CHAPTER VI.

c106CHAPTER VI.REGINALD AND BAPTISTE PAY A VISIT TO WAR–EAGLE.—AN ATTEMPT AT TREACHERY MEETS WITH SUMMARY PUNISHMENT.The other horse being now secured, the party prepared to resume their journey; and as it appeared, after a few words whispered between the Indian and the guide, that their routes were in the same direction, they struck into the forest, Baptiste leading, followed by Reginald, and War–Eagle bringing up the rear with the two horses.After walking a few minutes in silence, “Baptiste,” said our hero, in French, “what was the story told about the horse? I understood little of what he said in English, and none of what he spoke in his own tongue.”“He told us, Master Reginald, that he was out on a war–party against the Camanchees, a wild tribe of Indians in the South west: they steal horses from the Mexicans, and exchangethem with theAricarás, Kioways, Pawnees, and other Missouri Indians.”“Well, Baptiste, how did he take this swift horse with his ‘neck–bullet,’ as he called it?”“That, Master Reginald, is the most difficult shot in the prairie; and I have known few red–skins up to it. The western hunters call it ‘creasing:’—a ball must be shot just on the upper edge of the spine where it enters the horse’s neck: if it is exactly done, the horse falls immediately, and is secured; then the wound is afterwards healed: but if the ball strikes an inch lower, the spine is missed, or the horse is killed. Few red–skins can do it,” muttered the guide; “and the ‘doctor’ here,” shaking his long rifle, “has failed more than once; but War–Eagle has said it, and there are no lies inhismouth.”“Tell me, Baptiste,” said Reginald, earnestly; “tell me something about my brother’s history, his race, and exploits.”“Afterwards, my young master. I know not that he understands us now; but these Indians are curious critturs in hearing; I believe if you spoke in that strange Dutch lingo which you learnt across the water, the red–skins would know how to answer you—stay,” added he, putting his rifle to his shoulder, “here is work for the doctor.”Reginald looked in the direction of the piece, but saw nothing; and the guide, while taking his aim, still muttered to himself, “The pills are very small, but they work somewhat sharp.” Pausing a moment, he drew the trigger; and a sudden bound from under a brake, at fifty yards’ distance, was the last death–spring of the unlucky deer whose lair had not escaped the hunter’s practised eye.“Bravely shot,” shouted Reginald; “what says War–Eagle?”“Good,” replied the Indian.“Nay,” said Baptiste; “there was not much in the shot; but your French waly–de–sham might have walked past those bushes without noting the twinkle of that crittur’s eye. Our red–skin friend saw it plain enough, I warrant you,” added he, with an inquiring look.“War–Eagle’s path is not on the deer track,” said the young chief, with a stern gravity.In a very few minutes an additional load of venison wasacross the sturdy shoulders of the guide, and the party resumed their march in silence.They had not proceeded far, when the Indian halted, saying, “War–Eagle’s camp is near; will my white brother eat and smoke?—the sun is high; he can then return to his great wigwam.”Reginald, who was anxious to see more of his new friend, and in whom the morning’s exercise had awakened a strong relish for a slice of broiled venison, assented at once, and desired him to lead the way.As he was still followed by the two horses, War–Eagle was somewhat in advance of his companions, and Baptiste whispered, in French, “Beware, Master Reginald—you may fall into a trap.”“For shame,” said the latter, colouring with indignation; “can you suspect treachery inhim? Did you not yourself say he could not lie?”“Your reproof is undeserved,” said the cool and wary hunter; “War–Eagle may not be alone, there may be turkey–buzzards with him.”“If there be a score of vultures,” said Reginald, “I will follow him without fear—he would not lead us into harm.”“Perhaps you are right,” was the guide’s answer; and again the party resumed their march in silence.They soon arrived at a place where the forest was less densely wooded; some of the larger trees appeared to have been overthrown by a hurricane, and some of the lesser to have fallen by the axe. Nekimi trotted forward, as if making for a spot that he recognised, and the Indian recalled him with the same cry that he had before used, adding, however, another, and a shriller sound.The guide shook his head, and muttered something inaudibly between his teeth, loosening at the same time the huge axe in his belt, and throwing his long rifle over his arm, ready for immediate use.These preparations did not escape the observation of Reginald; and although he said nothing, he felt more uneasy than he cared to own; for it struck him that if the guide, who seemed to have so high an opinion of War–Eagle, was apprehensive of treachery or of some unforeseen danger, there was less ground for his own confidence.Meantime the Indian walked composedly forward until he reached thecamp[6],—a pretty spot, sheltered on the windward side by a laurel thicket, and on the other commanding a view of the open glade, and of a small stream winding its silent course towards the river which our party had so lately left.On a grassy plot, between two venerable trees, the embers of a smouldering fire sent up the thin blue vapour which rises from the burning of green wood, several logs of which were still piled for fuel; while sundry bones and feathers, scattered at no great distance, gave sufficient evidence of recent feasting.War–Eagle glanced hastily around his camp; and leaving Nekimi to feed at liberty, secured the less tractable horse; while he was thus employed, the guide whispered in a low voice, “There are three or four Indians here! I trace their marks on the grass, and I know it by this fire; it is a war party—there are no squaws here; Master Reginald, keep your ears and eyes open, but show no distrust; if he offers a pipe, all may yet be right.”Although the guide said this so distinctly that Reginald heard every syllable, he was to all appearance busily engaged in throwing some dry sticks on the fire, and easing himself of the skins and the venison with which he was loaded. The Indian now took from a hollow in one of the old trees before–mentioned, a pipe, the bowl of which was of red sandstone, and the stick painted and ornamented with stained porcupine quills; he also drew out a leather bag ofkinne–kinek[7]; and having filled and lighted his pipe, seated himself at a short distance from the fire, and gravely invited Reginald to sit on his right, and the guide on his left. As soon as they were seated, War–Eagle inhaled a large volume of smoke; and looking reverently up to the sky, sent forth a long whiff, as an offering to the Great Spirit; then simply saying, “My brother is welcome,” he passed the pipe to Reginald, and afterwards to Baptiste.For some time they smoked in silence: not a sound was heard but the crackling of the wood on the fire, and the occasional chirrup of a robin in the neighbouring bushes. This silent system not suiting Reginald’s ardent temperament, he abruptly addressed the Indian as follows:—“Has my brother come far from his people?”A cloud gathered on the chief’s brow, and the guide thought that a storm of wrath would be excited by this unlucky question; but the Indian, looking steadily upon the frank open countenance of the speaker, replied, in a voice rather melancholy than fierce, “War–Eagle has few people: the bones of his fathers arenot far!”Our hero, anxious to dismiss a subject which seemed painful to his new friend, turned the conversation to his equipment, and observed, “My brother walks abroad without fear; he is almost without arms.”The Indian, carelessly resting his hand upon his war–club, said (speaking rather to himself, than to his companions), “It has tasted blood: ask the Dahcotahs!”“The Dahcotahs are dogs,” said the guide, angrily. “Their skins are red, but their hearts are white!”War–Eagle, turning upon him a penetrating look, continued, “Grande–Hâche is a warrior; he has smoked, has feasted, has fought among theLenapé[8]; he has struck more than one Dahcotah chief. But the Grande–Hâche cannot rest: the scalp of his mother hangs in the lodge of theAssiniboins[9]; her spirit is unquiet in the dark hunting–ground.”The guide made no reply, but the forced compression of his lips, and the muscular contraction that passed over his sinewy frame, showed how deeply he cherished that vengeance which the Indian’s word awakened.“This is then,” said our hero to himself, “the cause of that fierce unextinguishable hate which Baptiste has always borne to these Sioux; I cannot wonder at it.” Reginald continued, however, his conversation respecting his new friend’s equipment, in the same tone: “My brother’s war–club is strong, and that iron spike in its head is sharp; but the rifle kills from far, and the white men are not all friends to him.”“War–Eagle has ears and eyes; he can see snakes in the grass,” was the calm reply.“Nay, but my brother is careless,” said Reginald laughing; “Grande–Hâche, as you call him, and I are two men, both strong and armed with rifles: if we were not his brothers, the War–Eagle would be in danger.”“The bad Spirit made the thick water and the horses too strong for War–Eagle,” said the latter, referring to the morning’s accident, “but he could not be hurt by his brother’s rifle.”“And why so?” demanded Reginald.“Because,” said the Indian, “the white warrior has smoked, has taken his brother’s gift, and the Great Spirit has written on his face that he cannot speak lies.”“You are right, my brave friend,” said Reginald (not a little gratified by the untutored compliment); “but if you fall in with white men who carry rifles, and whodospeak lies—how fares it with you then?”“War–Eagle is always ready,” said he, in the same unmoved tone; “the Grande–Hâche is a great warrior—my brother will take many scalps; yetiftheir tongues were forked—iftheir hearts were bad—both would die where they now sit—they have neither ears nor eyes—but the Lenapé is a chief, they are as safe here as in the great white village.”Though inwardly nettled at this taunt, which he felt to be not altogether undeserved, the guide took no other notice of it than to strain to the utmost those organs of sight and hearing which the red–skin had held so cheap, but in vain: the forest around them seemed wrapt in solitude and silence; the eyes of Reginald, however, served him better on this occasion. “By heaven, the Indian speaks truth,” said he; “I see them plainly—one, two, three! and we, Baptiste, are at their mercy.”This he spoke in French, and the guide answered in the same language: “Do you see Indians, Master Reginald, where I can see naught but trees, and logs, and grass; if it is so—I am an owl, and no hunter!”“Glance your eye,” said our hero, calmly, “to yon old fallen log, that lies fifty or sixty yards to your right, there are three small parallel lines visible there,—they are three gun–barrels; the sun shone on them a minute since, and their muzzles are directed full upon us.”“It is true; your eyes are younger than mine, I suppose,” said the guide, apparently more disconcerted at that circumstance than at the imminent peril of their situation; he added, in a low, determined tone, “but they must shoot very true, if they wish to prevent me from taking this deep and deceitful villain with me on the long journey.”During the whole of this conversation, War–Eagle sat in unmoved silence, occasionally puffing out a whiff from the fragrant herb in his pipe. Reginald met the unexpected danger with the straightforward, daring courage which was the characteristic of his mind; Baptiste with the cool resolution which was the result of a life of stratagems, perils, and escapes.“War–Eagle,” said the former, “you speak true; Grande–Hâche and I have shut our eyes and ears; but they are now open; I see your warriors.”The Indian turned his searching eye full upon the speaker; he met a look bold, open, fearless as his own. “Where can my white brother see warriors?” he inquired.“Their guns are across yonder log,” said Reginald; “and their muzzles are pointed here.”“It is so,” said War–Eagle; “the red men are on the war–path; they seek blood; is my white brother not afraid?”“War–Eagle is a chief,” replied the young man; “he cannot lie,—he has said that his white brother is as safe as in the wigwam of his father!”Again the Indian bent a scrutinising look upon the countenance of the speaker, and again met the same smile of fearless confidence. With more emotion than he had yet shown, he said, “The Great Spirit has given to my white brother the big heart of a Lenapé!”He now made a signal to his ambuscade to come forth, on which they started up from behind the large fallen tree which had hitherto screened them, and advanced slowly towards the camp. They were three in number; two of them active looking men, of moderate stature, but of symmetrical proportions; the third a lad, apparently about seventeen years old; the faces of the two former were painted with black stripes, which gave them an appearance at once fierce and grotesque; they were lightly clad in hunting–shirts, leggins, and mocassins, all of elk–skin, and each carried a tomahawk, scalp–knife, and the gun before mentioned; the young lad carried no otherweapon but the gun; his hunting–shirt was fancifully ornamented with tassels of porcupine quills, and was fastened at the waist by a belt studded with party–coloured beads; his leggins were fringed, and his mocassins were also braided with the quills of the porcupine; in figure he was slight and tall; as he drew near, Reginald thought his countenance even more remarkable than that of War–Eagle: indeed its beauty would have been almost effeminate, had it not been for the raven blackness of the hair, and the piercing fire of the dark eyes. The three came forward in silence, the lad being rather in advance of the others, and stood before the War–Eagle.He bade them, in his own language, to be seated, and smoke the pipe with the white men. They did so, with the exception of the lad, who not being yet a warrior, passed it untouched; and when it had gone round, War–Eagle harangued his party: as he narrated the events of the morning, Reginald was struck by the deep and flexible modulation of his voice; and although he did not understand a word of the language, fancied that he knew when the chief related his immersion and subsequent preservation by the white man’s knife.At this portion of the tale, the Indian youth made no attempt to conceal his emotion; his glistening eyes were fixed upon the speaker, and every feature of his intelligent countenance beamed with affectionate interest: as War–Eagle described his being struck under water, stunned by a blow from a horse’s foot, and that the thick water covered him, a hurried exclamation escaped from the boy’s lips; and when his chief related how the white warrior had dived, had cut the cord in which he was entangled, and had brought him again to the air and to life, the youth, no longer able to control his feelings, threw himself into Reginald’s arms, exclaiming, in good English,“The Great Spirit reward the white warrior: he has given me back my chief—my brother!”Our hero was no less astonished than was the guide, at such uncontrolled emotion in a youth of a nation so early taught to conceal their feelings; nor were they less surprised at the clearness and purity of accent with which he expressed himself in English.“I only did, my boy,” said Reginald, kindly, “what you would have done had you been in my place.”“You are a great warrior,” said the youth, running his eyeover the powerful frame beside him: “Wingenund would have gone into the strong river, and would have died with the War–Eagle.”“Is Wingenund, then, your name, my brave boy?”“It was my forefather’s name,” said the youth, proudly. “I have yet no name; but War–Eagle says I may have one soon, and I will have no other.”“I feel sure you will deserve your forefather’s name,” said Reginald. “What does it mean in my language?”“It means, ‘The Beloved.’”“The youth speaks true,” murmured the guide (who, though busily engaged in rounding off a bullet with his knife, lost not a word or gesture that passed), “he speaks only truth; I knew his forefather well: a braver and a better heart never dwelt among the Lenapé.”The boy looked gratefully at the weather–beaten hunter; and as he cast his eyes down in silence, it would have been difficult to say whether pleasure, pride, or pain predominated in their expression.“Tell me,” resumed Reginald, “how come you to speak English like a white man?”“The good father and Olitipa taught me.”Reginald looked at the guide for an explanation; that worthy personage shook his head, saying, “The boy talks riddles; but they are not hard to guess. The good father must be some missionary, or priest; and Olitipa would in their tongue signify ‘pretty prairie–fowl;’ so it is probably the name of a Delaware woman—perhaps his sister.”“Kehella là—so it is,” said the boy: “Olitipa is in your tongue ‘pretty prairie–bird,’ and she is my sister.”“Where is Prairie–bird?” inquired Reginald, amused by the youth’snaïveté.“Far, far away, beyond the great river! But we will go back soon;—shall we not?” inquired he, looking up timidly at War–Eagle.“Pechu lenitti,[10]” answered the chief; and leaning towards the youth, he added some words in a whisper, which made him start up to obey the orders he had received.Reginald was not long left in ignorance of their nature, asin a few minutes the active lad had refreshed the fire, and was busy in broiling some venison steaks, which, after the exercise of the morning, sent up a steam far from unpleasant to the senses of any of those present.“Master Reginald,” said the guide, “that silly perroquet of yours, Gustave Perrot, is always telling fine stories of what he has seen in Europe, and talking of the scent of roses, and the sweet sounds of music, till the girls in the clearins think he’s a book–author and a poet: did you ever smell any scent, or hear any music, sweeter than comes from the hissing and frizzing of those slices of fat venison after a six hours’ hunt in the woods?”“Perhaps not,” said Reginald, laughing; “but we are only hunters, and Monsieur Perrot is a man of taste.”“Whom have we here,” grumbled the guide, as an Indian appeared in the distance. “Friend War–Eagle, is this another of your band?”“He is,” replied the chief: “all are now here.”The new comer was a powerful, athletic–looking man: his face was painted one half black, and the other half striped with bars of red; the sleeves of his hunting–shirt were so short and loose, that his naked arms were visible, one of which was tatooed in the form of a lizard, and on the other he wore an armlet of brass; his leggins and mocassins were soiled and torn, and the perspiration streaming from his matted hair showed that he had travelled both far and fast. He was, like the rest, equipped with rifle, tomahawk, and scalp–knife; his countenance, as far as it could be distinguished through its disguise of paint, was expressive of cunning and ferocity. Though probably much surprised at seeing two white men sitting thus amicably with his chief, he took little notice of them, or of the rest of the party; but without asking, or being asked, any questions, seated himself on the opposite side of the fire, lighted his pipe, and smoked.“Master Reginald,” said the guide, in French, “I do not like that fellow. I know not how he comes to be with our friend here, for he belongs to another tribe; I have seen him before.”Meantime, the industrious lad had broiled his venison steaks, and having gathered some broad leaves, which served on this occasion for plates, he brought the first slice to Reginald,the second to Baptiste, the next to War–Eagle, and so on, until he went through the party; after which, without tasting anything himself, he took his station close to his chief and his new friend. During the meal, the Indian last arrived talked much in a suppressed voice to the one next to him, and seemed studiously to avert his eyes from his chief and the two white men.“Tarhé,” said War–Eagle, addressing him, “is there nottassmanané[11]for the stranger? he is my brother, and his path has been long.”Tarhé went to his “câche,” a spot not many yards distant, and taking out two or three small cakes, brought them round behind his chief, and offered one to our hero, who was in the act of receiving it, when the miscreant, drawing the knife from his girdle, aimed a blow at the back of the unsuspecting Reginald.Nothing could have saved him from instant death, had not the gallant boy thrown himself between the savage and his victim. The knife went through his arm; and so deadly was the force by which it was guided, that it still descended, and inflicted a slight scratch on Reginald’s shoulder.War–Eagle sprang like a tiger from the ground, and with one blow of his tremendous war–club dashed the ruffian to the earth; then turning suddenly his angry glance upon the two other Indians, he asked if they had any part in Tarhé’s plot. Neither had stirred from their seat, and both declared they had known nothing of his intention. It was well for them that the chief believed them, for this act of vile treachery had aroused all the slumbering fire within him, and the veins started like blue cords upon his temples.Reginald’s first impulse, when he jumped upon his feet, was to hasten to the wounded youth, whose features were now lighted up by a smile of happiness. “Tell me, my brave, generous boy, are you much hurt?”“No,” said he, “I should have been hurt if the War–Eagle’s camp had been stained with the blood of his white brother.”The sturdy guide himself could not repress his admiration of this gallant boy’s conduct, who now stood looking intentlyupon War–Eagle, his features animated by excitement and by pride, and the knife still fixed up to the very handle in his arm,“War–Eagle,” said Baptiste, “the Lenapé are men,—their boys are warriors: that dog is not a Lenapé,” added he, pointing to the prostrate body of Tarhé.“Tah–Delamattenos[12],” said the chief indignantly. The youth now moving a step forward, came before his chief with an air of modest dignity, and slowly drew the reeking knife from his arm, while a stream of blood gushed from the wound; not a muscle of his frame trembled, not a feature varied its expression, as he said, in a voice of musical gentleness, “War–Eagle, will Wingenund allow his grandson now to bear his name?”“Wingenund!” said War–Eagle, looking upon him with affectionate pride, “the chiefs at the Council–fire shall know that the blood of the well–beloved still flows in a young warrior’s veins.”“My good friend,” said the guide to the chief, “you have no time to lose, the lad will bleed to death!”Reginald sprang forward, and closing as he best could the gaping wound, bound his handkerchief tightly over it.There was, indeed, no time to be lost; for the blood had flowed more freely than his youthful frame could endure. A painful dizziness came over him; and murmuring, almost inaudibly, “The White Warrior is safe, and Wingenund is happy,” he fell senseless into Reginald’s arms.c107CHAPTER VII.CONTAINING SOME PARTICULARS OF THE HISTORY OF THE TWO DELAWARES AND OF BAPTISTE. THE LATTER RETURNS WITH REGINALD TO MOOSHANNE, THE RESIDENCE OF COLONEL BRANDON.“I fear he will die!” said Reginald, in a tone of the deepest grief, as he stooped over the inanimate form of the wounded boy.“Die!” said the War–Eagle, almost fiercely; “yes, he willdie! but not by the bite of yonder serpent,” pointing to the body of the Wyandot: “He will die when the Great Spirit orders it; but before he dies, the murderers of his father shall hear his war–whoop! His tomahawk shall be red in their blood; their scalps shall hang at his belt!thenWingenund may go to his ancient people in the happy hunting fields!”“My brother,” said Reginald, earnestly, and still supporting the insensible frame of Wingenund, “do not lead this youth to shed the white man’s blood! He cannot call back those who are gone! We have a book which the Great Spirit gave to our forefathers; it speaks His own words, and He tells us, ‘Vengeance is mine;’ and He also tells us that if we would please Him, we must forgive those who have injured us: His arrows are very sharp; His anger is fierce; His justice is sure. Leave Him to punish those bad men, and teach the ‘well–beloved’ to be the white man’s friend.”For a minute the chief seemed buried in deep thought; then suddenly starting from his reverie, he spoke a few words in a low tone to one of his men, who instantly moved away, and disappeared in the forest.War–Eagle then replied in a tone rather of melancholy than of reproof, “The Great Spirit never speaks to the red man in words: if He is angry, He thunders; if He is pleased, He sends rain and sunshine, to make the corn and fruits to grow, and sweet grass to fatten the deer. My brother says the Great Spirit has spoken plainly to the white man in words, and that those words are painted in a book. War–Eagle believes it because my brother’s tongue is not forked: but he would ask,—Did those white men, who came in the night like wolves to the couch of the fawn, who murdered the father, the kindred, the little sisters of Wingenund,—did those men hear the Great Spirit’s words?”“My brother,” said Reginald, “there are among white men many wolves and serpents: men whose hands are bloody, and their tongue forked. The Great Spirit does not forbid to punish, or even to kill such men, in defence of ourselves, our wigwams, our children, or our friend. He is not angry with War–Eagle for striking down that Huron whose hand was raised to shed his brother’s blood; but when the grass of many seasons has grown over the graves of those who were injured,then the Great Spirit commands man to let his anger sleep, to bury his hatchet, and to forgive.”“It may be so,” said War–Eagle, gravely; “the Good Father in the Western Hunting–ground has said the same; Olitipa, whose voice is like the mockingbird, and who speaks only truth, she has spoken the same; but it is very dark, War–Eagle cannot see it.”“Who is the Prairie–bird?” inquired Reginald, whose curiosity had twice been excited by the mention of this extraordinary name.Before the chief could reply, the Indian, whom he had sent, returned with a mess made from several leaves, herbs, and roots, which he had bruised and reduced to a kind of glutinous pulp. War–Eagle now took off the bandage from the youth’s arm: after examining it carefully, and applying some of the above mixture to both the orifices of the wound, he bound it again, more strongly and skilfully than before; then taking him in his arms, as if he had been a little child, he carried him down to the rivulet; and by dint of bathing his temples and rubbing forcibly his hands and feet, soon restored the suspended animation.When he was recovered so far as to be able to speak, Reginald, sitting down by him, said a thousand kind things to him, such as were prompted by the gratitude of a generous heart.While they were conversing, the guide drew near to the chief; and pointing to the body of the Wyandot, which still lay where he had fallen, said, “He is surely dead!”“He is so,” replied the other, gravely; “when War–Eagle is angry he does not strike his enemy’s forehead twice.”The guide now turned over the body; and seeing that the iron point of the war–club had entered just above the eyes, and had sunk deep into the brain, he knew that instant death must have ensued. The chief calling the two Indians, desired them to bury the body where it would be safe from wolves and buzzards. “But,” he added, sternly, “let not the spot be marked for his kindred: he died like a dog, and none should lament him.”As they turned away to execute these orders, the guide observed to the chief “that Huron has not been long with the War–Eagle.”“True,—but how does the Grande–Hâche know it?”“His eye has been on him more than once; Grande–Hâche sees, but he can hold his tongue.”“Grande–Hâche is a warrior,” replied the chief: “he has seen many things; he has talked with the wise men; does he know why yon Huron wished to kill the young white brave?”“He does,” said Grande–Hâche; but as he did not of himself state what he knew, it would have been contrary to the usages of Indian courtesy to have questioned him further.Baptiste now diverting the conversation to another topic, said, “It is singular that War–Eagle, on a war–path far from his village, should have only strangers with him excepting the youth who is wounded!”“What means the Grande–Hâche?”“He means,” replied the guide, “that the other two, now gone to bury the Huron, areSouthern men[13]—they are not Lenapé.”“Grande–Hâche has ears and eyes open—how can he know that he speaks truth?” said the chief.“Because hehaseyes and ears;” replied the guide. “Does War–Eagle think that Grande–Hâche has hunted twenty years among the red nations, and knows not yet the mocassin and tongue of a Shawanon? I knew them at a glance,” added he, with shrewd smile, “as well as I knew the War–Eagle in the batteau, though both he and they have put on their faces the paint of theMengwe.”[14]“Grande–Hâche speaks truth,” replied the chief dryly, without showing the surprise and annoyance that he felt at the penetration of the guide. “The men are Shawanons, they hunt with the Lenapé, beyond the great river—they are brothers.”So saying, he broke off the conversation, and turning towards Wingenund, saw that he was talking as earnestly and freely with Reginald as if they had been long intimate; while he contemplated this friendly intercourse with a smile ofsatisfaction, the guide felt himself called upon to remind his companion that the sun was getting low, that they had yet some miles to walk, and that the Colonel would be anxious and impatient.“True,” said Reginald, springing up, “I must take leave of my brother, and of my young preserver; but we shall meet again; we will hunt together, and be friends.”“Let it be so,” said the lad, with an ardour which he cared not to conceal; “and Wingenund will tell Prairie–bird that the white warrior who drew War–Eagle from the deep water will come to see her, and she will thank him.”While the boy was speaking, the chief turned away, and busied himself in fastening a thong halter firmly to the head of Nekimi, whom he again led to his new master.Reginald now undid from his waist the silver buckled belt with the couteau–de–chasse which it supported, and buckling it round the youth, he said, “Wingenund must wear this, and must not forget his white friend.”The boy’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, as he received this gift; but he was still too weak to stand, and he only murmured, in a low voice, “Wingenund will not forget.”The chief now taking the guide aside said to him, in his own language, “How is my white brother called?”“I call him ‘Master Reginald.’”[15]After one or two ludicrous attempts at an imitation, War–Eagle shook his head, saying, “It is not good—may his Lenapé friend call him ‘Netis?’”[16]As soon as Reginald was informed of what had passed, and of the meaning of his new name, he accepted it with pleasure, and Wingenund repeated it again and again as our hero bid him farewell.War–Eagle insisted upon accompanying him, and leading Nekimi through the forest, until they reached the broad wheel track which passed Colonel Brandon’s house, and thence led through other clearings to the village of Marietta. As they went along, Reginald desired Baptiste in a whisper to talk with the chief, and endeavour to draw from him what articleof dress, ornament or use, he would most value, as he was anxious to make his Indian brother a present; and the guide, by skilfully manœuvring his conversation, soon learnt that War–Eagle had, on this last excursion, lost his rifle, and that he was also short of ammunition. They now emerged from the forest upon the great road, if it might be so called, leading to Marietta; and the Indian putting the halter of Nekimi into Reginald’s hand, said that he would return to his camp. Our hero, taking him by the hand, said, “Netis wishes to see his brother at this spot to–morrow at noon.”“War–Eagle will come,” was the brief reply; and shaking both the white men cordially by the hand, he turned and disappeared among the trees.Reginald and the guide were within a few miles of Colonel Brandon’s house; but they could not proceed very fast, owing to the evident reluctance shown by Nekimi to follow his new master; he neighed, snorted, jumped, and played all manner of pranks in his endeavour to get loose; but this War–Eagle had foreseen, and the tough halter of undressed hide was well enough secured to defy all his efforts at escape.“This has been a strange day of adventures, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “it has been to me one of the pleasantest of my life!”“Why, Master Reginald, it has been a day of events, such as they are; you have been twice at the outside edge of t’other world, with water and cold iron.”“Oh, there was not much harm in the water,” said Reginald, laughing; “had it not been for the knock which one of the horses gave me on the head; but that villainous attempt of the Huron makes me shudder;—to offer a man food, and stab him while he is taking it! I thought such a thing was unknown in Indian history.”“It is almost,” said the guide. “But a Huron—and a Dahcotah!” added he, bitterly—“would murder a brother to gratify revenge.”