow was kindly disposed towards the prisoners, and would do all that was in her power towards engaging her impatient and hot–headed husband to favour their release. Nevertheless, the game to be played was a difficult one, especially as the consequence of any unsuccessful attempt might prove fatal to them as well as to himself.

So intent was the youth upon these meditations that he forgot the distance and the difficulties of his circuitous route, his light elastic step bearing him over hill and vale with a speed of which he was scarcely conscious, and long before the sun went down he found himself at the further extremity of the mountain pass, which has been before mentioned as leading into the valley where the Crows were encamped, from a quarter exactly opposite to that where his own friends were stationed.

As he was about to step across a small rivulet that trickledfrom the rocks above, lending a greener freshness to the narrow strip of grass through which it flowed, his attention was arrested by a recent footmark upon its margin. Starting with surprise, he stooped to examine it more carefully, it was plain and distinct, so that a less sagacious eye than his might have traced its form and dimensions. A single look satisfied him, and as he rose from his scrutiny, the name of Mahéga escaped from his lips.

Without a moment’s hesitation he resolved to follow the trail of the Osage, and observe his movements, conjecturing that these probably boded no good to the Delaware party, although he felt at some loss to imagine what object could lead him to a quarter almost immediately opposite to that where they were encamped.

The task which Wingenund had now undertaken was not an easy one, for the ground was hard and barren, and the short grass partly dried by the mountain winds and partly burnt by the summer sun, scarcely received any impression from the pressure of a foot, and the youth was compelled to pause so frequently in order to examine the scarcely perceptible marks of the trail, that his progress was far from being so rapid as he could have wished. Nevertheless he toiled perseveringly forward, his hopes being every now and then refreshed by finding on the descent of the steep hill–side an indication of the Osage’s tread that he could not mistake.

Wingenund had followed the trail for several hours, when he caught a distant view of a slight column of smoke rising from a dell, the bottom of which was concealed by intervening heights. One of these, more rugged and lofty than the rest, lay at his right hand, and he climbed with some difficulty to the top of it, in hopes of being able thence to descry the spot whence the smoke arose. Neither was he disappointed in this expectation, for on reaching the height, he could see into the deep bosom of the mountain glen, where he clearly discerned a large body of men and horses, assembled round a fire; carefully noting the nature of the intervening ground, he redescended the hill, and again threw himself upon the trail of the Osage, which continued, as he expected, to lead him in the direction of the unknown band.

As he advanced he felt the necessity of using the greatest caution lest he should inadvertently come within sight of anyscouts or stragglers from the valley below; but fortune and his own skill so far favoured his approach, that he reached unperceived a point whence he could more clearly see the circle assembled round the fire, and could distinguish the horses and the men sufficiently to ascertain that they belonged to some mountain tribe bent on a war excursion, as they had with them neither their women nor their lodges. With awakened curiosity and interest, the youth now crept to a spot at a little distance, where a confused pile of huge stones, here and there overgrown with stunted shrubs, offered a sheltered retreat, whence, without being himself seen, he could observe all that passed below. In making his way to the place he was somewhat surprised to find what might almost be called a beaten path, upon which the recent tracks of men and horses, as well as of bison, were clearly discernible.

He had scarcely time to conceal himself, when he perceived two men coming directly towards his hiding–place, in one of whom he recognised the Osage chief, while the other belonged apparently to some tribe of Indians that he had never seen before. They came slowly up the path before–mentioned, stopping almost at every step, and conversing in the language of signs, by which means their expressions of mutual friendship were as intelligible to the quick–witted youth as they were to each other. The stranger was a fine–looking Indian, and though lower in stature than his gigantic companion, had the appearance of great muscular strength, and his dress betokened, according to Indian notions of magnificence, a chief of high degree. His black hair was clubbed behind his head, and fastened with several painted feathers bound with fillets of ermine; his hunting–shirt was of the skin of the mountain goat, and both it and his deer–skin leggins were ornamented with porcupine–quills, and fringed with the scalp–locks of enemies slain in battle; he carried in his hand a long lance, also decorated with scalp–locks, and at his back hung a quiver made from the skin of the panther, in which bristled a score of arrows beautifully tipped with sharp flint, and attached to it by a leather thong was a bow so short that it looked more like the plaything of a boy than the deadly weapon of a warrior.

Wingenund wondered to what tribe the stranger might belong; and as the two Indians seated themselves upon afragment of rock only a few yards from the recess in which he was ensconced, he trusted that some signal would pass by which his curiosity might be afterwards satisfied; at all events, it seemed clear that they were already upon the best terms with each other, for they smiled and grinned, each placing a hand upon the heart of the other, after which Mahéga extended his arms like a flying bird, and then passed his right hand with a rapid movement round his own scalp; from which sign the youth instantly knew that their plot was to attack and kill the Upsarokas.

“Double–tongued, cowardly snake!” said Wingenund to himself, “he made a league with the Dahcotahs to destroy his Lenapé friends, and now he makes one with a stranger tribe to destroy those with whom he eats and smokes.”

That the youth rightly conjectured the object of the interview he could no longer doubt, when Mahéga, pointing directly to the valley where the Crows were encamped, repeated again the signals for attack and slaughter. Not a word passed during this time, excepting when the stranger drew from under his hunting–shirt a small whistle, made apparently either from a bone or a reed, and quaintly ornamented with stained quills and the down from the breast of some mountain bird; having applied this to his lips, he drew from it a peculiar sound, not remarkable for its shrillness, but different from any tone that Wingenund remembered to have heard before.

After two or three attempts Mahéga succeeded in sounding it correctly; and nodding intelligently to the stranger, concealed it carefully in his belt; they then exchanged the names or war–cry, by which they were to recognise each other, Mahéga teaching his new friend to say “Washashee,” and learning in return to pronounce “Ka–in–na,” which he repeated three or four times so distinctly that Wingenund caught and remembered it. These preparatory civilities having passed, they proceeded to the interchange of presents, by which their alliance was to be cemented.

Mahéga drew from his girdle a pistol, which he gave, together with a small leather pouch containing lead and powder, to the stranger chief, who received it with an air so puzzled and mysterious, that Mahéga could scarcely refrain from smiling. He turned the pistol over and over, looking down the barrel, and examining the lock with a curiosity that he carednot to conceal; he pointed it, however, towards a mark in an adjoining rock, and made a sound with his lips, which was intended to imitate its report, repeating at the same time the word “sachsi–nama,” as if to show that the name and use of the weapon were not strange to him, although he might never have seen one before. Mahéga then proceeded to show him how to use it, making signs that with it he might kill all his enemies; and upon the stranger expressing a wish to see an instance of its power, he placed a thin flat stone at the distance of a few yards, and split it in two at the first shot; after which he reloaded it, showing at the same time the use of the priming–pan and trigger.

It was not without a look of gratified pride that he placed the pistol in his belt, repeating again and again, “sachsi–nama,” “nahtovi–nama.” He then unslung the short bow that hung at his back, and presented it, with the panther–skin quiver full of arrows, to the Osage chief, who received the gift with every appearance of satisfaction, and they parted, the former returning towards the encampment of his tribe, after he had told Mahéga that the name of the bow was “nutsi–nâma.”[84]

For some time after the departure of his new ally, the Osage remained upon his seat examining the bow, which at first sight he had considered a mere toy, but which he found, to his astonishment, required all his force to draw it to its full power. Being formed of bone, strengthened throughout with sinew, it was stiff and elastic to an extraordinary degree; and although not more than three feet in length, would drive an arrow as far as an ordinary six–feet bow.

When he had sufficiently examined his new acquisition, it occurred to the chief that he could not, without risk of detection,carry it into the Crow camp. He resolved, therefore, to hide it in a dry cleft of the rock, and take it out again after the issue of his plot should be decided.

This resolution threatened to bring about an unexpected catastrophe, as it happened that he approached the very recess in which Wingenund was stationed. Drawing the knife from his belt, the youth stood in the inmost corner of the cavern, ready, as soon as discovery became inevitable, to spring upon his powerful enemy; but fate had otherwise decreed, and the Osage passed on to a higher and narrower cleft, where he deposited the quiver and the bow, carefully closing the aperture with moss and lichen.

It was not until he had gone some distance on his homeward way, that Wingenund emerged from his hiding–place, and having possessed himself of the quiver and bow, returned slowly upon the Osage’s trail towards the Upsaroka camp, proving as he went the surprising strength of the weapon, and admiring the straightness and beauty of the war–arrows with which the quiver was supplied.[85]

Following unperceived, and at some distance, the steps of the Osage, he found that the latter took a shorter, though a somewhat steeper and more rugged way than that by which he had come, so that very little more than two hours of brisk walking brought him within sight of the watch–fires of the Upsaroka camp, just as day closed, and their light began to shine more brightly through the valley. Availing himself of the shelter of a stunted pine, the youth lay down for some time, and did not re–enter the camp until late at night, when he made his way without interruption to Besha’s tent, giving to the outposts by whom he was challenged, the countersign taught him by the horse–dealer.

On the following morning before sunrise, Besha was aroused by Wingenund, who told him that he had news of great importance to communicate to the Crow chiefs, and that no time should be lost before they were summoned to council. The horse–dealer rubbed his eyes as he wakened by degrees and listened to this intelligence, which he suspected at first to besome trick on the part of the youth for the liberation of his friends; but there was an earnest simplicity in his manner that carried conviction with it; and Besha endeavoured, as he threw on his hunting–shirt, and fastened his belt, to learn from the youth the nature and purport of his intelligence. The latter seemed, however, to be in no very communicative mood; he merely replied; “Wingenund speaks not the Upsaroka tongue; let Besha repeat to the council word after word what he hears, that will be enough; he will serve both the Crows and the Delawares, and will obtain thanks and presents from both. Let Mahéga, too, be called to attend the council.”

The horse–dealer having departed upon his errand, Wingenund found an opportunity to detail briefly to Paul Müller and Ethelston the discovery that he had made on the preceding evening; but it may well be imagined that he could obtain from neither any information respecting the mountain tribe with whom the Osage was carrying on his treacherous intrigue.

“Let my son boldly speak the truth,” said the missionary, “and leave the result to God.”

“Wingenund never told a lie,” replied the young Delaware; and the bright, fearless expression of his countenance warranted the proud assertion.

“How many are there in our crowded cities and churches,” said the missionary, looking after the youth as he re–entered the horse–dealer’s lodge, “who dare echo that speech? yet methinks, as far as memory and conscience serve him, he has said no more than the truth. I have known him from his childhood, and believe him to be as much a stranger to falsehood as to fear.”

“They are cousins–german, my worthy friend,” said Ethelston, “and generally dwell together! I wonder not at the affection which Reginald bears to that youth; nature has stamped upon his countenance all the high and generous qualities that endear man to his brother. Let us endeavour to be present at the council which is now assembling; we have been such quiet prisoners that perhaps our guards will allow us to be spectators on this occasion.”

Besha happening to pass at this moment, obtained for them the desired permission, which was the more readily granted that the Crow sentries themselves were desirous of seeing what was going forward, and knew that no danger could be apprehendedfrom the two unarmed captives. The spectacle that met their view when they issued from the lodge was striking and picturesque; runners had been sent throughout the camp, and all the principal chiefs, braves, and medicine–men were already assembled in a semicircle, the concave centre of which was formed by the lodge of White–Bull and his father, the latter of whom had put on for the occasion a magnificent head–dress of painted eagle–feathers which betokened his rank as head–chief of the band. The horse–dealer stood in front of his own lodge to the left, and frequent were the glances directed to him from all quarters, it having been generally understood that the council was summoned to consider matters brought forward by him. Behind him stood Wingenund, wrapped in a loose blanket, which partially concealed his features and covered entirely the rest of his person; on the opposite wing of the circle, and at a distance of twenty–five or thirty yards, stood Mahéga, his gigantic stature shown off to the best advantage by the warlike dress which he had put on complete for the solemn occasion, his neck and arms being covered with beads of various colours, and his fingers playing unconsciously with the weighty iron–pointed mace or war–club which had slain so many of those whose scalp–locks now fringed his leathern shirt and hose. The warriors and other Indians of inferior degree stood in the background, and some, anxious to get a better view of what was going forward, had perched themselves upon the adjoining rocks and cliffs, where their dusky forms, dimly seen through the mists which were now vanishing before the beams of the rising sun, gave a wild and picturesque effect to the scene.

Nearly half an hour was consumed by the soothsayers or medicine–men in going through their formal mummeries to ascertain whether the hour and the occasion were favourable for the proposed business, and it was not until the medicine–pipe had been passed round, and the chief functionary had turned gravely to the north, south, east, and west, blowing to each quarter successively a whiff of medicine–smoke, that he gave his permission for the council to proceed with its deliberations.

During all this time a profound silence reigned throughout the camp, the women suspending their scolding, chattering, and domestic avocations, and even the children peeping, halffrightened, from behind their mothers, or stealing away to some spot where they might laugh and play without fear of being whipped for disturbing the solemnities.

The venerable father of White–Bull now returned the great pipe to the medicine–men, saying, in a voice distinctly audible throughout the circle: “Besha has called the chiefs and braves of the Upsaroka together; they are come—their ears are open—let the one–eyed man who brings horses from the far prairies, speak with a single tongue.”

Thus called upon, the horse–dealer stepped forward, saying: “Besha is neither wise in council, nor a chief among warriors; he has travelled far among the eastern tribes, and he knows their tongues; he stands here to give out of his mouth what goes in at his ear. Let the Upsaroka warriors listen; they are not fools, they will soon know if lies are told to them. Let them look at this youth; his blanket is that of Besha’s slave; he is not what he seems; he is a son of the Lenapé, a friend of the Whites; yet he is come alone into the camp to show to the Upsaroka that a snake is crawling among their lodges.”

