It was a sad and weary day to poor Walter Prevost, for he was without consolation. The time of his long imprisonment, indeed, had been less burdensome than might have been supposed, although during the first two or three weeks many a fruitless effort to escape had wearied his spirit. He learned, however, that it was impossible; he was too closely and too continually watched. There was nothing to prevent his quitting the hut; but the moment he did so, whether by night or day, he was met by two or three armed Indians. They were kind and courteous to him, though they suffered him not to bend his steps in the direction of their Castle or village, nor to approach the lake, to the banks of which many a canoe was moored. Sometimes one of them would take him to hunt; but two or three others followed, and never separated from his side. They were not fond of speaking of his probable fate and situation, and generally avoided the subject with true Indian skill. But once a young warrior, less experienced than the rest, related to him the messages which the great chief had sent by the runner Proctor; and Walter learned the decision regarding his own fate, and the chances on which it hung. But that young Indian was never seen near him more, and it was evident that he was looked upon as having betrayed counsel, and had been removed. But about that time the greatest solace and balm he could receive was afforded him. Otaitsa suddenly appeared in the hut, and told him that by promising to make no personal effort for his rescue, and to take no advantage of the freedom granted her to facilitate his escape by her own efforts, she had obtained permission to visit him two hours each day. She had explained to him, however, that others, in whom she trusted, were busy in his cause, and that the Gray Dove herself, on whom all her people looked with the greatest reverence, had positively assured her he should not die.
At first their interviews were sad enough. Hope and fear kept up their battle in the heart; but in time these emotions passed away, and love and happiness were all that remained; or, if aught of fear mingled with those blessings, it was but enough, as it were, to sanctify their intercourse, to purify it of some portion of earthly passion; so that, while they sat twined in each other's arms, their conversation would often be of death, and future life and happiness unmingled. She often called him "husband" to her father, but it was always "brother" when they were alone.
Day after day, beneath the sunshine or the cloud, over the snow or the green earth, Otaitsa visited the hut; but she had grown anxious as the days rolled on. She had not calculated the time accurately, but she knew that the appointed day was near and Walter was not delivered. She accused herself of folly in having trusted to others, though she saw not how, watched as he was, his deliverance could be effected by herself. But she resolved now to bestir herself, and if she lost her life in the attempt, to make one last great effort to set him free.
Such was her resolution on the preceding day, when, on parting with him, she whispered in his ear, lest anyone should be listening without: "I shall not come to you again, my brother, till I come to save you. I know not how it will be, but if I fail, Walter will not be long in heaven ere Otaitsa seeks him there."
He hardly believed she could keep her resolution of abstaining from at least one more interview; but the weary day passed by, the Indians who brought him food and fire appeared and disappeared, the rain fell heavily, the wind shook the hut, and Otaitsa did not come.
At length the night began to fall, stern, gloomy, dark. A rayless sunset, a brief twilight, and then utter darkness. His spirit sank low indeed; his heart felt heavy and oppressed. He bent him down, stirred up the embers of his fire, piled more wood upon it, and kindled a bright, cheerful blaze. But it had no effect in raising his spirits, or warming his heart. All within him was cheerless. He sat and gazed into the fire, and thought of his absent home, and of the pleasant days of youth, and of the sweet dreams he had once cherished, the hopes that hung, like faded pictures, upon the wall of memory. A thousand little incidents, a thousand delightful recollections, came back upon him as he sat and meditated, as if merely to make life more dear, when, suddenly, on the other side of the hut, a dark figure crossed the firelight, and then another, and another, and another, till they numbered six. They were all chiefs and men of lofty mien, but stern, and grave, and silent. They seated themselves in a semi-circle, at the very farther end of the hut, and for several minutes remained profoundly still.
He understood at once what it all meant; the last hour of life was come, and the dead, heavy sinking of the heart which the aspect of death suddenly presented to an unprepared and excited mind, was the first sensation. There the door stood, at a little distance on his right hand, and they were at the other end of the hut, with no one between him and the means of egress; but he knew their swiftness of foot and deadly aim too well. It was better to stay and meet the worst there, than to fall by the tomahawk in inglorious flight. He rallied his spirits, he called all his courage to his aid, he bethought him of how an Indian would die, and resolved to die boldly, and calmly, likewise.