“But I had never injured him, Baptiste.”“His memory is better than yours, Master Reginald. He and his brother were two of the leading warriors in that unfortunate affair where St. Clair was beat by the Ingians, upon the north fork of the Miami. I was there, too, and the ‘Doctor’s’ pills did some service—but not much to signify,neither. Colonel Brandon did all that man could do, but at last he was forced back. Well, that Tarhé and his brother, first in the pursuit, killed two of our poor fellows, and were scalping ‘em, when the Colonel called out to ‘em, and fired. He killed Tarhé’s brother dead. I see’d it all; and I took a long squint with the Doctor at Tarhé, which only lamed his arm a bit; for, you see, Master Reginald, I was a long ways off; and a chap don’t shoot quite so fine when he’s a retreatin’ double–quick, with a few hundred red–skins yellin’ in his rear. However, that Tarhé has been more than once down at Marietta, and round the neighbours’ clearins; and he knowed you, Master Reginald, just as well as a Kentucky hog knows an acorn.”“Now I understand it, so far, Baptiste. But if the fellow wanted to take my life, why did he not hide in the laurel–thicket, and shoot me as I passed? Why did he make the attempt where my death was sure to be revenged?”“Now, Master Reginald, you are asking a poor ignorant crittur,—who knows nought but a little huntin’, and, may be, knows a beaver–skin from a buffalo–hide,—all the ins and outs of a red Ingian’s crooked mind! May be, he wanted to force War–Eagle into shedding white man’s blood. I saw that one of those Shawanons was up to his game; and if a general skrimmage had come, they’d have tried to do for me. Or, perhaps, when he found his knife so convenient to the back of your neck, he couldn’t lose the chance, for the bad spirit had got hold of him.”“By heavens!” cried Reginald, “I never can sufficiently admire the quickness, and the heroic courage of that boy, Wingenund! Did you see, Baptiste, how he drew that great knifeslowlyout of his wounded arm; and how all the time he smiled upon War–Eagle, as if to show him that he despised the pain?”“He is a brave youth,” said the guide. “I know the stock he comes from: if he were a coward, the grisly bear might breed sheep!”“Pray tell me something of his parents, and of his story. Is he related to War–Eagle?”“He is,” said the guide. “They are the children of two brothers. War–Eagle of the eldest; Wingenund of the youngest.”“Are these two brothers alive, Baptiste?”“No: both were murdered by the white men, in time of peace, without provocation. There was a third brother, who, happening to be absent from the village on a hunt, escaped. He has now gone to the far west, beyond the great river. Both the War–Eagle and the boy are called his sons; and the latter, as he told us to–day, lives in his lodge.”“Then all these three brothers were the children of Wingenund?”“Yes.”“And who was he?”“One of the old Lenapé:—first in council, and foremost in the fight! I remember him well when I was a boy,” said the guide, warming with his subject. “He taught me to follow a trail, and to travel in the woods, with no other guide than the wind, the stars, and the bark of the trees; and before I was as old as that boy, his grandson, he lent me his rifle to shoot the first Dahcotah as ever I killed.”“What was the party, Baptiste?” said Reginald (anxious to keep the guide from the subject of the Dahcotahs), “what party was it that committed the atrocious murder upon the Indians in time of peace?”“Why, Master Reginald, though you were but a youngster, don’t you remember hearing that twelve or fourteen years ago a party of white men, led by Williamson, Harvey, and some other rough chaps from the Kentucky side, fell upon a village of friendly Indians on the banks of Tuscarawas river, and murdered all they found—man, woman, and child? Some of these poor red–skins had been made Christians, and were called Moravians; and their village as was destroyed was called by some outlandish name, too long by half for me to speak or to remember.[17]They had given over their own nat’ral life of smoking, hunting, and fighting, and did nothing but plant, and sow, and pray! And, after all, that’s the way they was served, Master Reginald!”“Horrible and disgraceful cruelty!” said the young man: and rather thinking aloud, than addressing his companion, he added, “It is no wonder that the Indians should receive so unwillingly Christian precepts, when they have such examplesof Christian practice. I am not surprised that War–Eagle should find it hard to forgivesuchinjuries.”“And yet you are surprised, Master Reginald,” said the guide, in a deep voice, almost hoarse from repressed emotion, “thatIdo not forgive the Dahcotah? Did he not burn the log–hut where I was born and raised? Did he not murder those who gave me birth? Did he not drive me out, a child, into the woods, to live by berries, or wild fruits, or what I could find or kill? Is not my father’s scalp (not half revenged!) now hanging before a Dahcotah lodge! Oh! let me come but within rifle range of the throat–cutter,[18]and if he comes off with a whole skin, Iwillforgive him!”Our hero, seeing that further discussion would only increase an excitement which already mastered his companion’s self–control, said to him kindly, “Well, Baptiste, it must be owned that you have received from these people deep, irreparable wrong! You are a man, and would not pay them in their own base coin, by killing one of their squaws or children: but if it is ever your fortune to meet them in a fair stand–up fight, when I am with you, then you shall see that I can stand by a friend, and share in his just feelings of resentment.”“I know it—I know it, Master Reginald,” said the guide, grasping the hand extended to him; and having now recovered an equanimity which nothing but the Dahcotah subject ever disturbed, he added,“If you and I were to take a summer–hunt towards the mountains, with that light–limbed War–Eagle, who has the eyes, and ears, and the spring of a painter[19], we might p’raps bring in a handsome load o’ skins, and may be, pay off the throat–cutters an old debt or two.”“It is more likely than you imagine, Baptiste, that we should make an excursion to the West this spring; for my father told me the other day—but see, there he is, with Lucy on his arm, and Aunt Mary, and Wolf by her side!”As he said this, the young man bounded forward, and in a moment was in the midst of them, kissing his sister, shaking his father and Aunt Mary affectionately by the hand, and patting Wolf’s great shaggy head.“Dear Reginald! what has kept you so long?” said Lucy, reproachfully; “where can you have been? Why, your clothes are all soiled; and see, papa,” she added, turning deadly pale; “there is blood upon his hunting–shirt and upon his cheek!”“What a little coward art thou,” said Reginald, “to be the daughter of a soldier! Why, Lucy, the few drops of blood upon my clothes must surely have come from your cheeks, which are as pale as a magnolia flower! Harkee, Lucy, I must do something to drive the rosy current back to its proper channel; come here, girl:” and bending her head aside, he whispered something in her ear.Never was the effect of magic more rapid, or more potent; for in an instant the obedient blood rushed to the fair girl’s cheek, suffusing at the same time her neck and temples with the same glowing hue: casting upon her brother a look at once playful and appealing, she pinched his ear between her tiny fingers till he fairly begged pardon, and promised not to do so again.As it was now evident that Reginald was not much hurt, Lucy turned her eyes towards the hunter, who approached, leading Nekimi still snorting, prancing, and curvetting at the full length of his laryette. “Baptiste,” said the Colonel, “where have you found that wild, untamed animal?”“He belongs,” said the hunter, “to Master Reginald.”The Colonel looked to his son for an explanation, who giving an arm to his sister, while the Colonel escorted Aunt Mary, turned homewards, and narrated, as they went, the events described in this and the foregoing chapter.c108CHAPTER VIII.CONTAINING A SKETCH OF MOOSHANNE.—REGINALD INTRODUCES HIS SISTER TO THE TWO DELAWARES.Theday following that on which the events related in the preceding pages occurred there was an assemblage more than usually numerous, gathered in and around the capacious store of David Muir, in Marietta: immediately in front of his door was a small party, who, from their bearing and appearance,might be easily recognised as leading persons in the little community. In the midst of them was a roughly–dressed country lad, whose haggard appearance indicated wretchedness or fatigue, or both: near the group stood his horse, reeking with sweat, and showing that the messenger, for such he was, had not spared the spurs on the road. Many and eager were the questions put to him; and the countenances of his auditors evinced no ordinary degree of interest in his replies; several women, and a dozen or two of boys and girls, made repeated endeavours to penetrate into this important circle; and having contrived to overhear a disjointed word, here and there, such as “Indian,” “scalped,” “rifle,” &c. they slunk away, one by one, to spread it abroad through the village, that a neighbouring settlement had been attacked by a large body of Indians, armed with rifles and tomahawks; and that every man, woman, and child, excepting this messenger, who had escaped, was scalped!We will, however, introduce the reader into the centre of the above–mentioned group, and detail to him the substance of the news which created so much excitement.It appears that on the preceding day, two brothers, named Hervey, were riding homeward after attending a marriage, at a small settlement twenty miles to the northward of Marietta: they were not above half a mile in advance of several other men, also returning from the marriage; both were armed with rifles, having been shooting at a target for a wager, when on a sudden, a single Indian, uttering a loud war–whoop, sprang from a thicket by the road, and at one stroke of his war–club felled the elder brother to the earth; before the second could come up to his assistance, the same Indian aimed a sweeping blow at his head with the butt–end of his rifle; the younger Hervey warded the blow also with his rifle, but it fell with such force that both barrels were broken off from the stocks: with the rapidity of lightning, the Indian struck him heavily on the head, and he fell stunned from his horse. A few minutes afterwards, he recovered, and found some of his friends standing over him; his unfortunate brother lay dead and scalped at his side: his horse and the Indian had disappeared. Several young men dashed off immediately in pursuit, and tracked the hoofs successfully until the fugitive had entered the hardy and stony bed of a rivulet falling intothe Muskingum; hence all further search proved unsuccessful, and they returned dispirited to their companions.It was long since so daring an outrage had been committed in the territory; seldom was it that the red–skins would attack white men in open day, unless they were greatly superior in numbers; but for a single Indian to fall upon two armed whites, killing one and leaving the other for dead, almost within call of his friends, was an instance of audacity to which the oldest hunter could scarcely remember a parallel: it was evident also that the savage had been aware of a party of whites being at hand, otherwise he would certainly have shot one brother before he attacked the other; but, avoiding the discharge of his rifle, he had effected his purpose with a war–club.Another striking circumstance was the clear evidence afforded that the killing of the elder Hervey was an act of personal revenge; because the younger brother when knocked from his horse had fallen helpless at the Indian’s feet; and the latter, purposely to show that he had spared his life and scalp, had struck a knife through the lappet of his coat into the ground, with force enough to bury it up to the haft. Four or five of the best hunters had recommenced the pursuit; and although they once struck the trail of a man on foot evidently running from them, they were again baffled by the river, and returned to the settlement.Such was the sum of the messenger’s intelligence, which caused, as can easily be imagined, no little sensation in Marietta and the neighbouring districts.“I know some of the worst o’ them red–skin devils,” said a bulky young man, whose countenance betrayed violent passions, and strong symptoms of free indulgence in David Muir’s “fire–water;” “tell me what was this Ingian like?—how did Dick Hervey describe him?”“He hadn’t over much time to look at him,” said the messenger, “afore he was sent to sleep; but he says he was a very tall powerful chap, streaked over the face with black.”“Was he a young un or an old un?”“A young un, and active as a deer, or he couldn’t have knocked those two Herveys off their critturs, as a man knocks off a corncob with an ash plant.”“I wish I had him here,” said the young giant, shuttinga hand as heavy and large as a shoulder of mutton. “I’d give him a real Kentucky hug.”None of the bystanders seemed able to form any guess as to who the perpetrator of this bold outrage might be. It was resolved, however, to take all possible measures for his discovery; a meeting of the principal inhabitants was convened, a description of the Indian’s person, and of the marks by which Hervey’s horse might be recognised, was written, and several copies thereof made, and forwarded to the nearest posts and ferries; at the same time a reward of a hundred dollars was offered to any person who should discover the offender, and a hundred more for his seizure, dead or alive.During the discussion of these and other plans at the meeting, our old acquaintance David Muir, who felt himself not to be one of the least important persons present, said, “I’m thinking, gentlemen, it would be as weel to send a messenger out to Colonel Brandon, wi’ this intelligence; he kens the Indians as weel’s ony man in this country side, mayhap he’ll gie us some gude counsel; and, sirs,” added David, his grey eyes twinkling at his own sagacity, “be sure ye dinna forget to tak the advice o’ yon lang–headed chiel, Battiste; if the Indian deevil’s o’ this side the Mississippi, Battiste will fin’ him out, as sure as twa threes mak sax.”This was one of the longest orations which David had ever delivered in public; and both his suggestions being approved, carriednem. con., and the meeting dissolved, David returned to his store with his hands thrust into his coat–tail pockets, and his countenance big with the consciousness of having rendered essential service to the territory.We must now return to Reginald, who, on the morning of this same day, rose with the sun; and feeling himself nothing the worse from his slight wounds, or from his diving adventure, sallied forth to see how Baptiste had provided for Nekimi’s safety and comfort. All means having failed to entice him into a stable, the hunter had secured him firmly to an oak, casting down for him abundance both of food and litter. Reginald approached him, holding in his hand some bread; and having given the sharp shrill cry (which to Lucy’s great alarm he had practised more than once in the house), he was agreeably surprised to perceive that the horse recognised it, and seemed less averse to his caresses. Having fed him, and carefullyobserved all the rules laid down by War–Eagle for gaining his affections, he returned to the house, and began to collect the various articles which he proposed to give to his Indian brother; among these was a good Kentucky rifle, and a handsome buck’s–horn knife for the chief; he selected also a light fowling–piece, which he had used as a boy, and which he intended for Wingenund; to these he added several pounds of powder, and a due proportion of lead; he also threw into the package a few beads and a large cornelian ring, which had been long the occupant of his dressing–case.When he had collected all these together, he gave them to Baptiste, desiring him to be ready to accompany him to the rendezvous after breakfast; and having finished his preparations, he knocked at the door of Lucy’s room, to inquire whether she was ready to preside at the morning meal.“Come in, Reginald,” she said; “if I am rather late it is your fault; for your adventures of yesterday have driven sleep from my pillow; and even when I did fall asleep, I dreamt of nothing but your Indian hero.”“Say you so, faithless one?” replied Reginald; “I shall tell that to——““Hush, now, Reginald,” said the blushing girl, putting her little hand upon his mouth; “did you not promise me yesterday that you would not do so again?”“Perhaps I did,” said her brother; “and I will keep it if you will come down stairs and give me a very good cup of coffee.”In the breakfast–room they were joined by the Colonel and Aunt Mary; and while they discuss that most comfortable of family meals, we will give the reader a slight sketch of the house in which they were assembled.It was built of substantial brick of a dun red colour, and had originally been a regular and solid building of moderate dimensions; but the Colonel had added on one side a wing, containing a library and sitting–rooms for himself and his son, while on the opposite side he had built additional apartments for Aunt Mary, and a small conservatory for Lucy. Thus the building had gradually assumed a straggling and irregular shape, the back court being occupied by stables, barns, and extensive farm offices. The site of the house was on a gentle elevation, sloping down to a little brook, which wound itsbubbling way through a deep grove of oak, maple, and sycamore, and circling round the base of the hill, fell at the distance of half a mile into the Muskingum river. The spot still retained the name of “Mooshanne” (signifying, in the Delaware language, Elk Creek), probably owing to the little streamlet above mentioned having been a favourite resort of an animal which the rifles of Reginald and Baptiste had rendered somewhat scarce in the neighbourhood.We left the family assembled at the breakfast–table, where the conversation still turned upon the adventures of the preceding day.“Reginald,” said Lucy, “I should like to go with you to–day, to see your Indian brother, and that heroic boy.”“I fear,” replied her brother, “it is farther than you could easily walk; and, moreover, Wingenund will scarcely accompany his chief; he must be still too weak from his wound.”“Nay, Reginald; if the distance is the only difficulty, I can ride Snowdrop; and if Wingenund does come, I will reward him for his brave defence of my brother, by giving him some little trinket, which he may take back to his sister. You cannot refuse me now,” added she, in a coaxing tone, the power of which over her brother was all but despotic.“Of course I cannot, if you obtain Aunt Mary’s and the Colonel’s permission,” said Reginald, smiling.Lucy met with no further opposition. Snowdrop was ordered to be saddled: in a few minutes the happy girl was equipped, and provided with a coral necklace for the chief, and a pretty brooch, destined for her brother’s preserver.The party now assembled before the door, consisting of Reginald, Baptiste, and Lucy, mounted on her favourite grey pony: our hero slung his rifle across his shoulders; the sturdy woodsman, besides carrying his own enormous axe, walked lightly under the two rifles and the other articles to be presented to the chief, and Wolf played around them his fantastic and unwieldy gambols.Cheerful and smiling was the woodland scenery through which they passed; the dew–drops still glittered in the beams of the morning sun, and the air was impregnated with the vernal fragrance arising from a thousand opening buds and blossoms.“See, Lucy,” said her brother, as he walked by her side,while the tact of the sturdy hunter kept him a few paces in the rear, “see how those mischievous squirrels hop and chatter upon the boughs! They seem to know that your presence is a protection to them.”“I often wonder, Reginald, how you can shoot such playful and graceful animals; you, who have taste enough to admire their beauty, and who can find sport more worthy of your rifle.”“It is childish sport, Lucy; yet they are no contemptible additions to the table; their furs are useful; and there is some skill in shooting them, that is, in shooting them properly.”“If I were a man, I would shoot nothing but lions and tigers, buffaloes or bears!” said his sister.“A pretty Amazon, truly!” said Reginald, laughing: “yet, methinks your thoughts are not always so warlike. Come, Lucy, now that we are alone (for our good Baptiste is out of ear–shot), you need not pout or blush if I ask you whether Ethelston is expected soon to return?”“Indeed, I know not, Reginald,” said his sister, blushing, in spite of his prohibition. “His last letter to the Colonel mentioned something about privateers and the rupture with France. Papa did not appear desirous of communicating much upon the subject, so I dropt it.”“True,” said Reginald; “the French will not soon forget or forgive the loss of their fine frigate, The Insurgente, which was taken the other day so gallantly by The Constellation. I doubt not they will endeavour to cripple our trade in the West Indies. Edward has got a little craft that can run, if she cannot fight.”“I am sure Edward will never run if it is possible to fight,” said Lucy, a little piqued.“There, again, you speak the truth: it is because his courage is so tempered by his judgment, that he is fit to be entrusted with other lives and property than his own: if it isnotpossible to fight, he will have sense and skill enough to show the Frenchman his heels.—By–the–by, Lucy, which vessel is he now commanding?”Again there was a decided blush, and almost a pout on Lucy’s full lip, as she said, “You know, brother, that The Adventure and the Pocahuntas are both in port, and the vessel he is now on board of is the—“—“Oh! I remember,” said Reginald, laughing; “she was to have been called the ‘Lucy;’ but Edward did not choose to hear that name in every common sailor’s and negro’s mouth; so he altered it to The Pride of Ohio, which means, in his vocabulary, the same thing.”“I wish,” said Lucy, “there was any Mary, or Charlotte, or Catherine, or any other name under the sun, about which I could tease you! Have a little patience, Mr. Reginald; my turn will come; you shall see what mercy I will show you then!”Thus did the brother and sister spar and jest with each other until they reached the spot appointed for the interview. As they had arrived rather before the time, they imagined that the War–Eagle had not yet come; but Baptiste, putting his finger to his mouth, blew a long shrill signal whistle, and in a few minutes the chief appeared, accompanied by Wingenund. As they emerged from the forest, and approached, Reginald looked at his sister to see the effect produced by their appearance; for the chief was dressed in a manner calculated to display his noble figure and countenance to better advantage than on the preceding day. His long black hair was parted on his forehead, and gathered into a mass, confined by a narrow fillet made from the fur of the white weasel, and surmounted by an eagle’s feather. It seemed that his vow of war and revenge was for the time cancelled; for the lines of black paint which had disfigured his visage were removed, and the commanding form and features were not marred by any grotesque or fanciful attire. His brawny neck was bare, and a portion of his bold, open chest appeared beneath the light hunting–shirt, which was his only upper vesture. The ponderous war–club was still at his girdle, but the scalp had disappeared; and his light, free step upon the grass was like that of a young elk on the prairie.The dress of Wingenund was unaltered. He was still very weak from the loss of blood, and the pain consequent upon his wound; his arm rested in a sling, made from the plaited bark of elm: and the air of languor cast over his countenance by sleeplessness and suffering, gave additional effect to the delicacy of his features, and the deep dark lustre of his eyes.“Our new brother is indeed a fine looking creature!” said Lucy, as War–Eagle drew near. “What a haughty step andbearing he has! Wingenund looks too gentle to be an Indian!”“He is as brave as gentle, Lucy: look at his arm!” and, as she did look at the wounded limb, she remembered that only yesterday it had saved her brother’s life.The greeting between Reginald and the two Indians was affectionate and cordial: he then presented his sister to them both in turn. The chieftain placing his hand upon his heart, fixed upon her that penetrating look with which he had before scrutinised her brother: it was not the bold stare of vulgarity admiring beauty, but the child of nature reading, after his own fashion, a page in her book.“War–Eagle,” said Lucy to him, in her own gentle tone of voice, “I know all that passed yesterday, and you are now my brother!”As she pronounced his name in English, a gleam shot from his eye, and a perceptible and sudden change came over his countenance: it seemed produced by some unexpected association; and Lucy was surprised at the deep pathos of his voice, as he replied, “The Great Spirit has made the sun to shine upon my white brother’s path! His heart is brave; his arm is strong; and his sister is like a flower of the prairie!—her voice comes upon the ear like a pleasant dream!” These last words he spoke rather to himself than addressing those around him.Lucy was not displeased with the Indian’s compliment, and was about to speak to Wingenund, when Reginald said aloud, “Come, let us withdraw among those thick trees; we have many things to talk about.” His proposal being assented to, the whole party were soon re–assembled under a branching oak, screened from the public track by a thicket of rhododendron.While they were effecting this manœuvre, the guide took an opportunity of interchanging a few sentences with the War–Eagle; the result of which was apparently satisfactory to the honest woodsman, for his face instantly resumed its usual frank and careless expression.“Lucy,” said her brother, “as you have thought proper to accompany me here, you must play your part as Queen of the Feast. I hope my brothers will value these baubles more from your hands than from mine.” Thus instructed, Lucy openedthe canvasss package, which the guide had hitherto carried, and presenting the large rifle to the chief, she said to him:“War–Eagle, your brother and your white sister give you this rifle, as a mark of their friendship; and with it they give you powder and lead enough to shoot all the deer and bears in the territory.”The chief placed her hand and her brother’s both upon his heart, saying, “War–Eagle thanks you. May the Great Spirit love you, and guard your path!”He then poised and examined the rifle, which was a piece of no ordinary beauty and excellence; while Baptiste whispered to him, in his own language, “It is loaded.”Lucy then turned to Wingenund, and, presenting him with the lighter fowling–piece, said to him, “With this, a sister thanks Wingenund for a brother’s life.”The boy cast his eyes modestly to the ground, saying, “Wingenund is too happy. War–Eagle will tell his name to the braves in council. The sister of Netis is good to him; Wingenund is ready to die!”“Indeed,” said Lucy to the guide, “I fear he is very faint and ill; ask the chief how he passed the night!”“Wingenund is not ill,” said the boy, with a smile; “he is very happy.”Meanwhile Baptiste, having conferred with the chief, replied, “Why, Miss Lucy, the wound was a very bad ‘un, and he lost a power o’ blood; once or twice in the night, War–Eagle thought he might not get over it; but he is better now, and though unable to bear much fatigue, he is a hardy young plant, and will take as much killing as an eel.”“Come, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “I know you put something to eat and drink into that sack with the ammunition: War–Eagle must feast with us to–day.”The guide opening his capacious wallet, drew from it a venison pasty, some bread, and a couple of bottles of Madeira. Lucy declined taking more than a crust of bread, merely tasting the wine to the health of the hunters. Wingenund was equally abstemious, and sat a little apart with his new sister; while Reginald, Baptiste, and the Chief made a more substantial luncheon. The latter being asked, by Reginald, how he liked the wine, replied carelessly, “Good.” But it was evidentthat he drank it rather from courtesy than because it pleased his palate.Reginald now desired the guide to speak to the War–Eagle in his own tongue, and to gather from him all the requisite particulars for his joining the Delawares in their summer–hunt beyond the Mississippi. He had long been anxious to visit some of those scenes which Baptiste had so often described; and his father having expressed a wish that he should go to St. Louis on some business connected with his investments in the fur–trade, he thought that so fair an opportunity ought not to be lost.While the guide and the chief conversed in a low and earnest tone of voice, and Reginald listened with an idle curiosity, imagining now and then that he could catch their meaning, Lucy became much interested in her conversation with Wingenund: she was surprised at his intelligence, and proficiency in English, and was touched by the melancholy expression of his countenance and of his deep lustrous eyes. As she was speaking, he suddenly and impressively placed his finger on her arm, then raised it to his own lips, as a sign to her to be silent; then creeping two or three yards from the party, he threw himself full length upon the grass with his ear to the ground. Lucy listened attentively, but could hear nothing but the gentle breeze stirring the leaves, and the regular sound of Snowdrop’s teeth as he nibbled the young grass.The three hunters were still busy with their arrangements for the summer, when Wingenund, resuming his sitting posture, uttered an almost imperceptible sound, like the hiss of a small serpent. Instantly, as if by instinct, the War–Eagle grasped his rifle, and looked inquiringly on the intelligent countenance of the boy.“Wingenund hears men and horses,” was the short reply.Baptiste strained his practised ears to the utmost, as did Reginald, without success. Even War–Eagle seemed for a moment unable to catch the sound. He then whispered to Reginald, “Wingenund speaks truth, there are men—not a few.”Several minutes elapsed before our hero and the guide could distinguish the tramp of horses and the voices of men speaking angrily.Our hero and his party being effectually screened from viewby the denselaurel[20]thicket, could listen unobserved to the conversation of those who were approaching; and the following expressions delivered in a loud and authoritative tone, at once attracted and absorbed their attention: “It is impossible that the fellow should escape, we have scouts out in every direction. There can be no doubt that the camp which we have just found in the woods is the one where he passed the night with other red–skins, for the embers are still warm. Dickenson and Brown are gone south towards Marietta; Henderson and his party are tracking the prairies to the north: it is impossible he should long escape; and young Hervey thinks he should know him anywhere!”While the person who appeared to be the leader of the unseen party was thus speaking, War–Eagle whispered a few sentences to Wingenund, to which the intelligent youth only replied by a look; the chief then conversed apart, in a low earnest voice, with the guide, who ended by grasping his hand, and saying, in the Delaware tongue, “Grande–Hâche will do it at the risk of his life.”The chief appeared satisfied, and rising with calm dignity, he tightened the belt at his waist, to which he hung his newly acquired knife and ammunition; and throwing his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, he said to Reginald, “War–Eagle must leave his brother Netis; Grande–Hâche will tell him all; before two moons have passed, Netis will come to hunt the bison with his brother; and he shall smoke with the braves of the Lenapé.”“He will,” replied Reginald, warmly pressing his hand, and at the same time passing the cornelian ring upon one of the fingers of the chief. “If the Great Spirit gives him life, he will come and hunt, and smoke with his Lenapé brother.”The chief, now turning to Lucy, drew from his head the eagle feather which was passed through his hair, and which was quaintly stained, and ornamented with porcupine quills: offering it gracefully to her, he said, in a voice of musical gentleness, “War–Eagle wishes happiness to the ‘pale flower of Mooshanne;’ many braves have tried to pluck this feather from his head; no Dahcotah nor Pawnee has touched it and lived! The Sister of Netis may fasten it in her hair—let none but a brave warrior raise his eyes to it there.”ill70Wingenund and LucyP.71“Thank you, dear War–Eagle,” said Lucy, kindly; “I promise you it shall never be touched by an unworthy hand; and do you take this string of red beads,” giving him at the same time a coral necklace, “and wear it for the sake of your white sister.”The chief received this gift with evident pleasure; and waving his hand in adieu, whispering at the same time one parting word to Wingenund, he strode leisurely away, and was soon lost in the deep glades of the forest.