A murmur ran through the assembly as Besha pronounced these words, and pointed to Wingenund, who, throwing the blanket into the hollow of his left arm, advanced to the front, and with a slight inclination to the old chief, awaited his permission to proceed.

The youth, the graceful form, the open countenance, and the dignified bearing of Wingenund, as he stood forward in the assembled circle, prepossessed the Crows strongly in his favour, and they awaited with excited curiosity the intelligence that he had to communicate; but their chief did not appear disposed to gratify their impatience, for after whispering a few words to a messenger who stood beside him, he relapsed into silence, scanning with a fixed gaze the countenance of the young Delaware. The latter bore the scrutiny with modest, yet undisturbed composure, and not a voice was raised in the council until the return of the messenger, conducting a Crow doctor or conjuror, somewhat advanced in years, who took his station by the chief, and gave a silent assent to the whispered orders that he received.

It may well be imagined with what mingled feelings of surprise and indignation the haughty Osage beheld the youngDelaware thus standing forward in the midst of the council–circle; that his presence boded no good to himself he well knew; but how and wherefore he came, and why he, belonging as he did to a hostile band, was thus permitted to appear before the assembly of Crow warriors, he was quite at a loss to understand. His suspense, however, was not destined to be of long duration, for as soon as Besha, in obedience to a signal from the chief, had desired Wingenund to speak what he had to say, the youth came another step forward, and said in a clear voice—

“There is a snake among the lodges of the Upsaroka; a hidden snake, that will bite before its rattle is heard.”

The Crows looked from one to the other as Besha translated this sentence, and the old conjuror gave a slight nod to the chief, indicating that the youth’s meaning was rightly given. It may be as well to inform the reader that the said conjuror had in early life been taken prisoner by the Pawnees, with a party of whom he had been conveyed to a great council held with the Indian agents at St. Charles’s, in Missouri, respecting the cession and appropriation of territory. Several of the western Delawares had been present at this meeting, which was protracted for many weeks, and the Crow prisoner had picked up a smattering of their tongue, which, however slight it might be, had occasioned him to be sent for on this occasion to check any propensity for untruth that might be entertained by the horse–dealer. Whether the latter was influenced by these, or by other motives, he rendered faithfully the conversation that ensued, and therefore it is not necessary to notice further the part played by the interpreter.

“Who is it that speaks?” demanded the old chief, with dignity: “the Crows open not their ears to the idle words of strangers.”

“Then let them shut their ears,” replied the youth, boldly. “Before another sun has set they will wish they had listened to the words of Wingenund!”

“Who is Wingenund? Is he not an enemy? have not his people shed Upsaroka blood? why, then, should they believe his words?”

“Wingenund is the son of a Lenapé chief. For a thousand summers his fathers have hunted over forest and plain beyond the Great River. Wingenund has heard of their deeds, andhe will not stain his lips with a lie. The Lenapé have taken Crow scalps in defence of their own, Wingenund will not deny it; but he came here to serve his white friends, not to hurt the Upsaroka.”

On hearing this bold reply, White–bull bent his brow fiercely upon the speaker; but the youth met his eye with a look of bright untroubled confidence, while he quietly awaited the chief’s further interrogation.

“Let the son of the Lenapé speak, but let him beware,—if his tongue is forked, the Upsaroka knives will cut it out from his head.”

“Wingenund is not a woman, that he should be frightened with big words; when he speaks, the truth comes from his lips; and if he chooses to be silent, the Upsaroka knives cannot make him speak,” replied the youth, with a look of lofty scorn.

“Is it so?—we shall see,” cried White–bull, springing forward, at the same time drawing his knife, with which he struck full at the naked breast of the youth. Not a muscle moved in the form or countenance of Wingenund; his eye remained steadily fixed on that of the Crow, and he did not even raise in his defence the arm over which his blanket was suspended. Nothing could have saved him from instant death, had not White–bull himself arrested the blow just as it was falling, so that the point of the knife scratched, but did not penetrate the skin. Wingenund smiled, and the Crow warrior, partly ashamed of his own ebullition of temper, and partly in admiration of the cool courage of the young Delaware, said to his father, “Let him speak: there are no lies upon his tongue.”

The old man looked for a moment sternly at his son, as if he would have reproved him for his violence, in interrupting the business of the council, but apparently he thought it better to let it pass; and, turning towards Wingenund, he said, in a milder tone than he had yet used, “Let the young stranger speak if he will, his words will not be blown away; if he has seen a snake, let him show it, and the chiefs of the Upsaroka will owe him a debt.”

Thus appealed to, Wingenund, slowly raising the forefinger of his right hand, pointed it full upon Mahéga, saying, in a loud voice, “There is the snake! Fed by the hand of theUpsaroka, clad in their gifts, warmed by their fire, he now tries to bite them, and give them over to their enemies, even as his black heart and forked tongue have before destroyed those whom he called brothers.”

It is beyond the power of words to paint the rage of the conscious Osage, on hearing this charge: he concealed it, however, by a strong effort, under a show of just indignation, exclaiming aloud, “The Upsaroka warriors are not fools, that they should believe the idle words of a stranger boy, a spy, who stole into their camp by night, and now tickles their ears with lies.”

“The young Lenapé must tell more,” said the old chief, gravely, “before the Upsaroka can believe bad things of a warrior who has smoked and fought with them, and has taken the scalps of their enemies.”

Thus called upon, Wingenund proceeded to relate distinctly the circumstances narrated in the last chapter. His tale was so clearly told, his description of the locality so accurate, that the attention of the whole council was riveted, and they listened with the most profound attention. A cloud gathered upon the brow of White–bull, and the gigantic frame of Mahéga swelled with a tempest of suppressed passion. Independently of the dangers that now threatened him, his proud spirit chafed at the thought of being thus tracked, discovered, exposed, and disgraced by a boy; and his fury was heightened by observing the bright eye of the Delaware youth fixed upon him with a steady searching gaze, indicative at once of conscious truth and triumph. Still he resolved to hold out to the last; he trusted that after the great services he had rendered in battle to the Crows, they would at least believe his word, before that of an unknown youth, who came amongst them under such suspicious circumstances. These reflections passing rapidly through his mind, restored his disturbed self–possession, and enabled him to curl his haughty features into an expression of sneering contempt.

Great was the excitement among the Crows, as Wingenund described, with unerring minuteness and accuracy, the dress and equipments of the stranger with whom Mahéga had held the interview; and there was dead silence in the council when the interpreter was ordered to inquire whether he knew to what tribe the strange Indian belonged.

“Wingenund knows not,” he replied; “but he heard the name that was taught to the Osage, as the battle–cry of his new allies.”

“E–chĭ–pētă!” shouted the impetuous White–bull, who had already recognised in the youth’s description one of the warriors of the Black–feet, the hereditary enemies of his tribe.

“It was not so,” replied Wingenund gravely. “Ka–in–na[86]was the name; it was twice spoken.”

A deep murmur ran round the assembly, White–bull exchanged a significant glance with the nearest of his braves, and again a profound silence reigned throughout the assembly.

Mahéga now felt that the crisis of his fate was at hand, and that every thing must depend on his being able to throw discredit on the tale of Wingenund. This was not, however, an easy task, for he suspected Besha of a secret leaning to the Delaware side, while the fierce and lowering looks of the bystanders showed him how little was wanting to make the smothered flame burst forth.

These indications did not escape the aged chief, who spoke a few words in a serious and warning tone, the purport of which was to remind them that the present council was sacred to the Medicine, and was not to be desecrated by any violence or shedding of blood. He concluded by saying, “Let the Washashee speak for himself, and let Besha give his words truly, if he does not wish to have his ears cut off.”

Thus admonished, the horse–dealer lent all his attention to the Osage, who came forward to address the council with an imposing dignity of manner that almost made the most suspicious of his hearers doubt the truth of the accusations brought against him.

Being now in front of the semicircle, which was not more than twenty yards in width, he was directly opposite to Wingenund, who stood forward a few feet in advance of its other wing. The contrast offered by the stature and bearing of the accuser and the accused, the slight active frame, the youth and grace of the one, and the haughty air and gigantic bulk of theother, struck Ethelston so forcibly that he could not forbear whispering to Paul Müller, “Worthy father, does not the scene recall to mind the meeting between the Hebrew shepherd and the giant of Gath?”

“It does, my son; and I misjudge the looks of the Osage if they part hence without the shedding of blood. I have long studied his countenance, and, however skilfully he has subdued its expression, I can trace the full storm of passions raging within his breast.”

Further discourse was prevented by the commencement of the Osage’s speech, which he delivered with a tone and gesture of indignation, suitable to one who declared himself injured and belied.

He began by recapitulating the services that he had rendered to the Crows, the faithful warriors that he had lost in their cause, and their valuable presents concealed in the câche, to which he was even now conducting them; on the other hand, he painted the injuries they had received from the Lenapé, who had come into their country in league with the white–skins, the bane of their tribe and race, that their hands were still wet with Upsaroka blood; and “whose is the forked tongue,” said he, “that is to cover with lies and dirt the fame of the great chief of the Washashee, the sworn brother of the Upsaroka?—Who but a boy, a stranger, a liar, and a spy, telling his idle dreams to the council to break the friendship of warriors whom his cowardly tribe, and their pale–faced allies, dared not meet in the field!”

During the whole of this tirade, which was delivered with much vehemence and gesticulation, Wingenund stood motionless as a statue, his calm eye fixed upon the excited countenance of his opponent with an undisguised expression of contempt.

Receiving no reply, Mahéga continued: “Chiefs and brothers, you are wise in council—men of experience; your ears will not be tickled with the idle songs of this false–tongued singing–bird; a messenger who brings such news to the great council of the Upsaroka—who tells them that their brother who has fought by their side, and smoked at their fire, is a forked snake, he must bring something better able to convince them than the cunning words coming from his own lying lips!”

These words, supported by the commanding tone assumed by the Osage, were not without their effect upon the minds of that fierce and deeply–interested assemblage.

Wingenund waited until the speech of his antagonist had been translated to them, when he replied, with unmoved composure, “If the Crow warriors require better witness than words, it is not difficult to find; they have already been told that the Kainna stranger gave to Mahéga a present of a bow and arrows, which he hid in the rocks; Wingenund took them out, and here they are.”

As the youth spoke he dropped the blanket that had been thrown over his left arm and shoulder, holding up to the council the bow and arrows, which all present instantly recognised as being made and ornamented by the Black–feet.

“Are the warriors yet convinced,” continued the youth, raising his voice, “or do they wish for more? If they do, let them seize the Washashee wolf, they will find in his belt—“

He was not allowed to finish the sentence; the storm that had long been brooding, now burst in all its fury. Mahéga, driven to desperation by the damning evidence brought against him, and reckless of all save the gratification of his fierce revenge, whirled his iron–pointed mace around his head, and launched it with tremendous force at Wingenund.

Never had the latter, even for an instant, taken his falcon eye off the Osage; but so swift was the motion with which the weapon was thrown, that although he sprung lightly aside to avoid it, the spiked head grazed and laid open his cheek, whence it glanced off, and striking an unlucky Crow who stood behind him, felled him, with a broken arm, to the ground. Even in the act of stooping to escape the mace, Wingenund fitted an arrow into the Black–foot bow which he held in his hand; and rising quick as thought, let it fly at his gigantic adversary, with so true an aim, that it pierced the windpipe, and the point came out at the back of his neck, close to the spine. While the Osage, half strangled and paralysed, tugged ineffectually at the fatal shaft, Wingenund leaped upon him with the bound of a tiger, and uttering aloud the war–cry of the Lenapé, buried his knife in the heart of his foe. With one convulsive groan the dying Osage fell heavily to the earth; and ere the bystanders had recovered from theirastonishment, his blood–stained scalp hung at the belt of the victorious Delaware.

For a moment all was tumult and confusion; the few remaining Osages made a rush towards Wingenund to avenge the death of their chief, but they were instantly overpowered and secured with thongs of pliant bark, while White–bull sprang into the arena of combat, and in a voice of thunder shouted to his warriors to stand back and unstring their bows.

During the brief but decisive conflict the appearance of Wingenund was so much changed, that Ethelston declared to his friend afterwards that he should not have recognised him. The muscles of his active frame swelled with exertion, while the expanded nostril and flashing eye gave to his countenance an expression of fierce excitement, almost amounting to ferocity. Now that the struggle was over he resumed, without an effort, the habitual quiet gentleness of his demeanour, and turning to Besha, said, “Let the Upsaroka chiefs look below the belt of that dead wolf; perhaps they will find the signal whistle of the Kainna.”

The horse–dealer stooped; and searching, as he was directed, found a small leathern bag, on opening which there fell out, as Wingenund had said, the whistle of the Black–foot chief; a yell of indignation burst from the assembly, some of the nearest of whom vented their rage by bestowing sundry kicks upon the inanimate remains of the treacherous Osage.

Popularity is a plant that springs up as suddenly, and perishes as rapidly, among the tribes of the Western wilderness, as among the mobs of Paris or of London; and Wingenund, whose life would scarcely have been safe had he been found an hour earlier in the Crow camp, was now its hero and its idol. To say that the youth was not elated, would be to say that he was not human; for he had avenged the slaughter of his kindred, and had overcome the most powerful and renowned warrior in the Missouri plains, the fell destroyer of the race of Tamenund. But so well had he been trained in the school of self–command, that neither Ethelston, nor Paul Müller who had known him from his childhood, could trace in his demeanour anything different from its usual quiet modesty; and they waited, with no little impatience, to see what results would ensue from this triumph in respect of their own release.

