CHAPTER V.

c205CHAPTER V.SYMPTOMS OF A RUPTURE BETWEEN THE DELAWARES AND OSAGES.—MAHÉGA COMES FORWARD IN THE CHARACTER OF A LOVER.—HIS COURTSHIP RECEIVES AN UNEXPECTED INTERRUPTION.Paul Müller, having left the lodge of Prairie–bird, fulfilled his intention of entering that of Tamenund: he found the venerable chieftain seated upon a buffalo robe; his back leaned against a bale of cloth, a highly ornamented pipe–stem at his lips, while from its other extremity a thin column of smoke, rising in wavy folds, found its way out of the accidental rents and crevices in the skins which covered the lodge. War–Eagle was listening in an attitude of respectful attention to the words which fell from his father; but the subject of conversation was evidently of some importance, as the women and the youths were whispering together at a distance from the two principal persons. The entrance of the missionary was not unnoticed, for Tamenund made him a signal to draw near and sit down; several times the pipe was passed round in silence, when the old chief addressing his guest in the Delaware tongue, said, “The Black Father knows that there are dark clouds in the sky!”“He does,” replied the missionary. A glance of intelligence passed between War–Eagle and Tamenund, as the latter proceeded.“What says the Black Father? Is the storm to break, or will the sun shine again?”“The Great Spirit only knows,” replied the missionary; “if the sun shines, we will be thankful; if the storm falls, we will wrap round us the cloak of patience.”A fierce gleam shot from the young chief’s eye, but he spoke not a word until Tamenund addressed him thus:—“What says War–Eagle? let him speak.”“The snows of many winters are on my father’s forehead; the Black Father has learnt wisdom from the Great Spirit: it is more fitting for War–Eagle to listen than to speak,” replied the young man, curbing the angry thoughts that glowed in his breast.“Nay, my son,” said the missionary, “let War–Eagle speak, and his saying be afterwards weighed by the aged heads.”War–Eagle then proceeded to explain how Wingenund, in returning from the turkey–pen, had caught a glimpse of a distant figure, whom he knew at a glance to belong to another tribe. Hastily concealing himself among the bushes, he waited till the strange Indian passed, and then resolving to watch him, crept stealthily on his trail.Having made his way to a hollow in the thickest part of the forest, he sat down on the stump of an alder–tree, where he made and twice repeated a low signal whistle, which was soon answered by another Indian, who approached in an opposite direction, and in whom, to his great surprise, Wingenund recognised Mahéga. He was not near enough to overhear their conversation, neither was he aware whether they spoke in the Delaware tongue; but after conversing in a low tone for some minutes, they separated, and Wingenund again put himself on the trail of the stranger; the latter frequently stopped in his course, looked round and listened, but the youth was too practised and sagacious to be baffled by these precautions, and finally succeeded in tracking the object of his pursuit to an encampment containing ten or a dozen armed Indians, whom he knew at once to form a war–party, but could not decide to what tribe they belonged; he succeeded, however, in securing a mocassin which one of them had dropped, and returned unperceived to the Delaware village.Such was the outline of the occurrences now rapidlysketched by War–Eagle; and in concluding his narrative, he held up the mocassin above mentioned, and presented it to the aged chief. The latter examined it for a moment in silence, and restoring it to the warrior, pronounced, in a low guttural tone, the word “Dahcotah.”“Yes,” said the War–Eagle, in a deep whisper, indicative of the indignant passion that boiled within; “yes, the Dahcotah is in the woods; he prowls like a prairie–wolf. The Great Spirit has made him a dog, and if he sets his foot on the hunting–ground of the Lenapé, let not his wife complain if she looks along his path in vain, and strikes her breast, saying, ‘The wife of the Dahcotah is a widow!’ But the Evil Spirit has crept into the heart of the Washashee, a snake is in the council–chamber of the Lenapé, and lies are on the tongue of Mahéga! Is it enough, or must War–Eagle speak more?”“The words of my son are hard,” replied Tamenund, shaking his head sorrowfully; “the Dahcotah are dogs, they are on a deer–hunt; their heart is not big enough to make them dig up the hatchet to fight with the Lenapé. Tamenund cannot believe that the tongue of Mahéga is so forked, or his heart so black, that two suns have not passed since he sat and smoked in this lodge, and spoke of Olitipa, the daughter of the Prairie. He said that her voice was music to him, that her form was in his dreams, and he asked Tamenund to give her to him as a wife.”At these words the suppressed rage of the youthful warrior had well–nigh burst the iron bands of Indian self–control; he ground his teeth audibly together, his dilated form trembled through every nerve and muscle; but observing the keen eye of the missionary fixed upon his countenance, he subdued in a moment the rising tempest, and asked, in a voice the forced calmness of which was fearful, “What said my father?”Tamenund replied that the maiden was Great Medicine in the tribe, that she was a gift of the Great Spirit, and that her dwelling could never be in the lodge of an Osage chief. “He went away without speaking,” added the old man seriously; “but his eye spoke bad words enough!”“My father said well,” exclaimed the impetuous young man; “let Mahéga seek a wife among his dog–brothers the Dahcotahs! War–Eagle will smoke no more in his lodge.”After a brief pause, Tamenund continued:“My son has told half his thoughts, let him speak on.”“Nay,” returned the young warrior, “let my father consult the Medicine, and the counsellors who have seen many winters: War–Eagle will whisper to his braves, and when the ancient men in council have spoken, he will be ready.”With this ambiguous answer, he folded his buffalo robe over his shoulder and left the lodge.The missionary saw that mischief was brewing, yet knew not how to prevent it. He had gained extraordinary influence among the Delawares by never interfering in their councils, unless when he felt assured that the result would justify the advice which he offered; but on the present occasion it was evident that his Indian friends had sufficient grounds for suspecting their Osage allies of treachery; he resolved, therefore, to wait and observe, before making those attempts at reconciliation which became his character and his mission. Influenced by this determination, he spoke a few words to the aged chief on indifferent matters, and shortly afterwards retired to his own lodge.During the preceding conversation Baptiste had been seated at a little distance, his whole attention apparently engaged in mending a rent in his mocassins, but scarcely a word had escaped his watchful ear; and while he heard with secret delight that there was every chance of a fight with the Sioux, towards whom he cherished, as we have before observed, an unextinguished hatred, he could not view without much uneasiness the dangerous position in which Reginald’s party might be placed by a rupture between the Delawares and Osages, in a wild region where either party might so soon obtain the ready aid of the Pawnees, or some other warlike and marauding tribe; he resolved, however, for the present to content himself with putting his young leader on his guard, reserving a fuller explanation until he should have been able to ascertain the intentions of his Delaware friends: in this last endeavour he did not anticipate much difficulty, for the experienced woodsman had proved his steadiness to them in many a fray, and his courage and skill were no less proverbial among them than was his mortal enmity to the Dahcotahs.Nothing occurred during the ensuing night to disturb the quiet of the encampment, if that may be denominated quiet which was constantly interrupted by the chattering of wakefulsquaws, the barking of dogs, the occasional chaunt of a warrior, and the distant howling of hungry wolves. Our hero’s dreams were, like his waking thoughts, full only of Prairie–bird; and when he rose at daybreak he expressed no wish to roam or hunt, but lingered within view of that small circular lodge, which contained the treasure that he valued most on earth. To the cautious warning of Baptiste he answered, smiling, “You confess yourself that you only suspect; you know our friends and their language, their wiles, and their stratagems. I trust the safety of my party to your sagacity; if your suspicions are turned into certainty, tell me, and I am ready to act.”As the young man left the lodge without even taking his cutlass or his rifle, Baptiste, looking after him, shrugged his shoulders, adding in an under tone, just loud enough to be heard by Monsieur Perrot, who sat at his side,—“‘Suspicion,’ ‘certainty,’ ‘sagacity,’—why surely he is mad! He talks as if plots and plans were measured out by rule amongst the red–skins, as they may be ‘mongst lords and princes in Europe! This comes of his towering, as they call it, amongst the Dutch, and other outlandish tribes. Surely, he’s lived enough in the territory to know that with these Ingians, and special near a Sioux trail, the first suspicion a man is like to get is an arrow in his ribs or a tomahawk in his brain. Capote–bleu, Maître Perrot, what do you think of your master, is he mad?”“Very much mad,” said the good–humoured valet, grinning, whilst he continued assiduously to pound some coffee–beans which he was preparing for breakfast; “very much mad, Monsieur Baptiste; he very mad to leave Paris to go to his fox–huntin’ oncle in England; he more mad to leave dat for the backwoods by de Muskingum; but he dam mad to leave Mooshanne to come here where dere is nothing but naked savages and naked prairies.”“Ah! Maître Perrot,” replied the guide, “my father was a Canada Frenchman, and although he was, mayhap, never further east than Montreal, he was as fond of talking of Paris as a bear is of climbing a bee–tree!”[31]“He very right, Monsieur Ba’tiste; de world without Paris is no more dan a woman widout a tongue; but as you know our language, I will speak it to you, for pronouncing English is no better dan breaking stones wid your teeth!” And the merry valet forthwith inflicted upon his graver companion a Parisian tirade, that very soon went beyond the latter’s stock of Canadian French.The morning dawned with unusual splendour; the sun gradually rose over the wooded hills that bounded the eastern horizon, and the light breeze shook the dew–drops from the flowers, as Prairie–bird, fresh and lovely as the scene around her, tripped lightly over the grass to the sequestered spot which we have before mentioned as being her favourite resort: there, seated at the root of the aged tree where Reginald had first seen her, she opened the volume which was her constant companion, and poured forth the grateful feelings of her heart, in the words of the inspired Prophet–King; at her feet flowed the brawling stream which fed the valley below the encampment; the merry birds sang their matins among the leafy branches above her head, and around her sprang sweet–scented flowers and blossoms of a thousand varied hues. There are some spots, and some brief seasons, on earth, so redolent of freshness, beauty, and repose, as almost to revive the Paradise lost by our first parents; but soon, too soon, the effects of primeval sin and its punishment are felt, and the atmosphere of heavenly peace is tainted by the miasma of human passion!Prairie–bird had enjoyed for some time her study and her meditations undisturbed, when her attention was caught by the sound of approaching footsteps: the conscious blood rushed to her cheek as she expected to see the same visitor who had so suddenly presented himself on the preceding day, when, to her surprise and annoyance, the gigantic figure of Mahéga stood before her, on the opposite side of the streamlet by which she was seated: although simple, unsuspecting, and fearless by nature, there was something in the countenance and bearing of this formidable chief that had always inspired her with mingled dislike and awe: remembering on the present occasion the hint lately given to her by the missionary, she returned thehaughty greeting of the Indian by a gentle inclination of her head, and then summoned composure enough to continue her reading, as if desirous to avoid conversation: such, however, was not Mahéga’s intention, who, softening, as far he was able, the rough tones of his voice, addressed to her, in the Delaware tongue, a string of the finest Indian compliments on her beauty and attractions. To these the maiden coldly replied by telling him, that she thanked him for his good words, but that as she was studying the commands of the Great Spirit, she wished not to be disturbed.Mahéga, nothing checked by this reply, continued to ply her with protestations and promises, and concluded by telling her that shemustbe his wife; that he was a warrior, and would fill her wigwam with spoils and trophies. As he proceeded, his countenance became more excited, and the tones of his voice had already more of threat than of entreaty. Prairie–bird replied, with forced calmness, that she knew he was a great warrior, but that she could not be his wife: their paths were different; his led to war, and spoils, and power in ruling his tribe; hers to tending the sick and fulfilling the commands of the Great Spirit given in the Medicine Book. Irritated by the firm though gentle tone of her reply, the violent passion of the chief broke out in a torrent of harsh and menacing words: he called her a foundling and a slave; adding, that in spite of the Delaware squaws and their white allies, she should sleep in his lodge, although the honour was greater than she deserved.Fired with indignation at this brutal menace, the spirited girl rose from her seat, and, looking him full in the face, replied, “Prairie–bird is a foundling; if Mahéga knows his parents, he disgraces their name; she would rather be the slave of Tamenund than the wife of Mahéga.”A demoniac grin stole over the features of the savage, as he replied: “The words of Olitipa are bitter. Mahéga laughs at her anger; she is alone and unprotected; will she walk to his lodge, or must the warrior carry her?”ill218Prairie–bird and MahégaP.219So saying, he advanced to the very edge of the narrow stream! The maiden, although alarmed, retained sufficient presence of mind to know that to save herself by flight was impossible; but the courage of insulted virtue supported her, and she answered him in a tone that breathed more of indignation than of fear:“Olitipa is not alone—is not unprotected! The Great Spirit is her protector, before whom the stature of Mahéga is as a blade of grass, and his strength like that of an infant. See,” she continued, drawing from her girdle a small, sharp–pointed dagger, “Olitipa is not unprotected: if Mahéga moves a foot to cross that stream, this knife shall reach her heart; and the great Mahéga will go to the hunting–fields of the dead, a coward, and a woman–slayer.”As she spoke these words she held the dagger pointed to her bosom, now heaving with high emotion; her form seemed to dilate, and her dark eye kindled with a prouder lustre. The glow on her cheek, and the lofty dignity of her attitude, only heightened her beauty in the eyes of the savage, and confirmed him in carrying out his fell purpose, to ensure the success of which he saw that stratagem, not force, must be employed: assuming, therefore, a sarcastic tone of voice, he replied,—“Olitipa trusts to the edge of her knife; Mahéga laughs at her.” Then he continued, in a louder key, as if addressing an Indian behind her, “Let Wânemi seize her arm and hold it.”As the surprised maiden turned her head in the direction where she expected to see the Indian to whom Mahéga was speaking, that crafty chief cleared the brook at a bound, and seizing her waist, while a smile of triumph lit up his features, said, “The pretty one is Mahéga’s prisoner; there is no one here but himself; a cunning tale tickled the ears of Olitipa.”The hapless girl saw how she had been outwitted by the savage: she struggled in vain to free herself from his grasp, and a faint scream of despair broke from her lips.The spring of a famished tiger on a heifer is not more fiercely impetuous than was the bound with which Reginald Brandon rushed from the adjacent thicket upon Mahéga,—reckless of his opponent’s huge bulk and strength, forgetful that he was himself unarmed. The cry of Prairie–bird had strung with tenfold power every sinew in his athletic frame: seizing with both hands the throat of Mahéga, he grasped it with such deadly force that the Indian was compelled to release his hold of the maiden,—but he still retained her knife,and in the struggle plunged it into the arm and shoulder of Reginald, who relaxed not, however, his iron grasp, but still bore his opponent backwards, until the foot of the latter tripped over a projecting root, and he fell with tremendous force upon his head, the blood gushing in torrents from his nose and mouth. Reginald, who had been dragged down in his fall, seized the dagger, and, as he raised it above his head, felt a light touch upon his arm, and turning round saw Prairie–bird kneeling at his side, her face pale as monumental marble, and the sacred volume still clasped in her hand.“Kill him not, Reginald,” she said, in a low impressive voice; “‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!’”Breathless, and flushed with the late severe struggle, the young man replied: “I will spare the villain, dear Prairie–bird, at your bidding: he is stunned and senseless now, but he will soon recover, and his fury and thirst for revenge will know no bounds; he shall know, however, that Ihavespared him.” So saying, he cut off the dyed and ornamented scalp–lock from the top of Mahéga’s head, and, laying it beside the prostrate chieftain, arose, and retired with Prairie–bird from the spot.They walked together some distance in silence, for her heart was overcharged with contending emotions; and as they went she unconsciously clung to his arm for support: at length she stopped, and looking up in his face, her eyes glistening with tears, she said,“How am I ever to thank you?—my first debt of gratitude is due to Heaven; but you have been its brave, its blessed instrument of my deliverance from worse than death!” and a shudder passed over her frame as the rude grasp of Mahéga recurred to her remembrance.“Dear Prairie–bird,” he replied; “as a man I would have done as much for the poorest and most indifferent of your sex—how then am I repaid a thousand, thousand fold by having been allowed to serve a being so precious!” The deep mellow tone in which he spoke these words, and the look by which they were accompanied, brought the truant colour again to the cheek of his companion, and as she cast her full dark eyes downwards, they rested on the arm that supported her, and she saw that his sleeve was stained and dropping with blood!“Oh! you are wounded, badly hurt, I fear. Tell me, tell me, Reginald,” she continued, with an intensity of anxiety that her expressive countenance betrayed, “are you badly hurt?”“Indeed, dear Prairie–bird, I cannot tell you: I felt the Indian strike me twice with the dagger before he fell; I do not think the wounds are serious, for you see I can walk and assist your steps too.”While he thus spoke he was, however, growing faint from loss of blood, and the wound in his shoulder, having become cold and stiff, gave him exquisite pain. Prairie–bird was not deceived by the cheerfulness of his manner; she saw the paleness that was gradually stealing over his countenance, and, with ready presence of mind, insisted on his sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree beside their path. The suffering condition of Reginald redoubled instead of paralysing her energies; she filled his cap with fresh water from the brook, urged him to taste a few drops, and sprinkled more over his face and temples; then ripping up the sleeve of his hunting–shirt, she found the blood still welling from two severe wounds between the elbow and shoulder in the left arm: these she bathed and carefully closed, applying to them a healing salve, which she drew from the small bag that she wore at her girdle, after which she bandaged the arm firmly with her kerchief; then, kneeling beside him, strove to read in his face the success of her simple surgery.In the course of a few minutes the dizzy sensation of faintness that had been produced by loss of blood, passed away, and the delighted Prairie–bird, seeing on his countenance the beaming smile of returning consciousness and strength, murmured to herself, “Oh! God I thank thee!” then hiding her face in her hands, wept with mingled emotion and gratitude. Reginald heard the words, he marked the tears, and no longer able to suppress the feelings with which his heart overflowed, he drew her gently towards him with his yet unwounded arm, and whispered in her ear the outpourings of a first, fond, passionate love!No reply came from her lips, her tears (tears of intense emotion) flowed yet faster; but a sensible pressure on the part of the little hand which he clasped within his own, gave him the blest assurance that his love was returned; and againand again did he repeat those sacred and impassioned vows by which the hopes, the fears, the fortunes, the affections, the very existence of two immortal beings, are inseparably blended together. Her unresisting hand remained clasped in his, and her head leaned upon his shoulder, that she might conceal the blushes that suffused her countenance: still he would not be satisfied without a verbal answer to his thrice urged prayer, that he might call her his own; and when at length she raised her beaming eyes to his, and audibly whispered, “For ever,” he sealed upon those sweet lips the contract of unchanged affection.Bright, transitory moments of bliss! lightning flashes that illumine the dark and stormy path of life, though momentary in your duration, how mighty in your power, how lasting in your effects! Sometimes imparting a rapturous glow and kindling an unceasing heat that death itself cannot extinguish, and sometimes under a star of evil destiny searing and withering the heart rendered desolate by your scorching flame!It is not necessary to inform the gentle reader how long thetête–à–têteon the fallen tree continued; suffice it to say, that Prairie–bird forgot her fright, and Reginald his wounds; and when they returned to the village, each sought to enjoy in solitude those delicious reveries which deserve certainly the second place in love’s catalogue of happiness.c206CHAPTER VI.ETHELSTON PREPARES TO LEAVE MOOSHANNE.—MAHÉGA APPEARS AS AN ORATOR, IN WHICH CHARACTER HE SUCCEEDS BETTER THAN IN THAT OF A LOVER.—A STORM SUCCEEDED BY A CALM.While the events described in the last chapter were in progress, the hours sped smoothly onward at Mooshanne. Lucy and Ethelston thought themselves justly entitled to a liberal compensation for the trials of their long separation; and, as the spring advanced, morning and evening generally found them strolling together, in the enjoyment of its opening beauties. Sometimes Aunt Mary encountered them during thebusy round of her visits to the poultry, the piggery, or to the cottage of some neighbour, whither sorrow or sickness called her. The mate frequently came over from Marietta to see his captain, and to inquire whether there was no early prospect of another voyage, for he already began to find that time travelled slowly ashore; and although he consoled himself, now and then, with a pipe and social glass in David Muir’s back parlour, he longed to be afloat again, and told the worthy merchant that he would rather have made the fresh–water trip in the canoe, than be laid up in dock, while he felt his old hull still stout and seaworthy. His son Henry continued to advance in the good graces of Jessie Muir; but unfortunately for the youth his father had discovered his attachment, and lost no opportunity of bantering him in the presence of the young lady, accompanying his jokes with sundry grins, and severe pokes in the ribs, which caused sometimes a disagreeable alternation of vexation and confusion: nevertheless David Muir remained habitually blind to the state of his daughter’s affections, and Dame Christie was a great deal too much occupied with the cares of domestic government (including the occasional lectures and reproofs administered to David) to admit of her troubling her head with what she would have termed their childish fancies.Such was the general state of affairs on the banks of the Muskingum, when Colonel Brandon received letters from St. Louis, informing him that, since the departure of his son, various disputes had arisen between the agents of the different companies, and that unless a speedy and amicable arrangement could be effected, a heavy loss must necessarily fall upon the fur–proprietors and others interested in the speculation. By the same post a letter bearing a foreign post–mark was placed in the hands of Ethelston, during the perusal of which, an expression of sadness spread itself over his countenance, and he fell abstractedly into a reverie, the subject of which was evidently of a painful nature. Such indications were not likely to escape the anxious and observant eye of love; and Lucy, laying her hand lightly on his arm, said in a tone half joking, half serious, “Am I not entitled to know all your secrets now, Edward?”“I think not,” he replied in the same tone; “and I am rather disposed to refuse gratifying your curiosity, until youconsent to acquiring such a title as shall be indisputable.” Lucy coloured; but as she still held out her hand and threatened him with her displeasure, if he continued disobedient, he gave her the letter, saying, “I suppose I must submit; the contents are sad, but there is no reason why I should withhold them from yourself, or from your father.” With these words he left the room: after a short pause, Lucy, at the Colonel’s request, read him the letter, which proved to be from young Lieutenant L’Estrange, and which, being translated, ran as follows:—“My Honoured Friend,“I need not tell you of the grief that I experienced on revisiting my changed and desolate home. My father has told me all that passed during your stay in the island. He looks upon those days not in anger, but in sorrow; he is sensible that for a time he did you injustice, and fears that, in the first bitterness of his grief, he may have omitted to make you full reparation. These feelings he entreats me to convey to you, and desires me to add, that from the first day of your arrival, to that of your final departure, your conduct was like yourself,—noble, upright, and generous. The misfortune that we still bewail, we bow to, as being the infliction of a Providence whose ways are inscrutable. Accept the renewed assurance of the highest regard and esteem of your friend,“Eugene L’Estrange.”As Lucy read this letter, her eyes filled with tears, though, perhaps, she could scarcely have explained, whether she wept over the afflictions that had befallen the L’Estrange family, or the generous testimony which it bore to her lover’s conduct. The Colonel, too, was much affected, and gladly acquiesced in his daughter’s proposal, that they should for the future abstain from renewing a subject which must cause such painful recollections to Ethelston.Ere many hours had elapsed, the latter was summoned to attend the Colonel, who informed him that the intelligence lately received from St. Louis was of a nature so important to his affairs, that it required immediate attention. “There is no one,” he continued, “to whom I can well entrust this investigation, except yourself, for none has deserved or received so much of my confidence.” There was an unusualembarrassment and hesitation observable in Ethelston’s countenance, on hearing these words, which did not escape his guardian’s quick eye, and the latter added, “I see, my dear fellow, that you are not disposed to leave Mooshanne again so soon; you are thinking about certain promises, and a certain young lady,—is it not so, Edward?”“It is so, indeed, my best and kindest of friends,” said Ethelston. “Can you think or wish that it should be otherwise?”“Nay,” said Colonel Brandon, smiling, “I will not deny that you are entitled to entertain such thoughts, but believe me, when I assure you seriously that this expedition is essential to your own interests and to mine. A great portion of the property left to you under my care by your father, is invested in these Fur companies; and ere you enter on the responsibilities of a married life, it is necessary that you put your affairs in such a posture, as to ensure some future provision for the lady of whom you are thinking. These arrangements will not detain you at St. Louis for more than six weeks or two months, by that time Reginald will have returned from his Indian excursion; you will come home together, and I will then listen patiently to whatever you may think fit to say, regarding the young lady in question;—shall it be so, Edward?”