c106CHAPTER VI.REGINALD AND BAPTISTE PAY A VISIT TO WAR–EAGLE.—AN ATTEMPT AT TREACHERY MEETS WITH SUMMARY PUNISHMENT.The other horse being now secured, the party prepared to resume their journey; and as it appeared, after a few words whispered between the Indian and the guide, that their routes were in the same direction, they struck into the forest, Baptiste leading, followed by Reginald, and War–Eagle bringing up the rear with the two horses.After walking a few minutes in silence, “Baptiste,” said our hero, in French, “what was the story told about the horse? I understood little of what he said in English, and none of what he spoke in his own tongue.”“He told us, Master Reginald, that he was out on a war–party against the Camanchees, a wild tribe of Indians in the South west: they steal horses from the Mexicans, and exchangethem with theAricarás, Kioways, Pawnees, and other Missouri Indians.”“Well, Baptiste, how did he take this swift horse with his ‘neck–bullet,’ as he called it?”“That, Master Reginald, is the most difficult shot in the prairie; and I have known few red–skins up to it. The western hunters call it ‘creasing:’—a ball must be shot just on the upper edge of the spine where it enters the horse’s neck: if it is exactly done, the horse falls immediately, and is secured; then the wound is afterwards healed: but if the ball strikes an inch lower, the spine is missed, or the horse is killed. Few red–skins can do it,” muttered the guide; “and the ‘doctor’ here,” shaking his long rifle, “has failed more than once; but War–Eagle has said it, and there are no lies inhismouth.”“Tell me, Baptiste,” said Reginald, earnestly; “tell me something about my brother’s history, his race, and exploits.”“Afterwards, my young master. I know not that he understands us now; but these Indians are curious critturs in hearing; I believe if you spoke in that strange Dutch lingo which you learnt across the water, the red–skins would know how to answer you—stay,” added he, putting his rifle to his shoulder, “here is work for the doctor.”Reginald looked in the direction of the piece, but saw nothing; and the guide, while taking his aim, still muttered to himself, “The pills are very small, but they work somewhat sharp.” Pausing a moment, he drew the trigger; and a sudden bound from under a brake, at fifty yards’ distance, was the last death–spring of the unlucky deer whose lair had not escaped the hunter’s practised eye.“Bravely shot,” shouted Reginald; “what says War–Eagle?”“Good,” replied the Indian.“Nay,” said Baptiste; “there was not much in the shot; but your French waly–de–sham might have walked past those bushes without noting the twinkle of that crittur’s eye. Our red–skin friend saw it plain enough, I warrant you,” added he, with an inquiring look.“War–Eagle’s path is not on the deer track,” said the young chief, with a stern gravity.In a very few minutes an additional load of venison wasacross the sturdy shoulders of the guide, and the party resumed their march in silence.They had not proceeded far, when the Indian halted, saying, “War–Eagle’s camp is near; will my white brother eat and smoke?—the sun is high; he can then return to his great wigwam.”Reginald, who was anxious to see more of his new friend, and in whom the morning’s exercise had awakened a strong relish for a slice of broiled venison, assented at once, and desired him to lead the way.As he was still followed by the two horses, War–Eagle was somewhat in advance of his companions, and Baptiste whispered, in French, “Beware, Master Reginald—you may fall into a trap.”“For shame,” said the latter, colouring with indignation; “can you suspect treachery inhim? Did you not yourself say he could not lie?”“Your reproof is undeserved,” said the cool and wary hunter; “War–Eagle may not be alone, there may be turkey–buzzards with him.”“If there be a score of vultures,” said Reginald, “I will follow him without fear—he would not lead us into harm.”“Perhaps you are right,” was the guide’s answer; and again the party resumed their march in silence.They soon arrived at a place where the forest was less densely wooded; some of the larger trees appeared to have been overthrown by a hurricane, and some of the lesser to have fallen by the axe. Nekimi trotted forward, as if making for a spot that he recognised, and the Indian recalled him with the same cry that he had before used, adding, however, another, and a shriller sound.The guide shook his head, and muttered something inaudibly between his teeth, loosening at the same time the huge axe in his belt, and throwing his long rifle over his arm, ready for immediate use.These preparations did not escape the observation of Reginald; and although he said nothing, he felt more uneasy than he cared to own; for it struck him that if the guide, who seemed to have so high an opinion of War–Eagle, was apprehensive of treachery or of some unforeseen danger, there was less ground for his own confidence.Meantime the Indian walked composedly forward until he reached thecamp[6],—a pretty spot, sheltered on the windward side by a laurel thicket, and on the other commanding a view of the open glade, and of a small stream winding its silent course towards the river which our party had so lately left.On a grassy plot, between two venerable trees, the embers of a smouldering fire sent up the thin blue vapour which rises from the burning of green wood, several logs of which were still piled for fuel; while sundry bones and feathers, scattered at no great distance, gave sufficient evidence of recent feasting.War–Eagle glanced hastily around his camp; and leaving Nekimi to feed at liberty, secured the less tractable horse; while he was thus employed, the guide whispered in a low voice, “There are three or four Indians here! I trace their marks on the grass, and I know it by this fire; it is a war party—there are no squaws here; Master Reginald, keep your ears and eyes open, but show no distrust; if he offers a pipe, all may yet be right.”Although the guide said this so distinctly that Reginald heard every syllable, he was to all appearance busily engaged in throwing some dry sticks on the fire, and easing himself of the skins and the venison with which he was loaded. The Indian now took from a hollow in one of the old trees before–mentioned, a pipe, the bowl of which was of red sandstone, and the stick painted and ornamented with stained porcupine quills; he also drew out a leather bag ofkinne–kinek[7]; and having filled and lighted his pipe, seated himself at a short distance from the fire, and gravely invited Reginald to sit on his right, and the guide on his left. As soon as they were seated, War–Eagle inhaled a large volume of smoke; and looking reverently up to the sky, sent forth a long whiff, as an offering to the Great Spirit; then simply saying, “My brother is welcome,” he passed the pipe to Reginald, and afterwards to Baptiste.For some time they smoked in silence: not a sound was heard but the crackling of the wood on the fire, and the occasional chirrup of a robin in the neighbouring bushes. This silent system not suiting Reginald’s ardent temperament, he abruptly addressed the Indian as follows:—“Has my brother come far from his people?”A cloud gathered on the chief’s brow, and the guide thought that a storm of wrath would be excited by this unlucky question; but the Indian, looking steadily upon the frank open countenance of the speaker, replied, in a voice rather melancholy than fierce, “War–Eagle has few people: the bones of his fathers arenot far!”Our hero, anxious to dismiss a subject which seemed painful to his new friend, turned the conversation to his equipment, and observed, “My brother walks abroad without fear; he is almost without arms.”The Indian, carelessly resting his hand upon his war–club, said (speaking rather to himself, than to his companions), “It has tasted blood: ask the Dahcotahs!”“The Dahcotahs are dogs,” said the guide, angrily. “Their skins are red, but their hearts are white!”War–Eagle, turning upon him a penetrating look, continued, “Grande–Hâche is a warrior; he has smoked, has feasted, has fought among theLenapé[8]; he has struck more than one Dahcotah chief. But the Grande–Hâche cannot rest: the scalp of his mother hangs in the lodge of theAssiniboins[9]; her spirit is unquiet in the dark hunting–ground.”The guide made no reply, but the forced compression of his lips, and the muscular contraction that passed over his sinewy frame, showed how deeply he cherished that vengeance which the Indian’s word awakened.“This is then,” said our hero to himself, “the cause of that fierce unextinguishable hate which Baptiste has always borne to these Sioux; I cannot wonder at it.” Reginald continued, however, his conversation respecting his new friend’s equipment, in the same tone: “My brother’s war–club is strong, and that iron spike in its head is sharp; but the rifle kills from far, and the white men are not all friends to him.”“War–Eagle has ears and eyes; he can see snakes in the grass,” was the calm reply.“Nay, but my brother is careless,” said Reginald laughing; “Grande–Hâche, as you call him, and I are two men, both strong and armed with rifles: if we were not his brothers, the War–Eagle would be in danger.”“The bad Spirit made the thick water and the horses too strong for War–Eagle,” said the latter, referring to the morning’s accident, “but he could not be hurt by his brother’s rifle.”“And why so?” demanded Reginald.“Because,” said the Indian, “the white warrior has smoked, has taken his brother’s gift, and the Great Spirit has written on his face that he cannot speak lies.”“You are right, my brave friend,” said Reginald (not a little gratified by the untutored compliment); “but if you fall in with white men who carry rifles, and whodospeak lies—how fares it with you then?”“War–Eagle is always ready,” said he, in the same unmoved tone; “the Grande–Hâche is a great warrior—my brother will take many scalps; yetiftheir tongues were forked—iftheir hearts were bad—both would die where they now sit—they have neither ears nor eyes—but the Lenapé is a chief, they are as safe here as in the great white village.”Though inwardly nettled at this taunt, which he felt to be not altogether undeserved, the guide took no other notice of it than to strain to the utmost those organs of sight and hearing which the red–skin had held so cheap, but in vain: the forest around them seemed wrapt in solitude and silence; the eyes of Reginald, however, served him better on this occasion. “By heaven, the Indian speaks truth,” said he; “I see them plainly—one, two, three! and we, Baptiste, are at their mercy.”This he spoke in French, and the guide answered in the same language: “Do you see Indians, Master Reginald, where I can see naught but trees, and logs, and grass; if it is so—I am an owl, and no hunter!”“Glance your eye,” said our hero, calmly, “to yon old fallen log, that lies fifty or sixty yards to your right, there are three small parallel lines visible there,—they are three gun–barrels; the sun shone on them a minute since, and their muzzles are directed full upon us.”“It is true; your eyes are younger than mine, I suppose,” said the guide, apparently more disconcerted at that circumstance than at the imminent peril of their situation; he added, in a low, determined tone, “but they must shoot very true, if they wish to prevent me from taking this deep and deceitful villain with me on the long journey.”During the whole of this conversation, War–Eagle sat in unmoved silence, occasionally puffing out a whiff from the fragrant herb in his pipe. Reginald met the unexpected danger with the straightforward, daring courage which was the characteristic of his mind; Baptiste with the cool resolution which was the result of a life of stratagems, perils, and escapes.“War–Eagle,” said the former, “you speak true; Grande–Hâche and I have shut our eyes and ears; but they are now open; I see your warriors.”The Indian turned his searching eye full upon the speaker; he met a look bold, open, fearless as his own. “Where can my white brother see warriors?” he inquired.“Their guns are across yonder log,” said Reginald; “and their muzzles are pointed here.”“It is so,” said War–Eagle; “the red men are on the war–path; they seek blood; is my white brother not afraid?”“War–Eagle is a chief,” replied the young man; “he cannot lie,—he has said that his white brother is as safe as in the wigwam of his father!”Again the Indian bent a scrutinising look upon the countenance of the speaker, and again met the same smile of fearless confidence. With more emotion than he had yet shown, he said, “The Great Spirit has given to my white brother the big heart of a Lenapé!”He now made a signal to his ambuscade to come forth, on which they started up from behind the large fallen tree which had hitherto screened them, and advanced slowly towards the camp. They were three in number; two of them active looking men, of moderate stature, but of symmetrical proportions; the third a lad, apparently about seventeen years old; the faces of the two former were painted with black stripes, which gave them an appearance at once fierce and grotesque; they were lightly clad in hunting–shirts, leggins, and mocassins, all of elk–skin, and each carried a tomahawk, scalp–knife, and the gun before mentioned; the young lad carried no otherweapon but the gun; his hunting–shirt was fancifully ornamented with tassels of porcupine quills, and was fastened at the waist by a belt studded with party–coloured beads; his leggins were fringed, and his mocassins were also braided with the quills of the porcupine; in figure he was slight and tall; as he drew near, Reginald thought his countenance even more remarkable than that of War–Eagle: indeed its beauty would have been almost effeminate, had it not been for the raven blackness of the hair, and the piercing fire of the dark eyes. The three came forward in silence, the lad being rather in advance of the others, and stood before the War–Eagle.He bade them, in his own language, to be seated, and smoke the pipe with the white men. They did so, with the exception of the lad, who not being yet a warrior, passed it untouched; and when it had gone round, War–Eagle harangued his party: as he narrated the events of the morning, Reginald was struck by the deep and flexible modulation of his voice; and although he did not understand a word of the language, fancied that he knew when the chief related his immersion and subsequent preservation by the white man’s knife.At this portion of the tale, the Indian youth made no attempt to conceal his emotion; his glistening eyes were fixed upon the speaker, and every feature of his intelligent countenance beamed with affectionate interest: as War–Eagle described his being struck under water, stunned by a blow from a horse’s foot, and that the thick water covered him, a hurried exclamation escaped from the boy’s lips; and when his chief related how the white warrior had dived, had cut the cord in which he was entangled, and had brought him again to the air and to life, the youth, no longer able to control his feelings, threw himself into Reginald’s arms, exclaiming, in good English,“The Great Spirit reward the white warrior: he has given me back my chief—my brother!”Our hero was no less astonished than was the guide, at such uncontrolled emotion in a youth of a nation so early taught to conceal their feelings; nor were they less surprised at the clearness and purity of accent with which he expressed himself in English.“I only did, my boy,” said Reginald, kindly, “what you would have done had you been in my place.”“You are a great warrior,” said the youth, running his eyeover the powerful frame beside him: “Wingenund would have gone into the strong river, and would have died with the War–Eagle.”“Is Wingenund, then, your name, my brave boy?”“It was my forefather’s name,” said the youth, proudly. “I have yet no name; but War–Eagle says I may have one soon, and I will have no other.”“I feel sure you will deserve your forefather’s name,” said Reginald. “What does it mean in my language?”“It means, ‘The Beloved.’”“The youth speaks true,” murmured the guide (who, though busily engaged in rounding off a bullet with his knife, lost not a word or gesture that passed), “he speaks only truth; I knew his forefather well: a braver and a better heart never dwelt among the Lenapé.”The boy looked gratefully at the weather–beaten hunter; and as he cast his eyes down in silence, it would have been difficult to say whether pleasure, pride, or pain predominated in their expression.“Tell me,” resumed Reginald, “how come you to speak English like a white man?”“The good father and Olitipa taught me.”Reginald looked at the guide for an explanation; that worthy personage shook his head, saying, “The boy talks riddles; but they are not hard to guess. The good father must be some missionary, or priest; and Olitipa would in their tongue signify ‘pretty prairie–fowl;’ so it is probably the name of a Delaware woman—perhaps his sister.”“Kehella là—so it is,” said the boy: “Olitipa is in your tongue ‘pretty prairie–bird,’ and she is my sister.”“Where is Prairie–bird?” inquired Reginald, amused by the youth’snaïveté.“Far, far away, beyond the great river! But we will go back soon;—shall we not?” inquired he, looking up timidly at War–Eagle.“Pechu lenitti,[10]” answered the chief; and leaning towards the youth, he added some words in a whisper, which made him start up to obey the orders he had received.Reginald was not long left in ignorance of their nature, asin a few minutes the active lad had refreshed the fire, and was busy in broiling some venison steaks, which, after the exercise of the morning, sent up a steam far from unpleasant to the senses of any of those present.“Master Reginald,” said the guide, “that silly perroquet of yours, Gustave Perrot, is always telling fine stories of what he has seen in Europe, and talking of the scent of roses, and the sweet sounds of music, till the girls in the clearins think he’s a book–author and a poet: did you ever smell any scent, or hear any music, sweeter than comes from the hissing and frizzing of those slices of fat venison after a six hours’ hunt in the woods?”“Perhaps not,” said Reginald, laughing; “but we are only hunters, and Monsieur Perrot is a man of taste.”“Whom have we here,” grumbled the guide, as an Indian appeared in the distance. “Friend War–Eagle, is this another of your band?”“He is,” replied the chief: “all are now here.”The new comer was a powerful, athletic–looking man: his face was painted one half black, and the other half striped with bars of red; the sleeves of his hunting–shirt were so short and loose, that his naked arms were visible, one of which was tatooed in the form of a lizard, and on the other he wore an armlet of brass; his leggins and mocassins were soiled and torn, and the perspiration streaming from his matted hair showed that he had travelled both far and fast. He was, like the rest, equipped with rifle, tomahawk, and scalp–knife; his countenance, as far as it could be distinguished through its disguise of paint, was expressive of cunning and ferocity. Though probably much surprised at seeing two white men sitting thus amicably with his chief, he took little notice of them, or of the rest of the party; but without asking, or being asked, any questions, seated himself on the opposite side of the fire, lighted his pipe, and smoked.“Master Reginald,” said the guide, in French, “I do not like that fellow. I know not how he comes to be with our friend here, for he belongs to another tribe; I have seen him before.”Meantime, the industrious lad had broiled his venison steaks, and having gathered some broad leaves, which served on this occasion for plates, he brought the first slice to Reginald,the second to Baptiste, the next to War–Eagle, and so on, until he went through the party; after which, without tasting anything himself, he took his station close to his chief and his new friend. During the meal, the Indian last arrived talked much in a suppressed voice to the one next to him, and seemed studiously to avert his eyes from his chief and the two white men.“Tarhé,” said War–Eagle, addressing him, “is there nottassmanané[11]for the stranger? he is my brother, and his path has been long.”Tarhé went to his “câche,” a spot not many yards distant, and taking out two or three small cakes, brought them round behind his chief, and offered one to our hero, who was in the act of receiving it, when the miscreant, drawing the knife from his girdle, aimed a blow at the back of the unsuspecting Reginald.Nothing could have saved him from instant death, had not the gallant boy thrown himself between the savage and his victim. The knife went through his arm; and so deadly was the force by which it was guided, that it still descended, and inflicted a slight scratch on Reginald’s shoulder.War–Eagle sprang like a tiger from the ground, and with one blow of his tremendous war–club dashed the ruffian to the earth; then turning suddenly his angry glance upon the two other Indians, he asked if they had any part in Tarhé’s plot. Neither had stirred from their seat, and both declared they had known nothing of his intention. It was well for them that the chief believed them, for this act of vile treachery had aroused all the slumbering fire within him, and the veins started like blue cords upon his temples.Reginald’s first impulse, when he jumped upon his feet, was to hasten to the wounded youth, whose features were now lighted up by a smile of happiness. “Tell me, my brave, generous boy, are you much hurt?”“No,” said he, “I should have been hurt if the War–Eagle’s camp had been stained with the blood of his white brother.”The sturdy guide himself could not repress his admiration of this gallant boy’s conduct, who now stood looking intentlyupon War–Eagle, his features animated by excitement and by pride, and the knife still fixed up to the very handle in his arm,“War–Eagle,” said Baptiste, “the Lenapé are men,—their boys are warriors: that dog is not a Lenapé,” added he, pointing to the prostrate body of Tarhé.“Tah–Delamattenos[12],” said the chief indignantly. The youth now moving a step forward, came before his chief with an air of modest dignity, and slowly drew the reeking knife from his arm, while a stream of blood gushed from the wound; not a muscle of his frame trembled, not a feature varied its expression, as he said, in a voice of musical gentleness, “War–Eagle, will Wingenund allow his grandson now to bear his name?”“Wingenund!” said War–Eagle, looking upon him with affectionate pride, “the chiefs at the Council–fire shall know that the blood of the well–beloved still flows in a young warrior’s veins.”“My good friend,” said the guide to the chief, “you have no time to lose, the lad will bleed to death!”Reginald sprang forward, and closing as he best could the gaping wound, bound his handkerchief tightly over it.There was, indeed, no time to be lost; for the blood had flowed more freely than his youthful frame could endure. A painful dizziness came over him; and murmuring, almost inaudibly, “The White Warrior is safe, and Wingenund is happy,” he fell senseless into Reginald’s arms.