The Crow chiefs and warriors did not forget, in the excitementof the scene just described, the threatened attack to which the treachery of Mahéga had exposed them; and they now crowded round Wingenund, while White–bull put many questions to him, through Besha, respecting the position and apparent numbers of the Black–feet, to all of which he answered with a precision that increased the high opinion that they already entertained of his quickness and intelligence. White–bull even condescended so far as to explain to him his own projects for withdrawing his band from the neighbourhood of the formidable Kainna to some more secure position. A slight smile curled the lip of the young Delaware, as he said to Besha, “The counsel of the Crow chief does not seem good to Wingenund: if White–bull will agree to his terms, he will place the Kainna chief, and half a score of his best warriors, as captives in this camp before to–morrow at midday.”

A general murmur of surprise followed these words; and White–bull, somewhat nettled, inquired what might be the terms proposed.

“They are,” said Wingenund, “first, that the two white prisoners shall be immediately restored to their friends; secondly, that the Osages shall be given up to the Lenapé; thirdly, that there shall be peace and friendship between the friends of Wingenund and the Upsaroka until the snow falls again upon the earth.”

The leaders having conversed apart for a few minutes, White–bull said, “If Wingenund fails, and the Kainna take many scalps from the Upsaroka, what will happen then?”

“They will take the scalp of Wingenund too,” replied the youth calmly.

Again the Crow chiefs consulted together for some time, and at length they resolved to agree to the terms proposed by Wingenund. The medicine–pipe was brought, and was passed from the chief to him, as well as to Ethelston and the missionary; after which Wingenund said to White–bull, “There is no time to be lost; let sixty of the best warriors be chosen, twenty to go with Wingenund, and forty with White–bull; and let one be found, very large and tall; let him put on the dress of Mahéga; Wingenund will take the whistle, and all will be ready.”

A short time sufficed to collect and marshal the party; and Ethelston was, at his own earnest request, permitted to jointhe band led by the Delaware youth, being anxious to see the manœuvres about to take place, and Besha having made himself responsible for his fidelity.

Wingenund led the way at a swift pace, until he gained the summit of the first range of hills; nor did he slacken it until he had crossed the valley beyond, and stood upon the opposite brow of the heights, whence the Black–foot band was visible. Here he concealed and halted his party, until he had crept forward and examined all the range of hills within sight. As soon as he had satisfied himself that all was quiet, he drew his party gently on, and at length succeeded in hiding White–bull and his forty men behind some rocks in the steepest and narrowest part of the gorge leading down to the glen below. His quick eye had noted the spot before, and a more minute inspection now convinced him that there was no other pass by which the enemy could ascend the height, and that a handful of determined men might defend it against ten times their number.

Having warned White–bull to keep his own men close, and to stir neither hand nor foot until he heard the Lenapé war–cry, which was the appointed signal, he retreated with his own band of twenty men to the point where the interview between Mahéga and the Black–foot had taken place, which was about forty yards higher up the mountain, and where the gorge was almost as narrow and precipitous as at the pass below. Here he concealed his men among the rocks, and Ethelston primed and loaded three rifles, which they had taken from the Osages, and which were now destined for the use of Wingenund and himself.

For several weary hours the youth watched in vain for the approach of the Black–feet; and any nerves less steady than his own would have been shaken by the remembrance of the disagreeable consequences that might result from the failure of his plot. He lay, however, still and motionless as the stone upon which his elbow rested, until, just as the grey hue of evening was beginning to steal over the landscape, he descried an Indian slowly ascending the steep, followed at a distance by a long line of warriors. A low whistle from Wingenund warned his party to be ready, but he moved not until the advancing band were sufficiently near for him to recognise in their leader the chief who had conferred with Mahéga on the preceding day.

While they were approaching in careless security, the Crows prepared for the attack, each man being provided with a tough halter of bison–hide, in addition to his usual weapons of bow, knife, and war–club; and the leader of the Black–feet had already passed the lower gorge (where White–bull and his party were concealed), ere he sounded the signal preconcerted with Mahéga. Wingenund immediately replied by a similar sound drawn from the whistle which he had secured, desiring at the same time the Crow who wore the dress of the slain Osage to show himself at the edge of the rock skirting the pass. The Black–foot chief, completely deceived, toiled lazily up the steep and narrow ascent, beckoning to his men to follow; and just as he reached the upper station, Wingenund, seeing that twelve or fourteen of them were now fairly caged between the party below and his own, leapt from his concealment upon the astonished leader of the Black–feet, and dealing him a blow on the head that stunned and disabled him, shouted aloud the war–cry of the Lenapé.

No sooner was the signal uttered, than White–bull rushed from his ambuscade, and seized the pass below; so that the unfortunate Black–feet, enclosed between the two parties, panic–struck by the suddenness of the attack, and the fall of their leader, could neither fight nor fly; and in spite of their desperate but unavailing attempts at resistance, were all in the course of a few minutes disarmed and securely bound.

Meanwhile the main body of their comrades made a gallant attempt to force the lower pass, but it was so stoutly defended by the Crows, and was in itself so narrow and difficult, that they were soon forced to retire with loss. Neither could those who succeeded to the command bring them again to the attack. The war–cry of the Lenapé had never before been heard in these glens, and the dismayed Black–feet thought that the evil spirits were fighting against them; while to increase their terror, Ethelston and Wingenund fired two of the rifles over their heads, the bullets from which whistled past them, and the echoes of their report, prolonged by the rocks and crags around, died away at length like the muttered thunder of a distant storm. Terrified by the suddenness of the attack, and by the noise of the fire–arms, ignorant of the number, position, and even of the nation, of their unexpected assailants, and fearful that another manœuvre might cut off their retreat,they fled precipitately down the mountain–side, and halted not until they brought their tale of disgrace and disaster into the Kainna camp.

In the course of a few hours after the events above narrated, Wingenund and White–bull stood together before the lodge of the aged chief of the Crows, whom the former addressed as follows:—“My father, see there the Kainna chief, and twelve of his best warriors; they are prisoners; their life hangs upon my father’s breath; the promise of Wingenund has not been blown away by the wind.”

Besha having duly translated this address, was desired by the old chief (whose astonishment was scarcely exceeded by his delight) to bestow the highest praise that he could express upon the young Delaware’s skill and courage; to which effusion of complimentary eloquence he replied: “My father, Wingenund has not seen many summers; he has no skill in speech, nor experience in council; but he knows that the Great Spirit loves a single tongue, and a true heart. Mahéga was cunning as a wolf, swift as a deer, strong as a bison–bull; but there was poison in his heart, and lies dwelt under his tongue, like snakes under a smooth stone. What is the end? The mountain–buzzards pick his bones; and when his children ask,—where is the grave of Mahéga? there shall be none to answer. My father, when the sun has risen, the treaty shall be made, the pipe of peace shall be smoked, and the Medicine of the white tent shall bring many good things to the Upsaroka.”

Having thus spoken, Wingenund retired to the lodge of Besha; and the captive Black–feet having been placed under a guard, White–bull remained in consultation with his father, while the other warriors soon forgot in sleep the fatigues of the past eventful day.