“How can I be grateful enough!” replied Ethelston, taking the Colonel’s hand; “give me only leave to explain to Lucy the cause and probable duration of my absence, then I am ready to receive your instructions, and to set about it immediately.” We will not inquire too minutely how Lucy received this explanation from her lover’s lip, nor what means he took to reconcile her to the proposed arrangement; it is sufficient to state, that she finally acquiesced with her habitual gentleness, and that, in a few days after the above conversation, Ethelston had completed his preparations for his journey to St. Louis.We will again take leave of him and of Mooshanne for a season, and return to Mahéga, whom we left bleeding and senseless, at no great distance from the Osage and Delaware encampment. Indeed, we should, ere this, have accused ourselves of inhumanity towards that chief, for leaving him so longin such sorry plight, had he not merited severe punishment, for his rough and brutal behaviour to Prairie–bird.When Mahéga recovered his senses, he was still so much confused from the stunning effects of the severe blow that he had received on the head, as well as from loss of blood, that he could not recall to mind the events immediately preceding his swoon; nor did they present themselves distinctly to his memory, until his eye rested upon his stained scalp–lock, and beside it the knife that Reginald Brandon had driven firmly into the turf. Then he remembered clearly enough the struggle, his fall, and the maiden’s escape; and the rage engendered by this remembrance was rendered yet more violent, when he reflected on the insult that his scalp had sustained from an enemy who had scorned to take his life.Fierce as were the passions that boiled within the breast of the Osage, his self–command was such that he was able to control all outward demonstration of them; and, rising slowly, he first effaced in the stream all the sanguinary marks of the late contest, and then took his way toward the camp, revolving in his mind various projects for securing the two principal objects that he was determined to accomplish,—the possession of Prairie–bird, and the death of Reginald Brandon!Although a wild uninstructed savage, Mahéga was gifted with talents of no common order. Bold, and inflexible in carrying out his purposes, he had cunning sufficient to make unimportant concessions to the opinions of other chiefs and braves in council: unlike the great majority of his tribe and race, he was well aware of the power and strength resulting from union, and although all his ambition ultimately centred in himself, he had the art of persuading his countrymen that he sought only their interests and welfare; thus, while many hated, and more feared Mahéga, he was the most influential chief in the tribe, on account of his daring courage, his success in war, and the reckless liberality with which he distributed among others his share of booty, or of spoil. When the Delaware band had migrated to the banks of the Osage river, Mahéga’s first impulse had been to attack and destroy them; but finding that the new comers were better supplied with arms and ammunition, the issue of a conflict seemed doubtful. Moreover, as they were visited by many traders, he calculated that, by keeping on friendly terms with them, he should acquirefor his tribe, and for himself, many advantages greater than they had before enjoyed.Acting upon these motives, he had not only encouraged peace with the Delawares, but had effected through his own influence the league that had for some time united the two bands in our encampment; nor had he been mistaken in his expectations, for, since their union with the band of Delawares, the Osages had been enabled to beat off the Pawnees and other roving tribes, from whose inroads upon their hunting–ground they had before been exposed to frequent and severe disasters; the objects which he had contemplated, had thus been for the most part accomplished. The tribe was plentifully supplied with arms and ammunition by the traders; his own influence amongst them was higher than ever; but he could not brook a rival to his fame as a warrior in War–Eagle, nor bear to be checked and thwarted in his ambitious schemes, by the mild authority of Tamenund.The mind of Mahéga being thus prepared for seizing the earliest opportunity of coming to a rupture with the Delawares it may well be imagined how his most violent and rancorous passions were excited by the scornful rejection of his suit on the part of Prairie–bird, and the disgrace he had incurred in his rencounter with her white protector. He resolved no longer to delay the meditated blow; he had already made a secret league with the warlike and powerful Dahcotahs; and the occasion seemed most favourable for wreaking his vengeance on the relatives of Prairie–bird, and the white men now resident in the Delaware camp.Having once formed his determination, he set about carrying it into effect with the sagacity and profound dissimulation which had already obtained for him such an ascendancy in the Osage council. No sooner had he reached his lodge, than he dressed himself in his Medicine robe[32], adorned his face with corresponding streaks of paint, and concealing the loss of his scalp–lock by a Spanish kerchief, which he folded round his head, somewhat after the fashion of a turban, he sallied forthto visit the chiefs and braves, on whose co–operation he felt that success must mainly depend.Some of these were already prepared to adopt his views, by their previous participation in the league with the Dahcotahs; others he bent and moulded to his purpose by arguments and inducements suited to their character or circumstances; and ere he returned to his lodge, he felt confident that his proposed plans would be supported by the most influential warriors in the tribe, and that he should easily bear down the opposition of the more cautious and scrupulous, who might be disposed to keep faith with their Delaware allies.In the meanwhile War–Eagle was not idle, he visited the principal braves and warriors of his tribe, and found them unanimous in their resolution to break off all communication with the Osages, as soon as the latter should commit any overt act that should justify them in dissolving the league into which they had entered. He also resolved to watch closely the movements of Mahéga, of whose malice and influence he was fully aware; with this view he selected an intelligent Delaware boy, who knew the Osage language, and desired him to hover about the tent of the chief, and to bring a report of all that he should see or hear.Towards the close of day, Mahéga sent runners about his village, after the usual Indian fashion, to summon the warriors and braves, most of whom were already prepared for the harangue which he was about to address to them; as soon as a sufficient number were collected, the wily chief came forth from his lodge, in the dress before described, and began by thanking them for so readily obeying his call.“Why did Mahéga call together the warriors?” he continued; “Was it to tell them that a broad bison–trail is near the camp? The Medicine–men have not yet smoked the hunting–pipe to the Wahcondah.—Was it to tell them of the scalps taken by their fathers? The young men have not been called to the war–dance, their ears have not heard the Drum.[33]—Was it to tickle their ears with words like dried grass? Mahéga’s tongue is not spread with honey; he has called theWashashe to open their ears and eyes, to tell them that snakes have crept under their lodges, that the dogs in the village have become wolves!”As he paused, the auditors looked each at the other; those who were not yet instructed in the speaker’s project being at a loss to catch the meaning of his words. Seeing that he had arrested their attention, he proceeded: “When Mahéga was young, when our fathers were warriors, who was so strong as the Washashe? Our hunters killed the deer and the bison from the Neska to the Topeo–kà.[34]The Konzas were our brothers, and we were afraid of none. But the Mahe–hunguh[35]came near, their tongues were smooth, their hands were full, and the Washashe listened to their talk:—is it not so?”A deep murmur testified the attention of his auditors; but Mahéga knew that he was venturing on dangerous ground, and his present object was rather to incite them to vengeance against the band of Delawares and their guests, than against the white men in general. He resumed his harangue in a milder tone.“The Long–knives smoked the pipe of peace with us, we gave them meat and skins, and they gave us paint and blankets, and fire–weapons with Medicine–powder and lead,—all that was well; but who came with the Long–knives,—the Lenapé!” He paused a moment, then looking fiercely round, he continued in a louder strain; “and who are these Lenapé? They were beggars when they came to us! Their skin is red, but their hearts are pale. Do we not know the tale of their fathers? Were they not slaves to the warriors of other nations?[36]Were they not women? Did they not leave the war–path to plant maize, and drink the fire–water of the Long–knives? They gave up their hunting–ground; they left the bones of their fathers; they crossed the Ne–o–hunge[37], and asked for the friendship of the Washashe. We lighted thepipe for them; we received them like brothers, and opened to them our hunting–ground; but their hearts are bad to us, Washashes. Mahéga tells you that the Lenapé are snakes!”Another deep guttural sound, indicative of increased excitement, gratified the speaker’s ear, and he continued in a strain yet bolder: “Is Mahéga not a chief? Has he not struck the bodies of his enemies? Are there no scalps on his war–shirt? He was good to these Lenapé, he treated their warriors like brothers, he offered to make Olitipa his wife, they gave him bitter words and threw dirt upon his lodge. Shall the Washashe Chief be called a dog?” he exclaimed in a voice of thunder; “Shall he sit on the ground while a Lenapé spits in his face?”A shout of anger and fury burst from the audience, as, waving his hand impatiently for silence, he went on: “The Lenapé knew that their hearts were false, their arms weak, their tongues forked, and they have brought in a band of Long–knives to defend them and to drive the Washashe from their hunting–grounds. Shall it be so? Shall we hold our backs to be scourged like children? Shall we whine like starved wolves? See how the pale faces can insult your chief!” As he spoke, Mahéga tore the turban with one hand from his head, and holding up his severed scalp–lock with the other, while every muscle of his countenance worked with fury, “See what the hand of a white–face boy has done. Mahéga slept under a tree, and he whom they call Netis, the stranger who has eaten our meat and smoked with our chiefs, stole upon Mahéga, struck him on the head, and cut off his hair.” As he uttered this audacious falsehood, which was, of course, believed by all who heard him, a terrific shout burst from the assembled Osages, and the wily chief, striking while the iron was hot, went on:—“It is enough—the Washashes are not women; they will dig up the hatchet, and throw it into the council lodge of these white–faced and pale–hearted dogs. The great chief of the Dahcotahs has spoken to Mahéga; he seeks the friendship of the Washashes; the Dahcotahs are men; the bisons on their hunting–grounds are like the leaves in the forest. They wish to call the Washashes brothers, they wait for Mahéga’s words.—What shall he say?”A tremendous shout was raised in reply, a shout that couldbe heard throughout the whole encampment. Mahéga saw that his triumph was complete, and folding his Medicine robe over his shoulder, he once more waved his hand for silence, and dismissed the assembly, saying, “Before the sun sinks again the chiefs and braves will meet in council. The Washashes will hear their words and they will be ready.” As he spoke he cast his dark eye expressively downwards to the tomahawk suspended at his belt, and slowly re–entered his lodge.Meanwhile the youth who had been sent by War–Eagle to observe what was passing in the Osage encampment, executed his commission with fidelity and address. Although not sufficiently familiar with the language to catch all that fell from Mahéga, he yet learnt enough to satisfy his young chief that a rupture was at hand. It only remained now to be proved whether it would take place as the result of an open council, or whether the Osages would withdraw secretly to their new Dahcotah allies.On the morning succeeding the events above related, War–Eagle left the encampment before daybreak, partly to see whether he could discover any unusual stir among the Osages, and partly to revolve in his mind the course of conduct that he should suggest if called upon to give his opinion before the Lenapé council. Many various emotions were struggling in his bosom, and in this respect the descendants of Adam, whether their skins be white or red, so far resemble each other, that on such occasions they seek to avoid the turmoil of their fellow–men, and to be for a season alone amid the works of inanimate nature.It was with impressions and feelings far different that Reginald and Prairie–bird found themselves soon after sunrise together, as if by tacit appointment, by the great tree, under which he had first seen her. In order to guard against the treachery of which he believed Mahéga capable, he had communicated to Baptiste the events of the preceding morning, and had desired him to watch the movements of the latter, especially guarding Prairie–bird against any renewal of his violence.—The trusty forester, who had grown extremely taciturn since he had observed his young master’s attachment, shrugged his shoulders, and briefly promised to obey his instructions. He was too shrewd to oppose a torrent such as that by which Reginald was carried away; and, although it must be confessed,that he had many misgivings as to the reception that the tidings would meet with at the hands of Colonel Brandon, the beauty and gentleness of Prairie–bird had so far won upon his rough nature that he was well disposed to protect her from the machinations of the Osage. With these intentions he followed her when she left her lodge, and as soon as she entered the thicket before described, he ensconced himself in a shady corner whence he could observe the approach of any party from the encampment.We will now follow the steps of War–Eagle, who, having satisfied himself by a careful observation of the out piquette that no immediate movement was on foot among the Osages, turned towards the undulating prairies to the westward of the village.He was in an uneasy and excited mood, both from the treachery of the Osages towards his tribe, and various occurrences which had of late wounded his feelings in the quarter where they were most sensitive.The victory over self is the greatest that can be achieved by man; it assumes, however, a different complexion in those who are guided by the light of nature, and in those who have been taught by revelation. In the heathen it is confined to the actions and to the outward man, whereas in the Christian it extends to the motives and feelings of the heart. The former may spare an enemy, the latter must learn to forgive and love him. But in both cases the struggle is severe in proportion to the strength of the passion which is to be combated. In War–Eagle were combined many of the noblest features of the Indian character; but his passions had all the fierce intensity common to his race; and although the instructions of Paul Müller, falling like good seed on a wild but fertile soil, had humanised and improved him, his views of Christianity were incipient and indistinct, while the courage, pride, and feelings of his race were in the full zenith of their power. He had long known that Prairie–bird was not his sister in blood, she had grown up from childhood under his eye, and, unconsciously perhaps at first, he had loved her, and still loved her with all the impassioned fervour of his nature. It may be remembered in the earlier portion of this tale, when he first became acquainted with Reginald, that he had abstained from all mention of her name, and had avoided the subject whenever young Wingenundbrought it forward. He had never yet asked Olitipa to become his wife, but the sweet gentleness of her manner, and her open contempt for the addresses of the handsome and distinguished Osage, had led him to form expectations favourable to his own suit. At the same time there was something in the maiden’s behaviour that had frequently caused him to doubt whether she loved him, and sharing in the awe with which she inspired all the Indians around her, he had hitherto hesitated and feared to make a distinct avowal. Of late he had been so much occupied in observing the suspicious movements of the Osages that his attention had been somewhat withdrawn from Olitipa: he was aware of her having become acquainted with Reginald, and the adventure of the preceding day, which had been communicated to him, filled him with an uneasiness that he could not conceal from himself, although he had succeeded in concealing it from others.In this frame of mind, he was returning to the camp, along the course of the streamlet passing through the grove where the rencounter of the preceding day had occurred. When he reached the opening before described, his eyes rested on a sight that transfixed him to the spot. Seated on one of the projecting roots of the ancient tree was Prairie–bird, her eye and cheek glowing with happiness, and her ear drinking in the whispered vows of her newly–betrothed lover; her hand was clasped in his, and more than once he pressed it tenderly to his lips. For several minutes the Indian stood silent and motionless as a statue; despair seemed to have checked the current of his blood, but by slow degrees consciousness returned; he saw her, the maiden whom he had served and loved for weary months and years, now interchanging with another tokens of affection not to be mistaken, and that other a stranger whom he had himself lately brought by his own invitation from a distant region.The demon of jealousy took instant possession of his soul; every other thought, feeling, and passion was for the time annihilated, the nobler impulses of his nature were forgotten, and he was in a moment transformed to a merciless savage, bent on swift and deadly vengeance. He only paused as in doubt,howhe should kill his rival—perhaps, whether he should kill them both; his eye dwelt upon them with a stern ferocity, as he loosened the unerring tomahawk from hisbelt; another moment he paused, for his hand trembled convulsively, and a cold sweat stood like dew upon his brow. At this terrible crisis of his passion, a low voice whispered in his ear, in the Delaware tongue,“Would the Lenapé chief stain his Medicine with a brother’s blood?” War–Eagle, turning round, encountered the steady eye of Baptiste; he gave no answer, but directed his fiery glance towards the spot where the unconscious lovers were seated, and the half–raised weapon still vibrated under the impulse of the internal struggle that shook every muscle of the Indian’s frame. Profiting by the momentary pause, Baptiste continued, in the same tone, “Shall the tomahawk of the War–Eagle strike an adopted son of the Unâmi?[38]The Bad Spirit has entered my brother’s heart; let him hold a talk with himself, and remember that he is the son of Tamenund.”By an effort of self–control, such as none but an Indian can exercise, War–Eagle subdued, instantaneously, all outward indication of the tempest that had been aroused in his breast. Replacing the tomahawk in his belt, he drew himself proudly to his full height, and, fixing on the woodsman an eye calm and steady as his own, he replied,“Grande–Hâche speaks truth; War–Eagle is a chief; the angry spirit is strong; but he tramples it under his feet.” He then added, in a lower tone, “War–Eagle will speak to Netis; not now; if his white brother’s tongue has been forked, the medicine of the Unâmi shall not protect him. The sky is very black, and War–Eagle has no friend left.” So saying, the Indian threw his light blanket over his shoulder and stalked gloomily from the spot.Baptiste followed with his eye the retreating figure of the Delaware, until it was lost in the dense foliage of the wood.“Heisa noble fellow,” said the rough hunter, half aloud, leaning on his long rifle, and pursuing the thread of his own reflections. “He is one of the old sort of Ingians, and there’s but few of ‘em left. I’ve been with him in several skrimages,and I’ve seen him strike and scalp more than one Dahcotah; but I never saw the glare of his eye so wild and bloodthirsty before; if he had kept his purpose, my old sinews would have had some trouble to save Master Reginald from that tomahawk. It’s well for him that I’ve lived long enough among the Delawares to know the ins and outs of their natur’, as well as John Skellup at the ferry knows the sand–bars and channels in Bearcreek Shallows. I thought the Unâmi Medicine whispered in his ear might do something; but I scarcely hoped it could smother such a fire in a minute. I remember, when I was young, I was in a hot passion, now and then, myself.Capote!I’m sometimes in a passion still, when I think of those cut–throat Sioux, and if my bristles are up, it takes some time to smooth ‘em down.” Here the woodsman’s hand unconsciously rested for a moment on the huge axe suspended at his belt; but his musings took another course, as he continued his muttered soliloquy:—“Well, I sometimes think the bears and the deer have more reason than human critturs, ay, and I believe that shot isn’t overwide o’ the mark. Look at them two youngsters, Master Reginald and War–Eagle, two brave honest hearts as ever lived; one saves the other’s life; they become brothers and swear friendship; of a sudden, I am obliged to step in between ‘em, to prevent one from braining the other with a tomahawk. And what’s the cause of all this hate and fury? Why, love,—a pair of black eyes and red lips;—a strange kind of love, indeed, that makes a man hate and kill his best friend. Thank Heaven, I have nothing to do with such love; and I say, as I said before, that the dumb animals have more reason than human critturs. Well, I must do all I can to make ‘em friends again, for a blind man might see they’ll need each other’s help, ere many days are past!”So saying, the woodsman threw his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and moved towards Reginald Brandon, who, unconscious of the danger that he had so narrowly escaped, was still engaged with Prairie–bird in that loving dialogue which finds no satiety in endless reiteration.Baptiste drew near, and after the usual greetings, took an opportunity, as he thought unobserved by Prairie–bird, of making a sign to Reginald that he wished to speak with him in private; but the maiden, watchful of every movement directlyor indirectly affecting her lover, and already aware of the intrigues and treachery of the Osages, said to him with her usual simplicity of manner, “Baptiste, if you have aught to say requiring my absence, I will go; but as there are dangers approaching that threaten us all alike, do not fear to speak before me. I know something of these people, and though only an unskilled maiden, my thoughts might be of some avail.”The sturdy hunter, although possessed of a shrewd judgment, was somewhat confused by this direct appeal; but after smoothing down the hair of his fur cap for a few moments, as was his custom when engaged in reflection, he resolved to speak before her without concealment; and he proceeded accordingly, with the blunt honesty of his nature, to narrate to them all the particulars of his late interview with War–Eagle. During his recital, both the auditors changed colour more than once, with different yet sympathetic emotions; and when he concluded, Reginald suddenly arose, and, fixing his eye upon the maiden’s countenance, as if he would read her soul, he said,“Prairie–bird, I conjure you by all you love on earth, and by all your hopes of Heaven! tell me truly, if you have known and encouraged these feelings in War–Eagle?”The dark eyes that had been cast to the ground with various painful emotions were raised at this appeal, and met her lover’s searching look with the modest courage of conscious truth as she replied,—“Reginald, is it possible that you can ask me such a question? Olitipa, the foundling of the Delawares, loved War–Eagle as she loved Wingenund; she was brought up in the same lodge with both; she called both, brother; she thought of them only as such. Had War–Eagle ever asked for other love, she would have told him she had none other to give. She knew of none other, until—until——” The presence of a third person checked the words that struggled for utterance; her deep eyes filled with tears, and she hid them on Reginald’s bosom.“I were worse than an infidel, could I doubt thy purity and truth,” he exclaimed with fervour; “Baptiste, I will speak with my Indian brother—I pity him from my heart—I will strive all in my power to soothe his sorrow; for I, andI alone, can know whathemust suffer, who has, in secret and in vain, loved such a being as this! Let us return.”Slowly and sadly they wended their way to the encampment, the guide bringing up the rear. He was thoroughly convinced that Prairie–bird had spoken the truth: every look, every accent carried conviction with it; but he feared for the meeting between the young men, being fully aware of the impetuosity of Reginald’s character, and of the intense excitement that now affected the Indian’s mind. He determined, however, to leave them to themselves, for he had lived enough among men of stormy and ungoverned passions to know, that in atête–à–têtebetween two high and generous spirits a concession will often be made, to which pride might, in the presence of others, never have submitted.On reaching their quarters in the encampment, they found Paul Müller standing thoughtfully before Prairie–bird’s tent, into which, after exchanging a brief but cordial greeting, he and the maiden withdrew, leaving Reginald and the guide to retire into the adjoining lodge of Tamenund.War–Eagle, who had posted himself in a spot whence, without being seen himself, he could observe their movements, now walked slowly forward to the entrance of the tent, into which he was immediately invited by the missionary; his manner was grave and composed, nor could the most observant eye have traced in the lines of his countenance the slightest shade of excitement or agitation.After the usual salutation, he said, “War–Eagle will speak to the Black Father presently; he has now low words for the ear of Olitipa.”Paul Müller, looking on him with a smile, benevolent though somewhat melancholy, said, “I shut my ears, my son, and go, for I know that War–Eagle will speak nothing that his sister should not hear;” and so saying, he retired into his adjacent compartment of the tent. Prairie–bird, conscious of the painful scene that awaited her, sat in embarrassed silence, and for upwards of a minute War–Eagle contemplated without speaking the sad but lovely expression of the maiden’s countenance; that long and piercing look told him all that he dreaded to know; he saw that Baptiste had spoken to her; he saw that his hopes were blasted; and still his riveted gaze was fixed upon her, as the eyes of one banished for life dwell uponthe last receding tints of the home that he is leaving for ever. Collecting, at length, all the stoic firmness of his nature, he spoke to her in the Delaware tongue; the words that he used were few and simple, but in them, and in the tone of his voice, there was so much delicacy mingled with such depth of feeling, that Prairie–bird could not refrain from tears.Answering him in the same language, she blended her accustomed sincerity of expression with gentle words of soothing kindness; and, in concluding her reply, she took his hand in hers, saying, “Olitipa has long loved her brothers, War–Eagle and Wingenund; let not a cloud come between them now; her heart is not changed to the great warrior of Lenapé; his sister trusts to his protection; she is proud of his fame; she has no other love to give him; her race, her religion, her heart forbid it! but he is her dear brother; he will not be angry, nor leave her.“Mahéga and the Osages are become enemies; the Dahcotah trail is near; Tamenund is old and weak; where shall Olitipa find a brother’s love, and a brother’s aid, if War–Eagle turns away his face from her now?”The noble heart to which she appealed had gone through its fiery ordeal of torture, and triumphed over it. After the manner of his tribe, the Delaware, before relinquishing her hand, pressed it for a moment to his chest, in token of affection, and said, “It is enough; my sister’s words are good, they are not spilt upon the ground; let Mahéga or the Dahcotahs come near the lodge of Olitipa, and they shall learn that War–Eagle is her brother!” The chieftain’s hand rested lightly on his tomahawk, and his countenance, as he withdrew from the tent, wore an expression of high and stern resolve.How often in life is the observation forced upon us, that artlessness is the highest perfection of art! It is an axiom, the truth of which remains unchallenged under whatever aspect we view it, and is indisputable even in its converse; thus, as in writing, the apparent ease and simplicity of style is the result of frequent correction and laborious study; so in corporeal exercises, the most assiduous practice must be combined with the highest physical qualifications, ere the dancer or the posture–master can emulate the unconscious grace displayed in the movements of a sportive kitten, or a playful child.Had Prairie–bird been familiar with all the learned treatiseson rhetoric that have appeared from the time of Aristotle to the present day, she could not have selected topics better calculated to move and soften the heart of her Indian brother. And yet she had no other instructor in the heart than the natural delicacy of her sex and character. While the tribute to his warlike fame gratified his pride, the unstudied sisterly affection of her tone and manner soothed his wounded feelings; and while the brief picture of her unprotected state aroused all his nobler and more generous sentiments, no breath of allusion to his successful rival’s name kindled the embers of jealousy that slumbered beneath them.As he walked from her tent, the young Indian’s heart dilated within him; he trod the earth with a proud and lordly step; he had grappled with his passion; and though it had been riveted “to his soul with hooks of steel,” he had plucked it forth with an unflinching hand, and he now met his deep–rooted grief with the same lofty brow and unconquerable will with which he would have braved the tortures of the Dahcotah stake.