c106

REGINALD AND BAPTISTE PAY A VISIT TO WAR–EAGLE.—AN ATTEMPT AT TREACHERY MEETS WITH SUMMARY PUNISHMENT.

The other horse being now secured, the party prepared to resume their journey; and as it appeared, after a few words whispered between the Indian and the guide, that their routes were in the same direction, they struck into the forest, Baptiste leading, followed by Reginald, and War–Eagle bringing up the rear with the two horses.

After walking a few minutes in silence, “Baptiste,” said our hero, in French, “what was the story told about the horse? I understood little of what he said in English, and none of what he spoke in his own tongue.”

“He told us, Master Reginald, that he was out on a war–party against the Camanchees, a wild tribe of Indians in the South west: they steal horses from the Mexicans, and exchangethem with theAricarás, Kioways, Pawnees, and other Missouri Indians.”

“Well, Baptiste, how did he take this swift horse with his ‘neck–bullet,’ as he called it?”

“That, Master Reginald, is the most difficult shot in the prairie; and I have known few red–skins up to it. The western hunters call it ‘creasing:’—a ball must be shot just on the upper edge of the spine where it enters the horse’s neck: if it is exactly done, the horse falls immediately, and is secured; then the wound is afterwards healed: but if the ball strikes an inch lower, the spine is missed, or the horse is killed. Few red–skins can do it,” muttered the guide; “and the ‘doctor’ here,” shaking his long rifle, “has failed more than once; but War–Eagle has said it, and there are no lies inhismouth.”

“Tell me, Baptiste,” said Reginald, earnestly; “tell me something about my brother’s history, his race, and exploits.”

“Afterwards, my young master. I know not that he understands us now; but these Indians are curious critturs in hearing; I believe if you spoke in that strange Dutch lingo which you learnt across the water, the red–skins would know how to answer you—stay,” added he, putting his rifle to his shoulder, “here is work for the doctor.”

Reginald looked in the direction of the piece, but saw nothing; and the guide, while taking his aim, still muttered to himself, “The pills are very small, but they work somewhat sharp.” Pausing a moment, he drew the trigger; and a sudden bound from under a brake, at fifty yards’ distance, was the last death–spring of the unlucky deer whose lair had not escaped the hunter’s practised eye.

“Bravely shot,” shouted Reginald; “what says War–Eagle?”

“Good,” replied the Indian.

“Nay,” said Baptiste; “there was not much in the shot; but your French waly–de–sham might have walked past those bushes without noting the twinkle of that crittur’s eye. Our red–skin friend saw it plain enough, I warrant you,” added he, with an inquiring look.

“War–Eagle’s path is not on the deer track,” said the young chief, with a stern gravity.

In a very few minutes an additional load of venison wasacross the sturdy shoulders of the guide, and the party resumed their march in silence.

They had not proceeded far, when the Indian halted, saying, “War–Eagle’s camp is near; will my white brother eat and smoke?—the sun is high; he can then return to his great wigwam.”

Reginald, who was anxious to see more of his new friend, and in whom the morning’s exercise had awakened a strong relish for a slice of broiled venison, assented at once, and desired him to lead the way.

As he was still followed by the two horses, War–Eagle was somewhat in advance of his companions, and Baptiste whispered, in French, “Beware, Master Reginald—you may fall into a trap.”

“For shame,” said the latter, colouring with indignation; “can you suspect treachery inhim? Did you not yourself say he could not lie?”

“Your reproof is undeserved,” said the cool and wary hunter; “War–Eagle may not be alone, there may be turkey–buzzards with him.”

“If there be a score of vultures,” said Reginald, “I will follow him without fear—he would not lead us into harm.”

“Perhaps you are right,” was the guide’s answer; and again the party resumed their march in silence.

They soon arrived at a place where the forest was less densely wooded; some of the larger trees appeared to have been overthrown by a hurricane, and some of the lesser to have fallen by the axe. Nekimi trotted forward, as if making for a spot that he recognised, and the Indian recalled him with the same cry that he had before used, adding, however, another, and a shriller sound.

The guide shook his head, and muttered something inaudibly between his teeth, loosening at the same time the huge axe in his belt, and throwing his long rifle over his arm, ready for immediate use.

These preparations did not escape the observation of Reginald; and although he said nothing, he felt more uneasy than he cared to own; for it struck him that if the guide, who seemed to have so high an opinion of War–Eagle, was apprehensive of treachery or of some unforeseen danger, there was less ground for his own confidence.

Meantime the Indian walked composedly forward until he reached thecamp[6],—a pretty spot, sheltered on the windward side by a laurel thicket, and on the other commanding a view of the open glade, and of a small stream winding its silent course towards the river which our party had so lately left.

On a grassy plot, between two venerable trees, the embers of a smouldering fire sent up the thin blue vapour which rises from the burning of green wood, several logs of which were still piled for fuel; while sundry bones and feathers, scattered at no great distance, gave sufficient evidence of recent feasting.

War–Eagle glanced hastily around his camp; and leaving Nekimi to feed at liberty, secured the less tractable horse; while he was thus employed, the guide whispered in a low voice, “There are three or four Indians here! I trace their marks on the grass, and I know it by this fire; it is a war party—there are no squaws here; Master Reginald, keep your ears and eyes open, but show no distrust; if he offers a pipe, all may yet be right.”

Although the guide said this so distinctly that Reginald heard every syllable, he was to all appearance busily engaged in throwing some dry sticks on the fire, and easing himself of the skins and the venison with which he was loaded. The Indian now took from a hollow in one of the old trees before–mentioned, a pipe, the bowl of which was of red sandstone, and the stick painted and ornamented with stained porcupine quills; he also drew out a leather bag ofkinne–kinek[7]; and having filled and lighted his pipe, seated himself at a short distance from the fire, and gravely invited Reginald to sit on his right, and the guide on his left. As soon as they were seated, War–Eagle inhaled a large volume of smoke; and looking reverently up to the sky, sent forth a long whiff, as an offering to the Great Spirit; then simply saying, “My brother is welcome,” he passed the pipe to Reginald, and afterwards to Baptiste.

For some time they smoked in silence: not a sound was heard but the crackling of the wood on the fire, and the occasional chirrup of a robin in the neighbouring bushes. This silent system not suiting Reginald’s ardent temperament, he abruptly addressed the Indian as follows:—

“Has my brother come far from his people?”

A cloud gathered on the chief’s brow, and the guide thought that a storm of wrath would be excited by this unlucky question; but the Indian, looking steadily upon the frank open countenance of the speaker, replied, in a voice rather melancholy than fierce, “War–Eagle has few people: the bones of his fathers arenot far!”

Our hero, anxious to dismiss a subject which seemed painful to his new friend, turned the conversation to his equipment, and observed, “My brother walks abroad without fear; he is almost without arms.”

The Indian, carelessly resting his hand upon his war–club, said (speaking rather to himself, than to his companions), “It has tasted blood: ask the Dahcotahs!”

“The Dahcotahs are dogs,” said the guide, angrily. “Their skins are red, but their hearts are white!”

War–Eagle, turning upon him a penetrating look, continued, “Grande–Hâche is a warrior; he has smoked, has feasted, has fought among theLenapé[8]; he has struck more than one Dahcotah chief. But the Grande–Hâche cannot rest: the scalp of his mother hangs in the lodge of theAssiniboins[9]; her spirit is unquiet in the dark hunting–ground.”

The guide made no reply, but the forced compression of his lips, and the muscular contraction that passed over his sinewy frame, showed how deeply he cherished that vengeance which the Indian’s word awakened.

“This is then,” said our hero to himself, “the cause of that fierce unextinguishable hate which Baptiste has always borne to these Sioux; I cannot wonder at it.” Reginald continued, however, his conversation respecting his new friend’s equipment, in the same tone: “My brother’s war–club is strong, and that iron spike in its head is sharp; but the rifle kills from far, and the white men are not all friends to him.”

“War–Eagle has ears and eyes; he can see snakes in the grass,” was the calm reply.

“Nay, but my brother is careless,” said Reginald laughing; “Grande–Hâche, as you call him, and I are two men, both strong and armed with rifles: if we were not his brothers, the War–Eagle would be in danger.”

“The bad Spirit made the thick water and the horses too strong for War–Eagle,” said the latter, referring to the morning’s accident, “but he could not be hurt by his brother’s rifle.”

“And why so?” demanded Reginald.

“Because,” said the Indian, “the white warrior has smoked, has taken his brother’s gift, and the Great Spirit has written on his face that he cannot speak lies.”

“You are right, my brave friend,” said Reginald (not a little gratified by the untutored compliment); “but if you fall in with white men who carry rifles, and whodospeak lies—how fares it with you then?”

“War–Eagle is always ready,” said he, in the same unmoved tone; “the Grande–Hâche is a great warrior—my brother will take many scalps; yetiftheir tongues were forked—iftheir hearts were bad—both would die where they now sit—they have neither ears nor eyes—but the Lenapé is a chief, they are as safe here as in the great white village.”