c310CHAPTER X.WINGENUND AND HIS FRIENDS RETURN TOWARDS THEIR CAMP.—A SERIOUS ADVENTURE AND A SERIOUS ARGUMENT OCCUR BY THE WAY.—SHOWING, ALSO, HOW THE EXTREMES OF GRIEF, SURPRISE, AND JOY MAY BE CROWDED INTO THE SPACE OF A FEW MINUTES.The result of the consultation between White–bull and his father was, that the terms of the treaty made with Wingenund should be strictly observed; but lest the ingenuous reader should be misled into the belief that this resolution was influenced by any considerations of good faith or honesty, it may be as well to inform him that the advantages and disadvantages of the two opposite courses were discussed with the most deliberate calculation, and the path of honour was at length selected upon the following grounds:—First.It was expedient to make friends with the allied band, inasmuch as the latter were formidable enemies, from their courage, skill, and equipment.Secondly.They had many bales of cloth, blankets, and other goods, of which they would probably make liberal presents to their friends: and,Thirdly.The Crows having just incensed and triumphed over their hereditary foes the Black–feet, they might expect reprisals from the latter; in which event, the alliance of a band commanding upwards of twenty “medicine–fire–weapons,” was not to be despised.Having embraced this resolution, and communicated it by secret messengers to the principal braves and conjurers, the worthy sire and son summoned them to a grand council on the following morning, at which the treaty was ratified in due form; Wingenund, Paul Müller, and Ethelston representing the allied band, and each party loading the other with praises and compliments, until the oily tongue of Besha was almost weary of translating and retranslating their expressions of mutual amity and fidelity.The four unhappy survivors of Mahéga’s band were now brought forward, their arms being securely pinioned behind them, and Besha inquired of Wingenund his wishes concerningthem. It needed only a word from his lips, and they would have been stabbed, burnt, or more slowly tortured to death on the spot. The youth looked at them sternly for a moment, and Paul Müller trembled lest the vengeful instinct of his race should guide his decision; but he replied, “Wingenund will take them with him to the Lenapé camp. War–Eagle, Netis, and the Black Father shall hold a council, and what they think best it shall be done.”Ethelston, Paul Müller, and Wingenund now prepared to bid adieu to their Crow friends, it having been agreed that White–bull, accompanied by some of his principal braves, should visit the Delaware camp on the following day to interchange presents, and confirm the alliance thus happily and unexpectedly commenced; and, as a further proof of his friendly disposition, the Crow chief permitted Bending–willow to send a girdle of delicate fawn–skin, adorned with feathers and stained quills, to the “Great Medicine of the white tent.”Wingenund had still kept possession of the three Osage rifles, one of which was in the hands of Ethelston; and the other two he now loaded, and offered one to Paul Müller.“Nay, my son,” said the missionary, smiling, “these hands are not skilled in the use of the firelock; neither do they desire to be acquainted with any weapon more dangerous than this oaken staff. The shedding of human blood would ill beseem a humble minister of the Gospel of Peace.”“The words of the Black Father,” said the youth respectfully, “are full of goodness and truth; but he must not forget that the path lies over rough and dangerous places; that there are four prisoners, who may attempt to overcome or escape from us, and that we may meet enemies by the way; therefore Wingenund wished to give the Black Father a weapon to defend himself.”“The motive, my son, was natural and blameless; nevertheless, I purpose to abstain from handling any deadly weapon, and to entrust my personal safety to Him who has so marvellously preserved us through trials, captivity, and dangers innumerable. My children,” continued the worthy man, in the English tongue, “before we depart hence to revisit our friends, let us together thank God for the great mercies shown to us; let us implore his further protection for ourselves and all dear to us; and let us humbly entreat him, in his own good time,to soften, turn, and enlighten the hearts of these benighted children of the wilderness, so that they may hereafter, with us, be brought to his heavenly kingdom.”As he said these words, the venerable missionary dropped upon his knees, Ethelston and Wingenund kneeling beside him, while he uttered a fervent prayer, which embraced, in simple, yet eloquent language, all the objects above alluded to.Great was the surprise of the Crows at the attitude of the three, and their sudden abstraction from all that was passing around; but Besha having whispered to the chief that they were talking to the Great Spirit, he made a signal that profound silence should be observed, fearful that if they were disturbed, or anyways annoyed, they would invoke evil upon himself and his tribe.The prayer was concluded, and they were about paying their farewell salutations to the chiefs, when the low wailing of a female voice from an adjoining lodge caught the missionary’s ear—an ear to which the accents of distress ever found immediate entrance. Having desired Besha to inquire into the cause of her complaint, he learnt that she was the wife of the man who had been struck down by Mahéga’s war–club, after it had grazed the cheek of Wingenund, and that her husband was now lying in a state of great misery and suffering. In spite of a gesture of impatience from the Delaware youth, whose feet burned to be upon the homeward path, the missionary approached the sufferer, and carefully examined his condition. He found that the bones of the broken arm had been joined with tolerable skill and success, and that it was well secured by bandages to a straight splinter of pine–wood; but, whether owing to the roughness of the treatment, or the pain he had undergone, he was now in a high and dangerous state of fever. The missionary had still concealed in his girdle a small bag, containing, among other medicines, a few powders exactly adapted to the emergency; of these he mixed one with a little water, and having given it to his patient, left another with Besha, desiring that it might be administered at noon, and that no meat should be given to him until the following day. “With these remedies, and with the blessing of the Great Spirit,” said he, as he retired, “the man will soon be well.”“Did I understand rightly,” said Ethelston to Wingenund,“that White–bull comes over to–morrow with his braves to complete the treaty with us, and exchange presents?”“It is so settled,” replied the youth.“Would it not then be better to let him and his men bring with them the Osage prisoners? They are four desperate men, and only we two are armed; if they mutiny by the way, we shall be obliged to shoot them in self–defence.”“My brother does not know the Washashee and the Upsaroka,” said Wingenund, smiling; “both of them love the Pale–faces and the Lenapé as the wolf loves the deer. No, my brother, let the prisoners go with us; our eyes must be open; if they try to run away or do us harm, the rifle must keep them quiet.”The youth spoke these words in a low, determined tone; and Ethelston feeling that he could not gainsay their truth, listened while Wingenund repeated the warning to the Osages in their own tongue, informing them that if they made the slightest attempt to escape, or demonstration of violence by the way, they would be instantly shot; a sullen and silent inclination of the head, signifying that he was understood, was the only reply; and once more greeting their Crow allies, the little party moved off in the direction of the Delaware camp, Wingenund leading the way, with a loaded rifle in his hand, the Black–foot bow and quiver slung at his back, and a knife and pistol, taken from one of the Osages, being fastened in his girdle; next came the four prisoners, with their arms still pinioned, but their legs entirely at liberty; Paul Müller and Ethelston brought up the rear; the latter carrying two loaded rifles, one in his hand, and the other slung over his shoulder.It was a beautiful summer morning, the grey mists had arisen from the valley and curled in spiral folds round the rugged and precipitous rocks that frowned above it. Short and scant as was the herbage, still as it glistened in the early dew, and hung forth its diamond drops in the sun, it imparted a touch of sweetness to scenery, the dreary barrenness of which might otherwise have oppressed the mind of the traveller with a feeling of desolation. Never, perhaps, over that, or over any other mountain track, passed a lighter foot or a more rejoicing heart than that of our young friend Wingenund. The dreams of boyhood, dreams that a few weeks ago he had himself deemed visionary, or at least remote, were already accomplished;he had won the gold spurs of Indian chivalry: in the dance, or the council, or the field, neither envy nor detraction could now forbid his mixing with the braves and warriors of his tribe; and his heart exulted within him as he thought of presenting to Netis and War–Eagle the scalp of their arch–enemy, the insolent captor of Prairie–bird, the great warrior of the Osages, slain by his own hand. These were feelings which the boy–hero could share with none, for with Ethelston he was as yet little acquainted, and Paul Müller he knew to be averse to all thoughts of strife and conflict; still the feelings arose unchecked and unrepressed within his bosom when he remembered the name by which he was called, the deeds of those who had borne it before him; and mingled with these memories of the past came the proud reflection, that wherever the Delaware tongue was yet spoken among the scattered bands of the Ancient People on the banks of Missouri and Ohio, of Susquehana and Miami, the song of Lenapé warrior and Lenapé maiden would tell how the scourge of their tribe, Mahéga, the Bloody–hand, had been slain by Wingenund, the brother of War–Eagle!The events of the preceding days had been to the youth the realised romance of his life; and as he strode along the mountain side, he felt as if his expanded chest were a world too narrow for the high emotions that swelled within it.Perhaps it may seem unnatural to the reader, that amidst all the excitement of awakened hope, ambition, and exultation, the youth forgot not for a moment the perils by which he was surrounded. It is our business to describe the Indian character, not as it might be, if designed “to point a moral or adorn a tale,” but as it is, with all those lights and shades which distinguish it from that of white men; and one of the most remarkable features—one which has also escaped the observation of those writers who are chiefly quoted as authority on this subject—is that power of reserved abstraction which the mind of the Indian acquires as a result of an early and constant habit of control over the will. Thus, during the wildest flight of his imagination, and the highest aspirations of his ambitious hopes, under an excitement which would have rendered an English youth of his years blind, and deaf, and careless for the moment of all that was passing around, the quick eye of Wingenund roved with incessant motion fromhill to vale, embracing every hollow that might contain an ambush, and every crag near his path that might give shelter to a foe.Ethelston conversed little with the missionary, for there was a thought which lay close to his heart, and made its pulses throb more quickly at every step that he made towards the Delaware camp. Already they were within a few miles of it, when, in passing a streamlet that flowed across their path, Wingenund suddenly turned and proposed to his companions to refresh themselves with a drink.Passing the Osages, he came back to Ethelston, and said to him, while the missionary filled a small tin cup with water, “My brother’s eyes have been shut, let him be ready now; one of the prisoners is free, and has almost cut the bands of a second.”Accustomed to dangers and emergencies, Ethelston did not start nor take any outward notice of the young Delaware’s observation; but he replied, “It is true, I have been heedless; but it is not too late to repair the error: seize him while he is drinking, I will secure the others; do not take life if it can be avoided.”Wingenund took the hint and carried the cup round, offering a draught to each of the pinioned Osages, without appearing to notice the severed thong hanging from the wrist of the one who had freed himself.Thus thrown off his guard, and thinking he was unsuspected, the Osage stooped to drink from the cup, when Wingenund seized him with his left hand, and, presenting a pistol to his breast, said to him in his own tongue, “If you stir, you die.”Reckless of consequences, and despairing of mercy in the Delaware camp, the fierce Osage sprang upon the youth, and strove to wrench the pistol from his grasp. Being a powerful man, he might have succeeded in the attempt, had not a blow from the butt end of Ethelston’s rifle laid him stunned and prostrate on the ground.The three other prisoners, seeing their comrade’s helpless condition, ceased from the violent efforts which they had been making to free themselves, and by the time that he had recovered from the effects of the blow, his arms were pinioned more strongly than before, and the thongs by which the others were fastened were re–examined and secured.While engaged in this operation, Wingenund showed to Ethelston a sharp flint with which the Osage had cut his own bands, and had begun to separate those of his next comrade in the line of march: a few minutes more and his hands would also have been free, in which case the task of our two friends would not have proved so easy.Ethelston well understood Wingenund’s meaning as the latter showed him the half–cut thong on the wrist of the second Indian, and he said, “I confess I was blind, my young friend, and am ashamed of myself! you will have but a low opinion of my talents as a warrior.”“My brother’s eye may have wandered a little,” replied the youth, smiling, “because he is not skilled in the Washashee tricks; but his heart is in the right place, and his hand knows how to strike; a few suns will rise and set before the skull of that dog forgets what my brother bestowed upon it.”“It was time to strike hard, because I did not wish to strike twice. As I had requested you not to shoot, I felt that I had made myself answerable for your safety, and if that second fellow had succeeded in freeing his hands, we might have had some troublesome work of it. But tell me, Wingenund, how did you, while walking in front, discover what was passing behind you?”“The Osage told me himself,” replied the youth, again smiling.“I do not understand you, for assuredly he never spoke.”“Not with his tongue, but plainly enough with his face. I looked round once or twice, and my eye met his; I saw there was mischief, for he looked too good. When I passed to ask you for the cup, I looked again, quickly, but closer, and saw that his hands were free, though he kept them together as before.”Ethelston could not forbear laughing at the youth’s notion of the ill–favoured Osage, “looking too good;” but feeling both amused and interested by his replies, he again said, “I must own my admiration of your quick–sightedness, for doubtless the Osage tried to make the expression of his face deceive you.“He has not the face of an Indian warrior,” said the youth, scornfully. “When a deed is to be done or concealedlet my brother try and read it in the face of War–Eagle, or any great chief of the Lenapé! As well might he strive to count the stones in the deepest channel of the great Muddy River,[87]or the stars of heaven in a cloudy night!”The party had now struck a broad trail, leading across the valley, and up the opposite height, in the direction of the Delaware camp; the Osage prisoners were therefore sent to the front, and ordered to march forward on the trail by which means Wingenund enjoyed the advantage of watching their movements, while he continued to converse with his friends.“I own,” said Ethelston, “that I had not before considered a command over the muscles of the countenance as being a matter of so much importance in the character of an Indian warrior.”“Nevertheless the youth is right in what he says,” replied Paul Müller. “Where cunning and artifice are so often resorted to, a natural and unconcerned air of candour is an admirable shield of defence: the quickness of sight which you lately observed in Wingenund, is an hereditary quality in his race. The grandfather of Tamenund was so celebrated for it, that he was called by a name signifying ‘The man who has eyes in his back:’ he was killed only twenty years ago, during the fierce irruption made by a band of the five nations into the valley of Wyoming, to which the old man had retired in the hope of closing his eyes in peace.”“I have heard of that tragedy,” said Ethelston; “indeed, it occurred while I was at school on the banks of the Muskingum; and often as the boys went or returned, they used to frighten each other with cries of ‘The Indians!’ but I have since been much absent from my own country, and never rightly understood who were the actors in that scene of terror, and what were the tribes usually known by the name of the Six Nations, for so I have always heard them called.”“There were in fact only five,” replied the missionary; “for although the Tuscaroras joined the confederation, they did not originally belong to it. These five are known among white men by the following names:—The Mohawks, Oneidas, Cayugas, Onondagas, and Senecas; and it was a band of the latter that made the irruption into the valley of Wyoming. I dare say that Wingenund knows more of them than I do, for he often heard Tamenund speak of them, and he knew their history like the traditions of his own tribe.”“Wingenund has not forgotten,” replied the youth, “what his grandfather taught him concerning the Five Nations. The names spoken by the Black Father are those commonly given them; but they call themselves otherwise.”“Tell me, Wingenund,” said Ethelston, “the names by which they are known among themselves?”“The Mohawks are called Coningionah. The Oneidas, Oni–eut–kah; or ‘The people of the standing–stone.’ The Cayugas, Senanda Wanandu–nah; ‘The people of the great pipe.’ The Onondagas, Nundagekah; ‘People of the small hill.’ The Senecas, Nundawâ–gah; ‘People of the big hill.’ But the council name of the last is different.”“What do you mean by the council name?”“Many of the nations have more than one name, and the council name is never spoken except by the chiefs and wise men in council; the women and boys seldom know it; and if they do, they must not speak it.”“Did Tamenund tell you the council name of the Senecas?”“Yes; it is Oni–hoout, ‘Those who shut the door;’ because the Senecas live the furthest to the south–west, and guard the others from the approach of their enemies.”[88]“It always appeared to me,” said Ethelston, turning to the missionary, “that the variety and arbitrary alteration ofIndian names present an insuperable barrier in the way of any inquiry into their national or local history.”“Certainly, my son; the difficulty is great, and proceeds from various causes:—First, because it is frequently, perhaps generally, the case among Indian nations, that the son takes the name of the mother, and not, as with us, that of the father. Secondly, there often are, as you have just learnt from Wingenund, two or three names by which the same person or tribe is designated. Thirdly, nothing is more common than for a warrior to receive a new name from any daring or remarkable feat that he may have performed, in which case his former name is dropped, and soon forgotten: and, lastly, it must be remembered, that we, American, Germans, and English, have obtained the greater part of our Indian nomenclature, both as to persons and places, from the French; who, in the various capacities of possessors, adventurers, missionaries, voyageurs, hunters, and interpreters, have overrun almost the whole of this continent before us.”“It is, then, your opinion that the French travellers and writers from whom these names have been chiefly derived, have been very careless and inaccurate in their transcription of them?”“Extremely so. When they first reached and descended the Mississippi, they called it the ‘Colbert;’ afterwards, on finding what a magnificent river it became when it received the waters of the Missouri, they call it ‘La rivière St. Louis,’ by which name it was known for many years, until insensibly it recovered its Indian appellation. When the adventurers came to any unknown tribe, they called them by some name descriptive of the accidental circumstances under which they first saw them, and these names they have ever since retained. Thus, the Winnebagoes in the north happened, when first visited, to be drying fish in their camp, and thence obtained the pleasant name by which they are now known, ‘Les Puans!’ Another band, some of whom had accidentally been scorched, by the prairie and underwood near their encampment taking fire, have ever since been called ‘Les Bois–Brulés;’ another, ‘Les Gros Ventres.’[89]The Dahcotah nation they have called ‘Les Sioux;’ the Aricará, ‘Les Ris;’and so forth, until it is difficult, if not impossible, to recognise any of the original Indian names under their French disguise.”“I grant this,” said Ethelston. “Yet we must not forget that the English have in several instances laid themselves open to the same charge; otherwise the great nation to which our young friend belongs would not have been called after a Norman baron! But you will surely allow that the early French missionaries in North America were men of great piety, learning, and enterprise?”“It is true, my son, many of them were so; and none can feel more grateful than I do to such of them as laboured sincerely in the service of the Gospel. Yet I am bound to say, that in the best authorised account which they sent to France from Natchez of the surrounding country,[90]there is so much pedantry, prejudice, and fancy, mingled with highly interesting information, that the book cannot be quoted as one possessing historical authority. A writer who gravely infers that the Mississippi Indians came from the north–eastern straits, from the identity of the Choctaws with the people of Kamchâktâ (or Royaume des Chactas), must expect that some of his other arguments and speculations should be received with diffidence.—But see, we have reached the summit of this range, and Wingenund’s sparkling eye is already fixed upon the tent of Prairie–bird.”