c205CHAPTER V.SYMPTOMS OF A RUPTURE BETWEEN THE DELAWARES AND OSAGES.—MAHÉGA COMES FORWARD IN THE CHARACTER OF A LOVER.—HIS COURTSHIP RECEIVES AN UNEXPECTED INTERRUPTION.Paul Müller, having left the lodge of Prairie–bird, fulfilled his intention of entering that of Tamenund: he found the venerable chieftain seated upon a buffalo robe; his back leaned against a bale of cloth, a highly ornamented pipe–stem at his lips, while from its other extremity a thin column of smoke, rising in wavy folds, found its way out of the accidental rents and crevices in the skins which covered the lodge. War–Eagle was listening in an attitude of respectful attention to the words which fell from his father; but the subject of conversation was evidently of some importance, as the women and the youths were whispering together at a distance from the two principal persons. The entrance of the missionary was not unnoticed, for Tamenund made him a signal to draw near and sit down; several times the pipe was passed round in silence, when the old chief addressing his guest in the Delaware tongue, said, “The Black Father knows that there are dark clouds in the sky!”“He does,” replied the missionary. A glance of intelligence passed between War–Eagle and Tamenund, as the latter proceeded.“What says the Black Father? Is the storm to break, or will the sun shine again?”“The Great Spirit only knows,” replied the missionary; “if the sun shines, we will be thankful; if the storm falls, we will wrap round us the cloak of patience.”A fierce gleam shot from the young chief’s eye, but he spoke not a word until Tamenund addressed him thus:—“What says War–Eagle? let him speak.”“The snows of many winters are on my father’s forehead; the Black Father has learnt wisdom from the Great Spirit: it is more fitting for War–Eagle to listen than to speak,” replied the young man, curbing the angry thoughts that glowed in his breast.“Nay, my son,” said the missionary, “let War–Eagle speak, and his saying be afterwards weighed by the aged heads.”War–Eagle then proceeded to explain how Wingenund, in returning from the turkey–pen, had caught a glimpse of a distant figure, whom he knew at a glance to belong to another tribe. Hastily concealing himself among the bushes, he waited till the strange Indian passed, and then resolving to watch him, crept stealthily on his trail.Having made his way to a hollow in the thickest part of the forest, he sat down on the stump of an alder–tree, where he made and twice repeated a low signal whistle, which was soon answered by another Indian, who approached in an opposite direction, and in whom, to his great surprise, Wingenund recognised Mahéga. He was not near enough to overhear their conversation, neither was he aware whether they spoke in the Delaware tongue; but after conversing in a low tone for some minutes, they separated, and Wingenund again put himself on the trail of the stranger; the latter frequently stopped in his course, looked round and listened, but the youth was too practised and sagacious to be baffled by these precautions, and finally succeeded in tracking the object of his pursuit to an encampment containing ten or a dozen armed Indians, whom he knew at once to form a war–party, but could not decide to what tribe they belonged; he succeeded, however, in securing a mocassin which one of them had dropped, and returned unperceived to the Delaware village.Such was the outline of the occurrences now rapidlysketched by War–Eagle; and in concluding his narrative, he held up the mocassin above mentioned, and presented it to the aged chief. The latter examined it for a moment in silence, and restoring it to the warrior, pronounced, in a low guttural tone, the word “Dahcotah.”“Yes,” said the War–Eagle, in a deep whisper, indicative of the indignant passion that boiled within; “yes, the Dahcotah is in the woods; he prowls like a prairie–wolf. The Great Spirit has made him a dog, and if he sets his foot on the hunting–ground of the Lenapé, let not his wife complain if she looks along his path in vain, and strikes her breast, saying, ‘The wife of the Dahcotah is a widow!’ But the Evil Spirit has crept into the heart of the Washashee, a snake is in the council–chamber of the Lenapé, and lies are on the tongue of Mahéga! Is it enough, or must War–Eagle speak more?”“The words of my son are hard,” replied Tamenund, shaking his head sorrowfully; “the Dahcotah are dogs, they are on a deer–hunt; their heart is not big enough to make them dig up the hatchet to fight with the Lenapé. Tamenund cannot believe that the tongue of Mahéga is so forked, or his heart so black, that two suns have not passed since he sat and smoked in this lodge, and spoke of Olitipa, the daughter of the Prairie. He said that her voice was music to him, that her form was in his dreams, and he asked Tamenund to give her to him as a wife.”At these words the suppressed rage of the youthful warrior had well–nigh burst the iron bands of Indian self–control; he ground his teeth audibly together, his dilated form trembled through every nerve and muscle; but observing the keen eye of the missionary fixed upon his countenance, he subdued in a moment the rising tempest, and asked, in a voice the forced calmness of which was fearful, “What said my father?”Tamenund replied that the maiden was Great Medicine in the tribe, that she was a gift of the Great Spirit, and that her dwelling could never be in the lodge of an Osage chief. “He went away without speaking,” added the old man seriously; “but his eye spoke bad words enough!”“My father said well,” exclaimed the impetuous young man; “let Mahéga seek a wife among his dog–brothers the Dahcotahs! War–Eagle will smoke no more in his lodge.”After a brief pause, Tamenund continued:“My son has told half his thoughts, let him speak on.”“Nay,” returned the young warrior, “let my father consult the Medicine, and the counsellors who have seen many winters: War–Eagle will whisper to his braves, and when the ancient men in council have spoken, he will be ready.”With this ambiguous answer, he folded his buffalo robe over his shoulder and left the lodge.The missionary saw that mischief was brewing, yet knew not how to prevent it. He had gained extraordinary influence among the Delawares by never interfering in their councils, unless when he felt assured that the result would justify the advice which he offered; but on the present occasion it was evident that his Indian friends had sufficient grounds for suspecting their Osage allies of treachery; he resolved, therefore, to wait and observe, before making those attempts at reconciliation which became his character and his mission. Influenced by this determination, he spoke a few words to the aged chief on indifferent matters, and shortly afterwards retired to his own lodge.During the preceding conversation Baptiste had been seated at a little distance, his whole attention apparently engaged in mending a rent in his mocassins, but scarcely a word had escaped his watchful ear; and while he heard with secret delight that there was every chance of a fight with the Sioux, towards whom he cherished, as we have before observed, an unextinguished hatred, he could not view without much uneasiness the dangerous position in which Reginald’s party might be placed by a rupture between the Delawares and Osages, in a wild region where either party might so soon obtain the ready aid of the Pawnees, or some other warlike and marauding tribe; he resolved, however, for the present to content himself with putting his young leader on his guard, reserving a fuller explanation until he should have been able to ascertain the intentions of his Delaware friends: in this last endeavour he did not anticipate much difficulty, for the experienced woodsman had proved his steadiness to them in many a fray, and his courage and skill were no less proverbial among them than was his mortal enmity to the Dahcotahs.Nothing occurred during the ensuing night to disturb the quiet of the encampment, if that may be denominated quiet which was constantly interrupted by the chattering of wakefulsquaws, the barking of dogs, the occasional chaunt of a warrior, and the distant howling of hungry wolves. Our hero’s dreams were, like his waking thoughts, full only of Prairie–bird; and when he rose at daybreak he expressed no wish to roam or hunt, but lingered within view of that small circular lodge, which contained the treasure that he valued most on earth. To the cautious warning of Baptiste he answered, smiling, “You confess yourself that you only suspect; you know our friends and their language, their wiles, and their stratagems. I trust the safety of my party to your sagacity; if your suspicions are turned into certainty, tell me, and I am ready to act.”As the young man left the lodge without even taking his cutlass or his rifle, Baptiste, looking after him, shrugged his shoulders, adding in an under tone, just loud enough to be heard by Monsieur Perrot, who sat at his side,—“‘Suspicion,’ ‘certainty,’ ‘sagacity,’—why surely he is mad! He talks as if plots and plans were measured out by rule amongst the red–skins, as they may be ‘mongst lords and princes in Europe! This comes of his towering, as they call it, amongst the Dutch, and other outlandish tribes. Surely, he’s lived enough in the territory to know that with these Ingians, and special near a Sioux trail, the first suspicion a man is like to get is an arrow in his ribs or a tomahawk in his brain. Capote–bleu, Maître Perrot, what do you think of your master, is he mad?”“Very much mad,” said the good–humoured valet, grinning, whilst he continued assiduously to pound some coffee–beans which he was preparing for breakfast; “very much mad, Monsieur Baptiste; he very mad to leave Paris to go to his fox–huntin’ oncle in England; he more mad to leave dat for the backwoods by de Muskingum; but he dam mad to leave Mooshanne to come here where dere is nothing but naked savages and naked prairies.”“Ah! Maître Perrot,” replied the guide, “my father was a Canada Frenchman, and although he was, mayhap, never further east than Montreal, he was as fond of talking of Paris as a bear is of climbing a bee–tree!”[31]“He very right, Monsieur Ba’tiste; de world without Paris is no more dan a woman widout a tongue; but as you know our language, I will speak it to you, for pronouncing English is no better dan breaking stones wid your teeth!” And the merry valet forthwith inflicted upon his graver companion a Parisian tirade, that very soon went beyond the latter’s stock of Canadian French.The morning dawned with unusual splendour; the sun gradually rose over the wooded hills that bounded the eastern horizon, and the light breeze shook the dew–drops from the flowers, as Prairie–bird, fresh and lovely as the scene around her, tripped lightly over the grass to the sequestered spot which we have before mentioned as being her favourite resort: there, seated at the root of the aged tree where Reginald had first seen her, she opened the volume which was her constant companion, and poured forth the grateful feelings of her heart, in the words of the inspired Prophet–King; at her feet flowed the brawling stream which fed the valley below the encampment; the merry birds sang their matins among the leafy branches above her head, and around her sprang sweet–scented flowers and blossoms of a thousand varied hues. There are some spots, and some brief seasons, on earth, so redolent of freshness, beauty, and repose, as almost to revive the Paradise lost by our first parents; but soon, too soon, the effects of primeval sin and its punishment are felt, and the atmosphere of heavenly peace is tainted by the miasma of human passion!Prairie–bird had enjoyed for some time her study and her meditations undisturbed, when her attention was caught by the sound of approaching footsteps: the conscious blood rushed to her cheek as she expected to see the same visitor who had so suddenly presented himself on the preceding day, when, to her surprise and annoyance, the gigantic figure of Mahéga stood before her, on the opposite side of the streamlet by which she was seated: although simple, unsuspecting, and fearless by nature, there was something in the countenance and bearing of this formidable chief that had always inspired her with mingled dislike and awe: remembering on the present occasion the hint lately given to her by the missionary, she returned thehaughty greeting of the Indian by a gentle inclination of her head, and then summoned composure enough to continue her reading, as if desirous to avoid conversation: such, however, was not Mahéga’s intention, who, softening, as far he was able, the rough tones of his voice, addressed to her, in the Delaware tongue, a string of the finest Indian compliments on her beauty and attractions. To these the maiden coldly replied by telling him, that she thanked him for his good words, but that as she was studying the commands of the Great Spirit, she wished not to be disturbed.Mahéga, nothing checked by this reply, continued to ply her with protestations and promises, and concluded by telling her that shemustbe his wife; that he was a warrior, and would fill her wigwam with spoils and trophies. As he proceeded, his countenance became more excited, and the tones of his voice had already more of threat than of entreaty. Prairie–bird replied, with forced calmness, that she knew he was a great warrior, but that she could not be his wife: their paths were different; his led to war, and spoils, and power in ruling his tribe; hers to tending the sick and fulfilling the commands of the Great Spirit given in the Medicine Book. Irritated by the firm though gentle tone of her reply, the violent passion of the chief broke out in a torrent of harsh and menacing words: he called her a foundling and a slave; adding, that in spite of the Delaware squaws and their white allies, she should sleep in his lodge, although the honour was greater than she deserved.Fired with indignation at this brutal menace, the spirited girl rose from her seat, and, looking him full in the face, replied, “Prairie–bird is a foundling; if Mahéga knows his parents, he disgraces their name; she would rather be the slave of Tamenund than the wife of Mahéga.”A demoniac grin stole over the features of the savage, as he replied: “The words of Olitipa are bitter. Mahéga laughs at her anger; she is alone and unprotected; will she walk to his lodge, or must the warrior carry her?”ill218Prairie–bird and MahégaP.219So saying, he advanced to the very edge of the narrow stream! The maiden, although alarmed, retained sufficient presence of mind to know that to save herself by flight was impossible; but the courage of insulted virtue supported her, and she answered him in a tone that breathed more of indignation than of fear:“Olitipa is not alone—is not unprotected! The Great Spirit is her protector, before whom the stature of Mahéga is as a blade of grass, and his strength like that of an infant. See,” she continued, drawing from her girdle a small, sharp–pointed dagger, “Olitipa is not unprotected: if Mahéga moves a foot to cross that stream, this knife shall reach her heart; and the great Mahéga will go to the hunting–fields of the dead, a coward, and a woman–slayer.”As she spoke these words she held the dagger pointed to her bosom, now heaving with high emotion; her form seemed to dilate, and her dark eye kindled with a prouder lustre. The glow on her cheek, and the lofty dignity of her attitude, only heightened her beauty in the eyes of the savage, and confirmed him in carrying out his fell purpose, to ensure the success of which he saw that stratagem, not force, must be employed: assuming, therefore, a sarcastic tone of voice, he replied,—“Olitipa trusts to the edge of her knife; Mahéga laughs at her.” Then he continued, in a louder key, as if addressing an Indian behind her, “Let Wânemi seize her arm and hold it.”As the surprised maiden turned her head in the direction where she expected to see the Indian to whom Mahéga was speaking, that crafty chief cleared the brook at a bound, and seizing her waist, while a smile of triumph lit up his features, said, “The pretty one is Mahéga’s prisoner; there is no one here but himself; a cunning tale tickled the ears of Olitipa.”The hapless girl saw how she had been outwitted by the savage: she struggled in vain to free herself from his grasp, and a faint scream of despair broke from her lips.The spring of a famished tiger on a heifer is not more fiercely impetuous than was the bound with which Reginald Brandon rushed from the adjacent thicket upon Mahéga,—reckless of his opponent’s huge bulk and strength, forgetful that he was himself unarmed. The cry of Prairie–bird had strung with tenfold power every sinew in his athletic frame: seizing with both hands the throat of Mahéga, he grasped it with such deadly force that the Indian was compelled to release his hold of the maiden,—but he still retained her knife,and in the struggle plunged it into the arm and shoulder of Reginald, who relaxed not, however, his iron grasp, but still bore his opponent backwards, until the foot of the latter tripped over a projecting root, and he fell with tremendous force upon his head, the blood gushing in torrents from his nose and mouth. Reginald, who had been dragged down in his fall, seized the dagger, and, as he raised it above his head, felt a light touch upon his arm, and turning round saw Prairie–bird kneeling at his side, her face pale as monumental marble, and the sacred volume still clasped in her hand.“Kill him not, Reginald,” she said, in a low impressive voice; “‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!’”Breathless, and flushed with the late severe struggle, the young man replied: “I will spare the villain, dear Prairie–bird, at your bidding: he is stunned and senseless now, but he will soon recover, and his fury and thirst for revenge will know no bounds; he shall know, however, that Ihavespared him.” So saying, he cut off the dyed and ornamented scalp–lock from the top of Mahéga’s head, and, laying it beside the prostrate chieftain, arose, and retired with Prairie–bird from the spot.They walked together some distance in silence, for her heart was overcharged with contending emotions; and as they went she unconsciously clung to his arm for support: at length she stopped, and looking up in his face, her eyes glistening with tears, she said,“How am I ever to thank you?—my first debt of gratitude is due to Heaven; but you have been its brave, its blessed instrument of my deliverance from worse than death!” and a shudder passed over her frame as the rude grasp of Mahéga recurred to her remembrance.“Dear Prairie–bird,” he replied; “as a man I would have done as much for the poorest and most indifferent of your sex—how then am I repaid a thousand, thousand fold by having been allowed to serve a being so precious!” The deep mellow tone in which he spoke these words, and the look by which they were accompanied, brought the truant colour again to the cheek of his companion, and as she cast her full dark eyes downwards, they rested on the arm that supported her, and she saw that his sleeve was stained and dropping with blood!“Oh! you are wounded, badly hurt, I fear. Tell me, tell me, Reginald,” she continued, with an intensity of anxiety that her expressive countenance betrayed, “are you badly hurt?”“Indeed, dear Prairie–bird, I cannot tell you: I felt the Indian strike me twice with the dagger before he fell; I do not think the wounds are serious, for you see I can walk and assist your steps too.”While he thus spoke he was, however, growing faint from loss of blood, and the wound in his shoulder, having become cold and stiff, gave him exquisite pain. Prairie–bird was not deceived by the cheerfulness of his manner; she saw the paleness that was gradually stealing over his countenance, and, with ready presence of mind, insisted on his sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree beside their path. The suffering condition of Reginald redoubled instead of paralysing her energies; she filled his cap with fresh water from the brook, urged him to taste a few drops, and sprinkled more over his face and temples; then ripping up the sleeve of his hunting–shirt, she found the blood still welling from two severe wounds between the elbow and shoulder in the left arm: these she bathed and carefully closed, applying to them a healing salve, which she drew from the small bag that she wore at her girdle, after which she bandaged the arm firmly with her kerchief; then, kneeling beside him, strove to read in his face the success of her simple surgery.In the course of a few minutes the dizzy sensation of faintness that had been produced by loss of blood, passed away, and the delighted Prairie–bird, seeing on his countenance the beaming smile of returning consciousness and strength, murmured to herself, “Oh! God I thank thee!” then hiding her face in her hands, wept with mingled emotion and gratitude. Reginald heard the words, he marked the tears, and no longer able to suppress the feelings with which his heart overflowed, he drew her gently towards him with his yet unwounded arm, and whispered in her ear the outpourings of a first, fond, passionate love!No reply came from her lips, her tears (tears of intense emotion) flowed yet faster; but a sensible pressure on the part of the little hand which he clasped within his own, gave him the blest assurance that his love was returned; and againand again did he repeat those sacred and impassioned vows by which the hopes, the fears, the fortunes, the affections, the very existence of two immortal beings, are inseparably blended together. Her unresisting hand remained clasped in his, and her head leaned upon his shoulder, that she might conceal the blushes that suffused her countenance: still he would not be satisfied without a verbal answer to his thrice urged prayer, that he might call her his own; and when at length she raised her beaming eyes to his, and audibly whispered, “For ever,” he sealed upon those sweet lips the contract of unchanged affection.Bright, transitory moments of bliss! lightning flashes that illumine the dark and stormy path of life, though momentary in your duration, how mighty in your power, how lasting in your effects! Sometimes imparting a rapturous glow and kindling an unceasing heat that death itself cannot extinguish, and sometimes under a star of evil destiny searing and withering the heart rendered desolate by your scorching flame!It is not necessary to inform the gentle reader how long thetête–à–têteon the fallen tree continued; suffice it to say, that Prairie–bird forgot her fright, and Reginald his wounds; and when they returned to the village, each sought to enjoy in solitude those delicious reveries which deserve certainly the second place in love’s catalogue of happiness.