Though inwardly nettled at this taunt, which he felt to be not altogether undeserved, the guide took no other notice of it than to strain to the utmost those organs of sight and hearing which the red–skin had held so cheap, but in vain: the forest around them seemed wrapt in solitude and silence; the eyes of Reginald, however, served him better on this occasion. “By heaven, the Indian speaks truth,” said he; “I see them plainly—one, two, three! and we, Baptiste, are at their mercy.”

This he spoke in French, and the guide answered in the same language: “Do you see Indians, Master Reginald, where I can see naught but trees, and logs, and grass; if it is so—I am an owl, and no hunter!”

“Glance your eye,” said our hero, calmly, “to yon old fallen log, that lies fifty or sixty yards to your right, there are three small parallel lines visible there,—they are three gun–barrels; the sun shone on them a minute since, and their muzzles are directed full upon us.”

“It is true; your eyes are younger than mine, I suppose,” said the guide, apparently more disconcerted at that circumstance than at the imminent peril of their situation; he added, in a low, determined tone, “but they must shoot very true, if they wish to prevent me from taking this deep and deceitful villain with me on the long journey.”

During the whole of this conversation, War–Eagle sat in unmoved silence, occasionally puffing out a whiff from the fragrant herb in his pipe. Reginald met the unexpected danger with the straightforward, daring courage which was the characteristic of his mind; Baptiste with the cool resolution which was the result of a life of stratagems, perils, and escapes.

“War–Eagle,” said the former, “you speak true; Grande–Hâche and I have shut our eyes and ears; but they are now open; I see your warriors.”

The Indian turned his searching eye full upon the speaker; he met a look bold, open, fearless as his own. “Where can my white brother see warriors?” he inquired.

“Their guns are across yonder log,” said Reginald; “and their muzzles are pointed here.”

“It is so,” said War–Eagle; “the red men are on the war–path; they seek blood; is my white brother not afraid?”

“War–Eagle is a chief,” replied the young man; “he cannot lie,—he has said that his white brother is as safe as in the wigwam of his father!”

Again the Indian bent a scrutinising look upon the countenance of the speaker, and again met the same smile of fearless confidence. With more emotion than he had yet shown, he said, “The Great Spirit has given to my white brother the big heart of a Lenapé!”

He now made a signal to his ambuscade to come forth, on which they started up from behind the large fallen tree which had hitherto screened them, and advanced slowly towards the camp. They were three in number; two of them active looking men, of moderate stature, but of symmetrical proportions; the third a lad, apparently about seventeen years old; the faces of the two former were painted with black stripes, which gave them an appearance at once fierce and grotesque; they were lightly clad in hunting–shirts, leggins, and mocassins, all of elk–skin, and each carried a tomahawk, scalp–knife, and the gun before mentioned; the young lad carried no otherweapon but the gun; his hunting–shirt was fancifully ornamented with tassels of porcupine quills, and was fastened at the waist by a belt studded with party–coloured beads; his leggins were fringed, and his mocassins were also braided with the quills of the porcupine; in figure he was slight and tall; as he drew near, Reginald thought his countenance even more remarkable than that of War–Eagle: indeed its beauty would have been almost effeminate, had it not been for the raven blackness of the hair, and the piercing fire of the dark eyes. The three came forward in silence, the lad being rather in advance of the others, and stood before the War–Eagle.

He bade them, in his own language, to be seated, and smoke the pipe with the white men. They did so, with the exception of the lad, who not being yet a warrior, passed it untouched; and when it had gone round, War–Eagle harangued his party: as he narrated the events of the morning, Reginald was struck by the deep and flexible modulation of his voice; and although he did not understand a word of the language, fancied that he knew when the chief related his immersion and subsequent preservation by the white man’s knife.

At this portion of the tale, the Indian youth made no attempt to conceal his emotion; his glistening eyes were fixed upon the speaker, and every feature of his intelligent countenance beamed with affectionate interest: as War–Eagle described his being struck under water, stunned by a blow from a horse’s foot, and that the thick water covered him, a hurried exclamation escaped from the boy’s lips; and when his chief related how the white warrior had dived, had cut the cord in which he was entangled, and had brought him again to the air and to life, the youth, no longer able to control his feelings, threw himself into Reginald’s arms, exclaiming, in good English,

“The Great Spirit reward the white warrior: he has given me back my chief—my brother!”

Our hero was no less astonished than was the guide, at such uncontrolled emotion in a youth of a nation so early taught to conceal their feelings; nor were they less surprised at the clearness and purity of accent with which he expressed himself in English.

“I only did, my boy,” said Reginald, kindly, “what you would have done had you been in my place.”

“You are a great warrior,” said the youth, running his eyeover the powerful frame beside him: “Wingenund would have gone into the strong river, and would have died with the War–Eagle.”

“Is Wingenund, then, your name, my brave boy?”

“It was my forefather’s name,” said the youth, proudly. “I have yet no name; but War–Eagle says I may have one soon, and I will have no other.”

“I feel sure you will deserve your forefather’s name,” said Reginald. “What does it mean in my language?”

“It means, ‘The Beloved.’”

“The youth speaks true,” murmured the guide (who, though busily engaged in rounding off a bullet with his knife, lost not a word or gesture that passed), “he speaks only truth; I knew his forefather well: a braver and a better heart never dwelt among the Lenapé.”

The boy looked gratefully at the weather–beaten hunter; and as he cast his eyes down in silence, it would have been difficult to say whether pleasure, pride, or pain predominated in their expression.

“Tell me,” resumed Reginald, “how come you to speak English like a white man?”

“The good father and Olitipa taught me.”

Reginald looked at the guide for an explanation; that worthy personage shook his head, saying, “The boy talks riddles; but they are not hard to guess. The good father must be some missionary, or priest; and Olitipa would in their tongue signify ‘pretty prairie–fowl;’ so it is probably the name of a Delaware woman—perhaps his sister.”

“Kehella là—so it is,” said the boy: “Olitipa is in your tongue ‘pretty prairie–bird,’ and she is my sister.”

“Where is Prairie–bird?” inquired Reginald, amused by the youth’snaïveté.

“Far, far away, beyond the great river! But we will go back soon;—shall we not?” inquired he, looking up timidly at War–Eagle.

“Pechu lenitti,[10]” answered the chief; and leaning towards the youth, he added some words in a whisper, which made him start up to obey the orders he had received.

Reginald was not long left in ignorance of their nature, asin a few minutes the active lad had refreshed the fire, and was busy in broiling some venison steaks, which, after the exercise of the morning, sent up a steam far from unpleasant to the senses of any of those present.

“Master Reginald,” said the guide, “that silly perroquet of yours, Gustave Perrot, is always telling fine stories of what he has seen in Europe, and talking of the scent of roses, and the sweet sounds of music, till the girls in the clearins think he’s a book–author and a poet: did you ever smell any scent, or hear any music, sweeter than comes from the hissing and frizzing of those slices of fat venison after a six hours’ hunt in the woods?”

“Perhaps not,” said Reginald, laughing; “but we are only hunters, and Monsieur Perrot is a man of taste.”

“Whom have we here,” grumbled the guide, as an Indian appeared in the distance. “Friend War–Eagle, is this another of your band?”

“He is,” replied the chief: “all are now here.”

The new comer was a powerful, athletic–looking man: his face was painted one half black, and the other half striped with bars of red; the sleeves of his hunting–shirt were so short and loose, that his naked arms were visible, one of which was tatooed in the form of a lizard, and on the other he wore an armlet of brass; his leggins and mocassins were soiled and torn, and the perspiration streaming from his matted hair showed that he had travelled both far and fast. He was, like the rest, equipped with rifle, tomahawk, and scalp–knife; his countenance, as far as it could be distinguished through its disguise of paint, was expressive of cunning and ferocity. Though probably much surprised at seeing two white men sitting thus amicably with his chief, he took little notice of them, or of the rest of the party; but without asking, or being asked, any questions, seated himself on the opposite side of the fire, lighted his pipe, and smoked.

“Master Reginald,” said the guide, in French, “I do not like that fellow. I know not how he comes to be with our friend here, for he belongs to another tribe; I have seen him before.”

Meantime, the industrious lad had broiled his venison steaks, and having gathered some broad leaves, which served on this occasion for plates, he brought the first slice to Reginald,the second to Baptiste, the next to War–Eagle, and so on, until he went through the party; after which, without tasting anything himself, he took his station close to his chief and his new friend. During the meal, the Indian last arrived talked much in a suppressed voice to the one next to him, and seemed studiously to avert his eyes from his chief and the two white men.

“Tarhé,” said War–Eagle, addressing him, “is there nottassmanané[11]for the stranger? he is my brother, and his path has been long.”

Tarhé went to his “câche,” a spot not many yards distant, and taking out two or three small cakes, brought them round behind his chief, and offered one to our hero, who was in the act of receiving it, when the miscreant, drawing the knife from his girdle, aimed a blow at the back of the unsuspecting Reginald.

Nothing could have saved him from instant death, had not the gallant boy thrown himself between the savage and his victim. The knife went through his arm; and so deadly was the force by which it was guided, that it still descended, and inflicted a slight scratch on Reginald’s shoulder.

War–Eagle sprang like a tiger from the ground, and with one blow of his tremendous war–club dashed the ruffian to the earth; then turning suddenly his angry glance upon the two other Indians, he asked if they had any part in Tarhé’s plot. Neither had stirred from their seat, and both declared they had known nothing of his intention. It was well for them that the chief believed them, for this act of vile treachery had aroused all the slumbering fire within him, and the veins started like blue cords upon his temples.

Reginald’s first impulse, when he jumped upon his feet, was to hasten to the wounded youth, whose features were now lighted up by a smile of happiness. “Tell me, my brave, generous boy, are you much hurt?”

“No,” said he, “I should have been hurt if the War–Eagle’s camp had been stained with the blood of his white brother.”

The sturdy guide himself could not repress his admiration of this gallant boy’s conduct, who now stood looking intentlyupon War–Eagle, his features animated by excitement and by pride, and the knife still fixed up to the very handle in his arm,

“War–Eagle,” said Baptiste, “the Lenapé are men,—their boys are warriors: that dog is not a Lenapé,” added he, pointing to the prostrate body of Tarhé.

“Tah–Delamattenos[12],” said the chief indignantly. The youth now moving a step forward, came before his chief with an air of modest dignity, and slowly drew the reeking knife from his arm, while a stream of blood gushed from the wound; not a muscle of his frame trembled, not a feature varied its expression, as he said, in a voice of musical gentleness, “War–Eagle, will Wingenund allow his grandson now to bear his name?”

“Wingenund!” said War–Eagle, looking upon him with affectionate pride, “the chiefs at the Council–fire shall know that the blood of the well–beloved still flows in a young warrior’s veins.”

“My good friend,” said the guide to the chief, “you have no time to lose, the lad will bleed to death!”

Reginald sprang forward, and closing as he best could the gaping wound, bound his handkerchief tightly over it.

There was, indeed, no time to be lost; for the blood had flowed more freely than his youthful frame could endure. A painful dizziness came over him; and murmuring, almost inaudibly, “The White Warrior is safe, and Wingenund is happy,” he fell senseless into Reginald’s arms.

c107CHAPTER VII.CONTAINING SOME PARTICULARS OF THE HISTORY OF THE TWO DELAWARES AND OF BAPTISTE. THE LATTER RETURNS WITH REGINALD TO MOOSHANNE, THE RESIDENCE OF COLONEL BRANDON.“I fear he will die!” said Reginald, in a tone of the deepest grief, as he stooped over the inanimate form of the wounded boy.“Die!” said the War–Eagle, almost fiercely; “yes, he willdie! but not by the bite of yonder serpent,” pointing to the body of the Wyandot: “He will die when the Great Spirit orders it; but before he dies, the murderers of his father shall hear his war–whoop! His tomahawk shall be red in their blood; their scalps shall hang at his belt!thenWingenund may go to his ancient people in the happy hunting fields!”“My brother,” said Reginald, earnestly, and still supporting the insensible frame of Wingenund, “do not lead this youth to shed the white man’s blood! He cannot call back those who are gone! We have a book which the Great Spirit gave to our forefathers; it speaks His own words, and He tells us, ‘Vengeance is mine;’ and He also tells us that if we would please Him, we must forgive those who have injured us: His arrows are very sharp; His anger is fierce; His justice is sure. Leave Him to punish those bad men, and teach the ‘well–beloved’ to be the white man’s friend.”For a minute the chief seemed buried in deep thought; then suddenly starting from his reverie, he spoke a few words in a low tone to one of his men, who instantly moved away, and disappeared in the forest.War–Eagle then replied in a tone rather of melancholy than of reproof, “The Great Spirit never speaks to the red man in words: if He is angry, He thunders; if He is pleased, He sends rain and sunshine, to make the corn and fruits to grow, and sweet grass to fatten the deer. My brother says the Great Spirit has spoken plainly to the white man in words, and that those words are painted in a book. War–Eagle believes it because my brother’s tongue is not forked: but he would ask,—Did those white men, who came in the night like wolves to the couch of the fawn, who murdered the father, the kindred, the little sisters of Wingenund,—did those men hear the Great Spirit’s words?”“My brother,” said Reginald, “there are among white men many wolves and serpents: men whose hands are bloody, and their tongue forked. The Great Spirit does not forbid to punish, or even to kill such men, in defence of ourselves, our wigwams, our children, or our friend. He is not angry with War–Eagle for striking down that Huron whose hand was raised to shed his brother’s blood; but when the grass of many seasons has grown over the graves of those who were injured,then the Great Spirit commands man to let his anger sleep, to bury his hatchet, and to forgive.”“It may be so,” said War–Eagle, gravely; “the Good Father in the Western Hunting–ground has said the same; Olitipa, whose voice is like the mockingbird, and who speaks only truth, she has spoken the same; but it is very dark, War–Eagle cannot see it.”“Who is the Prairie–bird?” inquired Reginald, whose curiosity had twice been excited by the mention of this extraordinary name.Before the chief could reply, the Indian, whom he had sent, returned with a mess made from several leaves, herbs, and roots, which he had bruised and reduced to a kind of glutinous pulp. War–Eagle now took off the bandage from the youth’s arm: after examining it carefully, and applying some of the above mixture to both the orifices of the wound, he bound it again, more strongly and skilfully than before; then taking him in his arms, as if he had been a little child, he carried him down to the rivulet; and by dint of bathing his temples and rubbing forcibly his hands and feet, soon restored the suspended animation.When he was recovered so far as to be able to speak, Reginald, sitting down by him, said a thousand kind things to him, such as were prompted by the gratitude of a generous heart.While they were conversing, the guide drew near to the chief; and pointing to the body of the Wyandot, which still lay where he had fallen, said, “He is surely dead!”“He is so,” replied the other, gravely; “when War–Eagle is angry he does not strike his enemy’s forehead twice.”The guide now turned over the body; and seeing that the iron point of the war–club had entered just above the eyes, and had sunk deep into the brain, he knew that instant death must have ensued. The chief calling the two Indians, desired them to bury the body where it would be safe from wolves and buzzards. “But,” he added, sternly, “let not the spot be marked for his kindred: he died like a dog, and none should lament him.”As they turned away to execute these orders, the guide observed to the chief “that Huron has not been long with the War–Eagle.”“True,—but how does the Grande–Hâche know it?”“His eye has been on him more than once; Grande–Hâche sees, but he can hold his tongue.”“Grande–Hâche is a warrior,” replied the chief: “he has seen many things; he has talked with the wise men; does he know why yon Huron wished to kill the young white brave?”“He does,” said Grande–Hâche; but as he did not of himself state what he knew, it would have been contrary to the usages of Indian courtesy to have questioned him further.Baptiste now diverting the conversation to another topic, said, “It is singular that War–Eagle, on a war–path far from his village, should have only strangers with him excepting the youth who is wounded!”“What means the Grande–Hâche?”“He means,” replied the guide, “that the other two, now gone to bury the Huron, areSouthern men[13]—they are not Lenapé.”“Grande–Hâche has ears and eyes open—how can he know that he speaks truth?” said the chief.“Because hehaseyes and ears;” replied the guide. “Does War–Eagle think that Grande–Hâche has hunted twenty years among the red nations, and knows not yet the mocassin and tongue of a Shawanon? I knew them at a glance,” added he, with shrewd smile, “as well as I knew the War–Eagle in the batteau, though both he and they have put on their faces the paint of theMengwe.”[14]“Grande–Hâche speaks truth,” replied the chief dryly, without showing the surprise and annoyance that he felt at the penetration of the guide. “The men are Shawanons, they hunt with the Lenapé, beyond the great river—they are brothers.”So saying, he broke off the conversation, and turning towards Wingenund, saw that he was talking as earnestly and freely with Reginald as if they had been long intimate; while he contemplated this friendly intercourse with a smile ofsatisfaction, the guide felt himself called upon to remind his companion that the sun was getting low, that they had yet some miles to walk, and that the Colonel would be anxious and impatient.“True,” said Reginald, springing up, “I must take leave of my brother, and of my young preserver; but we shall meet again; we will hunt together, and be friends.”“Let it be so,” said the lad, with an ardour which he cared not to conceal; “and Wingenund will tell Prairie–bird that the white warrior who drew War–Eagle from the deep water will come to see her, and she will thank him.”While the boy was speaking, the chief turned away, and busied himself in fastening a thong halter firmly to the head of Nekimi, whom he again led to his new master.Reginald now undid from his waist the silver buckled belt with the couteau–de–chasse which it supported, and buckling it round the youth, he said, “Wingenund must wear this, and must not forget his white friend.”The boy’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, as he received this gift; but he was still too weak to stand, and he only murmured, in a low voice, “Wingenund will not forget.”The chief now taking the guide aside said to him, in his own language, “How is my white brother called?”“I call him ‘Master Reginald.’”[15]After one or two ludicrous attempts at an imitation, War–Eagle shook his head, saying, “It is not good—may his Lenapé friend call him ‘Netis?’”[16]As soon as Reginald was informed of what had passed, and of the meaning of his new name, he accepted it with pleasure, and Wingenund repeated it again and again as our hero bid him farewell.War–Eagle insisted upon accompanying him, and leading Nekimi through the forest, until they reached the broad wheel track which passed Colonel Brandon’s house, and thence led through other clearings to the village of Marietta. As they went along, Reginald desired Baptiste in a whisper to talk with the chief, and endeavour to draw from him what articleof dress, ornament or use, he would most value, as he was anxious to make his Indian brother a present; and the guide, by skilfully manœuvring his conversation, soon learnt that War–Eagle had, on this last excursion, lost his rifle, and that he was also short of ammunition. They now emerged from the forest upon the great road, if it might be so called, leading to Marietta; and the Indian putting the halter of Nekimi into Reginald’s hand, said that he would return to his camp. Our hero, taking him by the hand, said, “Netis wishes to see his brother at this spot to–morrow at noon.”“War–Eagle will come,” was the brief reply; and shaking both the white men cordially by the hand, he turned and disappeared among the trees.Reginald and the guide were within a few miles of Colonel Brandon’s house; but they could not proceed very fast, owing to the evident reluctance shown by Nekimi to follow his new master; he neighed, snorted, jumped, and played all manner of pranks in his endeavour to get loose; but this War–Eagle had foreseen, and the tough halter of undressed hide was well enough secured to defy all his efforts at escape.“This has been a strange day of adventures, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “it has been to me one of the pleasantest of my life!”“Why, Master Reginald, it has been a day of events, such as they are; you have been twice at the outside edge of t’other world, with water and cold iron.”“Oh, there was not much harm in the water,” said Reginald, laughing; “had it not been for the knock which one of the horses gave me on the head; but that villainous attempt of the Huron makes me shudder;—to offer a man food, and stab him while he is taking it! I thought such a thing was unknown in Indian history.”“It is almost,” said the guide. “But a Huron—and a Dahcotah!” added he, bitterly—“would murder a brother to gratify revenge.”“But I had never injured him, Baptiste.”“His memory is better than yours, Master Reginald. He and his brother were two of the leading warriors in that unfortunate affair where St. Clair was beat by the Ingians, upon the north fork of the Miami. I was there, too, and the ‘Doctor’s’ pills did some service—but not much to signify,neither. Colonel Brandon did all that man could do, but at last he was forced back. Well, that Tarhé and his brother, first in the pursuit, killed two of our poor fellows, and were scalping ‘em, when the Colonel called out to ‘em, and fired. He killed Tarhé’s brother dead. I see’d it all; and I took a long squint with the Doctor at Tarhé, which only lamed his arm a bit; for, you see, Master Reginald, I was a long ways off; and a chap don’t shoot quite so fine when he’s a retreatin’ double–quick, with a few hundred red–skins yellin’ in his rear. However, that Tarhé has been more than once down at Marietta, and round the neighbours’ clearins; and he knowed you, Master Reginald, just as well as a Kentucky hog knows an acorn.”“Now I understand it, so far, Baptiste. But if the fellow wanted to take my life, why did he not hide in the laurel–thicket, and shoot me as I passed? Why did he make the attempt where my death was sure to be revenged?”“Now, Master Reginald, you are asking a poor ignorant crittur,—who knows nought but a little huntin’, and, may be, knows a beaver–skin from a buffalo–hide,—all the ins and outs of a red Ingian’s crooked mind! May be, he wanted to force War–Eagle into shedding white man’s blood. I saw that one of those Shawanons was up to his game; and if a general skrimmage had come, they’d have tried to do for me. Or, perhaps, when he found his knife so convenient to the back of your neck, he couldn’t lose the chance, for the bad spirit had got hold of him.”“By heavens!” cried Reginald, “I never can sufficiently admire the quickness, and the heroic courage of that boy, Wingenund! Did you see, Baptiste, how he drew that great knifeslowlyout of his wounded arm; and how all the time he smiled upon War–Eagle, as if to show him that he despised the pain?”“He is a brave youth,” said the guide. “I know the stock he comes from: if he were a coward, the grisly bear might breed sheep!”“Pray tell me something of his parents, and of his story. Is he related to War–Eagle?”“He is,” said the guide. “They are the children of two brothers. War–Eagle of the eldest; Wingenund of the youngest.”“Are these two brothers alive, Baptiste?”“No: both were murdered by the white men, in time of peace, without provocation. There was a third brother, who, happening to be absent from the village on a hunt, escaped. He has now gone to the far west, beyond the great river. Both the War–Eagle and the boy are called his sons; and the latter, as he told us to–day, lives in his lodge.”“Then all these three brothers were the children of Wingenund?”“Yes.”“And who was he?”“One of the old Lenapé:—first in council, and foremost in the fight! I remember him well when I was a boy,” said the guide, warming with his subject. “He taught me to follow a trail, and to travel in the woods, with no other guide than the wind, the stars, and the bark of the trees; and before I was as old as that boy, his grandson, he lent me his rifle to shoot the first Dahcotah as ever I killed.”“What was the party, Baptiste?” said Reginald (anxious to keep the guide from the subject of the Dahcotahs), “what party was it that committed the atrocious murder upon the Indians in time of peace?”“Why, Master Reginald, though you were but a youngster, don’t you remember hearing that twelve or fourteen years ago a party of white men, led by Williamson, Harvey, and some other rough chaps from the Kentucky side, fell upon a village of friendly Indians on the banks of Tuscarawas river, and murdered all they found—man, woman, and child? Some of these poor red–skins had been made Christians, and were called Moravians; and their village as was destroyed was called by some outlandish name, too long by half for me to speak or to remember.[17]They had given over their own nat’ral life of smoking, hunting, and fighting, and did nothing but plant, and sow, and pray! And, after all, that’s the way they was served, Master Reginald!”“Horrible and disgraceful cruelty!” said the young man: and rather thinking aloud, than addressing his companion, he added, “It is no wonder that the Indians should receive so unwillingly Christian precepts, when they have such examplesof Christian practice. I am not surprised that War–Eagle should find it hard to forgivesuchinjuries.”“And yet you are surprised, Master Reginald,” said the guide, in a deep voice, almost hoarse from repressed emotion, “thatIdo not forgive the Dahcotah? Did he not burn the log–hut where I was born and raised? Did he not murder those who gave me birth? Did he not drive me out, a child, into the woods, to live by berries, or wild fruits, or what I could find or kill? Is not my father’s scalp (not half revenged!) now hanging before a Dahcotah lodge! Oh! let me come but within rifle range of the throat–cutter,[18]and if he comes off with a whole skin, Iwillforgive him!”Our hero, seeing that further discussion would only increase an excitement which already mastered his companion’s self–control, said to him kindly, “Well, Baptiste, it must be owned that you have received from these people deep, irreparable wrong! You are a man, and would not pay them in their own base coin, by killing one of their squaws or children: but if it is ever your fortune to meet them in a fair stand–up fight, when I am with you, then you shall see that I can stand by a friend, and share in his just feelings of resentment.”“I know it—I know it, Master Reginald,” said the guide, grasping the hand extended to him; and having now recovered an equanimity which nothing but the Dahcotah subject ever disturbed, he added,“If you and I were to take a summer–hunt towards the mountains, with that light–limbed War–Eagle, who has the eyes, and ears, and the spring of a painter[19], we might p’raps bring in a handsome load o’ skins, and may be, pay off the throat–cutters an old debt or two.”“It is more likely than you imagine, Baptiste, that we should make an excursion to the West this spring; for my father told me the other day—but see, there he is, with Lucy on his arm, and Aunt Mary, and Wolf by her side!”As he said this, the young man bounded forward, and in a moment was in the midst of them, kissing his sister, shaking his father and Aunt Mary affectionately by the hand, and patting Wolf’s great shaggy head.“Dear Reginald! what has kept you so long?” said Lucy, reproachfully; “where can you have been? Why, your clothes are all soiled; and see, papa,” she added, turning deadly pale; “there is blood upon his hunting–shirt and upon his cheek!”“What a little coward art thou,” said Reginald, “to be the daughter of a soldier! Why, Lucy, the few drops of blood upon my clothes must surely have come from your cheeks, which are as pale as a magnolia flower! Harkee, Lucy, I must do something to drive the rosy current back to its proper channel; come here, girl:” and bending her head aside, he whispered something in her ear.Never was the effect of magic more rapid, or more potent; for in an instant the obedient blood rushed to the fair girl’s cheek, suffusing at the same time her neck and temples with the same glowing hue: casting upon her brother a look at once playful and appealing, she pinched his ear between her tiny fingers till he fairly begged pardon, and promised not to do so again.As it was now evident that Reginald was not much hurt, Lucy turned her eyes towards the hunter, who approached, leading Nekimi still snorting, prancing, and curvetting at the full length of his laryette. “Baptiste,” said the Colonel, “where have you found that wild, untamed animal?”“He belongs,” said the hunter, “to Master Reginald.”The Colonel looked to his son for an explanation, who giving an arm to his sister, while the Colonel escorted Aunt Mary, turned homewards, and narrated, as they went, the events described in this and the foregoing chapter.