“There it is!” said the youth; “they have moved it since I came away, and placed it on that point nearer the stream.”Little did he suspect what had occurred during his brief absence, as, with a foot light and elastic as his heart, he put himself at the head of his little party, and led the way swiftly towards the camp.As the party drew near the camp they fell in with the outpiquet on guard in that quarter, consisting of one of the Delaware braves and two of his men, to whom Wingenund entrusted his Osage prisoners, adding, “Give them water and food, but let them not escape.”The brave looked full in the face of the youth, then his eye roved from the scalp at his belt to the pinioned Osages, and a grim smile played across his features; but they almost instantly relapsed into the grave and gloomy expression thatthey had before worn; not another word was spoken, and the three passed on towards the white tent. As they drew near, they saw a group of hunters, among whom were Pierre and Bearskin, sitting round a smouldering fire, some smoking, and others engaged in mending their mocassins or cleaning their pistols and rifles. There was neither joke nor song amongst them; and although they started up to welcome their rescued and returning friends, the latter perceived that something was wrong, and it was with aching and foreboding hearts that they returned the friendly greeting, and passed onwards towards the tent, before which they saw Reginald and Baptiste in earnest conversation.Reginald no sooner saw them, than he sprung forward to embrace Ethelston, exclaiming, “God be praised for this great and unexpected comfort!”Ethelston looked in his friend’s face; and its expression confirming his apprehensions, his lip grew pale and trembled; he gasped for breath, as, pressing Reginald’s hand within his own, he said, “Speak—speak! tell me what has happened?” then pointing to the tent, he added, “Is she safe?—is she well?”“She is safe—she is well!” replied Reginald; “nevertheless—“Ethelston heard no more, but a deep groan relieved the oppression of his heart, as he ejaculated, “Blessed be the God of Mercies!” and covering his face with his hands, stood for a moment in silence.Reginald was surprised at this extraordinary emotion in his friend, usually so composed and calm, and at the deep interest that he took in one whom, although betrothed to his intended brother–in–law, he had not yet seen. But he added, gravely, “God knows, my dear friend, that my gratitude is not less fervent than yours. Precious as her life is, it has however been ransomed at a price dearer to me than aught else on earth besides herself. Wingenund,” he continued, addressing the youth, and affectionately taking his hand, “you are the son of a race of heroes; is your heart firm? are you prepared to suffer the griefs that the Great Spirit thinks fit to send?”They youth raised his dark eyes to the speaker’s face; and subduing by a powerful effort the prescient agony of his soul, he said in a low tone, “Let Netis speak on; the ears ofWingenund are ready to hear what the Great Spirit has sent.”“Dear Wingenund, alas! War–Eagle, our beloved brother is—““Dead!” interrupted the youth, letting the butt of his rifle fall heavily to the ground.“Nay, not yet dead, perhaps worse than dead; for he is hurt beyond all hope of cure, yet suffers torture such as none but himself could endure without complaint.”It was fearful for those who stood by to witness the agonising struggle of emotions that convulsed the frame of the young Delaware on receiving this announcement; for War–Eagle had been to him not only a brother, but father, companion, and friend, the object on whom all the affections of his young heart had been concentrated with an intensity almost idolatrous! Yet even in the extremity of anguish he forgot not the rude yet high philosophy of his race and nurture; he could not bear that any human eye should witness his weakness, or that any white man should be able to say that Wingenund, the last of the race of Tamenund, had succumbed to suffering. Terrible was the internal conflict; and while it was yet uncertain how it might end, his hand accidentally rested upon his belt, and his fingers closed upon the scalp of Mahéga; instantly, as if by magic, the grief of the loving brother was crushed by the stoic pride of the Indian warrior.“War–Eagle is not dead; his eyes shall look upon the scalp of his great enemy slain by the hand which he first taught to use a bow; and when he goes to the hunting–fields of the brave, our fathers may ask him, ‘Where is the scalp of the destroyer of our race?’” Such were the thoughts that shot like wildfire through the brain and through the breast of the young Delaware, as with a countenance almost haughty in its expression, he drew up his graceful form to its full height, saying, “Where is War–Eagle? Wingenund would see him. Let the Black Father go too; perhaps his healing skill might avail.”“I will not deceive you, dear Wingenund; no human skill can avail our departing friend. He is now within the tent; Prairie–bird watched with him all the night; she spoke to him often words from God’s own book, and they seemed to comfort him, for he smiled, and said he would gladly hear more.She has retired to take a few hours’ sleep, then she will return and resume her sad but endearing task.”“Wingenund will go to him; but first let Netis say whence the wounds of War–Eagle came. Have enemies been near the camp?”With the eloquence of deep feeling Reginald briefly related the circumstances attending War–Eagle’s devoted and heroic defence of Prairie–bird from the bears.Ethelston and Paul Müller listened with suspended breath, and as he concluded exclaimed together, “Noble, brave, and generous War–Eagle!” while the youth, pressing his lips together as if steeling his breast against softer impressions, said in a low tone, “‘Twas well done; few are the warriors whose single knife has reached the heart of a grisly bear. Let us go on to the tent.”Reginald led the way, and, lifting the flap, entered, followed by Ethelston, Wingenund, and Paul Müller.The chief was seated in the centre, propped by bales of cloth and fur; his sunken eye was closed from sleeplessness and exhaustion, and a blanket loosely thrown over his shoulders, covered the emaciated remains of his once powerful and athletic frame. At his side lay his favourite pipe, his war–club, knife, and rifle; while the faithful Lita, stretched at his feet, strove in vain to restore their natural warmth, by applying to them hot stones enveloped in the shreds of a blanket, which she had torn up for the purpose. The entrance of the party was not unmarked by the wounded chief, and a smile passed over his wasted features when he unclosed his eyes, and recognised Wingenund and the two others whom he had rescued from the Crows.“The Black Father is welcome,” he said, in a faint, but cheerful voice, “and so is the friend of Netis; and War–Eagle is glad to see the face of his brother Wingenund.”We have seen how the youth had, by a desperate effort, nerved himself to bear, without giving way, the description of his brother’s wounds and hopeless condition; yet when the feeble tones of that loved voice thrilled upon his ear, when his eye fell upon the wasted frame, and when he saw written upon that noble countenance proofs not to be mistaken, of torture endured, and death approaching, the string which had refused to be relaxed started asunder, and he fell senseless to the ground, while a stream of blood gushed from his mouth.Half–raising himself by the aid of his yet unwounded arm, War–Eagle made a vain effort to move towards his young brother, and his eye shone with something of its former eager lustre, as he said, in a voice louder than he was deemed capable of uttering, “Let the Black Father lend his aid and skill to the youth; he is the last leaf on the Unâmi branch; dear is his blood to the Lenapé.”“Dearer to none than to me,” said the missionary, raising and supporting the unconscious youth, “for to him I owe my liberty, perhaps my life. ’Tis only the rupture of a small blood–vessel; fear not for him, my brave friend, he will soon be better.”While Paul Müller, assisted by one of the Delawares who stood at the entrance of the tent, carried the youth into the open air, and employed the restoratives which his experience suggested, the chief mused upon the words which he had last heard, and inquired, addressing himself to Reginald, “What said the Black Father of his life and liberty being given by Wingenund?”“Tell the chief, Ethelston, what has befallen, and how you and Paul Müller were rescued by Wingenund. In my deep anxiety for my suffering friend, I was satisfied with seeing that you had returned in safety, and never inquired how you escaped.”Ethelston drew near to the wounded chief, so that he might distinctly hear every syllable spoken, and said, “War–Eagle, as surely as Prairie–bird owes her life and safety to your devoted courage, so surely do the Father and I owe our lives and liberty to that of Wingenund. Can you listen now, and follow me while I tell you all that has happened?”The chief gave a silent nod of assent, and Ethelston proceeded in the simple language of true feeling, to relate to him the events recorded in the last chapter. At the commencement of the narrative, the chief, expecting, probably, that the escape had been effected by some successful disguise or stratagem, closed his eyes, as if oppressed by the torturing pains that shot through his frame; but he opened them with awakened interest, when the scene of the council was described, and at the mention of Mahéga’s name, he ejaculated “Ha!”—his countenance assumed a fierce expression, and his hand unconsciously grasped the war–club that lay beside him.Reginald listened with deep interest, and even Lita, who hadhitherto appeared insensible to every thing except the sufferings of her beloved lord, threw back the long hair from her eyes, marvelling what this might be that so excited and revived him; but when Ethelston related the catastrophe, how Mahéga had thrown his club, slightly grazing the youth, and how the latter had, in presence of the assembled Crows, killed and scalped the great Osage, the breast of the Delaware warrior heaved with proud emotions, which quelled for the moment all sense of the pains that racked his frame: his eye lightened with the fire of other days, and waving the war–club over his head, he shouted, for the last time, the war–cry of his tribe.As the chief fell back exhausted upon his rude pillow, the gentle voice of Prairie–bird was heard from the adjoining compartment of the tent, calling Lita to explain the meaning of the loud and unexpected cry by which she had been aroused from her slumber. Lita withdrew; and while her mistress made her rapid and simple toilet, informed her of the safe return of the Black Father and Wingenund, and that the latter having been seized with a sudden illness, the friend of Reginald had remained by the chief, and had communicated some intelligence, which seemed to affect him with the most extravagant joy and excitement.So anxious was the maiden to see her beloved preceptor, and so hastily did she fold the kerchief in the form of a turban round her head, that several of her dark tresses escaped from beneath it, and fell over her neck. The first dress that came to her hand was one made from a deep–blue Mexican shawl, of ample dimension, given to her by the missionary. Fastening this round her slender waist with an Indian girdle, and a pair of mocassins upon her delicate feet, she went forth, catching up as she left the tent a scarf, which she threw carelessly over her shoulders. Greeting War–Eagle hastily, but affectionately, as she passed, she flew with a glowing cheek and beating heart to the spot where the missionary still bent with anxious solicitude over the reviving form of Wingenund.“My father—my dear father!” she exclaimed, seizing his hand; “God be praised for thy safe return!”The venerable man embraced her tenderly, and after contemplating for a moment her countenance beaming with filial affection, he placed his outspread hands upon her head, saying, with impressive solemnity, “May the blessing of God restupon thee, my beloved child, and upon all near and dear to thee, for ever!”Prairie–bird bowed her head meekly while breathing a silent amen to the holy man’s benediction, and then turned to inquire of her young brother how he now felt, and of Paul Müller into the cause of his sudden illness.Wingenund was sufficiently recovered to speak to her gratefully in reply, and to press the hand which she held out to him; but he was much reduced by loss of blood, and the missionary, putting his finger to his lips, enjoined him quiet and silence for the present. He continued, however, in a low voice to explain to her the strange events that had lately occurred, and how he and the friend of her betrothed owed to the heroism of Wingenund their life and liberty.While the maiden listened with absorbed attention, every passage in the brief but eventful tale was legible on her eloquent countenance. As Reginald stood at a little distance gazing earnestly upon its changeful loveliness, he was startled by a suppressed ejaculation from some one at his side, at the same time that his arm was seized and pressed with almost convulsive force. He turned, and saw his friend Ethelston, who, finding that War–Eagle had fallen into a tranquil sleep had stolen out of the tent to the side of Reginald, where he first caught a sight of the maiden as she listened to the missionary’s narrative. Reginald again observed with astonishment that his friend, usually so calm, trembled from head to foot: his eye rested upon the group with a preternatural fixedness, and his lips moved inaudibly, like those of a man scarcely recovered from a trance. “Gracious Heaven! what can have happened? Edward,youare not surely ill! that would indeed fill the cup of our trials to the brim. Speak to me! let me hear your voice, for your looks alarm me!”Ethelston made no reply, but he pointed with his finger towards Prairie–bird, and two or three large tear–drops rolled down his cheeks.While this was passing, Paul Müller had brought his tale to a conclusion, and his eye happening to light upon Ethelston, he continued (still addressing Prairie–bird), “And now, my dear child, it only remains for me to tell you the cause of our beloved young brother’s weakened condition. The extremes of joy and of anguish will sometimes sweep before them themightiest bulwarks that can be raised in the heart of man by his own unaided strength. Wingenund opposed to the stroke of affliction sent from on high not the meek, trusting endurance of Christian resignation, but the haughty resistance of human pride. Already he sees and repents his error, and the mist is clearing away from his eyes; but you, my dear child, have been better taught; you have learnt, in all trials and in all emergencies, to throw yourself upon the mercy of your heavenly Father, and to place your whole trust in his gracious promises of protection. We are more apt to forget this duty when our cup overflows with joy than when his chastening hand is upon us; but it should not be so. Promise me, then, promise me, my beloved child, that in weal or in woe, in the rapture of joy as in the extremity of sorrow, you will strive to remember and practise it.”Awed by the unusual solemnity of his manner, the maiden bowed her head, and said, “I promise.”Scarcely had she said these words, when Reginald came forward, leading his friend Ethelston, who had by a strong effort recovered from his extreme agitation, and regained something of his usual composure. “Prairie–bird,” said Reginald, “I wish to make known to you, my most faithful companion, my tried and attached friend Ethelston. You must love him now for my sake; when you know him, you will do so for his own.”Leaning on the missionary’s arm, the maiden raised herself from her stooping posture to greet the friend of her betrothed. “I have heard much——,” she said, with her sweet natural dignity of manner; but she suddenly stopped, starting as if she had seen a ghost, and clinging closer to Paul Müller’s arm, while her earnest gaze encountered the eyes of Ethelston fixed upon her with an expression that seemed to shake the nerves and fibres of her heart. To Reginald their silence and agitation was an incomprehensible mystery: not so to the missionary, who still supported Prairie–bird, and whispered to her as she advanced a step nearer to the stranger, “Your promise.” She understood him, for he heard her breathe the Almighty’s name, as Ethelston also advanced a step towards her; and again their looks dwelt upon each other with a fixed intensity that spoke of thoughts too crowded, and confused, and mysterious, for expression. At length Ethelston, whose strong and wellbalancedmind had triumphed over the first shock of emotion, addressed the maiden, saying, “Have the latter years been so happily spent that they have quite banished from the mind of Prairie–bird the memory of early days?”At the sound of his voice the maiden started, as if she had received an electric shock; her bosom heaved with agitation, and her eyes filled with tears.Again the missionary whispered, “Your promise!” while Ethelston continued, “Has she forgotten her own little garden with the sun–dial? and poor Mary, who nursed, and dressed, and taught her to read? Has she forgotten the great Bible full of prints, of which she was so fond; and the green lane that led to Mooshanne? Has Evy forgotten her Edward?”“’Tis he—’tis he! ’tis Eddy! my own, my long–lost brother!” cried the maiden aloud, as she threw herself into his arms; and looking up into his face, she felt his cheek as if to assure herself that all was not a dream, and poured out her grateful heart in tears upon his bosom. She did remember her promise, and even in the first tumult of her happiness, she sought and derived from him to whom she owed it, strength to endure its sudden and overwhelming excess.“’Tis even so,” said the missionary, grasping the astonished Reginald’s arm; “for some time I had suspected that such was the case; Prairie–bird, my beloved pupil, and your betrothed bride, is no other than Evelyn Ethelston, the sister of your friend. My suspicions were confirmed and almost reduced to certainty, during the first conversations that I held with him in St. Louis; for he, being several years older than you, remembered many of the circumstances attending the disappearance and supposed destruction of his little sister by the Indians, when his father’s house was ravaged and burnt. I foresaw that they must meet when he left the settlements in search of you, and though I prepared him for the interview, I thought it better to say nothing to her or to you, but to leave the recognition to the powerful voice of Nature. You see the result in that fraternal embrace, and I have in a little bag, given to me by Tamenund when at the point of death, proofs of her identity that would convince a sceptic, were you disposed to be one—the cover of a child’s spelling–book, in which her name is written at length (possibly by Ethelston), and a little kerchief, with the initials E. E. in the corner, both of which werein her hand when she was carried off by the Indian who spared and preserved her!”While the missionary felt beneath the folds of his dark serge robe for the bag which he had always carefully kept suspended by a ribbon from his neck, Reginald’s memory was busy in recalling a thousand indistinct recollections of early days, and in comparing them with those of a more recent date.“Well do I remember,” he exclaimed, “missing my sweet little playmate in childhood; and how all allusion to the terrible calamity that befel our nearest neighbour and friend, was forbid in our family! Scarcely ever, even in later years, have I touched upon the subject with Ethelston, for I saw that it gave him pain, and brought a cloud over his brow. Now, I can understand the wild and troubled expression that came across her countenance when she first saw me near the Osage camp, and first heard my voice, and how she started, and afterwards recovered herself, when I told her of Mooshanne! How blind have I now been to every thing save her endearing qualities, and the ten thousand graces that wait upon her angelic form! See how like they are, now that a tide of feeling is poured into the countenance of my steady and composed friend. Jealous as I am of her time, and of every grain of her affection, I must not grudge them a few minutes of undisturbed intercourse after a separation of so many years! Come, worthy Father, let us employ ourselves in tending and ministering to War–Eagle and Wingenund, and let us not forget that to them, next to Heaven, we are indebted for the life and happiness of every single member of our miraculously reunited circle.”“You have a warm and a kindly heart, my young friend,” said the missionary, “and that is a blessing without which all the other blessings of Heaven may fall like showers upon the Lybian desert. I know how you must long to pour out your feelings of affection on this occasion to your friend, and to your betrothed; but believe me, you will not have done amiss by following the first promptings of your heart. Let us, as you propose, endeavour to soothe and comfort the sufferers; Wingenund is now sufficiently recovered to listen while you relate to him these strange occurrences; only caution him not to speak too much at present. I will return to the side of War–Eagle, and although it be too late now for us to attempt any remedy for his bodily pains, who shall limit the power ofthe Almighty, or circumscribe the operation of his hands? Who knows whether He may not think fit, even at the eleventh hour, to touch that stern and obdurate heart with a coal from His altar? And, oh! my dear young friend, if such be His blessed purpose, I would not forego the privilege of being the humble instrument in effecting it for all the wealth, the honours, the happiness, that earth can bestow.”Reginald looked after the worthy missionary until he disappeared within the tent, then sighing heavily, he said to himself, “If zeal, honesty, and true piety can render any human means available, assuredly that excellent and holy man’s attempt will not be made in vain; and yet I fear that nothing short of a miracle can soften or subdue the stern pride of War–Eagle’s spirit. How deeply anxious do I feel for the issue! for I cannot forget that it was in defence of Prairie–bird that he incurred this fearful torture, ending in an untimely death! His life sacrificed that mine might be happy with her! Where, where, my generous Indian brother, shall I find, among the cities and crowded haunts of civilized man, truth, self–denial, and devoted affection like thine? At least I will strive to fulfil the wish that I know to be nearest thy heart, by cherishing in my bosom’s core thy beloved brother Wingenund!”Thus meditating, Reginald sat down by the young Delaware, and strove, by awakening his interest in the strange events lately brought to light respecting Prairie–bird, to wean him from the deep dejection caused by his brother’s hopeless plight.