c205

SYMPTOMS OF A RUPTURE BETWEEN THE DELAWARES AND OSAGES.—MAHÉGA COMES FORWARD IN THE CHARACTER OF A LOVER.—HIS COURTSHIP RECEIVES AN UNEXPECTED INTERRUPTION.

Paul Müller, having left the lodge of Prairie–bird, fulfilled his intention of entering that of Tamenund: he found the venerable chieftain seated upon a buffalo robe; his back leaned against a bale of cloth, a highly ornamented pipe–stem at his lips, while from its other extremity a thin column of smoke, rising in wavy folds, found its way out of the accidental rents and crevices in the skins which covered the lodge. War–Eagle was listening in an attitude of respectful attention to the words which fell from his father; but the subject of conversation was evidently of some importance, as the women and the youths were whispering together at a distance from the two principal persons. The entrance of the missionary was not unnoticed, for Tamenund made him a signal to draw near and sit down; several times the pipe was passed round in silence, when the old chief addressing his guest in the Delaware tongue, said, “The Black Father knows that there are dark clouds in the sky!”

“He does,” replied the missionary. A glance of intelligence passed between War–Eagle and Tamenund, as the latter proceeded.

“What says the Black Father? Is the storm to break, or will the sun shine again?”

“The Great Spirit only knows,” replied the missionary; “if the sun shines, we will be thankful; if the storm falls, we will wrap round us the cloak of patience.”

A fierce gleam shot from the young chief’s eye, but he spoke not a word until Tamenund addressed him thus:—“What says War–Eagle? let him speak.”

“The snows of many winters are on my father’s forehead; the Black Father has learnt wisdom from the Great Spirit: it is more fitting for War–Eagle to listen than to speak,” replied the young man, curbing the angry thoughts that glowed in his breast.

“Nay, my son,” said the missionary, “let War–Eagle speak, and his saying be afterwards weighed by the aged heads.”

War–Eagle then proceeded to explain how Wingenund, in returning from the turkey–pen, had caught a glimpse of a distant figure, whom he knew at a glance to belong to another tribe. Hastily concealing himself among the bushes, he waited till the strange Indian passed, and then resolving to watch him, crept stealthily on his trail.

Having made his way to a hollow in the thickest part of the forest, he sat down on the stump of an alder–tree, where he made and twice repeated a low signal whistle, which was soon answered by another Indian, who approached in an opposite direction, and in whom, to his great surprise, Wingenund recognised Mahéga. He was not near enough to overhear their conversation, neither was he aware whether they spoke in the Delaware tongue; but after conversing in a low tone for some minutes, they separated, and Wingenund again put himself on the trail of the stranger; the latter frequently stopped in his course, looked round and listened, but the youth was too practised and sagacious to be baffled by these precautions, and finally succeeded in tracking the object of his pursuit to an encampment containing ten or a dozen armed Indians, whom he knew at once to form a war–party, but could not decide to what tribe they belonged; he succeeded, however, in securing a mocassin which one of them had dropped, and returned unperceived to the Delaware village.

Such was the outline of the occurrences now rapidlysketched by War–Eagle; and in concluding his narrative, he held up the mocassin above mentioned, and presented it to the aged chief. The latter examined it for a moment in silence, and restoring it to the warrior, pronounced, in a low guttural tone, the word “Dahcotah.”

“Yes,” said the War–Eagle, in a deep whisper, indicative of the indignant passion that boiled within; “yes, the Dahcotah is in the woods; he prowls like a prairie–wolf. The Great Spirit has made him a dog, and if he sets his foot on the hunting–ground of the Lenapé, let not his wife complain if she looks along his path in vain, and strikes her breast, saying, ‘The wife of the Dahcotah is a widow!’ But the Evil Spirit has crept into the heart of the Washashee, a snake is in the council–chamber of the Lenapé, and lies are on the tongue of Mahéga! Is it enough, or must War–Eagle speak more?”

“The words of my son are hard,” replied Tamenund, shaking his head sorrowfully; “the Dahcotah are dogs, they are on a deer–hunt; their heart is not big enough to make them dig up the hatchet to fight with the Lenapé. Tamenund cannot believe that the tongue of Mahéga is so forked, or his heart so black, that two suns have not passed since he sat and smoked in this lodge, and spoke of Olitipa, the daughter of the Prairie. He said that her voice was music to him, that her form was in his dreams, and he asked Tamenund to give her to him as a wife.”

At these words the suppressed rage of the youthful warrior had well–nigh burst the iron bands of Indian self–control; he ground his teeth audibly together, his dilated form trembled through every nerve and muscle; but observing the keen eye of the missionary fixed upon his countenance, he subdued in a moment the rising tempest, and asked, in a voice the forced calmness of which was fearful, “What said my father?”

Tamenund replied that the maiden was Great Medicine in the tribe, that she was a gift of the Great Spirit, and that her dwelling could never be in the lodge of an Osage chief. “He went away without speaking,” added the old man seriously; “but his eye spoke bad words enough!”

“My father said well,” exclaimed the impetuous young man; “let Mahéga seek a wife among his dog–brothers the Dahcotahs! War–Eagle will smoke no more in his lodge.”

After a brief pause, Tamenund continued:

“My son has told half his thoughts, let him speak on.”

“Nay,” returned the young warrior, “let my father consult the Medicine, and the counsellors who have seen many winters: War–Eagle will whisper to his braves, and when the ancient men in council have spoken, he will be ready.”

With this ambiguous answer, he folded his buffalo robe over his shoulder and left the lodge.

The missionary saw that mischief was brewing, yet knew not how to prevent it. He had gained extraordinary influence among the Delawares by never interfering in their councils, unless when he felt assured that the result would justify the advice which he offered; but on the present occasion it was evident that his Indian friends had sufficient grounds for suspecting their Osage allies of treachery; he resolved, therefore, to wait and observe, before making those attempts at reconciliation which became his character and his mission. Influenced by this determination, he spoke a few words to the aged chief on indifferent matters, and shortly afterwards retired to his own lodge.