c107

CONTAINING SOME PARTICULARS OF THE HISTORY OF THE TWO DELAWARES AND OF BAPTISTE. THE LATTER RETURNS WITH REGINALD TO MOOSHANNE, THE RESIDENCE OF COLONEL BRANDON.

“I fear he will die!” said Reginald, in a tone of the deepest grief, as he stooped over the inanimate form of the wounded boy.

“Die!” said the War–Eagle, almost fiercely; “yes, he willdie! but not by the bite of yonder serpent,” pointing to the body of the Wyandot: “He will die when the Great Spirit orders it; but before he dies, the murderers of his father shall hear his war–whoop! His tomahawk shall be red in their blood; their scalps shall hang at his belt!thenWingenund may go to his ancient people in the happy hunting fields!”

“My brother,” said Reginald, earnestly, and still supporting the insensible frame of Wingenund, “do not lead this youth to shed the white man’s blood! He cannot call back those who are gone! We have a book which the Great Spirit gave to our forefathers; it speaks His own words, and He tells us, ‘Vengeance is mine;’ and He also tells us that if we would please Him, we must forgive those who have injured us: His arrows are very sharp; His anger is fierce; His justice is sure. Leave Him to punish those bad men, and teach the ‘well–beloved’ to be the white man’s friend.”

For a minute the chief seemed buried in deep thought; then suddenly starting from his reverie, he spoke a few words in a low tone to one of his men, who instantly moved away, and disappeared in the forest.

War–Eagle then replied in a tone rather of melancholy than of reproof, “The Great Spirit never speaks to the red man in words: if He is angry, He thunders; if He is pleased, He sends rain and sunshine, to make the corn and fruits to grow, and sweet grass to fatten the deer. My brother says the Great Spirit has spoken plainly to the white man in words, and that those words are painted in a book. War–Eagle believes it because my brother’s tongue is not forked: but he would ask,—Did those white men, who came in the night like wolves to the couch of the fawn, who murdered the father, the kindred, the little sisters of Wingenund,—did those men hear the Great Spirit’s words?”

“My brother,” said Reginald, “there are among white men many wolves and serpents: men whose hands are bloody, and their tongue forked. The Great Spirit does not forbid to punish, or even to kill such men, in defence of ourselves, our wigwams, our children, or our friend. He is not angry with War–Eagle for striking down that Huron whose hand was raised to shed his brother’s blood; but when the grass of many seasons has grown over the graves of those who were injured,then the Great Spirit commands man to let his anger sleep, to bury his hatchet, and to forgive.”

“It may be so,” said War–Eagle, gravely; “the Good Father in the Western Hunting–ground has said the same; Olitipa, whose voice is like the mockingbird, and who speaks only truth, she has spoken the same; but it is very dark, War–Eagle cannot see it.”

“Who is the Prairie–bird?” inquired Reginald, whose curiosity had twice been excited by the mention of this extraordinary name.

Before the chief could reply, the Indian, whom he had sent, returned with a mess made from several leaves, herbs, and roots, which he had bruised and reduced to a kind of glutinous pulp. War–Eagle now took off the bandage from the youth’s arm: after examining it carefully, and applying some of the above mixture to both the orifices of the wound, he bound it again, more strongly and skilfully than before; then taking him in his arms, as if he had been a little child, he carried him down to the rivulet; and by dint of bathing his temples and rubbing forcibly his hands and feet, soon restored the suspended animation.

When he was recovered so far as to be able to speak, Reginald, sitting down by him, said a thousand kind things to him, such as were prompted by the gratitude of a generous heart.

While they were conversing, the guide drew near to the chief; and pointing to the body of the Wyandot, which still lay where he had fallen, said, “He is surely dead!”

“He is so,” replied the other, gravely; “when War–Eagle is angry he does not strike his enemy’s forehead twice.”

The guide now turned over the body; and seeing that the iron point of the war–club had entered just above the eyes, and had sunk deep into the brain, he knew that instant death must have ensued. The chief calling the two Indians, desired them to bury the body where it would be safe from wolves and buzzards. “But,” he added, sternly, “let not the spot be marked for his kindred: he died like a dog, and none should lament him.”

As they turned away to execute these orders, the guide observed to the chief “that Huron has not been long with the War–Eagle.”

“True,—but how does the Grande–Hâche know it?”

“His eye has been on him more than once; Grande–Hâche sees, but he can hold his tongue.”

“Grande–Hâche is a warrior,” replied the chief: “he has seen many things; he has talked with the wise men; does he know why yon Huron wished to kill the young white brave?”

“He does,” said Grande–Hâche; but as he did not of himself state what he knew, it would have been contrary to the usages of Indian courtesy to have questioned him further.

Baptiste now diverting the conversation to another topic, said, “It is singular that War–Eagle, on a war–path far from his village, should have only strangers with him excepting the youth who is wounded!”

“What means the Grande–Hâche?”

“He means,” replied the guide, “that the other two, now gone to bury the Huron, areSouthern men[13]—they are not Lenapé.”

“Grande–Hâche has ears and eyes open—how can he know that he speaks truth?” said the chief.

“Because hehaseyes and ears;” replied the guide. “Does War–Eagle think that Grande–Hâche has hunted twenty years among the red nations, and knows not yet the mocassin and tongue of a Shawanon? I knew them at a glance,” added he, with shrewd smile, “as well as I knew the War–Eagle in the batteau, though both he and they have put on their faces the paint of theMengwe.”[14]

“Grande–Hâche speaks truth,” replied the chief dryly, without showing the surprise and annoyance that he felt at the penetration of the guide. “The men are Shawanons, they hunt with the Lenapé, beyond the great river—they are brothers.”

So saying, he broke off the conversation, and turning towards Wingenund, saw that he was talking as earnestly and freely with Reginald as if they had been long intimate; while he contemplated this friendly intercourse with a smile ofsatisfaction, the guide felt himself called upon to remind his companion that the sun was getting low, that they had yet some miles to walk, and that the Colonel would be anxious and impatient.

“True,” said Reginald, springing up, “I must take leave of my brother, and of my young preserver; but we shall meet again; we will hunt together, and be friends.”

“Let it be so,” said the lad, with an ardour which he cared not to conceal; “and Wingenund will tell Prairie–bird that the white warrior who drew War–Eagle from the deep water will come to see her, and she will thank him.”

While the boy was speaking, the chief turned away, and busied himself in fastening a thong halter firmly to the head of Nekimi, whom he again led to his new master.

Reginald now undid from his waist the silver buckled belt with the couteau–de–chasse which it supported, and buckling it round the youth, he said, “Wingenund must wear this, and must not forget his white friend.”

The boy’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, as he received this gift; but he was still too weak to stand, and he only murmured, in a low voice, “Wingenund will not forget.”

The chief now taking the guide aside said to him, in his own language, “How is my white brother called?”

“I call him ‘Master Reginald.’”[15]

After one or two ludicrous attempts at an imitation, War–Eagle shook his head, saying, “It is not good—may his Lenapé friend call him ‘Netis?’”[16]

As soon as Reginald was informed of what had passed, and of the meaning of his new name, he accepted it with pleasure, and Wingenund repeated it again and again as our hero bid him farewell.

War–Eagle insisted upon accompanying him, and leading Nekimi through the forest, until they reached the broad wheel track which passed Colonel Brandon’s house, and thence led through other clearings to the village of Marietta. As they went along, Reginald desired Baptiste in a whisper to talk with the chief, and endeavour to draw from him what articleof dress, ornament or use, he would most value, as he was anxious to make his Indian brother a present; and the guide, by skilfully manœuvring his conversation, soon learnt that War–Eagle had, on this last excursion, lost his rifle, and that he was also short of ammunition. They now emerged from the forest upon the great road, if it might be so called, leading to Marietta; and the Indian putting the halter of Nekimi into Reginald’s hand, said that he would return to his camp. Our hero, taking him by the hand, said, “Netis wishes to see his brother at this spot to–morrow at noon.”

“War–Eagle will come,” was the brief reply; and shaking both the white men cordially by the hand, he turned and disappeared among the trees.

Reginald and the guide were within a few miles of Colonel Brandon’s house; but they could not proceed very fast, owing to the evident reluctance shown by Nekimi to follow his new master; he neighed, snorted, jumped, and played all manner of pranks in his endeavour to get loose; but this War–Eagle had foreseen, and the tough halter of undressed hide was well enough secured to defy all his efforts at escape.

“This has been a strange day of adventures, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “it has been to me one of the pleasantest of my life!”

“Why, Master Reginald, it has been a day of events, such as they are; you have been twice at the outside edge of t’other world, with water and cold iron.”

“Oh, there was not much harm in the water,” said Reginald, laughing; “had it not been for the knock which one of the horses gave me on the head; but that villainous attempt of the Huron makes me shudder;—to offer a man food, and stab him while he is taking it! I thought such a thing was unknown in Indian history.”

“It is almost,” said the guide. “But a Huron—and a Dahcotah!” added he, bitterly—“would murder a brother to gratify revenge.”

“But I had never injured him, Baptiste.”

“His memory is better than yours, Master Reginald. He and his brother were two of the leading warriors in that unfortunate affair where St. Clair was beat by the Ingians, upon the north fork of the Miami. I was there, too, and the ‘Doctor’s’ pills did some service—but not much to signify,neither. Colonel Brandon did all that man could do, but at last he was forced back. Well, that Tarhé and his brother, first in the pursuit, killed two of our poor fellows, and were scalping ‘em, when the Colonel called out to ‘em, and fired. He killed Tarhé’s brother dead. I see’d it all; and I took a long squint with the Doctor at Tarhé, which only lamed his arm a bit; for, you see, Master Reginald, I was a long ways off; and a chap don’t shoot quite so fine when he’s a retreatin’ double–quick, with a few hundred red–skins yellin’ in his rear. However, that Tarhé has been more than once down at Marietta, and round the neighbours’ clearins; and he knowed you, Master Reginald, just as well as a Kentucky hog knows an acorn.”

“Now I understand it, so far, Baptiste. But if the fellow wanted to take my life, why did he not hide in the laurel–thicket, and shoot me as I passed? Why did he make the attempt where my death was sure to be revenged?”

“Now, Master Reginald, you are asking a poor ignorant crittur,—who knows nought but a little huntin’, and, may be, knows a beaver–skin from a buffalo–hide,—all the ins and outs of a red Ingian’s crooked mind! May be, he wanted to force War–Eagle into shedding white man’s blood. I saw that one of those Shawanons was up to his game; and if a general skrimmage had come, they’d have tried to do for me. Or, perhaps, when he found his knife so convenient to the back of your neck, he couldn’t lose the chance, for the bad spirit had got hold of him.”

“By heavens!” cried Reginald, “I never can sufficiently admire the quickness, and the heroic courage of that boy, Wingenund! Did you see, Baptiste, how he drew that great knifeslowlyout of his wounded arm; and how all the time he smiled upon War–Eagle, as if to show him that he despised the pain?”

“He is a brave youth,” said the guide. “I know the stock he comes from: if he were a coward, the grisly bear might breed sheep!”

“Pray tell me something of his parents, and of his story. Is he related to War–Eagle?”

“He is,” said the guide. “They are the children of two brothers. War–Eagle of the eldest; Wingenund of the youngest.”

“Are these two brothers alive, Baptiste?”

“No: both were murdered by the white men, in time of peace, without provocation. There was a third brother, who, happening to be absent from the village on a hunt, escaped. He has now gone to the far west, beyond the great river. Both the War–Eagle and the boy are called his sons; and the latter, as he told us to–day, lives in his lodge.”

“Then all these three brothers were the children of Wingenund?”

“Yes.”

“And who was he?”

“One of the old Lenapé:—first in council, and foremost in the fight! I remember him well when I was a boy,” said the guide, warming with his subject. “He taught me to follow a trail, and to travel in the woods, with no other guide than the wind, the stars, and the bark of the trees; and before I was as old as that boy, his grandson, he lent me his rifle to shoot the first Dahcotah as ever I killed.”

“What was the party, Baptiste?” said Reginald (anxious to keep the guide from the subject of the Dahcotahs), “what party was it that committed the atrocious murder upon the Indians in time of peace?”

“Why, Master Reginald, though you were but a youngster, don’t you remember hearing that twelve or fourteen years ago a party of white men, led by Williamson, Harvey, and some other rough chaps from the Kentucky side, fell upon a village of friendly Indians on the banks of Tuscarawas river, and murdered all they found—man, woman, and child? Some of these poor red–skins had been made Christians, and were called Moravians; and their village as was destroyed was called by some outlandish name, too long by half for me to speak or to remember.[17]They had given over their own nat’ral life of smoking, hunting, and fighting, and did nothing but plant, and sow, and pray! And, after all, that’s the way they was served, Master Reginald!”

“Horrible and disgraceful cruelty!” said the young man: and rather thinking aloud, than addressing his companion, he added, “It is no wonder that the Indians should receive so unwillingly Christian precepts, when they have such examplesof Christian practice. I am not surprised that War–Eagle should find it hard to forgivesuchinjuries.”

“And yet you are surprised, Master Reginald,” said the guide, in a deep voice, almost hoarse from repressed emotion, “thatIdo not forgive the Dahcotah? Did he not burn the log–hut where I was born and raised? Did he not murder those who gave me birth? Did he not drive me out, a child, into the woods, to live by berries, or wild fruits, or what I could find or kill? Is not my father’s scalp (not half revenged!) now hanging before a Dahcotah lodge! Oh! let me come but within rifle range of the throat–cutter,[18]and if he comes off with a whole skin, Iwillforgive him!”

Our hero, seeing that further discussion would only increase an excitement which already mastered his companion’s self–control, said to him kindly, “Well, Baptiste, it must be owned that you have received from these people deep, irreparable wrong! You are a man, and would not pay them in their own base coin, by killing one of their squaws or children: but if it is ever your fortune to meet them in a fair stand–up fight, when I am with you, then you shall see that I can stand by a friend, and share in his just feelings of resentment.”

“I know it—I know it, Master Reginald,” said the guide, grasping the hand extended to him; and having now recovered an equanimity which nothing but the Dahcotah subject ever disturbed, he added,

“If you and I were to take a summer–hunt towards the mountains, with that light–limbed War–Eagle, who has the eyes, and ears, and the spring of a painter[19], we might p’raps bring in a handsome load o’ skins, and may be, pay off the throat–cutters an old debt or two.”

“It is more likely than you imagine, Baptiste, that we should make an excursion to the West this spring; for my father told me the other day—but see, there he is, with Lucy on his arm, and Aunt Mary, and Wolf by her side!”

As he said this, the young man bounded forward, and in a moment was in the midst of them, kissing his sister, shaking his father and Aunt Mary affectionately by the hand, and patting Wolf’s great shaggy head.

“Dear Reginald! what has kept you so long?” said Lucy, reproachfully; “where can you have been? Why, your clothes are all soiled; and see, papa,” she added, turning deadly pale; “there is blood upon his hunting–shirt and upon his cheek!”

“What a little coward art thou,” said Reginald, “to be the daughter of a soldier! Why, Lucy, the few drops of blood upon my clothes must surely have come from your cheeks, which are as pale as a magnolia flower! Harkee, Lucy, I must do something to drive the rosy current back to its proper channel; come here, girl:” and bending her head aside, he whispered something in her ear.

Never was the effect of magic more rapid, or more potent; for in an instant the obedient blood rushed to the fair girl’s cheek, suffusing at the same time her neck and temples with the same glowing hue: casting upon her brother a look at once playful and appealing, she pinched his ear between her tiny fingers till he fairly begged pardon, and promised not to do so again.