c310

WINGENUND AND HIS FRIENDS RETURN TOWARDS THEIR CAMP.—A SERIOUS ADVENTURE AND A SERIOUS ARGUMENT OCCUR BY THE WAY.—SHOWING, ALSO, HOW THE EXTREMES OF GRIEF, SURPRISE, AND JOY MAY BE CROWDED INTO THE SPACE OF A FEW MINUTES.

The result of the consultation between White–bull and his father was, that the terms of the treaty made with Wingenund should be strictly observed; but lest the ingenuous reader should be misled into the belief that this resolution was influenced by any considerations of good faith or honesty, it may be as well to inform him that the advantages and disadvantages of the two opposite courses were discussed with the most deliberate calculation, and the path of honour was at length selected upon the following grounds:—

First.It was expedient to make friends with the allied band, inasmuch as the latter were formidable enemies, from their courage, skill, and equipment.

Secondly.They had many bales of cloth, blankets, and other goods, of which they would probably make liberal presents to their friends: and,

Thirdly.The Crows having just incensed and triumphed over their hereditary foes the Black–feet, they might expect reprisals from the latter; in which event, the alliance of a band commanding upwards of twenty “medicine–fire–weapons,” was not to be despised.

Having embraced this resolution, and communicated it by secret messengers to the principal braves and conjurers, the worthy sire and son summoned them to a grand council on the following morning, at which the treaty was ratified in due form; Wingenund, Paul Müller, and Ethelston representing the allied band, and each party loading the other with praises and compliments, until the oily tongue of Besha was almost weary of translating and retranslating their expressions of mutual amity and fidelity.

The four unhappy survivors of Mahéga’s band were now brought forward, their arms being securely pinioned behind them, and Besha inquired of Wingenund his wishes concerningthem. It needed only a word from his lips, and they would have been stabbed, burnt, or more slowly tortured to death on the spot. The youth looked at them sternly for a moment, and Paul Müller trembled lest the vengeful instinct of his race should guide his decision; but he replied, “Wingenund will take them with him to the Lenapé camp. War–Eagle, Netis, and the Black Father shall hold a council, and what they think best it shall be done.”

Ethelston, Paul Müller, and Wingenund now prepared to bid adieu to their Crow friends, it having been agreed that White–bull, accompanied by some of his principal braves, should visit the Delaware camp on the following day to interchange presents, and confirm the alliance thus happily and unexpectedly commenced; and, as a further proof of his friendly disposition, the Crow chief permitted Bending–willow to send a girdle of delicate fawn–skin, adorned with feathers and stained quills, to the “Great Medicine of the white tent.”

Wingenund had still kept possession of the three Osage rifles, one of which was in the hands of Ethelston; and the other two he now loaded, and offered one to Paul Müller.

“Nay, my son,” said the missionary, smiling, “these hands are not skilled in the use of the firelock; neither do they desire to be acquainted with any weapon more dangerous than this oaken staff. The shedding of human blood would ill beseem a humble minister of the Gospel of Peace.”

“The words of the Black Father,” said the youth respectfully, “are full of goodness and truth; but he must not forget that the path lies over rough and dangerous places; that there are four prisoners, who may attempt to overcome or escape from us, and that we may meet enemies by the way; therefore Wingenund wished to give the Black Father a weapon to defend himself.”

“The motive, my son, was natural and blameless; nevertheless, I purpose to abstain from handling any deadly weapon, and to entrust my personal safety to Him who has so marvellously preserved us through trials, captivity, and dangers innumerable. My children,” continued the worthy man, in the English tongue, “before we depart hence to revisit our friends, let us together thank God for the great mercies shown to us; let us implore his further protection for ourselves and all dear to us; and let us humbly entreat him, in his own good time,to soften, turn, and enlighten the hearts of these benighted children of the wilderness, so that they may hereafter, with us, be brought to his heavenly kingdom.”

As he said these words, the venerable missionary dropped upon his knees, Ethelston and Wingenund kneeling beside him, while he uttered a fervent prayer, which embraced, in simple, yet eloquent language, all the objects above alluded to.

Great was the surprise of the Crows at the attitude of the three, and their sudden abstraction from all that was passing around; but Besha having whispered to the chief that they were talking to the Great Spirit, he made a signal that profound silence should be observed, fearful that if they were disturbed, or anyways annoyed, they would invoke evil upon himself and his tribe.

The prayer was concluded, and they were about paying their farewell salutations to the chiefs, when the low wailing of a female voice from an adjoining lodge caught the missionary’s ear—an ear to which the accents of distress ever found immediate entrance. Having desired Besha to inquire into the cause of her complaint, he learnt that she was the wife of the man who had been struck down by Mahéga’s war–club, after it had grazed the cheek of Wingenund, and that her husband was now lying in a state of great misery and suffering. In spite of a gesture of impatience from the Delaware youth, whose feet burned to be upon the homeward path, the missionary approached the sufferer, and carefully examined his condition. He found that the bones of the broken arm had been joined with tolerable skill and success, and that it was well secured by bandages to a straight splinter of pine–wood; but, whether owing to the roughness of the treatment, or the pain he had undergone, he was now in a high and dangerous state of fever. The missionary had still concealed in his girdle a small bag, containing, among other medicines, a few powders exactly adapted to the emergency; of these he mixed one with a little water, and having given it to his patient, left another with Besha, desiring that it might be administered at noon, and that no meat should be given to him until the following day. “With these remedies, and with the blessing of the Great Spirit,” said he, as he retired, “the man will soon be well.”

“Did I understand rightly,” said Ethelston to Wingenund,“that White–bull comes over to–morrow with his braves to complete the treaty with us, and exchange presents?”

“It is so settled,” replied the youth.

“Would it not then be better to let him and his men bring with them the Osage prisoners? They are four desperate men, and only we two are armed; if they mutiny by the way, we shall be obliged to shoot them in self–defence.”

“My brother does not know the Washashee and the Upsaroka,” said Wingenund, smiling; “both of them love the Pale–faces and the Lenapé as the wolf loves the deer. No, my brother, let the prisoners go with us; our eyes must be open; if they try to run away or do us harm, the rifle must keep them quiet.”

The youth spoke these words in a low, determined tone; and Ethelston feeling that he could not gainsay their truth, listened while Wingenund repeated the warning to the Osages in their own tongue, informing them that if they made the slightest attempt to escape, or demonstration of violence by the way, they would be instantly shot; a sullen and silent inclination of the head, signifying that he was understood, was the only reply; and once more greeting their Crow allies, the little party moved off in the direction of the Delaware camp, Wingenund leading the way, with a loaded rifle in his hand, the Black–foot bow and quiver slung at his back, and a knife and pistol, taken from one of the Osages, being fastened in his girdle; next came the four prisoners, with their arms still pinioned, but their legs entirely at liberty; Paul Müller and Ethelston brought up the rear; the latter carrying two loaded rifles, one in his hand, and the other slung over his shoulder.

It was a beautiful summer morning, the grey mists had arisen from the valley and curled in spiral folds round the rugged and precipitous rocks that frowned above it. Short and scant as was the herbage, still as it glistened in the early dew, and hung forth its diamond drops in the sun, it imparted a touch of sweetness to scenery, the dreary barrenness of which might otherwise have oppressed the mind of the traveller with a feeling of desolation. Never, perhaps, over that, or over any other mountain track, passed a lighter foot or a more rejoicing heart than that of our young friend Wingenund. The dreams of boyhood, dreams that a few weeks ago he had himself deemed visionary, or at least remote, were already accomplished;he had won the gold spurs of Indian chivalry: in the dance, or the council, or the field, neither envy nor detraction could now forbid his mixing with the braves and warriors of his tribe; and his heart exulted within him as he thought of presenting to Netis and War–Eagle the scalp of their arch–enemy, the insolent captor of Prairie–bird, the great warrior of the Osages, slain by his own hand. These were feelings which the boy–hero could share with none, for with Ethelston he was as yet little acquainted, and Paul Müller he knew to be averse to all thoughts of strife and conflict; still the feelings arose unchecked and unrepressed within his bosom when he remembered the name by which he was called, the deeds of those who had borne it before him; and mingled with these memories of the past came the proud reflection, that wherever the Delaware tongue was yet spoken among the scattered bands of the Ancient People on the banks of Missouri and Ohio, of Susquehana and Miami, the song of Lenapé warrior and Lenapé maiden would tell how the scourge of their tribe, Mahéga, the Bloody–hand, had been slain by Wingenund, the brother of War–Eagle!

The events of the preceding days had been to the youth the realised romance of his life; and as he strode along the mountain side, he felt as if his expanded chest were a world too narrow for the high emotions that swelled within it.

Perhaps it may seem unnatural to the reader, that amidst all the excitement of awakened hope, ambition, and exultation, the youth forgot not for a moment the perils by which he was surrounded. It is our business to describe the Indian character, not as it might be, if designed “to point a moral or adorn a tale,” but as it is, with all those lights and shades which distinguish it from that of white men; and one of the most remarkable features—one which has also escaped the observation of those writers who are chiefly quoted as authority on this subject—is that power of reserved abstraction which the mind of the Indian acquires as a result of an early and constant habit of control over the will. Thus, during the wildest flight of his imagination, and the highest aspirations of his ambitious hopes, under an excitement which would have rendered an English youth of his years blind, and deaf, and careless for the moment of all that was passing around, the quick eye of Wingenund roved with incessant motion fromhill to vale, embracing every hollow that might contain an ambush, and every crag near his path that might give shelter to a foe.

Ethelston conversed little with the missionary, for there was a thought which lay close to his heart, and made its pulses throb more quickly at every step that he made towards the Delaware camp. Already they were within a few miles of it, when, in passing a streamlet that flowed across their path, Wingenund suddenly turned and proposed to his companions to refresh themselves with a drink.

Passing the Osages, he came back to Ethelston, and said to him, while the missionary filled a small tin cup with water, “My brother’s eyes have been shut, let him be ready now; one of the prisoners is free, and has almost cut the bands of a second.”

Accustomed to dangers and emergencies, Ethelston did not start nor take any outward notice of the young Delaware’s observation; but he replied, “It is true, I have been heedless; but it is not too late to repair the error: seize him while he is drinking, I will secure the others; do not take life if it can be avoided.”

Wingenund took the hint and carried the cup round, offering a draught to each of the pinioned Osages, without appearing to notice the severed thong hanging from the wrist of the one who had freed himself.