During the preceding conversation Baptiste had been seated at a little distance, his whole attention apparently engaged in mending a rent in his mocassins, but scarcely a word had escaped his watchful ear; and while he heard with secret delight that there was every chance of a fight with the Sioux, towards whom he cherished, as we have before observed, an unextinguished hatred, he could not view without much uneasiness the dangerous position in which Reginald’s party might be placed by a rupture between the Delawares and Osages, in a wild region where either party might so soon obtain the ready aid of the Pawnees, or some other warlike and marauding tribe; he resolved, however, for the present to content himself with putting his young leader on his guard, reserving a fuller explanation until he should have been able to ascertain the intentions of his Delaware friends: in this last endeavour he did not anticipate much difficulty, for the experienced woodsman had proved his steadiness to them in many a fray, and his courage and skill were no less proverbial among them than was his mortal enmity to the Dahcotahs.

Nothing occurred during the ensuing night to disturb the quiet of the encampment, if that may be denominated quiet which was constantly interrupted by the chattering of wakefulsquaws, the barking of dogs, the occasional chaunt of a warrior, and the distant howling of hungry wolves. Our hero’s dreams were, like his waking thoughts, full only of Prairie–bird; and when he rose at daybreak he expressed no wish to roam or hunt, but lingered within view of that small circular lodge, which contained the treasure that he valued most on earth. To the cautious warning of Baptiste he answered, smiling, “You confess yourself that you only suspect; you know our friends and their language, their wiles, and their stratagems. I trust the safety of my party to your sagacity; if your suspicions are turned into certainty, tell me, and I am ready to act.”

As the young man left the lodge without even taking his cutlass or his rifle, Baptiste, looking after him, shrugged his shoulders, adding in an under tone, just loud enough to be heard by Monsieur Perrot, who sat at his side,—

“‘Suspicion,’ ‘certainty,’ ‘sagacity,’—why surely he is mad! He talks as if plots and plans were measured out by rule amongst the red–skins, as they may be ‘mongst lords and princes in Europe! This comes of his towering, as they call it, amongst the Dutch, and other outlandish tribes. Surely, he’s lived enough in the territory to know that with these Ingians, and special near a Sioux trail, the first suspicion a man is like to get is an arrow in his ribs or a tomahawk in his brain. Capote–bleu, Maître Perrot, what do you think of your master, is he mad?”

“Very much mad,” said the good–humoured valet, grinning, whilst he continued assiduously to pound some coffee–beans which he was preparing for breakfast; “very much mad, Monsieur Baptiste; he very mad to leave Paris to go to his fox–huntin’ oncle in England; he more mad to leave dat for the backwoods by de Muskingum; but he dam mad to leave Mooshanne to come here where dere is nothing but naked savages and naked prairies.”

“Ah! Maître Perrot,” replied the guide, “my father was a Canada Frenchman, and although he was, mayhap, never further east than Montreal, he was as fond of talking of Paris as a bear is of climbing a bee–tree!”[31]

“He very right, Monsieur Ba’tiste; de world without Paris is no more dan a woman widout a tongue; but as you know our language, I will speak it to you, for pronouncing English is no better dan breaking stones wid your teeth!” And the merry valet forthwith inflicted upon his graver companion a Parisian tirade, that very soon went beyond the latter’s stock of Canadian French.

The morning dawned with unusual splendour; the sun gradually rose over the wooded hills that bounded the eastern horizon, and the light breeze shook the dew–drops from the flowers, as Prairie–bird, fresh and lovely as the scene around her, tripped lightly over the grass to the sequestered spot which we have before mentioned as being her favourite resort: there, seated at the root of the aged tree where Reginald had first seen her, she opened the volume which was her constant companion, and poured forth the grateful feelings of her heart, in the words of the inspired Prophet–King; at her feet flowed the brawling stream which fed the valley below the encampment; the merry birds sang their matins among the leafy branches above her head, and around her sprang sweet–scented flowers and blossoms of a thousand varied hues. There are some spots, and some brief seasons, on earth, so redolent of freshness, beauty, and repose, as almost to revive the Paradise lost by our first parents; but soon, too soon, the effects of primeval sin and its punishment are felt, and the atmosphere of heavenly peace is tainted by the miasma of human passion!

Prairie–bird had enjoyed for some time her study and her meditations undisturbed, when her attention was caught by the sound of approaching footsteps: the conscious blood rushed to her cheek as she expected to see the same visitor who had so suddenly presented himself on the preceding day, when, to her surprise and annoyance, the gigantic figure of Mahéga stood before her, on the opposite side of the streamlet by which she was seated: although simple, unsuspecting, and fearless by nature, there was something in the countenance and bearing of this formidable chief that had always inspired her with mingled dislike and awe: remembering on the present occasion the hint lately given to her by the missionary, she returned thehaughty greeting of the Indian by a gentle inclination of her head, and then summoned composure enough to continue her reading, as if desirous to avoid conversation: such, however, was not Mahéga’s intention, who, softening, as far he was able, the rough tones of his voice, addressed to her, in the Delaware tongue, a string of the finest Indian compliments on her beauty and attractions. To these the maiden coldly replied by telling him, that she thanked him for his good words, but that as she was studying the commands of the Great Spirit, she wished not to be disturbed.

Mahéga, nothing checked by this reply, continued to ply her with protestations and promises, and concluded by telling her that shemustbe his wife; that he was a warrior, and would fill her wigwam with spoils and trophies. As he proceeded, his countenance became more excited, and the tones of his voice had already more of threat than of entreaty. Prairie–bird replied, with forced calmness, that she knew he was a great warrior, but that she could not be his wife: their paths were different; his led to war, and spoils, and power in ruling his tribe; hers to tending the sick and fulfilling the commands of the Great Spirit given in the Medicine Book. Irritated by the firm though gentle tone of her reply, the violent passion of the chief broke out in a torrent of harsh and menacing words: he called her a foundling and a slave; adding, that in spite of the Delaware squaws and their white allies, she should sleep in his lodge, although the honour was greater than she deserved.

Fired with indignation at this brutal menace, the spirited girl rose from her seat, and, looking him full in the face, replied, “Prairie–bird is a foundling; if Mahéga knows his parents, he disgraces their name; she would rather be the slave of Tamenund than the wife of Mahéga.”

A demoniac grin stole over the features of the savage, as he replied: “The words of Olitipa are bitter. Mahéga laughs at her anger; she is alone and unprotected; will she walk to his lodge, or must the warrior carry her?”

ill218

Prairie–bird and MahégaP.219

Prairie–bird and MahégaP.219

Prairie–bird and Mahéga

P.219

So saying, he advanced to the very edge of the narrow stream! The maiden, although alarmed, retained sufficient presence of mind to know that to save herself by flight was impossible; but the courage of insulted virtue supported her, and she answered him in a tone that breathed more of indignation than of fear:

“Olitipa is not alone—is not unprotected! The Great Spirit is her protector, before whom the stature of Mahéga is as a blade of grass, and his strength like that of an infant. See,” she continued, drawing from her girdle a small, sharp–pointed dagger, “Olitipa is not unprotected: if Mahéga moves a foot to cross that stream, this knife shall reach her heart; and the great Mahéga will go to the hunting–fields of the dead, a coward, and a woman–slayer.”

As she spoke these words she held the dagger pointed to her bosom, now heaving with high emotion; her form seemed to dilate, and her dark eye kindled with a prouder lustre. The glow on her cheek, and the lofty dignity of her attitude, only heightened her beauty in the eyes of the savage, and confirmed him in carrying out his fell purpose, to ensure the success of which he saw that stratagem, not force, must be employed: assuming, therefore, a sarcastic tone of voice, he replied,—

“Olitipa trusts to the edge of her knife; Mahéga laughs at her.” Then he continued, in a louder key, as if addressing an Indian behind her, “Let Wânemi seize her arm and hold it.”

As the surprised maiden turned her head in the direction where she expected to see the Indian to whom Mahéga was speaking, that crafty chief cleared the brook at a bound, and seizing her waist, while a smile of triumph lit up his features, said, “The pretty one is Mahéga’s prisoner; there is no one here but himself; a cunning tale tickled the ears of Olitipa.”

The hapless girl saw how she had been outwitted by the savage: she struggled in vain to free herself from his grasp, and a faint scream of despair broke from her lips.

The spring of a famished tiger on a heifer is not more fiercely impetuous than was the bound with which Reginald Brandon rushed from the adjacent thicket upon Mahéga,—reckless of his opponent’s huge bulk and strength, forgetful that he was himself unarmed. The cry of Prairie–bird had strung with tenfold power every sinew in his athletic frame: seizing with both hands the throat of Mahéga, he grasped it with such deadly force that the Indian was compelled to release his hold of the maiden,—but he still retained her knife,and in the struggle plunged it into the arm and shoulder of Reginald, who relaxed not, however, his iron grasp, but still bore his opponent backwards, until the foot of the latter tripped over a projecting root, and he fell with tremendous force upon his head, the blood gushing in torrents from his nose and mouth. Reginald, who had been dragged down in his fall, seized the dagger, and, as he raised it above his head, felt a light touch upon his arm, and turning round saw Prairie–bird kneeling at his side, her face pale as monumental marble, and the sacred volume still clasped in her hand.

“Kill him not, Reginald,” she said, in a low impressive voice; “‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!’”

Breathless, and flushed with the late severe struggle, the young man replied: “I will spare the villain, dear Prairie–bird, at your bidding: he is stunned and senseless now, but he will soon recover, and his fury and thirst for revenge will know no bounds; he shall know, however, that Ihavespared him.” So saying, he cut off the dyed and ornamented scalp–lock from the top of Mahéga’s head, and, laying it beside the prostrate chieftain, arose, and retired with Prairie–bird from the spot.

They walked together some distance in silence, for her heart was overcharged with contending emotions; and as they went she unconsciously clung to his arm for support: at length she stopped, and looking up in his face, her eyes glistening with tears, she said,

“How am I ever to thank you?—my first debt of gratitude is due to Heaven; but you have been its brave, its blessed instrument of my deliverance from worse than death!” and a shudder passed over her frame as the rude grasp of Mahéga recurred to her remembrance.

“Dear Prairie–bird,” he replied; “as a man I would have done as much for the poorest and most indifferent of your sex—how then am I repaid a thousand, thousand fold by having been allowed to serve a being so precious!” The deep mellow tone in which he spoke these words, and the look by which they were accompanied, brought the truant colour again to the cheek of his companion, and as she cast her full dark eyes downwards, they rested on the arm that supported her, and she saw that his sleeve was stained and dropping with blood!

“Oh! you are wounded, badly hurt, I fear. Tell me, tell me, Reginald,” she continued, with an intensity of anxiety that her expressive countenance betrayed, “are you badly hurt?”

“Indeed, dear Prairie–bird, I cannot tell you: I felt the Indian strike me twice with the dagger before he fell; I do not think the wounds are serious, for you see I can walk and assist your steps too.”

While he thus spoke he was, however, growing faint from loss of blood, and the wound in his shoulder, having become cold and stiff, gave him exquisite pain. Prairie–bird was not deceived by the cheerfulness of his manner; she saw the paleness that was gradually stealing over his countenance, and, with ready presence of mind, insisted on his sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree beside their path. The suffering condition of Reginald redoubled instead of paralysing her energies; she filled his cap with fresh water from the brook, urged him to taste a few drops, and sprinkled more over his face and temples; then ripping up the sleeve of his hunting–shirt, she found the blood still welling from two severe wounds between the elbow and shoulder in the left arm: these she bathed and carefully closed, applying to them a healing salve, which she drew from the small bag that she wore at her girdle, after which she bandaged the arm firmly with her kerchief; then, kneeling beside him, strove to read in his face the success of her simple surgery.

In the course of a few minutes the dizzy sensation of faintness that had been produced by loss of blood, passed away, and the delighted Prairie–bird, seeing on his countenance the beaming smile of returning consciousness and strength, murmured to herself, “Oh! God I thank thee!” then hiding her face in her hands, wept with mingled emotion and gratitude. Reginald heard the words, he marked the tears, and no longer able to suppress the feelings with which his heart overflowed, he drew her gently towards him with his yet unwounded arm, and whispered in her ear the outpourings of a first, fond, passionate love!

No reply came from her lips, her tears (tears of intense emotion) flowed yet faster; but a sensible pressure on the part of the little hand which he clasped within his own, gave him the blest assurance that his love was returned; and againand again did he repeat those sacred and impassioned vows by which the hopes, the fears, the fortunes, the affections, the very existence of two immortal beings, are inseparably blended together. Her unresisting hand remained clasped in his, and her head leaned upon his shoulder, that she might conceal the blushes that suffused her countenance: still he would not be satisfied without a verbal answer to his thrice urged prayer, that he might call her his own; and when at length she raised her beaming eyes to his, and audibly whispered, “For ever,” he sealed upon those sweet lips the contract of unchanged affection.

Bright, transitory moments of bliss! lightning flashes that illumine the dark and stormy path of life, though momentary in your duration, how mighty in your power, how lasting in your effects! Sometimes imparting a rapturous glow and kindling an unceasing heat that death itself cannot extinguish, and sometimes under a star of evil destiny searing and withering the heart rendered desolate by your scorching flame!

It is not necessary to inform the gentle reader how long thetête–à–têteon the fallen tree continued; suffice it to say, that Prairie–bird forgot her fright, and Reginald his wounds; and when they returned to the village, each sought to enjoy in solitude those delicious reveries which deserve certainly the second place in love’s catalogue of happiness.