As it was now evident that Reginald was not much hurt, Lucy turned her eyes towards the hunter, who approached, leading Nekimi still snorting, prancing, and curvetting at the full length of his laryette. “Baptiste,” said the Colonel, “where have you found that wild, untamed animal?”

“He belongs,” said the hunter, “to Master Reginald.”

The Colonel looked to his son for an explanation, who giving an arm to his sister, while the Colonel escorted Aunt Mary, turned homewards, and narrated, as they went, the events described in this and the foregoing chapter.

c108CHAPTER VIII.CONTAINING A SKETCH OF MOOSHANNE.—REGINALD INTRODUCES HIS SISTER TO THE TWO DELAWARES.Theday following that on which the events related in the preceding pages occurred there was an assemblage more than usually numerous, gathered in and around the capacious store of David Muir, in Marietta: immediately in front of his door was a small party, who, from their bearing and appearance,might be easily recognised as leading persons in the little community. In the midst of them was a roughly–dressed country lad, whose haggard appearance indicated wretchedness or fatigue, or both: near the group stood his horse, reeking with sweat, and showing that the messenger, for such he was, had not spared the spurs on the road. Many and eager were the questions put to him; and the countenances of his auditors evinced no ordinary degree of interest in his replies; several women, and a dozen or two of boys and girls, made repeated endeavours to penetrate into this important circle; and having contrived to overhear a disjointed word, here and there, such as “Indian,” “scalped,” “rifle,” &c. they slunk away, one by one, to spread it abroad through the village, that a neighbouring settlement had been attacked by a large body of Indians, armed with rifles and tomahawks; and that every man, woman, and child, excepting this messenger, who had escaped, was scalped!We will, however, introduce the reader into the centre of the above–mentioned group, and detail to him the substance of the news which created so much excitement.It appears that on the preceding day, two brothers, named Hervey, were riding homeward after attending a marriage, at a small settlement twenty miles to the northward of Marietta: they were not above half a mile in advance of several other men, also returning from the marriage; both were armed with rifles, having been shooting at a target for a wager, when on a sudden, a single Indian, uttering a loud war–whoop, sprang from a thicket by the road, and at one stroke of his war–club felled the elder brother to the earth; before the second could come up to his assistance, the same Indian aimed a sweeping blow at his head with the butt–end of his rifle; the younger Hervey warded the blow also with his rifle, but it fell with such force that both barrels were broken off from the stocks: with the rapidity of lightning, the Indian struck him heavily on the head, and he fell stunned from his horse. A few minutes afterwards, he recovered, and found some of his friends standing over him; his unfortunate brother lay dead and scalped at his side: his horse and the Indian had disappeared. Several young men dashed off immediately in pursuit, and tracked the hoofs successfully until the fugitive had entered the hardy and stony bed of a rivulet falling intothe Muskingum; hence all further search proved unsuccessful, and they returned dispirited to their companions.It was long since so daring an outrage had been committed in the territory; seldom was it that the red–skins would attack white men in open day, unless they were greatly superior in numbers; but for a single Indian to fall upon two armed whites, killing one and leaving the other for dead, almost within call of his friends, was an instance of audacity to which the oldest hunter could scarcely remember a parallel: it was evident also that the savage had been aware of a party of whites being at hand, otherwise he would certainly have shot one brother before he attacked the other; but, avoiding the discharge of his rifle, he had effected his purpose with a war–club.Another striking circumstance was the clear evidence afforded that the killing of the elder Hervey was an act of personal revenge; because the younger brother when knocked from his horse had fallen helpless at the Indian’s feet; and the latter, purposely to show that he had spared his life and scalp, had struck a knife through the lappet of his coat into the ground, with force enough to bury it up to the haft. Four or five of the best hunters had recommenced the pursuit; and although they once struck the trail of a man on foot evidently running from them, they were again baffled by the river, and returned to the settlement.Such was the sum of the messenger’s intelligence, which caused, as can easily be imagined, no little sensation in Marietta and the neighbouring districts.“I know some of the worst o’ them red–skin devils,” said a bulky young man, whose countenance betrayed violent passions, and strong symptoms of free indulgence in David Muir’s “fire–water;” “tell me what was this Ingian like?—how did Dick Hervey describe him?”“He hadn’t over much time to look at him,” said the messenger, “afore he was sent to sleep; but he says he was a very tall powerful chap, streaked over the face with black.”“Was he a young un or an old un?”“A young un, and active as a deer, or he couldn’t have knocked those two Herveys off their critturs, as a man knocks off a corncob with an ash plant.”“I wish I had him here,” said the young giant, shuttinga hand as heavy and large as a shoulder of mutton. “I’d give him a real Kentucky hug.”None of the bystanders seemed able to form any guess as to who the perpetrator of this bold outrage might be. It was resolved, however, to take all possible measures for his discovery; a meeting of the principal inhabitants was convened, a description of the Indian’s person, and of the marks by which Hervey’s horse might be recognised, was written, and several copies thereof made, and forwarded to the nearest posts and ferries; at the same time a reward of a hundred dollars was offered to any person who should discover the offender, and a hundred more for his seizure, dead or alive.During the discussion of these and other plans at the meeting, our old acquaintance David Muir, who felt himself not to be one of the least important persons present, said, “I’m thinking, gentlemen, it would be as weel to send a messenger out to Colonel Brandon, wi’ this intelligence; he kens the Indians as weel’s ony man in this country side, mayhap he’ll gie us some gude counsel; and, sirs,” added David, his grey eyes twinkling at his own sagacity, “be sure ye dinna forget to tak the advice o’ yon lang–headed chiel, Battiste; if the Indian deevil’s o’ this side the Mississippi, Battiste will fin’ him out, as sure as twa threes mak sax.”This was one of the longest orations which David had ever delivered in public; and both his suggestions being approved, carriednem. con., and the meeting dissolved, David returned to his store with his hands thrust into his coat–tail pockets, and his countenance big with the consciousness of having rendered essential service to the territory.We must now return to Reginald, who, on the morning of this same day, rose with the sun; and feeling himself nothing the worse from his slight wounds, or from his diving adventure, sallied forth to see how Baptiste had provided for Nekimi’s safety and comfort. All means having failed to entice him into a stable, the hunter had secured him firmly to an oak, casting down for him abundance both of food and litter. Reginald approached him, holding in his hand some bread; and having given the sharp shrill cry (which to Lucy’s great alarm he had practised more than once in the house), he was agreeably surprised to perceive that the horse recognised it, and seemed less averse to his caresses. Having fed him, and carefullyobserved all the rules laid down by War–Eagle for gaining his affections, he returned to the house, and began to collect the various articles which he proposed to give to his Indian brother; among these was a good Kentucky rifle, and a handsome buck’s–horn knife for the chief; he selected also a light fowling–piece, which he had used as a boy, and which he intended for Wingenund; to these he added several pounds of powder, and a due proportion of lead; he also threw into the package a few beads and a large cornelian ring, which had been long the occupant of his dressing–case.When he had collected all these together, he gave them to Baptiste, desiring him to be ready to accompany him to the rendezvous after breakfast; and having finished his preparations, he knocked at the door of Lucy’s room, to inquire whether she was ready to preside at the morning meal.“Come in, Reginald,” she said; “if I am rather late it is your fault; for your adventures of yesterday have driven sleep from my pillow; and even when I did fall asleep, I dreamt of nothing but your Indian hero.”“Say you so, faithless one?” replied Reginald; “I shall tell that to——““Hush, now, Reginald,” said the blushing girl, putting her little hand upon his mouth; “did you not promise me yesterday that you would not do so again?”“Perhaps I did,” said her brother; “and I will keep it if you will come down stairs and give me a very good cup of coffee.”In the breakfast–room they were joined by the Colonel and Aunt Mary; and while they discuss that most comfortable of family meals, we will give the reader a slight sketch of the house in which they were assembled.It was built of substantial brick of a dun red colour, and had originally been a regular and solid building of moderate dimensions; but the Colonel had added on one side a wing, containing a library and sitting–rooms for himself and his son, while on the opposite side he had built additional apartments for Aunt Mary, and a small conservatory for Lucy. Thus the building had gradually assumed a straggling and irregular shape, the back court being occupied by stables, barns, and extensive farm offices. The site of the house was on a gentle elevation, sloping down to a little brook, which wound itsbubbling way through a deep grove of oak, maple, and sycamore, and circling round the base of the hill, fell at the distance of half a mile into the Muskingum river. The spot still retained the name of “Mooshanne” (signifying, in the Delaware language, Elk Creek), probably owing to the little streamlet above mentioned having been a favourite resort of an animal which the rifles of Reginald and Baptiste had rendered somewhat scarce in the neighbourhood.We left the family assembled at the breakfast–table, where the conversation still turned upon the adventures of the preceding day.“Reginald,” said Lucy, “I should like to go with you to–day, to see your Indian brother, and that heroic boy.”“I fear,” replied her brother, “it is farther than you could easily walk; and, moreover, Wingenund will scarcely accompany his chief; he must be still too weak from his wound.”“Nay, Reginald; if the distance is the only difficulty, I can ride Snowdrop; and if Wingenund does come, I will reward him for his brave defence of my brother, by giving him some little trinket, which he may take back to his sister. You cannot refuse me now,” added she, in a coaxing tone, the power of which over her brother was all but despotic.“Of course I cannot, if you obtain Aunt Mary’s and the Colonel’s permission,” said Reginald, smiling.Lucy met with no further opposition. Snowdrop was ordered to be saddled: in a few minutes the happy girl was equipped, and provided with a coral necklace for the chief, and a pretty brooch, destined for her brother’s preserver.The party now assembled before the door, consisting of Reginald, Baptiste, and Lucy, mounted on her favourite grey pony: our hero slung his rifle across his shoulders; the sturdy woodsman, besides carrying his own enormous axe, walked lightly under the two rifles and the other articles to be presented to the chief, and Wolf played around them his fantastic and unwieldy gambols.Cheerful and smiling was the woodland scenery through which they passed; the dew–drops still glittered in the beams of the morning sun, and the air was impregnated with the vernal fragrance arising from a thousand opening buds and blossoms.“See, Lucy,” said her brother, as he walked by her side,while the tact of the sturdy hunter kept him a few paces in the rear, “see how those mischievous squirrels hop and chatter upon the boughs! They seem to know that your presence is a protection to them.”“I often wonder, Reginald, how you can shoot such playful and graceful animals; you, who have taste enough to admire their beauty, and who can find sport more worthy of your rifle.”“It is childish sport, Lucy; yet they are no contemptible additions to the table; their furs are useful; and there is some skill in shooting them, that is, in shooting them properly.”“If I were a man, I would shoot nothing but lions and tigers, buffaloes or bears!” said his sister.“A pretty Amazon, truly!” said Reginald, laughing: “yet, methinks your thoughts are not always so warlike. Come, Lucy, now that we are alone (for our good Baptiste is out of ear–shot), you need not pout or blush if I ask you whether Ethelston is expected soon to return?”“Indeed, I know not, Reginald,” said his sister, blushing, in spite of his prohibition. “His last letter to the Colonel mentioned something about privateers and the rupture with France. Papa did not appear desirous of communicating much upon the subject, so I dropt it.”“True,” said Reginald; “the French will not soon forget or forgive the loss of their fine frigate, The Insurgente, which was taken the other day so gallantly by The Constellation. I doubt not they will endeavour to cripple our trade in the West Indies. Edward has got a little craft that can run, if she cannot fight.”“I am sure Edward will never run if it is possible to fight,” said Lucy, a little piqued.“There, again, you speak the truth: it is because his courage is so tempered by his judgment, that he is fit to be entrusted with other lives and property than his own: if it isnotpossible to fight, he will have sense and skill enough to show the Frenchman his heels.—By–the–by, Lucy, which vessel is he now commanding?”Again there was a decided blush, and almost a pout on Lucy’s full lip, as she said, “You know, brother, that The Adventure and the Pocahuntas are both in port, and the vessel he is now on board of is the—“—“Oh! I remember,” said Reginald, laughing; “she was to have been called the ‘Lucy;’ but Edward did not choose to hear that name in every common sailor’s and negro’s mouth; so he altered it to The Pride of Ohio, which means, in his vocabulary, the same thing.”“I wish,” said Lucy, “there was any Mary, or Charlotte, or Catherine, or any other name under the sun, about which I could tease you! Have a little patience, Mr. Reginald; my turn will come; you shall see what mercy I will show you then!”Thus did the brother and sister spar and jest with each other until they reached the spot appointed for the interview. As they had arrived rather before the time, they imagined that the War–Eagle had not yet come; but Baptiste, putting his finger to his mouth, blew a long shrill signal whistle, and in a few minutes the chief appeared, accompanied by Wingenund. As they emerged from the forest, and approached, Reginald looked at his sister to see the effect produced by their appearance; for the chief was dressed in a manner calculated to display his noble figure and countenance to better advantage than on the preceding day. His long black hair was parted on his forehead, and gathered into a mass, confined by a narrow fillet made from the fur of the white weasel, and surmounted by an eagle’s feather. It seemed that his vow of war and revenge was for the time cancelled; for the lines of black paint which had disfigured his visage were removed, and the commanding form and features were not marred by any grotesque or fanciful attire. His brawny neck was bare, and a portion of his bold, open chest appeared beneath the light hunting–shirt, which was his only upper vesture. The ponderous war–club was still at his girdle, but the scalp had disappeared; and his light, free step upon the grass was like that of a young elk on the prairie.The dress of Wingenund was unaltered. He was still very weak from the loss of blood, and the pain consequent upon his wound; his arm rested in a sling, made from the plaited bark of elm: and the air of languor cast over his countenance by sleeplessness and suffering, gave additional effect to the delicacy of his features, and the deep dark lustre of his eyes.“Our new brother is indeed a fine looking creature!” said Lucy, as War–Eagle drew near. “What a haughty step andbearing he has! Wingenund looks too gentle to be an Indian!”“He is as brave as gentle, Lucy: look at his arm!” and, as she did look at the wounded limb, she remembered that only yesterday it had saved her brother’s life.The greeting between Reginald and the two Indians was affectionate and cordial: he then presented his sister to them both in turn. The chieftain placing his hand upon his heart, fixed upon her that penetrating look with which he had before scrutinised her brother: it was not the bold stare of vulgarity admiring beauty, but the child of nature reading, after his own fashion, a page in her book.“War–Eagle,” said Lucy to him, in her own gentle tone of voice, “I know all that passed yesterday, and you are now my brother!”As she pronounced his name in English, a gleam shot from his eye, and a perceptible and sudden change came over his countenance: it seemed produced by some unexpected association; and Lucy was surprised at the deep pathos of his voice, as he replied, “The Great Spirit has made the sun to shine upon my white brother’s path! His heart is brave; his arm is strong; and his sister is like a flower of the prairie!—her voice comes upon the ear like a pleasant dream!” These last words he spoke rather to himself than addressing those around him.Lucy was not displeased with the Indian’s compliment, and was about to speak to Wingenund, when Reginald said aloud, “Come, let us withdraw among those thick trees; we have many things to talk about.” His proposal being assented to, the whole party were soon re–assembled under a branching oak, screened from the public track by a thicket of rhododendron.While they were effecting this manœuvre, the guide took an opportunity of interchanging a few sentences with the War–Eagle; the result of which was apparently satisfactory to the honest woodsman, for his face instantly resumed its usual frank and careless expression.“Lucy,” said her brother, “as you have thought proper to accompany me here, you must play your part as Queen of the Feast. I hope my brothers will value these baubles more from your hands than from mine.” Thus instructed, Lucy openedthe canvasss package, which the guide had hitherto carried, and presenting the large rifle to the chief, she said to him:“War–Eagle, your brother and your white sister give you this rifle, as a mark of their friendship; and with it they give you powder and lead enough to shoot all the deer and bears in the territory.”The chief placed her hand and her brother’s both upon his heart, saying, “War–Eagle thanks you. May the Great Spirit love you, and guard your path!”He then poised and examined the rifle, which was a piece of no ordinary beauty and excellence; while Baptiste whispered to him, in his own language, “It is loaded.”Lucy then turned to Wingenund, and, presenting him with the lighter fowling–piece, said to him, “With this, a sister thanks Wingenund for a brother’s life.”The boy cast his eyes modestly to the ground, saying, “Wingenund is too happy. War–Eagle will tell his name to the braves in council. The sister of Netis is good to him; Wingenund is ready to die!”“Indeed,” said Lucy to the guide, “I fear he is very faint and ill; ask the chief how he passed the night!”“Wingenund is not ill,” said the boy, with a smile; “he is very happy.”Meanwhile Baptiste, having conferred with the chief, replied, “Why, Miss Lucy, the wound was a very bad ‘un, and he lost a power o’ blood; once or twice in the night, War–Eagle thought he might not get over it; but he is better now, and though unable to bear much fatigue, he is a hardy young plant, and will take as much killing as an eel.”“Come, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “I know you put something to eat and drink into that sack with the ammunition: War–Eagle must feast with us to–day.”The guide opening his capacious wallet, drew from it a venison pasty, some bread, and a couple of bottles of Madeira. Lucy declined taking more than a crust of bread, merely tasting the wine to the health of the hunters. Wingenund was equally abstemious, and sat a little apart with his new sister; while Reginald, Baptiste, and the Chief made a more substantial luncheon. The latter being asked, by Reginald, how he liked the wine, replied carelessly, “Good.” But it was evidentthat he drank it rather from courtesy than because it pleased his palate.Reginald now desired the guide to speak to the War–Eagle in his own tongue, and to gather from him all the requisite particulars for his joining the Delawares in their summer–hunt beyond the Mississippi. He had long been anxious to visit some of those scenes which Baptiste had so often described; and his father having expressed a wish that he should go to St. Louis on some business connected with his investments in the fur–trade, he thought that so fair an opportunity ought not to be lost.While the guide and the chief conversed in a low and earnest tone of voice, and Reginald listened with an idle curiosity, imagining now and then that he could catch their meaning, Lucy became much interested in her conversation with Wingenund: she was surprised at his intelligence, and proficiency in English, and was touched by the melancholy expression of his countenance and of his deep lustrous eyes. As she was speaking, he suddenly and impressively placed his finger on her arm, then raised it to his own lips, as a sign to her to be silent; then creeping two or three yards from the party, he threw himself full length upon the grass with his ear to the ground. Lucy listened attentively, but could hear nothing but the gentle breeze stirring the leaves, and the regular sound of Snowdrop’s teeth as he nibbled the young grass.The three hunters were still busy with their arrangements for the summer, when Wingenund, resuming his sitting posture, uttered an almost imperceptible sound, like the hiss of a small serpent. Instantly, as if by instinct, the War–Eagle grasped his rifle, and looked inquiringly on the intelligent countenance of the boy.“Wingenund hears men and horses,” was the short reply.Baptiste strained his practised ears to the utmost, as did Reginald, without success. Even War–Eagle seemed for a moment unable to catch the sound. He then whispered to Reginald, “Wingenund speaks truth, there are men—not a few.”Several minutes elapsed before our hero and the guide could distinguish the tramp of horses and the voices of men speaking angrily.Our hero and his party being effectually screened from viewby the denselaurel[20]thicket, could listen unobserved to the conversation of those who were approaching; and the following expressions delivered in a loud and authoritative tone, at once attracted and absorbed their attention: “It is impossible that the fellow should escape, we have scouts out in every direction. There can be no doubt that the camp which we have just found in the woods is the one where he passed the night with other red–skins, for the embers are still warm. Dickenson and Brown are gone south towards Marietta; Henderson and his party are tracking the prairies to the north: it is impossible he should long escape; and young Hervey thinks he should know him anywhere!”While the person who appeared to be the leader of the unseen party was thus speaking, War–Eagle whispered a few sentences to Wingenund, to which the intelligent youth only replied by a look; the chief then conversed apart, in a low earnest voice, with the guide, who ended by grasping his hand, and saying, in the Delaware tongue, “Grande–Hâche will do it at the risk of his life.”The chief appeared satisfied, and rising with calm dignity, he tightened the belt at his waist, to which he hung his newly acquired knife and ammunition; and throwing his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, he said to Reginald, “War–Eagle must leave his brother Netis; Grande–Hâche will tell him all; before two moons have passed, Netis will come to hunt the bison with his brother; and he shall smoke with the braves of the Lenapé.”“He will,” replied Reginald, warmly pressing his hand, and at the same time passing the cornelian ring upon one of the fingers of the chief. “If the Great Spirit gives him life, he will come and hunt, and smoke with his Lenapé brother.”The chief, now turning to Lucy, drew from his head the eagle feather which was passed through his hair, and which was quaintly stained, and ornamented with porcupine quills: offering it gracefully to her, he said, in a voice of musical gentleness, “War–Eagle wishes happiness to the ‘pale flower of Mooshanne;’ many braves have tried to pluck this feather from his head; no Dahcotah nor Pawnee has touched it and lived! The Sister of Netis may fasten it in her hair—let none but a brave warrior raise his eyes to it there.”ill70Wingenund and LucyP.71“Thank you, dear War–Eagle,” said Lucy, kindly; “I promise you it shall never be touched by an unworthy hand; and do you take this string of red beads,” giving him at the same time a coral necklace, “and wear it for the sake of your white sister.”The chief received this gift with evident pleasure; and waving his hand in adieu, whispering at the same time one parting word to Wingenund, he strode leisurely away, and was soon lost in the deep glades of the forest.

c108

CONTAINING A SKETCH OF MOOSHANNE.—REGINALD INTRODUCES HIS SISTER TO THE TWO DELAWARES.