Thus thrown off his guard, and thinking he was unsuspected, the Osage stooped to drink from the cup, when Wingenund seized him with his left hand, and, presenting a pistol to his breast, said to him in his own tongue, “If you stir, you die.”

Reckless of consequences, and despairing of mercy in the Delaware camp, the fierce Osage sprang upon the youth, and strove to wrench the pistol from his grasp. Being a powerful man, he might have succeeded in the attempt, had not a blow from the butt end of Ethelston’s rifle laid him stunned and prostrate on the ground.

The three other prisoners, seeing their comrade’s helpless condition, ceased from the violent efforts which they had been making to free themselves, and by the time that he had recovered from the effects of the blow, his arms were pinioned more strongly than before, and the thongs by which the others were fastened were re–examined and secured.

While engaged in this operation, Wingenund showed to Ethelston a sharp flint with which the Osage had cut his own bands, and had begun to separate those of his next comrade in the line of march: a few minutes more and his hands would also have been free, in which case the task of our two friends would not have proved so easy.

Ethelston well understood Wingenund’s meaning as the latter showed him the half–cut thong on the wrist of the second Indian, and he said, “I confess I was blind, my young friend, and am ashamed of myself! you will have but a low opinion of my talents as a warrior.”

“My brother’s eye may have wandered a little,” replied the youth, smiling, “because he is not skilled in the Washashee tricks; but his heart is in the right place, and his hand knows how to strike; a few suns will rise and set before the skull of that dog forgets what my brother bestowed upon it.”

“It was time to strike hard, because I did not wish to strike twice. As I had requested you not to shoot, I felt that I had made myself answerable for your safety, and if that second fellow had succeeded in freeing his hands, we might have had some troublesome work of it. But tell me, Wingenund, how did you, while walking in front, discover what was passing behind you?”

“The Osage told me himself,” replied the youth, again smiling.

“I do not understand you, for assuredly he never spoke.”

“Not with his tongue, but plainly enough with his face. I looked round once or twice, and my eye met his; I saw there was mischief, for he looked too good. When I passed to ask you for the cup, I looked again, quickly, but closer, and saw that his hands were free, though he kept them together as before.”

Ethelston could not forbear laughing at the youth’s notion of the ill–favoured Osage, “looking too good;” but feeling both amused and interested by his replies, he again said, “I must own my admiration of your quick–sightedness, for doubtless the Osage tried to make the expression of his face deceive you.

“He has not the face of an Indian warrior,” said the youth, scornfully. “When a deed is to be done or concealedlet my brother try and read it in the face of War–Eagle, or any great chief of the Lenapé! As well might he strive to count the stones in the deepest channel of the great Muddy River,[87]or the stars of heaven in a cloudy night!”

The party had now struck a broad trail, leading across the valley, and up the opposite height, in the direction of the Delaware camp; the Osage prisoners were therefore sent to the front, and ordered to march forward on the trail by which means Wingenund enjoyed the advantage of watching their movements, while he continued to converse with his friends.

“I own,” said Ethelston, “that I had not before considered a command over the muscles of the countenance as being a matter of so much importance in the character of an Indian warrior.”

“Nevertheless the youth is right in what he says,” replied Paul Müller. “Where cunning and artifice are so often resorted to, a natural and unconcerned air of candour is an admirable shield of defence: the quickness of sight which you lately observed in Wingenund, is an hereditary quality in his race. The grandfather of Tamenund was so celebrated for it, that he was called by a name signifying ‘The man who has eyes in his back:’ he was killed only twenty years ago, during the fierce irruption made by a band of the five nations into the valley of Wyoming, to which the old man had retired in the hope of closing his eyes in peace.”

“I have heard of that tragedy,” said Ethelston; “indeed, it occurred while I was at school on the banks of the Muskingum; and often as the boys went or returned, they used to frighten each other with cries of ‘The Indians!’ but I have since been much absent from my own country, and never rightly understood who were the actors in that scene of terror, and what were the tribes usually known by the name of the Six Nations, for so I have always heard them called.”

“There were in fact only five,” replied the missionary; “for although the Tuscaroras joined the confederation, they did not originally belong to it. These five are known among white men by the following names:—The Mohawks, Oneidas, Cayugas, Onondagas, and Senecas; and it was a band of the latter that made the irruption into the valley of Wyoming. I dare say that Wingenund knows more of them than I do, for he often heard Tamenund speak of them, and he knew their history like the traditions of his own tribe.”

“Wingenund has not forgotten,” replied the youth, “what his grandfather taught him concerning the Five Nations. The names spoken by the Black Father are those commonly given them; but they call themselves otherwise.”

“Tell me, Wingenund,” said Ethelston, “the names by which they are known among themselves?”

“The Mohawks are called Coningionah. The Oneidas, Oni–eut–kah; or ‘The people of the standing–stone.’ The Cayugas, Senanda Wanandu–nah; ‘The people of the great pipe.’ The Onondagas, Nundagekah; ‘People of the small hill.’ The Senecas, Nundawâ–gah; ‘People of the big hill.’ But the council name of the last is different.”

“What do you mean by the council name?”

“Many of the nations have more than one name, and the council name is never spoken except by the chiefs and wise men in council; the women and boys seldom know it; and if they do, they must not speak it.”

“Did Tamenund tell you the council name of the Senecas?”

“Yes; it is Oni–hoout, ‘Those who shut the door;’ because the Senecas live the furthest to the south–west, and guard the others from the approach of their enemies.”[88]

“It always appeared to me,” said Ethelston, turning to the missionary, “that the variety and arbitrary alteration ofIndian names present an insuperable barrier in the way of any inquiry into their national or local history.”

“Certainly, my son; the difficulty is great, and proceeds from various causes:—First, because it is frequently, perhaps generally, the case among Indian nations, that the son takes the name of the mother, and not, as with us, that of the father. Secondly, there often are, as you have just learnt from Wingenund, two or three names by which the same person or tribe is designated. Thirdly, nothing is more common than for a warrior to receive a new name from any daring or remarkable feat that he may have performed, in which case his former name is dropped, and soon forgotten: and, lastly, it must be remembered, that we, American, Germans, and English, have obtained the greater part of our Indian nomenclature, both as to persons and places, from the French; who, in the various capacities of possessors, adventurers, missionaries, voyageurs, hunters, and interpreters, have overrun almost the whole of this continent before us.”

“It is, then, your opinion that the French travellers and writers from whom these names have been chiefly derived, have been very careless and inaccurate in their transcription of them?”

“Extremely so. When they first reached and descended the Mississippi, they called it the ‘Colbert;’ afterwards, on finding what a magnificent river it became when it received the waters of the Missouri, they call it ‘La rivière St. Louis,’ by which name it was known for many years, until insensibly it recovered its Indian appellation. When the adventurers came to any unknown tribe, they called them by some name descriptive of the accidental circumstances under which they first saw them, and these names they have ever since retained. Thus, the Winnebagoes in the north happened, when first visited, to be drying fish in their camp, and thence obtained the pleasant name by which they are now known, ‘Les Puans!’ Another band, some of whom had accidentally been scorched, by the prairie and underwood near their encampment taking fire, have ever since been called ‘Les Bois–Brulés;’ another, ‘Les Gros Ventres.’[89]The Dahcotah nation they have called ‘Les Sioux;’ the Aricará, ‘Les Ris;’and so forth, until it is difficult, if not impossible, to recognise any of the original Indian names under their French disguise.”

“I grant this,” said Ethelston. “Yet we must not forget that the English have in several instances laid themselves open to the same charge; otherwise the great nation to which our young friend belongs would not have been called after a Norman baron! But you will surely allow that the early French missionaries in North America were men of great piety, learning, and enterprise?”

“It is true, my son, many of them were so; and none can feel more grateful than I do to such of them as laboured sincerely in the service of the Gospel. Yet I am bound to say, that in the best authorised account which they sent to France from Natchez of the surrounding country,[90]there is so much pedantry, prejudice, and fancy, mingled with highly interesting information, that the book cannot be quoted as one possessing historical authority. A writer who gravely infers that the Mississippi Indians came from the north–eastern straits, from the identity of the Choctaws with the people of Kamchâktâ (or Royaume des Chactas), must expect that some of his other arguments and speculations should be received with diffidence.—But see, we have reached the summit of this range, and Wingenund’s sparkling eye is already fixed upon the tent of Prairie–bird.”

“There it is!” said the youth; “they have moved it since I came away, and placed it on that point nearer the stream.”

Little did he suspect what had occurred during his brief absence, as, with a foot light and elastic as his heart, he put himself at the head of his little party, and led the way swiftly towards the camp.

As the party drew near the camp they fell in with the outpiquet on guard in that quarter, consisting of one of the Delaware braves and two of his men, to whom Wingenund entrusted his Osage prisoners, adding, “Give them water and food, but let them not escape.”

The brave looked full in the face of the youth, then his eye roved from the scalp at his belt to the pinioned Osages, and a grim smile played across his features; but they almost instantly relapsed into the grave and gloomy expression thatthey had before worn; not another word was spoken, and the three passed on towards the white tent. As they drew near, they saw a group of hunters, among whom were Pierre and Bearskin, sitting round a smouldering fire, some smoking, and others engaged in mending their mocassins or cleaning their pistols and rifles. There was neither joke nor song amongst them; and although they started up to welcome their rescued and returning friends, the latter perceived that something was wrong, and it was with aching and foreboding hearts that they returned the friendly greeting, and passed onwards towards the tent, before which they saw Reginald and Baptiste in earnest conversation.

Reginald no sooner saw them, than he sprung forward to embrace Ethelston, exclaiming, “God be praised for this great and unexpected comfort!”

Ethelston looked in his friend’s face; and its expression confirming his apprehensions, his lip grew pale and trembled; he gasped for breath, as, pressing Reginald’s hand within his own, he said, “Speak—speak! tell me what has happened?” then pointing to the tent, he added, “Is she safe?—is she well?”

“She is safe—she is well!” replied Reginald; “nevertheless—“

Ethelston heard no more, but a deep groan relieved the oppression of his heart, as he ejaculated, “Blessed be the God of Mercies!” and covering his face with his hands, stood for a moment in silence.

Reginald was surprised at this extraordinary emotion in his friend, usually so composed and calm, and at the deep interest that he took in one whom, although betrothed to his intended brother–in–law, he had not yet seen. But he added, gravely, “God knows, my dear friend, that my gratitude is not less fervent than yours. Precious as her life is, it has however been ransomed at a price dearer to me than aught else on earth besides herself. Wingenund,” he continued, addressing the youth, and affectionately taking his hand, “you are the son of a race of heroes; is your heart firm? are you prepared to suffer the griefs that the Great Spirit thinks fit to send?”

They youth raised his dark eyes to the speaker’s face; and subduing by a powerful effort the prescient agony of his soul, he said in a low tone, “Let Netis speak on; the ears ofWingenund are ready to hear what the Great Spirit has sent.”

“Dear Wingenund, alas! War–Eagle, our beloved brother is—“

“Dead!” interrupted the youth, letting the butt of his rifle fall heavily to the ground.

“Nay, not yet dead, perhaps worse than dead; for he is hurt beyond all hope of cure, yet suffers torture such as none but himself could endure without complaint.”

It was fearful for those who stood by to witness the agonising struggle of emotions that convulsed the frame of the young Delaware on receiving this announcement; for War–Eagle had been to him not only a brother, but father, companion, and friend, the object on whom all the affections of his young heart had been concentrated with an intensity almost idolatrous! Yet even in the extremity of anguish he forgot not the rude yet high philosophy of his race and nurture; he could not bear that any human eye should witness his weakness, or that any white man should be able to say that Wingenund, the last of the race of Tamenund, had succumbed to suffering. Terrible was the internal conflict; and while it was yet uncertain how it might end, his hand accidentally rested upon his belt, and his fingers closed upon the scalp of Mahéga; instantly, as if by magic, the grief of the loving brother was crushed by the stoic pride of the Indian warrior.

“War–Eagle is not dead; his eyes shall look upon the scalp of his great enemy slain by the hand which he first taught to use a bow; and when he goes to the hunting–fields of the brave, our fathers may ask him, ‘Where is the scalp of the destroyer of our race?’” Such were the thoughts that shot like wildfire through the brain and through the breast of the young Delaware, as with a countenance almost haughty in its expression, he drew up his graceful form to its full height, saying, “Where is War–Eagle? Wingenund would see him. Let the Black Father go too; perhaps his healing skill might avail.”

“I will not deceive you, dear Wingenund; no human skill can avail our departing friend. He is now within the tent; Prairie–bird watched with him all the night; she spoke to him often words from God’s own book, and they seemed to comfort him, for he smiled, and said he would gladly hear more.She has retired to take a few hours’ sleep, then she will return and resume her sad but endearing task.”

“Wingenund will go to him; but first let Netis say whence the wounds of War–Eagle came. Have enemies been near the camp?”

With the eloquence of deep feeling Reginald briefly related the circumstances attending War–Eagle’s devoted and heroic defence of Prairie–bird from the bears.

Ethelston and Paul Müller listened with suspended breath, and as he concluded exclaimed together, “Noble, brave, and generous War–Eagle!” while the youth, pressing his lips together as if steeling his breast against softer impressions, said in a low tone, “‘Twas well done; few are the warriors whose single knife has reached the heart of a grisly bear. Let us go on to the tent.”

Reginald led the way, and, lifting the flap, entered, followed by Ethelston, Wingenund, and Paul Müller.

The chief was seated in the centre, propped by bales of cloth and fur; his sunken eye was closed from sleeplessness and exhaustion, and a blanket loosely thrown over his shoulders, covered the emaciated remains of his once powerful and athletic frame. At his side lay his favourite pipe, his war–club, knife, and rifle; while the faithful Lita, stretched at his feet, strove in vain to restore their natural warmth, by applying to them hot stones enveloped in the shreds of a blanket, which she had torn up for the purpose. The entrance of the party was not unmarked by the wounded chief, and a smile passed over his wasted features when he unclosed his eyes, and recognised Wingenund and the two others whom he had rescued from the Crows.