c206CHAPTER VI.ETHELSTON PREPARES TO LEAVE MOOSHANNE.—MAHÉGA APPEARS AS AN ORATOR, IN WHICH CHARACTER HE SUCCEEDS BETTER THAN IN THAT OF A LOVER.—A STORM SUCCEEDED BY A CALM.While the events described in the last chapter were in progress, the hours sped smoothly onward at Mooshanne. Lucy and Ethelston thought themselves justly entitled to a liberal compensation for the trials of their long separation; and, as the spring advanced, morning and evening generally found them strolling together, in the enjoyment of its opening beauties. Sometimes Aunt Mary encountered them during thebusy round of her visits to the poultry, the piggery, or to the cottage of some neighbour, whither sorrow or sickness called her. The mate frequently came over from Marietta to see his captain, and to inquire whether there was no early prospect of another voyage, for he already began to find that time travelled slowly ashore; and although he consoled himself, now and then, with a pipe and social glass in David Muir’s back parlour, he longed to be afloat again, and told the worthy merchant that he would rather have made the fresh–water trip in the canoe, than be laid up in dock, while he felt his old hull still stout and seaworthy. His son Henry continued to advance in the good graces of Jessie Muir; but unfortunately for the youth his father had discovered his attachment, and lost no opportunity of bantering him in the presence of the young lady, accompanying his jokes with sundry grins, and severe pokes in the ribs, which caused sometimes a disagreeable alternation of vexation and confusion: nevertheless David Muir remained habitually blind to the state of his daughter’s affections, and Dame Christie was a great deal too much occupied with the cares of domestic government (including the occasional lectures and reproofs administered to David) to admit of her troubling her head with what she would have termed their childish fancies.Such was the general state of affairs on the banks of the Muskingum, when Colonel Brandon received letters from St. Louis, informing him that, since the departure of his son, various disputes had arisen between the agents of the different companies, and that unless a speedy and amicable arrangement could be effected, a heavy loss must necessarily fall upon the fur–proprietors and others interested in the speculation. By the same post a letter bearing a foreign post–mark was placed in the hands of Ethelston, during the perusal of which, an expression of sadness spread itself over his countenance, and he fell abstractedly into a reverie, the subject of which was evidently of a painful nature. Such indications were not likely to escape the anxious and observant eye of love; and Lucy, laying her hand lightly on his arm, said in a tone half joking, half serious, “Am I not entitled to know all your secrets now, Edward?”“I think not,” he replied in the same tone; “and I am rather disposed to refuse gratifying your curiosity, until youconsent to acquiring such a title as shall be indisputable.” Lucy coloured; but as she still held out her hand and threatened him with her displeasure, if he continued disobedient, he gave her the letter, saying, “I suppose I must submit; the contents are sad, but there is no reason why I should withhold them from yourself, or from your father.” With these words he left the room: after a short pause, Lucy, at the Colonel’s request, read him the letter, which proved to be from young Lieutenant L’Estrange, and which, being translated, ran as follows:—“My Honoured Friend,“I need not tell you of the grief that I experienced on revisiting my changed and desolate home. My father has told me all that passed during your stay in the island. He looks upon those days not in anger, but in sorrow; he is sensible that for a time he did you injustice, and fears that, in the first bitterness of his grief, he may have omitted to make you full reparation. These feelings he entreats me to convey to you, and desires me to add, that from the first day of your arrival, to that of your final departure, your conduct was like yourself,—noble, upright, and generous. The misfortune that we still bewail, we bow to, as being the infliction of a Providence whose ways are inscrutable. Accept the renewed assurance of the highest regard and esteem of your friend,“Eugene L’Estrange.”As Lucy read this letter, her eyes filled with tears, though, perhaps, she could scarcely have explained, whether she wept over the afflictions that had befallen the L’Estrange family, or the generous testimony which it bore to her lover’s conduct. The Colonel, too, was much affected, and gladly acquiesced in his daughter’s proposal, that they should for the future abstain from renewing a subject which must cause such painful recollections to Ethelston.Ere many hours had elapsed, the latter was summoned to attend the Colonel, who informed him that the intelligence lately received from St. Louis was of a nature so important to his affairs, that it required immediate attention. “There is no one,” he continued, “to whom I can well entrust this investigation, except yourself, for none has deserved or received so much of my confidence.” There was an unusualembarrassment and hesitation observable in Ethelston’s countenance, on hearing these words, which did not escape his guardian’s quick eye, and the latter added, “I see, my dear fellow, that you are not disposed to leave Mooshanne again so soon; you are thinking about certain promises, and a certain young lady,—is it not so, Edward?”“It is so, indeed, my best and kindest of friends,” said Ethelston. “Can you think or wish that it should be otherwise?”“Nay,” said Colonel Brandon, smiling, “I will not deny that you are entitled to entertain such thoughts, but believe me, when I assure you seriously that this expedition is essential to your own interests and to mine. A great portion of the property left to you under my care by your father, is invested in these Fur companies; and ere you enter on the responsibilities of a married life, it is necessary that you put your affairs in such a posture, as to ensure some future provision for the lady of whom you are thinking. These arrangements will not detain you at St. Louis for more than six weeks or two months, by that time Reginald will have returned from his Indian excursion; you will come home together, and I will then listen patiently to whatever you may think fit to say, regarding the young lady in question;—shall it be so, Edward?”“How can I be grateful enough!” replied Ethelston, taking the Colonel’s hand; “give me only leave to explain to Lucy the cause and probable duration of my absence, then I am ready to receive your instructions, and to set about it immediately.” We will not inquire too minutely how Lucy received this explanation from her lover’s lip, nor what means he took to reconcile her to the proposed arrangement; it is sufficient to state, that she finally acquiesced with her habitual gentleness, and that, in a few days after the above conversation, Ethelston had completed his preparations for his journey to St. Louis.We will again take leave of him and of Mooshanne for a season, and return to Mahéga, whom we left bleeding and senseless, at no great distance from the Osage and Delaware encampment. Indeed, we should, ere this, have accused ourselves of inhumanity towards that chief, for leaving him so longin such sorry plight, had he not merited severe punishment, for his rough and brutal behaviour to Prairie–bird.When Mahéga recovered his senses, he was still so much confused from the stunning effects of the severe blow that he had received on the head, as well as from loss of blood, that he could not recall to mind the events immediately preceding his swoon; nor did they present themselves distinctly to his memory, until his eye rested upon his stained scalp–lock, and beside it the knife that Reginald Brandon had driven firmly into the turf. Then he remembered clearly enough the struggle, his fall, and the maiden’s escape; and the rage engendered by this remembrance was rendered yet more violent, when he reflected on the insult that his scalp had sustained from an enemy who had scorned to take his life.Fierce as were the passions that boiled within the breast of the Osage, his self–command was such that he was able to control all outward demonstration of them; and, rising slowly, he first effaced in the stream all the sanguinary marks of the late contest, and then took his way toward the camp, revolving in his mind various projects for securing the two principal objects that he was determined to accomplish,—the possession of Prairie–bird, and the death of Reginald Brandon!Although a wild uninstructed savage, Mahéga was gifted with talents of no common order. Bold, and inflexible in carrying out his purposes, he had cunning sufficient to make unimportant concessions to the opinions of other chiefs and braves in council: unlike the great majority of his tribe and race, he was well aware of the power and strength resulting from union, and although all his ambition ultimately centred in himself, he had the art of persuading his countrymen that he sought only their interests and welfare; thus, while many hated, and more feared Mahéga, he was the most influential chief in the tribe, on account of his daring courage, his success in war, and the reckless liberality with which he distributed among others his share of booty, or of spoil. When the Delaware band had migrated to the banks of the Osage river, Mahéga’s first impulse had been to attack and destroy them; but finding that the new comers were better supplied with arms and ammunition, the issue of a conflict seemed doubtful. Moreover, as they were visited by many traders, he calculated that, by keeping on friendly terms with them, he should acquirefor his tribe, and for himself, many advantages greater than they had before enjoyed.Acting upon these motives, he had not only encouraged peace with the Delawares, but had effected through his own influence the league that had for some time united the two bands in our encampment; nor had he been mistaken in his expectations, for, since their union with the band of Delawares, the Osages had been enabled to beat off the Pawnees and other roving tribes, from whose inroads upon their hunting–ground they had before been exposed to frequent and severe disasters; the objects which he had contemplated, had thus been for the most part accomplished. The tribe was plentifully supplied with arms and ammunition by the traders; his own influence amongst them was higher than ever; but he could not brook a rival to his fame as a warrior in War–Eagle, nor bear to be checked and thwarted in his ambitious schemes, by the mild authority of Tamenund.The mind of Mahéga being thus prepared for seizing the earliest opportunity of coming to a rupture with the Delawares it may well be imagined how his most violent and rancorous passions were excited by the scornful rejection of his suit on the part of Prairie–bird, and the disgrace he had incurred in his rencounter with her white protector. He resolved no longer to delay the meditated blow; he had already made a secret league with the warlike and powerful Dahcotahs; and the occasion seemed most favourable for wreaking his vengeance on the relatives of Prairie–bird, and the white men now resident in the Delaware camp.Having once formed his determination, he set about carrying it into effect with the sagacity and profound dissimulation which had already obtained for him such an ascendancy in the Osage council. No sooner had he reached his lodge, than he dressed himself in his Medicine robe[32], adorned his face with corresponding streaks of paint, and concealing the loss of his scalp–lock by a Spanish kerchief, which he folded round his head, somewhat after the fashion of a turban, he sallied forthto visit the chiefs and braves, on whose co–operation he felt that success must mainly depend.Some of these were already prepared to adopt his views, by their previous participation in the league with the Dahcotahs; others he bent and moulded to his purpose by arguments and inducements suited to their character or circumstances; and ere he returned to his lodge, he felt confident that his proposed plans would be supported by the most influential warriors in the tribe, and that he should easily bear down the opposition of the more cautious and scrupulous, who might be disposed to keep faith with their Delaware allies.In the meanwhile War–Eagle was not idle, he visited the principal braves and warriors of his tribe, and found them unanimous in their resolution to break off all communication with the Osages, as soon as the latter should commit any overt act that should justify them in dissolving the league into which they had entered. He also resolved to watch closely the movements of Mahéga, of whose malice and influence he was fully aware; with this view he selected an intelligent Delaware boy, who knew the Osage language, and desired him to hover about the tent of the chief, and to bring a report of all that he should see or hear.Towards the close of day, Mahéga sent runners about his village, after the usual Indian fashion, to summon the warriors and braves, most of whom were already prepared for the harangue which he was about to address to them; as soon as a sufficient number were collected, the wily chief came forth from his lodge, in the dress before described, and began by thanking them for so readily obeying his call.“Why did Mahéga call together the warriors?” he continued; “Was it to tell them that a broad bison–trail is near the camp? The Medicine–men have not yet smoked the hunting–pipe to the Wahcondah.—Was it to tell them of the scalps taken by their fathers? The young men have not been called to the war–dance, their ears have not heard the Drum.[33]—Was it to tickle their ears with words like dried grass? Mahéga’s tongue is not spread with honey; he has called theWashashe to open their ears and eyes, to tell them that snakes have crept under their lodges, that the dogs in the village have become wolves!”As he paused, the auditors looked each at the other; those who were not yet instructed in the speaker’s project being at a loss to catch the meaning of his words. Seeing that he had arrested their attention, he proceeded: “When Mahéga was young, when our fathers were warriors, who was so strong as the Washashe? Our hunters killed the deer and the bison from the Neska to the Topeo–kà.[34]The Konzas were our brothers, and we were afraid of none. But the Mahe–hunguh[35]came near, their tongues were smooth, their hands were full, and the Washashe listened to their talk:—is it not so?”A deep murmur testified the attention of his auditors; but Mahéga knew that he was venturing on dangerous ground, and his present object was rather to incite them to vengeance against the band of Delawares and their guests, than against the white men in general. He resumed his harangue in a milder tone.“The Long–knives smoked the pipe of peace with us, we gave them meat and skins, and they gave us paint and blankets, and fire–weapons with Medicine–powder and lead,—all that was well; but who came with the Long–knives,—the Lenapé!” He paused a moment, then looking fiercely round, he continued in a louder strain; “and who are these Lenapé? They were beggars when they came to us! Their skin is red, but their hearts are pale. Do we not know the tale of their fathers? Were they not slaves to the warriors of other nations?[36]Were they not women? Did they not leave the war–path to plant maize, and drink the fire–water of the Long–knives? They gave up their hunting–ground; they left the bones of their fathers; they crossed the Ne–o–hunge[37], and asked for the friendship of the Washashe. We lighted thepipe for them; we received them like brothers, and opened to them our hunting–ground; but their hearts are bad to us, Washashes. Mahéga tells you that the Lenapé are snakes!”Another deep guttural sound, indicative of increased excitement, gratified the speaker’s ear, and he continued in a strain yet bolder: “Is Mahéga not a chief? Has he not struck the bodies of his enemies? Are there no scalps on his war–shirt? He was good to these Lenapé, he treated their warriors like brothers, he offered to make Olitipa his wife, they gave him bitter words and threw dirt upon his lodge. Shall the Washashe Chief be called a dog?” he exclaimed in a voice of thunder; “Shall he sit on the ground while a Lenapé spits in his face?”A shout of anger and fury burst from the audience, as, waving his hand impatiently for silence, he went on: “The Lenapé knew that their hearts were false, their arms weak, their tongues forked, and they have brought in a band of Long–knives to defend them and to drive the Washashe from their hunting–grounds. Shall it be so? Shall we hold our backs to be scourged like children? Shall we whine like starved wolves? See how the pale faces can insult your chief!” As he spoke, Mahéga tore the turban with one hand from his head, and holding up his severed scalp–lock with the other, while every muscle of his countenance worked with fury, “See what the hand of a white–face boy has done. Mahéga slept under a tree, and he whom they call Netis, the stranger who has eaten our meat and smoked with our chiefs, stole upon Mahéga, struck him on the head, and cut off his hair.” As he uttered this audacious falsehood, which was, of course, believed by all who heard him, a terrific shout burst from the assembled Osages, and the wily chief, striking while the iron was hot, went on:—“It is enough—the Washashes are not women; they will dig up the hatchet, and throw it into the council lodge of these white–faced and pale–hearted dogs. The great chief of the Dahcotahs has spoken to Mahéga; he seeks the friendship of the Washashes; the Dahcotahs are men; the bisons on their hunting–grounds are like the leaves in the forest. They wish to call the Washashes brothers, they wait for Mahéga’s words.—What shall he say?”A tremendous shout was raised in reply, a shout that couldbe heard throughout the whole encampment. Mahéga saw that his triumph was complete, and folding his Medicine robe over his shoulder, he once more waved his hand for silence, and dismissed the assembly, saying, “Before the sun sinks again the chiefs and braves will meet in council. The Washashes will hear their words and they will be ready.” As he spoke he cast his dark eye expressively downwards to the tomahawk suspended at his belt, and slowly re–entered his lodge.Meanwhile the youth who had been sent by War–Eagle to observe what was passing in the Osage encampment, executed his commission with fidelity and address. Although not sufficiently familiar with the language to catch all that fell from Mahéga, he yet learnt enough to satisfy his young chief that a rupture was at hand. It only remained now to be proved whether it would take place as the result of an open council, or whether the Osages would withdraw secretly to their new Dahcotah allies.On the morning succeeding the events above related, War–Eagle left the encampment before daybreak, partly to see whether he could discover any unusual stir among the Osages, and partly to revolve in his mind the course of conduct that he should suggest if called upon to give his opinion before the Lenapé council. Many various emotions were struggling in his bosom, and in this respect the descendants of Adam, whether their skins be white or red, so far resemble each other, that on such occasions they seek to avoid the turmoil of their fellow–men, and to be for a season alone amid the works of inanimate nature.It was with impressions and feelings far different that Reginald and Prairie–bird found themselves soon after sunrise together, as if by tacit appointment, by the great tree, under which he had first seen her. In order to guard against the treachery of which he believed Mahéga capable, he had communicated to Baptiste the events of the preceding morning, and had desired him to watch the movements of the latter, especially guarding Prairie–bird against any renewal of his violence.—The trusty forester, who had grown extremely taciturn since he had observed his young master’s attachment, shrugged his shoulders, and briefly promised to obey his instructions. He was too shrewd to oppose a torrent such as that by which Reginald was carried away; and, although it must be confessed,that he had many misgivings as to the reception that the tidings would meet with at the hands of Colonel Brandon, the beauty and gentleness of Prairie–bird had so far won upon his rough nature that he was well disposed to protect her from the machinations of the Osage. With these intentions he followed her when she left her lodge, and as soon as she entered the thicket before described, he ensconced himself in a shady corner whence he could observe the approach of any party from the encampment.We will now follow the steps of War–Eagle, who, having satisfied himself by a careful observation of the out piquette that no immediate movement was on foot among the Osages, turned towards the undulating prairies to the westward of the village.He was in an uneasy and excited mood, both from the treachery of the Osages towards his tribe, and various occurrences which had of late wounded his feelings in the quarter where they were most sensitive.The victory over self is the greatest that can be achieved by man; it assumes, however, a different complexion in those who are guided by the light of nature, and in those who have been taught by revelation. In the heathen it is confined to the actions and to the outward man, whereas in the Christian it extends to the motives and feelings of the heart. The former may spare an enemy, the latter must learn to forgive and love him. But in both cases the struggle is severe in proportion to the strength of the passion which is to be combated. In War–Eagle were combined many of the noblest features of the Indian character; but his passions had all the fierce intensity common to his race; and although the instructions of Paul Müller, falling like good seed on a wild but fertile soil, had humanised and improved him, his views of Christianity were incipient and indistinct, while the courage, pride, and feelings of his race were in the full zenith of their power. He had long known that Prairie–bird was not his sister in blood, she had grown up from childhood under his eye, and, unconsciously perhaps at first, he had loved her, and still loved her with all the impassioned fervour of his nature. It may be remembered in the earlier portion of this tale, when he first became acquainted with Reginald, that he had abstained from all mention of her name, and had avoided the subject whenever young Wingenundbrought it forward. He had never yet asked Olitipa to become his wife, but the sweet gentleness of her manner, and her open contempt for the addresses of the handsome and distinguished Osage, had led him to form expectations favourable to his own suit. At the same time there was something in the maiden’s behaviour that had frequently caused him to doubt whether she loved him, and sharing in the awe with which she inspired all the Indians around her, he had hitherto hesitated and feared to make a distinct avowal. Of late he had been so much occupied in observing the suspicious movements of the Osages that his attention had been somewhat withdrawn from Olitipa: he was aware of her having become acquainted with Reginald, and the adventure of the preceding day, which had been communicated to him, filled him with an uneasiness that he could not conceal from himself, although he had succeeded in concealing it from others.In this frame of mind, he was returning to the camp, along the course of the streamlet passing through the grove where the rencounter of the preceding day had occurred. When he reached the opening before described, his eyes rested on a sight that transfixed him to the spot. Seated on one of the projecting roots of the ancient tree was Prairie–bird, her eye and cheek glowing with happiness, and her ear drinking in the whispered vows of her newly–betrothed lover; her hand was clasped in his, and more than once he pressed it tenderly to his lips. For several minutes the Indian stood silent and motionless as a statue; despair seemed to have checked the current of his blood, but by slow degrees consciousness returned; he saw her, the maiden whom he had served and loved for weary months and years, now interchanging with another tokens of affection not to be mistaken, and that other a stranger whom he had himself lately brought by his own invitation from a distant region.The demon of jealousy took instant possession of his soul; every other thought, feeling, and passion was for the time annihilated, the nobler impulses of his nature were forgotten, and he was in a moment transformed to a merciless savage, bent on swift and deadly vengeance. He only paused as in doubt,howhe should kill his rival—perhaps, whether he should kill them both; his eye dwelt upon them with a stern ferocity, as he loosened the unerring tomahawk from hisbelt; another moment he paused, for his hand trembled convulsively, and a cold sweat stood like dew upon his brow. At this terrible crisis of his passion, a low voice whispered in his ear, in the Delaware tongue,“Would the Lenapé chief stain his Medicine with a brother’s blood?” War–Eagle, turning round, encountered the steady eye of Baptiste; he gave no answer, but directed his fiery glance towards the spot where the unconscious lovers were seated, and the half–raised weapon still vibrated under the impulse of the internal struggle that shook every muscle of the Indian’s frame. Profiting by the momentary pause, Baptiste continued, in the same tone, “Shall the tomahawk of the War–Eagle strike an adopted son of the Unâmi?[38]The Bad Spirit has entered my brother’s heart; let him hold a talk with himself, and remember that he is the son of Tamenund.”By an effort of self–control, such as none but an Indian can exercise, War–Eagle subdued, instantaneously, all outward indication of the tempest that had been aroused in his breast. Replacing the tomahawk in his belt, he drew himself proudly to his full height, and, fixing on the woodsman an eye calm and steady as his own, he replied,“Grande–Hâche speaks truth; War–Eagle is a chief; the angry spirit is strong; but he tramples it under his feet.” He then added, in a lower tone, “War–Eagle will speak to Netis; not now; if his white brother’s tongue has been forked, the medicine of the Unâmi shall not protect him. The sky is very black, and War–Eagle has no friend left.” So saying, the Indian threw his light blanket over his shoulder and stalked gloomily from the spot.Baptiste followed with his eye the retreating figure of the Delaware, until it was lost in the dense foliage of the wood.“Heisa noble fellow,” said the rough hunter, half aloud, leaning on his long rifle, and pursuing the thread of his own reflections. “He is one of the old sort of Ingians, and there’s but few of ‘em left. I’ve been with him in several skrimages,and I’ve seen him strike and scalp more than one Dahcotah; but I never saw the glare of his eye so wild and bloodthirsty before; if he had kept his purpose, my old sinews would have had some trouble to save Master Reginald from that tomahawk. It’s well for him that I’ve lived long enough among the Delawares to know the ins and outs of their natur’, as well as John Skellup at the ferry knows the sand–bars and channels in Bearcreek Shallows. I thought the Unâmi Medicine whispered in his ear might do something; but I scarcely hoped it could smother such a fire in a minute. I remember, when I was young, I was in a hot passion, now and then, myself.Capote!I’m sometimes in a passion still, when I think of those cut–throat Sioux, and if my bristles are up, it takes some time to smooth ‘em down.” Here the woodsman’s hand unconsciously rested for a moment on the huge axe suspended at his belt; but his musings took another course, as he continued his muttered soliloquy:—“Well, I sometimes think the bears and the deer have more reason than human critturs, ay, and I believe that shot isn’t overwide o’ the mark. Look at them two youngsters, Master Reginald and War–Eagle, two brave honest hearts as ever lived; one saves the other’s life; they become brothers and swear friendship; of a sudden, I am obliged to step in between ‘em, to prevent one from braining the other with a tomahawk. And what’s the cause of all this hate and fury? Why, love,—a pair of black eyes and red lips;—a strange kind of love, indeed, that makes a man hate and kill his best friend. Thank Heaven, I have nothing to do with such love; and I say, as I said before, that the dumb animals have more reason than human critturs. Well, I must do all I can to make ‘em friends again, for a blind man might see they’ll need each other’s help, ere many days are past!”So saying, the woodsman threw his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and moved towards Reginald Brandon, who, unconscious of the danger that he had so narrowly escaped, was still engaged with Prairie–bird in that loving dialogue which finds no satiety in endless reiteration.Baptiste drew near, and after the usual greetings, took an opportunity, as he thought unobserved by Prairie–bird, of making a sign to Reginald that he wished to speak with him in private; but the maiden, watchful of every movement directlyor indirectly affecting her lover, and already aware of the intrigues and treachery of the Osages, said to him with her usual simplicity of manner, “Baptiste, if you have aught to say requiring my absence, I will go; but as there are dangers approaching that threaten us all alike, do not fear to speak before me. I know something of these people, and though only an unskilled maiden, my thoughts might be of some avail.”The sturdy hunter, although possessed of a shrewd judgment, was somewhat confused by this direct appeal; but after smoothing down the hair of his fur cap for a few moments, as was his custom when engaged in reflection, he resolved to speak before her without concealment; and he proceeded accordingly, with the blunt honesty of his nature, to narrate to them all the particulars of his late interview with War–Eagle. During his recital, both the auditors changed colour more than once, with different yet sympathetic emotions; and when he concluded, Reginald suddenly arose, and, fixing his eye upon the maiden’s countenance, as if he would read her soul, he said,“Prairie–bird, I conjure you by all you love on earth, and by all your hopes of Heaven! tell me truly, if you have known and encouraged these feelings in War–Eagle?”The dark eyes that had been cast to the ground with various painful emotions were raised at this appeal, and met her lover’s searching look with the modest courage of conscious truth as she replied,—“Reginald, is it possible that you can ask me such a question? Olitipa, the foundling of the Delawares, loved War–Eagle as she loved Wingenund; she was brought up in the same lodge with both; she called both, brother; she thought of them only as such. Had War–Eagle ever asked for other love, she would have told him she had none other to give. She knew of none other, until—until——” The presence of a third person checked the words that struggled for utterance; her deep eyes filled with tears, and she hid them on Reginald’s bosom.“I were worse than an infidel, could I doubt thy purity and truth,” he exclaimed with fervour; “Baptiste, I will speak with my Indian brother—I pity him from my heart—I will strive all in my power to soothe his sorrow; for I, andI alone, can know whathemust suffer, who has, in secret and in vain, loved such a being as this! Let us return.”Slowly and sadly they wended their way to the encampment, the guide bringing up the rear. He was thoroughly convinced that Prairie–bird had spoken the truth: every look, every accent carried conviction with it; but he feared for the meeting between the young men, being fully aware of the impetuosity of Reginald’s character, and of the intense excitement that now affected the Indian’s mind. He determined, however, to leave them to themselves, for he had lived enough among men of stormy and ungoverned passions to know, that in atête–à–têtebetween two high and generous spirits a concession will often be made, to which pride might, in the presence of others, never have submitted.On reaching their quarters in the encampment, they found Paul Müller standing thoughtfully before Prairie–bird’s tent, into which, after exchanging a brief but cordial greeting, he and the maiden withdrew, leaving Reginald and the guide to retire into the adjoining lodge of Tamenund.War–Eagle, who had posted himself in a spot whence, without being seen himself, he could observe their movements, now walked slowly forward to the entrance of the tent, into which he was immediately invited by the missionary; his manner was grave and composed, nor could the most observant eye have traced in the lines of his countenance the slightest shade of excitement or agitation.After the usual salutation, he said, “War–Eagle will speak to the Black Father presently; he has now low words for the ear of Olitipa.”Paul Müller, looking on him with a smile, benevolent though somewhat melancholy, said, “I shut my ears, my son, and go, for I know that War–Eagle will speak nothing that his sister should not hear;” and so saying, he retired into his adjacent compartment of the tent. Prairie–bird, conscious of the painful scene that awaited her, sat in embarrassed silence, and for upwards of a minute War–Eagle contemplated without speaking the sad but lovely expression of the maiden’s countenance; that long and piercing look told him all that he dreaded to know; he saw that Baptiste had spoken to her; he saw that his hopes were blasted; and still his riveted gaze was fixed upon her, as the eyes of one banished for life dwell uponthe last receding tints of the home that he is leaving for ever. Collecting, at length, all the stoic firmness of his nature, he spoke to her in the Delaware tongue; the words that he used were few and simple, but in them, and in the tone of his voice, there was so much delicacy mingled with such depth of feeling, that Prairie–bird could not refrain from tears.Answering him in the same language, she blended her accustomed sincerity of expression with gentle words of soothing kindness; and, in concluding her reply, she took his hand in hers, saying, “Olitipa has long loved her brothers, War–Eagle and Wingenund; let not a cloud come between them now; her heart is not changed to the great warrior of Lenapé; his sister trusts to his protection; she is proud of his fame; she has no other love to give him; her race, her religion, her heart forbid it! but he is her dear brother; he will not be angry, nor leave her.“Mahéga and the Osages are become enemies; the Dahcotah trail is near; Tamenund is old and weak; where shall Olitipa find a brother’s love, and a brother’s aid, if War–Eagle turns away his face from her now?”The noble heart to which she appealed had gone through its fiery ordeal of torture, and triumphed over it. After the manner of his tribe, the Delaware, before relinquishing her hand, pressed it for a moment to his chest, in token of affection, and said, “It is enough; my sister’s words are good, they are not spilt upon the ground; let Mahéga or the Dahcotahs come near the lodge of Olitipa, and they shall learn that War–Eagle is her brother!” The chieftain’s hand rested lightly on his tomahawk, and his countenance, as he withdrew from the tent, wore an expression of high and stern resolve.How often in life is the observation forced upon us, that artlessness is the highest perfection of art! It is an axiom, the truth of which remains unchallenged under whatever aspect we view it, and is indisputable even in its converse; thus, as in writing, the apparent ease and simplicity of style is the result of frequent correction and laborious study; so in corporeal exercises, the most assiduous practice must be combined with the highest physical qualifications, ere the dancer or the posture–master can emulate the unconscious grace displayed in the movements of a sportive kitten, or a playful child.Had Prairie–bird been familiar with all the learned treatiseson rhetoric that have appeared from the time of Aristotle to the present day, she could not have selected topics better calculated to move and soften the heart of her Indian brother. And yet she had no other instructor in the heart than the natural delicacy of her sex and character. While the tribute to his warlike fame gratified his pride, the unstudied sisterly affection of her tone and manner soothed his wounded feelings; and while the brief picture of her unprotected state aroused all his nobler and more generous sentiments, no breath of allusion to his successful rival’s name kindled the embers of jealousy that slumbered beneath them.As he walked from her tent, the young Indian’s heart dilated within him; he trod the earth with a proud and lordly step; he had grappled with his passion; and though it had been riveted “to his soul with hooks of steel,” he had plucked it forth with an unflinching hand, and he now met his deep–rooted grief with the same lofty brow and unconquerable will with which he would have braved the tortures of the Dahcotah stake.