Theday following that on which the events related in the preceding pages occurred there was an assemblage more than usually numerous, gathered in and around the capacious store of David Muir, in Marietta: immediately in front of his door was a small party, who, from their bearing and appearance,might be easily recognised as leading persons in the little community. In the midst of them was a roughly–dressed country lad, whose haggard appearance indicated wretchedness or fatigue, or both: near the group stood his horse, reeking with sweat, and showing that the messenger, for such he was, had not spared the spurs on the road. Many and eager were the questions put to him; and the countenances of his auditors evinced no ordinary degree of interest in his replies; several women, and a dozen or two of boys and girls, made repeated endeavours to penetrate into this important circle; and having contrived to overhear a disjointed word, here and there, such as “Indian,” “scalped,” “rifle,” &c. they slunk away, one by one, to spread it abroad through the village, that a neighbouring settlement had been attacked by a large body of Indians, armed with rifles and tomahawks; and that every man, woman, and child, excepting this messenger, who had escaped, was scalped!

We will, however, introduce the reader into the centre of the above–mentioned group, and detail to him the substance of the news which created so much excitement.

It appears that on the preceding day, two brothers, named Hervey, were riding homeward after attending a marriage, at a small settlement twenty miles to the northward of Marietta: they were not above half a mile in advance of several other men, also returning from the marriage; both were armed with rifles, having been shooting at a target for a wager, when on a sudden, a single Indian, uttering a loud war–whoop, sprang from a thicket by the road, and at one stroke of his war–club felled the elder brother to the earth; before the second could come up to his assistance, the same Indian aimed a sweeping blow at his head with the butt–end of his rifle; the younger Hervey warded the blow also with his rifle, but it fell with such force that both barrels were broken off from the stocks: with the rapidity of lightning, the Indian struck him heavily on the head, and he fell stunned from his horse. A few minutes afterwards, he recovered, and found some of his friends standing over him; his unfortunate brother lay dead and scalped at his side: his horse and the Indian had disappeared. Several young men dashed off immediately in pursuit, and tracked the hoofs successfully until the fugitive had entered the hardy and stony bed of a rivulet falling intothe Muskingum; hence all further search proved unsuccessful, and they returned dispirited to their companions.

It was long since so daring an outrage had been committed in the territory; seldom was it that the red–skins would attack white men in open day, unless they were greatly superior in numbers; but for a single Indian to fall upon two armed whites, killing one and leaving the other for dead, almost within call of his friends, was an instance of audacity to which the oldest hunter could scarcely remember a parallel: it was evident also that the savage had been aware of a party of whites being at hand, otherwise he would certainly have shot one brother before he attacked the other; but, avoiding the discharge of his rifle, he had effected his purpose with a war–club.

Another striking circumstance was the clear evidence afforded that the killing of the elder Hervey was an act of personal revenge; because the younger brother when knocked from his horse had fallen helpless at the Indian’s feet; and the latter, purposely to show that he had spared his life and scalp, had struck a knife through the lappet of his coat into the ground, with force enough to bury it up to the haft. Four or five of the best hunters had recommenced the pursuit; and although they once struck the trail of a man on foot evidently running from them, they were again baffled by the river, and returned to the settlement.

Such was the sum of the messenger’s intelligence, which caused, as can easily be imagined, no little sensation in Marietta and the neighbouring districts.

“I know some of the worst o’ them red–skin devils,” said a bulky young man, whose countenance betrayed violent passions, and strong symptoms of free indulgence in David Muir’s “fire–water;” “tell me what was this Ingian like?—how did Dick Hervey describe him?”

“He hadn’t over much time to look at him,” said the messenger, “afore he was sent to sleep; but he says he was a very tall powerful chap, streaked over the face with black.”

“Was he a young un or an old un?”

“A young un, and active as a deer, or he couldn’t have knocked those two Herveys off their critturs, as a man knocks off a corncob with an ash plant.”

“I wish I had him here,” said the young giant, shuttinga hand as heavy and large as a shoulder of mutton. “I’d give him a real Kentucky hug.”

None of the bystanders seemed able to form any guess as to who the perpetrator of this bold outrage might be. It was resolved, however, to take all possible measures for his discovery; a meeting of the principal inhabitants was convened, a description of the Indian’s person, and of the marks by which Hervey’s horse might be recognised, was written, and several copies thereof made, and forwarded to the nearest posts and ferries; at the same time a reward of a hundred dollars was offered to any person who should discover the offender, and a hundred more for his seizure, dead or alive.

During the discussion of these and other plans at the meeting, our old acquaintance David Muir, who felt himself not to be one of the least important persons present, said, “I’m thinking, gentlemen, it would be as weel to send a messenger out to Colonel Brandon, wi’ this intelligence; he kens the Indians as weel’s ony man in this country side, mayhap he’ll gie us some gude counsel; and, sirs,” added David, his grey eyes twinkling at his own sagacity, “be sure ye dinna forget to tak the advice o’ yon lang–headed chiel, Battiste; if the Indian deevil’s o’ this side the Mississippi, Battiste will fin’ him out, as sure as twa threes mak sax.”

This was one of the longest orations which David had ever delivered in public; and both his suggestions being approved, carriednem. con., and the meeting dissolved, David returned to his store with his hands thrust into his coat–tail pockets, and his countenance big with the consciousness of having rendered essential service to the territory.

We must now return to Reginald, who, on the morning of this same day, rose with the sun; and feeling himself nothing the worse from his slight wounds, or from his diving adventure, sallied forth to see how Baptiste had provided for Nekimi’s safety and comfort. All means having failed to entice him into a stable, the hunter had secured him firmly to an oak, casting down for him abundance both of food and litter. Reginald approached him, holding in his hand some bread; and having given the sharp shrill cry (which to Lucy’s great alarm he had practised more than once in the house), he was agreeably surprised to perceive that the horse recognised it, and seemed less averse to his caresses. Having fed him, and carefullyobserved all the rules laid down by War–Eagle for gaining his affections, he returned to the house, and began to collect the various articles which he proposed to give to his Indian brother; among these was a good Kentucky rifle, and a handsome buck’s–horn knife for the chief; he selected also a light fowling–piece, which he had used as a boy, and which he intended for Wingenund; to these he added several pounds of powder, and a due proportion of lead; he also threw into the package a few beads and a large cornelian ring, which had been long the occupant of his dressing–case.

When he had collected all these together, he gave them to Baptiste, desiring him to be ready to accompany him to the rendezvous after breakfast; and having finished his preparations, he knocked at the door of Lucy’s room, to inquire whether she was ready to preside at the morning meal.

“Come in, Reginald,” she said; “if I am rather late it is your fault; for your adventures of yesterday have driven sleep from my pillow; and even when I did fall asleep, I dreamt of nothing but your Indian hero.”

“Say you so, faithless one?” replied Reginald; “I shall tell that to——“

“Hush, now, Reginald,” said the blushing girl, putting her little hand upon his mouth; “did you not promise me yesterday that you would not do so again?”

“Perhaps I did,” said her brother; “and I will keep it if you will come down stairs and give me a very good cup of coffee.”

In the breakfast–room they were joined by the Colonel and Aunt Mary; and while they discuss that most comfortable of family meals, we will give the reader a slight sketch of the house in which they were assembled.

It was built of substantial brick of a dun red colour, and had originally been a regular and solid building of moderate dimensions; but the Colonel had added on one side a wing, containing a library and sitting–rooms for himself and his son, while on the opposite side he had built additional apartments for Aunt Mary, and a small conservatory for Lucy. Thus the building had gradually assumed a straggling and irregular shape, the back court being occupied by stables, barns, and extensive farm offices. The site of the house was on a gentle elevation, sloping down to a little brook, which wound itsbubbling way through a deep grove of oak, maple, and sycamore, and circling round the base of the hill, fell at the distance of half a mile into the Muskingum river. The spot still retained the name of “Mooshanne” (signifying, in the Delaware language, Elk Creek), probably owing to the little streamlet above mentioned having been a favourite resort of an animal which the rifles of Reginald and Baptiste had rendered somewhat scarce in the neighbourhood.

We left the family assembled at the breakfast–table, where the conversation still turned upon the adventures of the preceding day.

“Reginald,” said Lucy, “I should like to go with you to–day, to see your Indian brother, and that heroic boy.”

“I fear,” replied her brother, “it is farther than you could easily walk; and, moreover, Wingenund will scarcely accompany his chief; he must be still too weak from his wound.”

“Nay, Reginald; if the distance is the only difficulty, I can ride Snowdrop; and if Wingenund does come, I will reward him for his brave defence of my brother, by giving him some little trinket, which he may take back to his sister. You cannot refuse me now,” added she, in a coaxing tone, the power of which over her brother was all but despotic.

“Of course I cannot, if you obtain Aunt Mary’s and the Colonel’s permission,” said Reginald, smiling.

Lucy met with no further opposition. Snowdrop was ordered to be saddled: in a few minutes the happy girl was equipped, and provided with a coral necklace for the chief, and a pretty brooch, destined for her brother’s preserver.

The party now assembled before the door, consisting of Reginald, Baptiste, and Lucy, mounted on her favourite grey pony: our hero slung his rifle across his shoulders; the sturdy woodsman, besides carrying his own enormous axe, walked lightly under the two rifles and the other articles to be presented to the chief, and Wolf played around them his fantastic and unwieldy gambols.

Cheerful and smiling was the woodland scenery through which they passed; the dew–drops still glittered in the beams of the morning sun, and the air was impregnated with the vernal fragrance arising from a thousand opening buds and blossoms.

“See, Lucy,” said her brother, as he walked by her side,while the tact of the sturdy hunter kept him a few paces in the rear, “see how those mischievous squirrels hop and chatter upon the boughs! They seem to know that your presence is a protection to them.”

“I often wonder, Reginald, how you can shoot such playful and graceful animals; you, who have taste enough to admire their beauty, and who can find sport more worthy of your rifle.”

“It is childish sport, Lucy; yet they are no contemptible additions to the table; their furs are useful; and there is some skill in shooting them, that is, in shooting them properly.”

“If I were a man, I would shoot nothing but lions and tigers, buffaloes or bears!” said his sister.

“A pretty Amazon, truly!” said Reginald, laughing: “yet, methinks your thoughts are not always so warlike. Come, Lucy, now that we are alone (for our good Baptiste is out of ear–shot), you need not pout or blush if I ask you whether Ethelston is expected soon to return?”

“Indeed, I know not, Reginald,” said his sister, blushing, in spite of his prohibition. “His last letter to the Colonel mentioned something about privateers and the rupture with France. Papa did not appear desirous of communicating much upon the subject, so I dropt it.”

“True,” said Reginald; “the French will not soon forget or forgive the loss of their fine frigate, The Insurgente, which was taken the other day so gallantly by The Constellation. I doubt not they will endeavour to cripple our trade in the West Indies. Edward has got a little craft that can run, if she cannot fight.”

“I am sure Edward will never run if it is possible to fight,” said Lucy, a little piqued.

“There, again, you speak the truth: it is because his courage is so tempered by his judgment, that he is fit to be entrusted with other lives and property than his own: if it isnotpossible to fight, he will have sense and skill enough to show the Frenchman his heels.—By–the–by, Lucy, which vessel is he now commanding?”

Again there was a decided blush, and almost a pout on Lucy’s full lip, as she said, “You know, brother, that The Adventure and the Pocahuntas are both in port, and the vessel he is now on board of is the—“

—“Oh! I remember,” said Reginald, laughing; “she was to have been called the ‘Lucy;’ but Edward did not choose to hear that name in every common sailor’s and negro’s mouth; so he altered it to The Pride of Ohio, which means, in his vocabulary, the same thing.”

“I wish,” said Lucy, “there was any Mary, or Charlotte, or Catherine, or any other name under the sun, about which I could tease you! Have a little patience, Mr. Reginald; my turn will come; you shall see what mercy I will show you then!”

Thus did the brother and sister spar and jest with each other until they reached the spot appointed for the interview. As they had arrived rather before the time, they imagined that the War–Eagle had not yet come; but Baptiste, putting his finger to his mouth, blew a long shrill signal whistle, and in a few minutes the chief appeared, accompanied by Wingenund. As they emerged from the forest, and approached, Reginald looked at his sister to see the effect produced by their appearance; for the chief was dressed in a manner calculated to display his noble figure and countenance to better advantage than on the preceding day. His long black hair was parted on his forehead, and gathered into a mass, confined by a narrow fillet made from the fur of the white weasel, and surmounted by an eagle’s feather. It seemed that his vow of war and revenge was for the time cancelled; for the lines of black paint which had disfigured his visage were removed, and the commanding form and features were not marred by any grotesque or fanciful attire. His brawny neck was bare, and a portion of his bold, open chest appeared beneath the light hunting–shirt, which was his only upper vesture. The ponderous war–club was still at his girdle, but the scalp had disappeared; and his light, free step upon the grass was like that of a young elk on the prairie.

The dress of Wingenund was unaltered. He was still very weak from the loss of blood, and the pain consequent upon his wound; his arm rested in a sling, made from the plaited bark of elm: and the air of languor cast over his countenance by sleeplessness and suffering, gave additional effect to the delicacy of his features, and the deep dark lustre of his eyes.

“Our new brother is indeed a fine looking creature!” said Lucy, as War–Eagle drew near. “What a haughty step andbearing he has! Wingenund looks too gentle to be an Indian!”

“He is as brave as gentle, Lucy: look at his arm!” and, as she did look at the wounded limb, she remembered that only yesterday it had saved her brother’s life.

The greeting between Reginald and the two Indians was affectionate and cordial: he then presented his sister to them both in turn. The chieftain placing his hand upon his heart, fixed upon her that penetrating look with which he had before scrutinised her brother: it was not the bold stare of vulgarity admiring beauty, but the child of nature reading, after his own fashion, a page in her book.

“War–Eagle,” said Lucy to him, in her own gentle tone of voice, “I know all that passed yesterday, and you are now my brother!”

As she pronounced his name in English, a gleam shot from his eye, and a perceptible and sudden change came over his countenance: it seemed produced by some unexpected association; and Lucy was surprised at the deep pathos of his voice, as he replied, “The Great Spirit has made the sun to shine upon my white brother’s path! His heart is brave; his arm is strong; and his sister is like a flower of the prairie!—her voice comes upon the ear like a pleasant dream!” These last words he spoke rather to himself than addressing those around him.

Lucy was not displeased with the Indian’s compliment, and was about to speak to Wingenund, when Reginald said aloud, “Come, let us withdraw among those thick trees; we have many things to talk about.” His proposal being assented to, the whole party were soon re–assembled under a branching oak, screened from the public track by a thicket of rhododendron.

While they were effecting this manœuvre, the guide took an opportunity of interchanging a few sentences with the War–Eagle; the result of which was apparently satisfactory to the honest woodsman, for his face instantly resumed its usual frank and careless expression.

“Lucy,” said her brother, “as you have thought proper to accompany me here, you must play your part as Queen of the Feast. I hope my brothers will value these baubles more from your hands than from mine.” Thus instructed, Lucy openedthe canvasss package, which the guide had hitherto carried, and presenting the large rifle to the chief, she said to him:

“War–Eagle, your brother and your white sister give you this rifle, as a mark of their friendship; and with it they give you powder and lead enough to shoot all the deer and bears in the territory.”

The chief placed her hand and her brother’s both upon his heart, saying, “War–Eagle thanks you. May the Great Spirit love you, and guard your path!”

He then poised and examined the rifle, which was a piece of no ordinary beauty and excellence; while Baptiste whispered to him, in his own language, “It is loaded.”

Lucy then turned to Wingenund, and, presenting him with the lighter fowling–piece, said to him, “With this, a sister thanks Wingenund for a brother’s life.”

The boy cast his eyes modestly to the ground, saying, “Wingenund is too happy. War–Eagle will tell his name to the braves in council. The sister of Netis is good to him; Wingenund is ready to die!”

“Indeed,” said Lucy to the guide, “I fear he is very faint and ill; ask the chief how he passed the night!”

“Wingenund is not ill,” said the boy, with a smile; “he is very happy.”

Meanwhile Baptiste, having conferred with the chief, replied, “Why, Miss Lucy, the wound was a very bad ‘un, and he lost a power o’ blood; once or twice in the night, War–Eagle thought he might not get over it; but he is better now, and though unable to bear much fatigue, he is a hardy young plant, and will take as much killing as an eel.”

“Come, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “I know you put something to eat and drink into that sack with the ammunition: War–Eagle must feast with us to–day.”

The guide opening his capacious wallet, drew from it a venison pasty, some bread, and a couple of bottles of Madeira. Lucy declined taking more than a crust of bread, merely tasting the wine to the health of the hunters. Wingenund was equally abstemious, and sat a little apart with his new sister; while Reginald, Baptiste, and the Chief made a more substantial luncheon. The latter being asked, by Reginald, how he liked the wine, replied carelessly, “Good.” But it was evidentthat he drank it rather from courtesy than because it pleased his palate.

Reginald now desired the guide to speak to the War–Eagle in his own tongue, and to gather from him all the requisite particulars for his joining the Delawares in their summer–hunt beyond the Mississippi. He had long been anxious to visit some of those scenes which Baptiste had so often described; and his father having expressed a wish that he should go to St. Louis on some business connected with his investments in the fur–trade, he thought that so fair an opportunity ought not to be lost.

While the guide and the chief conversed in a low and earnest tone of voice, and Reginald listened with an idle curiosity, imagining now and then that he could catch their meaning, Lucy became much interested in her conversation with Wingenund: she was surprised at his intelligence, and proficiency in English, and was touched by the melancholy expression of his countenance and of his deep lustrous eyes. As she was speaking, he suddenly and impressively placed his finger on her arm, then raised it to his own lips, as a sign to her to be silent; then creeping two or three yards from the party, he threw himself full length upon the grass with his ear to the ground. Lucy listened attentively, but could hear nothing but the gentle breeze stirring the leaves, and the regular sound of Snowdrop’s teeth as he nibbled the young grass.

The three hunters were still busy with their arrangements for the summer, when Wingenund, resuming his sitting posture, uttered an almost imperceptible sound, like the hiss of a small serpent. Instantly, as if by instinct, the War–Eagle grasped his rifle, and looked inquiringly on the intelligent countenance of the boy.

“Wingenund hears men and horses,” was the short reply.

Baptiste strained his practised ears to the utmost, as did Reginald, without success. Even War–Eagle seemed for a moment unable to catch the sound. He then whispered to Reginald, “Wingenund speaks truth, there are men—not a few.”

Several minutes elapsed before our hero and the guide could distinguish the tramp of horses and the voices of men speaking angrily.

Our hero and his party being effectually screened from viewby the denselaurel[20]thicket, could listen unobserved to the conversation of those who were approaching; and the following expressions delivered in a loud and authoritative tone, at once attracted and absorbed their attention: “It is impossible that the fellow should escape, we have scouts out in every direction. There can be no doubt that the camp which we have just found in the woods is the one where he passed the night with other red–skins, for the embers are still warm. Dickenson and Brown are gone south towards Marietta; Henderson and his party are tracking the prairies to the north: it is impossible he should long escape; and young Hervey thinks he should know him anywhere!”

While the person who appeared to be the leader of the unseen party was thus speaking, War–Eagle whispered a few sentences to Wingenund, to which the intelligent youth only replied by a look; the chief then conversed apart, in a low earnest voice, with the guide, who ended by grasping his hand, and saying, in the Delaware tongue, “Grande–Hâche will do it at the risk of his life.”

The chief appeared satisfied, and rising with calm dignity, he tightened the belt at his waist, to which he hung his newly acquired knife and ammunition; and throwing his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, he said to Reginald, “War–Eagle must leave his brother Netis; Grande–Hâche will tell him all; before two moons have passed, Netis will come to hunt the bison with his brother; and he shall smoke with the braves of the Lenapé.”

“He will,” replied Reginald, warmly pressing his hand, and at the same time passing the cornelian ring upon one of the fingers of the chief. “If the Great Spirit gives him life, he will come and hunt, and smoke with his Lenapé brother.”

The chief, now turning to Lucy, drew from his head the eagle feather which was passed through his hair, and which was quaintly stained, and ornamented with porcupine quills: offering it gracefully to her, he said, in a voice of musical gentleness, “War–Eagle wishes happiness to the ‘pale flower of Mooshanne;’ many braves have tried to pluck this feather from his head; no Dahcotah nor Pawnee has touched it and lived! The Sister of Netis may fasten it in her hair—let none but a brave warrior raise his eyes to it there.”

ill70

Wingenund and LucyP.71

Wingenund and LucyP.71

Wingenund and Lucy

P.71

“Thank you, dear War–Eagle,” said Lucy, kindly; “I promise you it shall never be touched by an unworthy hand; and do you take this string of red beads,” giving him at the same time a coral necklace, “and wear it for the sake of your white sister.”

The chief received this gift with evident pleasure; and waving his hand in adieu, whispering at the same time one parting word to Wingenund, he strode leisurely away, and was soon lost in the deep glades of the forest.

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