“The Black Father is welcome,” he said, in a faint, but cheerful voice, “and so is the friend of Netis; and War–Eagle is glad to see the face of his brother Wingenund.”

We have seen how the youth had, by a desperate effort, nerved himself to bear, without giving way, the description of his brother’s wounds and hopeless condition; yet when the feeble tones of that loved voice thrilled upon his ear, when his eye fell upon the wasted frame, and when he saw written upon that noble countenance proofs not to be mistaken, of torture endured, and death approaching, the string which had refused to be relaxed started asunder, and he fell senseless to the ground, while a stream of blood gushed from his mouth.

Half–raising himself by the aid of his yet unwounded arm, War–Eagle made a vain effort to move towards his young brother, and his eye shone with something of its former eager lustre, as he said, in a voice louder than he was deemed capable of uttering, “Let the Black Father lend his aid and skill to the youth; he is the last leaf on the Unâmi branch; dear is his blood to the Lenapé.”

“Dearer to none than to me,” said the missionary, raising and supporting the unconscious youth, “for to him I owe my liberty, perhaps my life. ’Tis only the rupture of a small blood–vessel; fear not for him, my brave friend, he will soon be better.”

While Paul Müller, assisted by one of the Delawares who stood at the entrance of the tent, carried the youth into the open air, and employed the restoratives which his experience suggested, the chief mused upon the words which he had last heard, and inquired, addressing himself to Reginald, “What said the Black Father of his life and liberty being given by Wingenund?”

“Tell the chief, Ethelston, what has befallen, and how you and Paul Müller were rescued by Wingenund. In my deep anxiety for my suffering friend, I was satisfied with seeing that you had returned in safety, and never inquired how you escaped.”

Ethelston drew near to the wounded chief, so that he might distinctly hear every syllable spoken, and said, “War–Eagle, as surely as Prairie–bird owes her life and safety to your devoted courage, so surely do the Father and I owe our lives and liberty to that of Wingenund. Can you listen now, and follow me while I tell you all that has happened?”

The chief gave a silent nod of assent, and Ethelston proceeded in the simple language of true feeling, to relate to him the events recorded in the last chapter. At the commencement of the narrative, the chief, expecting, probably, that the escape had been effected by some successful disguise or stratagem, closed his eyes, as if oppressed by the torturing pains that shot through his frame; but he opened them with awakened interest, when the scene of the council was described, and at the mention of Mahéga’s name, he ejaculated “Ha!”—his countenance assumed a fierce expression, and his hand unconsciously grasped the war–club that lay beside him.

Reginald listened with deep interest, and even Lita, who hadhitherto appeared insensible to every thing except the sufferings of her beloved lord, threw back the long hair from her eyes, marvelling what this might be that so excited and revived him; but when Ethelston related the catastrophe, how Mahéga had thrown his club, slightly grazing the youth, and how the latter had, in presence of the assembled Crows, killed and scalped the great Osage, the breast of the Delaware warrior heaved with proud emotions, which quelled for the moment all sense of the pains that racked his frame: his eye lightened with the fire of other days, and waving the war–club over his head, he shouted, for the last time, the war–cry of his tribe.

As the chief fell back exhausted upon his rude pillow, the gentle voice of Prairie–bird was heard from the adjoining compartment of the tent, calling Lita to explain the meaning of the loud and unexpected cry by which she had been aroused from her slumber. Lita withdrew; and while her mistress made her rapid and simple toilet, informed her of the safe return of the Black Father and Wingenund, and that the latter having been seized with a sudden illness, the friend of Reginald had remained by the chief, and had communicated some intelligence, which seemed to affect him with the most extravagant joy and excitement.

So anxious was the maiden to see her beloved preceptor, and so hastily did she fold the kerchief in the form of a turban round her head, that several of her dark tresses escaped from beneath it, and fell over her neck. The first dress that came to her hand was one made from a deep–blue Mexican shawl, of ample dimension, given to her by the missionary. Fastening this round her slender waist with an Indian girdle, and a pair of mocassins upon her delicate feet, she went forth, catching up as she left the tent a scarf, which she threw carelessly over her shoulders. Greeting War–Eagle hastily, but affectionately, as she passed, she flew with a glowing cheek and beating heart to the spot where the missionary still bent with anxious solicitude over the reviving form of Wingenund.

“My father—my dear father!” she exclaimed, seizing his hand; “God be praised for thy safe return!”

The venerable man embraced her tenderly, and after contemplating for a moment her countenance beaming with filial affection, he placed his outspread hands upon her head, saying, with impressive solemnity, “May the blessing of God restupon thee, my beloved child, and upon all near and dear to thee, for ever!”

Prairie–bird bowed her head meekly while breathing a silent amen to the holy man’s benediction, and then turned to inquire of her young brother how he now felt, and of Paul Müller into the cause of his sudden illness.

Wingenund was sufficiently recovered to speak to her gratefully in reply, and to press the hand which she held out to him; but he was much reduced by loss of blood, and the missionary, putting his finger to his lips, enjoined him quiet and silence for the present. He continued, however, in a low voice to explain to her the strange events that had lately occurred, and how he and the friend of her betrothed owed to the heroism of Wingenund their life and liberty.

While the maiden listened with absorbed attention, every passage in the brief but eventful tale was legible on her eloquent countenance. As Reginald stood at a little distance gazing earnestly upon its changeful loveliness, he was startled by a suppressed ejaculation from some one at his side, at the same time that his arm was seized and pressed with almost convulsive force. He turned, and saw his friend Ethelston, who, finding that War–Eagle had fallen into a tranquil sleep had stolen out of the tent to the side of Reginald, where he first caught a sight of the maiden as she listened to the missionary’s narrative. Reginald again observed with astonishment that his friend, usually so calm, trembled from head to foot: his eye rested upon the group with a preternatural fixedness, and his lips moved inaudibly, like those of a man scarcely recovered from a trance. “Gracious Heaven! what can have happened? Edward,youare not surely ill! that would indeed fill the cup of our trials to the brim. Speak to me! let me hear your voice, for your looks alarm me!”

Ethelston made no reply, but he pointed with his finger towards Prairie–bird, and two or three large tear–drops rolled down his cheeks.

While this was passing, Paul Müller had brought his tale to a conclusion, and his eye happening to light upon Ethelston, he continued (still addressing Prairie–bird), “And now, my dear child, it only remains for me to tell you the cause of our beloved young brother’s weakened condition. The extremes of joy and of anguish will sometimes sweep before them themightiest bulwarks that can be raised in the heart of man by his own unaided strength. Wingenund opposed to the stroke of affliction sent from on high not the meek, trusting endurance of Christian resignation, but the haughty resistance of human pride. Already he sees and repents his error, and the mist is clearing away from his eyes; but you, my dear child, have been better taught; you have learnt, in all trials and in all emergencies, to throw yourself upon the mercy of your heavenly Father, and to place your whole trust in his gracious promises of protection. We are more apt to forget this duty when our cup overflows with joy than when his chastening hand is upon us; but it should not be so. Promise me, then, promise me, my beloved child, that in weal or in woe, in the rapture of joy as in the extremity of sorrow, you will strive to remember and practise it.”

Awed by the unusual solemnity of his manner, the maiden bowed her head, and said, “I promise.”

Scarcely had she said these words, when Reginald came forward, leading his friend Ethelston, who had by a strong effort recovered from his extreme agitation, and regained something of his usual composure. “Prairie–bird,” said Reginald, “I wish to make known to you, my most faithful companion, my tried and attached friend Ethelston. You must love him now for my sake; when you know him, you will do so for his own.”

Leaning on the missionary’s arm, the maiden raised herself from her stooping posture to greet the friend of her betrothed. “I have heard much——,” she said, with her sweet natural dignity of manner; but she suddenly stopped, starting as if she had seen a ghost, and clinging closer to Paul Müller’s arm, while her earnest gaze encountered the eyes of Ethelston fixed upon her with an expression that seemed to shake the nerves and fibres of her heart. To Reginald their silence and agitation was an incomprehensible mystery: not so to the missionary, who still supported Prairie–bird, and whispered to her as she advanced a step nearer to the stranger, “Your promise.” She understood him, for he heard her breathe the Almighty’s name, as Ethelston also advanced a step towards her; and again their looks dwelt upon each other with a fixed intensity that spoke of thoughts too crowded, and confused, and mysterious, for expression. At length Ethelston, whose strong and wellbalancedmind had triumphed over the first shock of emotion, addressed the maiden, saying, “Have the latter years been so happily spent that they have quite banished from the mind of Prairie–bird the memory of early days?”

At the sound of his voice the maiden started, as if she had received an electric shock; her bosom heaved with agitation, and her eyes filled with tears.

Again the missionary whispered, “Your promise!” while Ethelston continued, “Has she forgotten her own little garden with the sun–dial? and poor Mary, who nursed, and dressed, and taught her to read? Has she forgotten the great Bible full of prints, of which she was so fond; and the green lane that led to Mooshanne? Has Evy forgotten her Edward?”

“’Tis he—’tis he! ’tis Eddy! my own, my long–lost brother!” cried the maiden aloud, as she threw herself into his arms; and looking up into his face, she felt his cheek as if to assure herself that all was not a dream, and poured out her grateful heart in tears upon his bosom. She did remember her promise, and even in the first tumult of her happiness, she sought and derived from him to whom she owed it, strength to endure its sudden and overwhelming excess.

“’Tis even so,” said the missionary, grasping the astonished Reginald’s arm; “for some time I had suspected that such was the case; Prairie–bird, my beloved pupil, and your betrothed bride, is no other than Evelyn Ethelston, the sister of your friend. My suspicions were confirmed and almost reduced to certainty, during the first conversations that I held with him in St. Louis; for he, being several years older than you, remembered many of the circumstances attending the disappearance and supposed destruction of his little sister by the Indians, when his father’s house was ravaged and burnt. I foresaw that they must meet when he left the settlements in search of you, and though I prepared him for the interview, I thought it better to say nothing to her or to you, but to leave the recognition to the powerful voice of Nature. You see the result in that fraternal embrace, and I have in a little bag, given to me by Tamenund when at the point of death, proofs of her identity that would convince a sceptic, were you disposed to be one—the cover of a child’s spelling–book, in which her name is written at length (possibly by Ethelston), and a little kerchief, with the initials E. E. in the corner, both of which werein her hand when she was carried off by the Indian who spared and preserved her!”

While the missionary felt beneath the folds of his dark serge robe for the bag which he had always carefully kept suspended by a ribbon from his neck, Reginald’s memory was busy in recalling a thousand indistinct recollections of early days, and in comparing them with those of a more recent date.

“Well do I remember,” he exclaimed, “missing my sweet little playmate in childhood; and how all allusion to the terrible calamity that befel our nearest neighbour and friend, was forbid in our family! Scarcely ever, even in later years, have I touched upon the subject with Ethelston, for I saw that it gave him pain, and brought a cloud over his brow. Now, I can understand the wild and troubled expression that came across her countenance when she first saw me near the Osage camp, and first heard my voice, and how she started, and afterwards recovered herself, when I told her of Mooshanne! How blind have I now been to every thing save her endearing qualities, and the ten thousand graces that wait upon her angelic form! See how like they are, now that a tide of feeling is poured into the countenance of my steady and composed friend. Jealous as I am of her time, and of every grain of her affection, I must not grudge them a few minutes of undisturbed intercourse after a separation of so many years! Come, worthy Father, let us employ ourselves in tending and ministering to War–Eagle and Wingenund, and let us not forget that to them, next to Heaven, we are indebted for the life and happiness of every single member of our miraculously reunited circle.”

“You have a warm and a kindly heart, my young friend,” said the missionary, “and that is a blessing without which all the other blessings of Heaven may fall like showers upon the Lybian desert. I know how you must long to pour out your feelings of affection on this occasion to your friend, and to your betrothed; but believe me, you will not have done amiss by following the first promptings of your heart. Let us, as you propose, endeavour to soothe and comfort the sufferers; Wingenund is now sufficiently recovered to listen while you relate to him these strange occurrences; only caution him not to speak too much at present. I will return to the side of War–Eagle, and although it be too late now for us to attempt any remedy for his bodily pains, who shall limit the power ofthe Almighty, or circumscribe the operation of his hands? Who knows whether He may not think fit, even at the eleventh hour, to touch that stern and obdurate heart with a coal from His altar? And, oh! my dear young friend, if such be His blessed purpose, I would not forego the privilege of being the humble instrument in effecting it for all the wealth, the honours, the happiness, that earth can bestow.”

Reginald looked after the worthy missionary until he disappeared within the tent, then sighing heavily, he said to himself, “If zeal, honesty, and true piety can render any human means available, assuredly that excellent and holy man’s attempt will not be made in vain; and yet I fear that nothing short of a miracle can soften or subdue the stern pride of War–Eagle’s spirit. How deeply anxious do I feel for the issue! for I cannot forget that it was in defence of Prairie–bird that he incurred this fearful torture, ending in an untimely death! His life sacrificed that mine might be happy with her! Where, where, my generous Indian brother, shall I find, among the cities and crowded haunts of civilized man, truth, self–denial, and devoted affection like thine? At least I will strive to fulfil the wish that I know to be nearest thy heart, by cherishing in my bosom’s core thy beloved brother Wingenund!”

Thus meditating, Reginald sat down by the young Delaware, and strove, by awakening his interest in the strange events lately brought to light respecting Prairie–bird, to wean him from the deep dejection caused by his brother’s hopeless plight.

Back to IndexNext