c206

ETHELSTON PREPARES TO LEAVE MOOSHANNE.—MAHÉGA APPEARS AS AN ORATOR, IN WHICH CHARACTER HE SUCCEEDS BETTER THAN IN THAT OF A LOVER.—A STORM SUCCEEDED BY A CALM.

While the events described in the last chapter were in progress, the hours sped smoothly onward at Mooshanne. Lucy and Ethelston thought themselves justly entitled to a liberal compensation for the trials of their long separation; and, as the spring advanced, morning and evening generally found them strolling together, in the enjoyment of its opening beauties. Sometimes Aunt Mary encountered them during thebusy round of her visits to the poultry, the piggery, or to the cottage of some neighbour, whither sorrow or sickness called her. The mate frequently came over from Marietta to see his captain, and to inquire whether there was no early prospect of another voyage, for he already began to find that time travelled slowly ashore; and although he consoled himself, now and then, with a pipe and social glass in David Muir’s back parlour, he longed to be afloat again, and told the worthy merchant that he would rather have made the fresh–water trip in the canoe, than be laid up in dock, while he felt his old hull still stout and seaworthy. His son Henry continued to advance in the good graces of Jessie Muir; but unfortunately for the youth his father had discovered his attachment, and lost no opportunity of bantering him in the presence of the young lady, accompanying his jokes with sundry grins, and severe pokes in the ribs, which caused sometimes a disagreeable alternation of vexation and confusion: nevertheless David Muir remained habitually blind to the state of his daughter’s affections, and Dame Christie was a great deal too much occupied with the cares of domestic government (including the occasional lectures and reproofs administered to David) to admit of her troubling her head with what she would have termed their childish fancies.

Such was the general state of affairs on the banks of the Muskingum, when Colonel Brandon received letters from St. Louis, informing him that, since the departure of his son, various disputes had arisen between the agents of the different companies, and that unless a speedy and amicable arrangement could be effected, a heavy loss must necessarily fall upon the fur–proprietors and others interested in the speculation. By the same post a letter bearing a foreign post–mark was placed in the hands of Ethelston, during the perusal of which, an expression of sadness spread itself over his countenance, and he fell abstractedly into a reverie, the subject of which was evidently of a painful nature. Such indications were not likely to escape the anxious and observant eye of love; and Lucy, laying her hand lightly on his arm, said in a tone half joking, half serious, “Am I not entitled to know all your secrets now, Edward?”

“I think not,” he replied in the same tone; “and I am rather disposed to refuse gratifying your curiosity, until youconsent to acquiring such a title as shall be indisputable.” Lucy coloured; but as she still held out her hand and threatened him with her displeasure, if he continued disobedient, he gave her the letter, saying, “I suppose I must submit; the contents are sad, but there is no reason why I should withhold them from yourself, or from your father.” With these words he left the room: after a short pause, Lucy, at the Colonel’s request, read him the letter, which proved to be from young Lieutenant L’Estrange, and which, being translated, ran as follows:—

“My Honoured Friend,

“I need not tell you of the grief that I experienced on revisiting my changed and desolate home. My father has told me all that passed during your stay in the island. He looks upon those days not in anger, but in sorrow; he is sensible that for a time he did you injustice, and fears that, in the first bitterness of his grief, he may have omitted to make you full reparation. These feelings he entreats me to convey to you, and desires me to add, that from the first day of your arrival, to that of your final departure, your conduct was like yourself,—noble, upright, and generous. The misfortune that we still bewail, we bow to, as being the infliction of a Providence whose ways are inscrutable. Accept the renewed assurance of the highest regard and esteem of your friend,

“Eugene L’Estrange.”

As Lucy read this letter, her eyes filled with tears, though, perhaps, she could scarcely have explained, whether she wept over the afflictions that had befallen the L’Estrange family, or the generous testimony which it bore to her lover’s conduct. The Colonel, too, was much affected, and gladly acquiesced in his daughter’s proposal, that they should for the future abstain from renewing a subject which must cause such painful recollections to Ethelston.

Ere many hours had elapsed, the latter was summoned to attend the Colonel, who informed him that the intelligence lately received from St. Louis was of a nature so important to his affairs, that it required immediate attention. “There is no one,” he continued, “to whom I can well entrust this investigation, except yourself, for none has deserved or received so much of my confidence.” There was an unusualembarrassment and hesitation observable in Ethelston’s countenance, on hearing these words, which did not escape his guardian’s quick eye, and the latter added, “I see, my dear fellow, that you are not disposed to leave Mooshanne again so soon; you are thinking about certain promises, and a certain young lady,—is it not so, Edward?”

“It is so, indeed, my best and kindest of friends,” said Ethelston. “Can you think or wish that it should be otherwise?”

“Nay,” said Colonel Brandon, smiling, “I will not deny that you are entitled to entertain such thoughts, but believe me, when I assure you seriously that this expedition is essential to your own interests and to mine. A great portion of the property left to you under my care by your father, is invested in these Fur companies; and ere you enter on the responsibilities of a married life, it is necessary that you put your affairs in such a posture, as to ensure some future provision for the lady of whom you are thinking. These arrangements will not detain you at St. Louis for more than six weeks or two months, by that time Reginald will have returned from his Indian excursion; you will come home together, and I will then listen patiently to whatever you may think fit to say, regarding the young lady in question;—shall it be so, Edward?”

“How can I be grateful enough!” replied Ethelston, taking the Colonel’s hand; “give me only leave to explain to Lucy the cause and probable duration of my absence, then I am ready to receive your instructions, and to set about it immediately.” We will not inquire too minutely how Lucy received this explanation from her lover’s lip, nor what means he took to reconcile her to the proposed arrangement; it is sufficient to state, that she finally acquiesced with her habitual gentleness, and that, in a few days after the above conversation, Ethelston had completed his preparations for his journey to St. Louis.

We will again take leave of him and of Mooshanne for a season, and return to Mahéga, whom we left bleeding and senseless, at no great distance from the Osage and Delaware encampment. Indeed, we should, ere this, have accused ourselves of inhumanity towards that chief, for leaving him so longin such sorry plight, had he not merited severe punishment, for his rough and brutal behaviour to Prairie–bird.

When Mahéga recovered his senses, he was still so much confused from the stunning effects of the severe blow that he had received on the head, as well as from loss of blood, that he could not recall to mind the events immediately preceding his swoon; nor did they present themselves distinctly to his memory, until his eye rested upon his stained scalp–lock, and beside it the knife that Reginald Brandon had driven firmly into the turf. Then he remembered clearly enough the struggle, his fall, and the maiden’s escape; and the rage engendered by this remembrance was rendered yet more violent, when he reflected on the insult that his scalp had sustained from an enemy who had scorned to take his life.

Fierce as were the passions that boiled within the breast of the Osage, his self–command was such that he was able to control all outward demonstration of them; and, rising slowly, he first effaced in the stream all the sanguinary marks of the late contest, and then took his way toward the camp, revolving in his mind various projects for securing the two principal objects that he was determined to accomplish,—the possession of Prairie–bird, and the death of Reginald Brandon!

Although a wild uninstructed savage, Mahéga was gifted with talents of no common order. Bold, and inflexible in carrying out his purposes, he had cunning sufficient to make unimportant concessions to the opinions of other chiefs and braves in council: unlike the great majority of his tribe and race, he was well aware of the power and strength resulting from union, and although all his ambition ultimately centred in himself, he had the art of persuading his countrymen that he sought only their interests and welfare; thus, while many hated, and more feared Mahéga, he was the most influential chief in the tribe, on account of his daring courage, his success in war, and the reckless liberality with which he distributed among others his share of booty, or of spoil. When the Delaware band had migrated to the banks of the Osage river, Mahéga’s first impulse had been to attack and destroy them; but finding that the new comers were better supplied with arms and ammunition, the issue of a conflict seemed doubtful. Moreover, as they were visited by many traders, he calculated that, by keeping on friendly terms with them, he should acquirefor his tribe, and for himself, many advantages greater than they had before enjoyed.

Acting upon these motives, he had not only encouraged peace with the Delawares, but had effected through his own influence the league that had for some time united the two bands in our encampment; nor had he been mistaken in his expectations, for, since their union with the band of Delawares, the Osages had been enabled to beat off the Pawnees and other roving tribes, from whose inroads upon their hunting–ground they had before been exposed to frequent and severe disasters; the objects which he had contemplated, had thus been for the most part accomplished. The tribe was plentifully supplied with arms and ammunition by the traders; his own influence amongst them was higher than ever; but he could not brook a rival to his fame as a warrior in War–Eagle, nor bear to be checked and thwarted in his ambitious schemes, by the mild authority of Tamenund.

The mind of Mahéga being thus prepared for seizing the earliest opportunity of coming to a rupture with the Delawares it may well be imagined how his most violent and rancorous passions were excited by the scornful rejection of his suit on the part of Prairie–bird, and the disgrace he had incurred in his rencounter with her white protector. He resolved no longer to delay the meditated blow; he had already made a secret league with the warlike and powerful Dahcotahs; and the occasion seemed most favourable for wreaking his vengeance on the relatives of Prairie–bird, and the white men now resident in the Delaware camp.

Having once formed his determination, he set about carrying it into effect with the sagacity and profound dissimulation which had already obtained for him such an ascendancy in the Osage council. No sooner had he reached his lodge, than he dressed himself in his Medicine robe[32], adorned his face with corresponding streaks of paint, and concealing the loss of his scalp–lock by a Spanish kerchief, which he folded round his head, somewhat after the fashion of a turban, he sallied forthto visit the chiefs and braves, on whose co–operation he felt that success must mainly depend.

Some of these were already prepared to adopt his views, by their previous participation in the league with the Dahcotahs; others he bent and moulded to his purpose by arguments and inducements suited to their character or circumstances; and ere he returned to his lodge, he felt confident that his proposed plans would be supported by the most influential warriors in the tribe, and that he should easily bear down the opposition of the more cautious and scrupulous, who might be disposed to keep faith with their Delaware allies.

In the meanwhile War–Eagle was not idle, he visited the principal braves and warriors of his tribe, and found them unanimous in their resolution to break off all communication with the Osages, as soon as the latter should commit any overt act that should justify them in dissolving the league into which they had entered. He also resolved to watch closely the movements of Mahéga, of whose malice and influence he was fully aware; with this view he selected an intelligent Delaware boy, who knew the Osage language, and desired him to hover about the tent of the chief, and to bring a report of all that he should see or hear.

Towards the close of day, Mahéga sent runners about his village, after the usual Indian fashion, to summon the warriors and braves, most of whom were already prepared for the harangue which he was about to address to them; as soon as a sufficient number were collected, the wily chief came forth from his lodge, in the dress before described, and began by thanking them for so readily obeying his call.

“Why did Mahéga call together the warriors?” he continued; “Was it to tell them that a broad bison–trail is near the camp? The Medicine–men have not yet smoked the hunting–pipe to the Wahcondah.—Was it to tell them of the scalps taken by their fathers? The young men have not been called to the war–dance, their ears have not heard the Drum.[33]—Was it to tickle their ears with words like dried grass? Mahéga’s tongue is not spread with honey; he has called theWashashe to open their ears and eyes, to tell them that snakes have crept under their lodges, that the dogs in the village have become wolves!”

As he paused, the auditors looked each at the other; those who were not yet instructed in the speaker’s project being at a loss to catch the meaning of his words. Seeing that he had arrested their attention, he proceeded: “When Mahéga was young, when our fathers were warriors, who was so strong as the Washashe? Our hunters killed the deer and the bison from the Neska to the Topeo–kà.[34]The Konzas were our brothers, and we were afraid of none. But the Mahe–hunguh[35]came near, their tongues were smooth, their hands were full, and the Washashe listened to their talk:—is it not so?”

A deep murmur testified the attention of his auditors; but Mahéga knew that he was venturing on dangerous ground, and his present object was rather to incite them to vengeance against the band of Delawares and their guests, than against the white men in general. He resumed his harangue in a milder tone.

“The Long–knives smoked the pipe of peace with us, we gave them meat and skins, and they gave us paint and blankets, and fire–weapons with Medicine–powder and lead,—all that was well; but who came with the Long–knives,—the Lenapé!” He paused a moment, then looking fiercely round, he continued in a louder strain; “and who are these Lenapé? They were beggars when they came to us! Their skin is red, but their hearts are pale. Do we not know the tale of their fathers? Were they not slaves to the warriors of other nations?[36]Were they not women? Did they not leave the war–path to plant maize, and drink the fire–water of the Long–knives? They gave up their hunting–ground; they left the bones of their fathers; they crossed the Ne–o–hunge[37], and asked for the friendship of the Washashe. We lighted thepipe for them; we received them like brothers, and opened to them our hunting–ground; but their hearts are bad to us, Washashes. Mahéga tells you that the Lenapé are snakes!”

Another deep guttural sound, indicative of increased excitement, gratified the speaker’s ear, and he continued in a strain yet bolder: “Is Mahéga not a chief? Has he not struck the bodies of his enemies? Are there no scalps on his war–shirt? He was good to these Lenapé, he treated their warriors like brothers, he offered to make Olitipa his wife, they gave him bitter words and threw dirt upon his lodge. Shall the Washashe Chief be called a dog?” he exclaimed in a voice of thunder; “Shall he sit on the ground while a Lenapé spits in his face?”

A shout of anger and fury burst from the audience, as, waving his hand impatiently for silence, he went on: “The Lenapé knew that their hearts were false, their arms weak, their tongues forked, and they have brought in a band of Long–knives to defend them and to drive the Washashe from their hunting–grounds. Shall it be so? Shall we hold our backs to be scourged like children? Shall we whine like starved wolves? See how the pale faces can insult your chief!” As he spoke, Mahéga tore the turban with one hand from his head, and holding up his severed scalp–lock with the other, while every muscle of his countenance worked with fury, “See what the hand of a white–face boy has done. Mahéga slept under a tree, and he whom they call Netis, the stranger who has eaten our meat and smoked with our chiefs, stole upon Mahéga, struck him on the head, and cut off his hair.” As he uttered this audacious falsehood, which was, of course, believed by all who heard him, a terrific shout burst from the assembled Osages, and the wily chief, striking while the iron was hot, went on:—

“It is enough—the Washashes are not women; they will dig up the hatchet, and throw it into the council lodge of these white–faced and pale–hearted dogs. The great chief of the Dahcotahs has spoken to Mahéga; he seeks the friendship of the Washashes; the Dahcotahs are men; the bisons on their hunting–grounds are like the leaves in the forest. They wish to call the Washashes brothers, they wait for Mahéga’s words.—What shall he say?”

A tremendous shout was raised in reply, a shout that couldbe heard throughout the whole encampment. Mahéga saw that his triumph was complete, and folding his Medicine robe over his shoulder, he once more waved his hand for silence, and dismissed the assembly, saying, “Before the sun sinks again the chiefs and braves will meet in council. The Washashes will hear their words and they will be ready.” As he spoke he cast his dark eye expressively downwards to the tomahawk suspended at his belt, and slowly re–entered his lodge.

Meanwhile the youth who had been sent by War–Eagle to observe what was passing in the Osage encampment, executed his commission with fidelity and address. Although not sufficiently familiar with the language to catch all that fell from Mahéga, he yet learnt enough to satisfy his young chief that a rupture was at hand. It only remained now to be proved whether it would take place as the result of an open council, or whether the Osages would withdraw secretly to their new Dahcotah allies.

On the morning succeeding the events above related, War–Eagle left the encampment before daybreak, partly to see whether he could discover any unusual stir among the Osages, and partly to revolve in his mind the course of conduct that he should suggest if called upon to give his opinion before the Lenapé council. Many various emotions were struggling in his bosom, and in this respect the descendants of Adam, whether their skins be white or red, so far resemble each other, that on such occasions they seek to avoid the turmoil of their fellow–men, and to be for a season alone amid the works of inanimate nature.

It was with impressions and feelings far different that Reginald and Prairie–bird found themselves soon after sunrise together, as if by tacit appointment, by the great tree, under which he had first seen her. In order to guard against the treachery of which he believed Mahéga capable, he had communicated to Baptiste the events of the preceding morning, and had desired him to watch the movements of the latter, especially guarding Prairie–bird against any renewal of his violence.—The trusty forester, who had grown extremely taciturn since he had observed his young master’s attachment, shrugged his shoulders, and briefly promised to obey his instructions. He was too shrewd to oppose a torrent such as that by which Reginald was carried away; and, although it must be confessed,that he had many misgivings as to the reception that the tidings would meet with at the hands of Colonel Brandon, the beauty and gentleness of Prairie–bird had so far won upon his rough nature that he was well disposed to protect her from the machinations of the Osage. With these intentions he followed her when she left her lodge, and as soon as she entered the thicket before described, he ensconced himself in a shady corner whence he could observe the approach of any party from the encampment.

We will now follow the steps of War–Eagle, who, having satisfied himself by a careful observation of the out piquette that no immediate movement was on foot among the Osages, turned towards the undulating prairies to the westward of the village.

He was in an uneasy and excited mood, both from the treachery of the Osages towards his tribe, and various occurrences which had of late wounded his feelings in the quarter where they were most sensitive.

The victory over self is the greatest that can be achieved by man; it assumes, however, a different complexion in those who are guided by the light of nature, and in those who have been taught by revelation. In the heathen it is confined to the actions and to the outward man, whereas in the Christian it extends to the motives and feelings of the heart. The former may spare an enemy, the latter must learn to forgive and love him. But in both cases the struggle is severe in proportion to the strength of the passion which is to be combated. In War–Eagle were combined many of the noblest features of the Indian character; but his passions had all the fierce intensity common to his race; and although the instructions of Paul Müller, falling like good seed on a wild but fertile soil, had humanised and improved him, his views of Christianity were incipient and indistinct, while the courage, pride, and feelings of his race were in the full zenith of their power. He had long known that Prairie–bird was not his sister in blood, she had grown up from childhood under his eye, and, unconsciously perhaps at first, he had loved her, and still loved her with all the impassioned fervour of his nature. It may be remembered in the earlier portion of this tale, when he first became acquainted with Reginald, that he had abstained from all mention of her name, and had avoided the subject whenever young Wingenundbrought it forward. He had never yet asked Olitipa to become his wife, but the sweet gentleness of her manner, and her open contempt for the addresses of the handsome and distinguished Osage, had led him to form expectations favourable to his own suit. At the same time there was something in the maiden’s behaviour that had frequently caused him to doubt whether she loved him, and sharing in the awe with which she inspired all the Indians around her, he had hitherto hesitated and feared to make a distinct avowal. Of late he had been so much occupied in observing the suspicious movements of the Osages that his attention had been somewhat withdrawn from Olitipa: he was aware of her having become acquainted with Reginald, and the adventure of the preceding day, which had been communicated to him, filled him with an uneasiness that he could not conceal from himself, although he had succeeded in concealing it from others.

In this frame of mind, he was returning to the camp, along the course of the streamlet passing through the grove where the rencounter of the preceding day had occurred. When he reached the opening before described, his eyes rested on a sight that transfixed him to the spot. Seated on one of the projecting roots of the ancient tree was Prairie–bird, her eye and cheek glowing with happiness, and her ear drinking in the whispered vows of her newly–betrothed lover; her hand was clasped in his, and more than once he pressed it tenderly to his lips. For several minutes the Indian stood silent and motionless as a statue; despair seemed to have checked the current of his blood, but by slow degrees consciousness returned; he saw her, the maiden whom he had served and loved for weary months and years, now interchanging with another tokens of affection not to be mistaken, and that other a stranger whom he had himself lately brought by his own invitation from a distant region.

The demon of jealousy took instant possession of his soul; every other thought, feeling, and passion was for the time annihilated, the nobler impulses of his nature were forgotten, and he was in a moment transformed to a merciless savage, bent on swift and deadly vengeance. He only paused as in doubt,howhe should kill his rival—perhaps, whether he should kill them both; his eye dwelt upon them with a stern ferocity, as he loosened the unerring tomahawk from hisbelt; another moment he paused, for his hand trembled convulsively, and a cold sweat stood like dew upon his brow. At this terrible crisis of his passion, a low voice whispered in his ear, in the Delaware tongue,

“Would the Lenapé chief stain his Medicine with a brother’s blood?” War–Eagle, turning round, encountered the steady eye of Baptiste; he gave no answer, but directed his fiery glance towards the spot where the unconscious lovers were seated, and the half–raised weapon still vibrated under the impulse of the internal struggle that shook every muscle of the Indian’s frame. Profiting by the momentary pause, Baptiste continued, in the same tone, “Shall the tomahawk of the War–Eagle strike an adopted son of the Unâmi?[38]The Bad Spirit has entered my brother’s heart; let him hold a talk with himself, and remember that he is the son of Tamenund.”

By an effort of self–control, such as none but an Indian can exercise, War–Eagle subdued, instantaneously, all outward indication of the tempest that had been aroused in his breast. Replacing the tomahawk in his belt, he drew himself proudly to his full height, and, fixing on the woodsman an eye calm and steady as his own, he replied,

“Grande–Hâche speaks truth; War–Eagle is a chief; the angry spirit is strong; but he tramples it under his feet.” He then added, in a lower tone, “War–Eagle will speak to Netis; not now; if his white brother’s tongue has been forked, the medicine of the Unâmi shall not protect him. The sky is very black, and War–Eagle has no friend left.” So saying, the Indian threw his light blanket over his shoulder and stalked gloomily from the spot.

Baptiste followed with his eye the retreating figure of the Delaware, until it was lost in the dense foliage of the wood.

“Heisa noble fellow,” said the rough hunter, half aloud, leaning on his long rifle, and pursuing the thread of his own reflections. “He is one of the old sort of Ingians, and there’s but few of ‘em left. I’ve been with him in several skrimages,and I’ve seen him strike and scalp more than one Dahcotah; but I never saw the glare of his eye so wild and bloodthirsty before; if he had kept his purpose, my old sinews would have had some trouble to save Master Reginald from that tomahawk. It’s well for him that I’ve lived long enough among the Delawares to know the ins and outs of their natur’, as well as John Skellup at the ferry knows the sand–bars and channels in Bearcreek Shallows. I thought the Unâmi Medicine whispered in his ear might do something; but I scarcely hoped it could smother such a fire in a minute. I remember, when I was young, I was in a hot passion, now and then, myself.Capote!I’m sometimes in a passion still, when I think of those cut–throat Sioux, and if my bristles are up, it takes some time to smooth ‘em down.” Here the woodsman’s hand unconsciously rested for a moment on the huge axe suspended at his belt; but his musings took another course, as he continued his muttered soliloquy:—

“Well, I sometimes think the bears and the deer have more reason than human critturs, ay, and I believe that shot isn’t overwide o’ the mark. Look at them two youngsters, Master Reginald and War–Eagle, two brave honest hearts as ever lived; one saves the other’s life; they become brothers and swear friendship; of a sudden, I am obliged to step in between ‘em, to prevent one from braining the other with a tomahawk. And what’s the cause of all this hate and fury? Why, love,—a pair of black eyes and red lips;—a strange kind of love, indeed, that makes a man hate and kill his best friend. Thank Heaven, I have nothing to do with such love; and I say, as I said before, that the dumb animals have more reason than human critturs. Well, I must do all I can to make ‘em friends again, for a blind man might see they’ll need each other’s help, ere many days are past!”

So saying, the woodsman threw his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and moved towards Reginald Brandon, who, unconscious of the danger that he had so narrowly escaped, was still engaged with Prairie–bird in that loving dialogue which finds no satiety in endless reiteration.

Baptiste drew near, and after the usual greetings, took an opportunity, as he thought unobserved by Prairie–bird, of making a sign to Reginald that he wished to speak with him in private; but the maiden, watchful of every movement directlyor indirectly affecting her lover, and already aware of the intrigues and treachery of the Osages, said to him with her usual simplicity of manner, “Baptiste, if you have aught to say requiring my absence, I will go; but as there are dangers approaching that threaten us all alike, do not fear to speak before me. I know something of these people, and though only an unskilled maiden, my thoughts might be of some avail.”

The sturdy hunter, although possessed of a shrewd judgment, was somewhat confused by this direct appeal; but after smoothing down the hair of his fur cap for a few moments, as was his custom when engaged in reflection, he resolved to speak before her without concealment; and he proceeded accordingly, with the blunt honesty of his nature, to narrate to them all the particulars of his late interview with War–Eagle. During his recital, both the auditors changed colour more than once, with different yet sympathetic emotions; and when he concluded, Reginald suddenly arose, and, fixing his eye upon the maiden’s countenance, as if he would read her soul, he said,

“Prairie–bird, I conjure you by all you love on earth, and by all your hopes of Heaven! tell me truly, if you have known and encouraged these feelings in War–Eagle?”

The dark eyes that had been cast to the ground with various painful emotions were raised at this appeal, and met her lover’s searching look with the modest courage of conscious truth as she replied,—

“Reginald, is it possible that you can ask me such a question? Olitipa, the foundling of the Delawares, loved War–Eagle as she loved Wingenund; she was brought up in the same lodge with both; she called both, brother; she thought of them only as such. Had War–Eagle ever asked for other love, she would have told him she had none other to give. She knew of none other, until—until——” The presence of a third person checked the words that struggled for utterance; her deep eyes filled with tears, and she hid them on Reginald’s bosom.

“I were worse than an infidel, could I doubt thy purity and truth,” he exclaimed with fervour; “Baptiste, I will speak with my Indian brother—I pity him from my heart—I will strive all in my power to soothe his sorrow; for I, andI alone, can know whathemust suffer, who has, in secret and in vain, loved such a being as this! Let us return.”

Slowly and sadly they wended their way to the encampment, the guide bringing up the rear. He was thoroughly convinced that Prairie–bird had spoken the truth: every look, every accent carried conviction with it; but he feared for the meeting between the young men, being fully aware of the impetuosity of Reginald’s character, and of the intense excitement that now affected the Indian’s mind. He determined, however, to leave them to themselves, for he had lived enough among men of stormy and ungoverned passions to know, that in atête–à–têtebetween two high and generous spirits a concession will often be made, to which pride might, in the presence of others, never have submitted.

On reaching their quarters in the encampment, they found Paul Müller standing thoughtfully before Prairie–bird’s tent, into which, after exchanging a brief but cordial greeting, he and the maiden withdrew, leaving Reginald and the guide to retire into the adjoining lodge of Tamenund.

War–Eagle, who had posted himself in a spot whence, without being seen himself, he could observe their movements, now walked slowly forward to the entrance of the tent, into which he was immediately invited by the missionary; his manner was grave and composed, nor could the most observant eye have traced in the lines of his countenance the slightest shade of excitement or agitation.

After the usual salutation, he said, “War–Eagle will speak to the Black Father presently; he has now low words for the ear of Olitipa.”

Paul Müller, looking on him with a smile, benevolent though somewhat melancholy, said, “I shut my ears, my son, and go, for I know that War–Eagle will speak nothing that his sister should not hear;” and so saying, he retired into his adjacent compartment of the tent. Prairie–bird, conscious of the painful scene that awaited her, sat in embarrassed silence, and for upwards of a minute War–Eagle contemplated without speaking the sad but lovely expression of the maiden’s countenance; that long and piercing look told him all that he dreaded to know; he saw that Baptiste had spoken to her; he saw that his hopes were blasted; and still his riveted gaze was fixed upon her, as the eyes of one banished for life dwell uponthe last receding tints of the home that he is leaving for ever. Collecting, at length, all the stoic firmness of his nature, he spoke to her in the Delaware tongue; the words that he used were few and simple, but in them, and in the tone of his voice, there was so much delicacy mingled with such depth of feeling, that Prairie–bird could not refrain from tears.

Answering him in the same language, she blended her accustomed sincerity of expression with gentle words of soothing kindness; and, in concluding her reply, she took his hand in hers, saying, “Olitipa has long loved her brothers, War–Eagle and Wingenund; let not a cloud come between them now; her heart is not changed to the great warrior of Lenapé; his sister trusts to his protection; she is proud of his fame; she has no other love to give him; her race, her religion, her heart forbid it! but he is her dear brother; he will not be angry, nor leave her.

“Mahéga and the Osages are become enemies; the Dahcotah trail is near; Tamenund is old and weak; where shall Olitipa find a brother’s love, and a brother’s aid, if War–Eagle turns away his face from her now?”

The noble heart to which she appealed had gone through its fiery ordeal of torture, and triumphed over it. After the manner of his tribe, the Delaware, before relinquishing her hand, pressed it for a moment to his chest, in token of affection, and said, “It is enough; my sister’s words are good, they are not spilt upon the ground; let Mahéga or the Dahcotahs come near the lodge of Olitipa, and they shall learn that War–Eagle is her brother!” The chieftain’s hand rested lightly on his tomahawk, and his countenance, as he withdrew from the tent, wore an expression of high and stern resolve.

How often in life is the observation forced upon us, that artlessness is the highest perfection of art! It is an axiom, the truth of which remains unchallenged under whatever aspect we view it, and is indisputable even in its converse; thus, as in writing, the apparent ease and simplicity of style is the result of frequent correction and laborious study; so in corporeal exercises, the most assiduous practice must be combined with the highest physical qualifications, ere the dancer or the posture–master can emulate the unconscious grace displayed in the movements of a sportive kitten, or a playful child.

Had Prairie–bird been familiar with all the learned treatiseson rhetoric that have appeared from the time of Aristotle to the present day, she could not have selected topics better calculated to move and soften the heart of her Indian brother. And yet she had no other instructor in the heart than the natural delicacy of her sex and character. While the tribute to his warlike fame gratified his pride, the unstudied sisterly affection of her tone and manner soothed his wounded feelings; and while the brief picture of her unprotected state aroused all his nobler and more generous sentiments, no breath of allusion to his successful rival’s name kindled the embers of jealousy that slumbered beneath them.

As he walked from her tent, the young Indian’s heart dilated within him; he trod the earth with a proud and lordly step; he had grappled with his passion; and though it had been riveted “to his soul with hooks of steel,” he had plucked it forth with an unflinching hand, and he now met his deep–rooted grief with the same lofty brow and unconquerable will with which he would have braved the tortures of the Dahcotah stake.

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