Sitting still in silence, he gazed over the countenances of the chiefs, scanning their stern, hard features thoughtfully. There were but two there whom he knew, Black Eagle himself, and an old man with a white scalp-lock, whom he recollected having comforted and supported once, when he found him ill and exhausted near his father's house. The others were all strangers to him, and nothing could be read upon their faces but cold, rigid determination. There was no passion, no anger, no emotion to be traced in a single line; but there was something inexpressibly dreadful in gazing on those still, quiet countenances, with a knowledge of their bloody purpose. To have died in battle would have been nothing--to have struggled with them fiercely for life; but to sit there, coldly awaiting the moment of the ruthless blow, and to know that they expected it to be borne with the same quiet, stoical apathy with which it was dealt, was very, very terrible to the young European. Yet Walter tried to nerve himself to the utmost against any sign of fear, and strove for resolution not to disgrace himself, his name and family, even in the eyes of these wild Indians. There must have been apprehension in his eyes--in the straining eagerness with which he scanned them, but there was no other mark of alarm; not a muscle moved; the lip did not quiver; the brow was not contracted.
At length, after that long, solemn pause, the voice of Black Eagle was heard, speaking low and softly: "My son, thou must die," he said. "Thou art dear to me as a child; thy father is my brother; but thou hast drawn an evil lot, and thou must die. The morning of thy days has been short and bright; the night comes for thee before the day is well begun. The blood of our brother who was slain must be atoned by the blood of one of the race that slew him--the white man for the redman. We have sought in vain for the murderer of our brother, or for someone who might have been a substitute for him whom we love. Each man here would have periled his own head to find another in thy place; but it could not be. The palefaces took fright at the news of what has been done, and none has been found within our territory. We know that the man who did the deed has been here. We fancied that he had come generously to pay the penalty of his own deed; but fear was in his heart, and twice he escaped us. He is as cunning as the fox, and as swift to flee. Now, oh! thou son of my brother, thou must die, for the time is gone by that was given thee in the hope of some deliverance. The hours have run swiftly and in vain, and the last has come. We know that it is the custom of thy people to sing no war song at their death, but to pray to their Good Spirit to receive them speedily into the happy hunting grounds. We shall not think it want of courage if thou prayest, for the son of our brother Prevost will not disgrace his name at his death. Pray, therefore, to thy God; thy prayer shall be, as it were, a war song, and, strengthened by it, thou shalt die as a man and a warrior."
Walter remained silent for a moment, while a terrible struggle went on in his breast; but resolution conquered, and he rose from the ground, on which he was sitting, erect and firm, and stretching forth his hand, he said: "Chiefs of the Oneidas, ye are unjust. At this hour of my death I tell you, ye know not equity. Your laws are not of the Good Spirit, but of the bad; for it is evil to kill an innocent man, black and dastardly to slay a helpless man, who trusted you and loved you; and if it is by your law you do it, your law is bad, and the Good Spirit will condemn it. My father came and planted his tree amongst you. We grew up, my sister and myself, loving and confiding in your people. We made your tongue our tongue, and my heart became one with the heart of the daughter of your chief. Lo! now, how ye repay kindness, and love, and truth!--with falsehood, cruelty, and death! Ye are great warriors, but ye are not good men. In this last hour I reproach you, and I tell you with the voice of a dying man, as with the voice of one from the land of spirits, that, sooner or later, the great God of all men will make you feel that you have done an evil thing in my death----"
He paused suddenly, for his eye--turned somewhat in the direction of the door--saw a female figure enter, wrapped in the peculiar blanket or mantle of the Indian women. Another and another appeared, and one by one the shadowy forms ranged themselves in line along the side of the hut, their faces but faintly seen by the flickering firelight. They were all as silent as death, and there they stood, as silent witnesses of the dreadful scene about to be enacted.
The eyes of all the chiefs were turned in the same direction as his own, and a moment or two of wonder and embarrassment passed; but then the voice of Black Eagle was raised, loudly and sternly, saying: "Get ye home to the Castle, Oneida women! This is no place for you. Meddle not with the business of warriors and of men!"
"Who is it that speaks?" said the clear, shrill voice of the Gray Dove. "Is it the man of the black heart, who slays the son of his brother? Who is it that dares to speak thus to her who sees the Great Spirit in her visions, and holds communion with the souls of the dead? Is it a man pure in heart and hand, a man whose purposes are good in the sight of the Great Spirit, who is doing a deed pleasing in his sight? Is he taking the life of an enemy in the battle? Is he scalping a foe with whom he has fought and conquered? Lo! now, this is a brave deed, to slay the son of a friend, and a boy who has no power to resist. But the boy shall not die. If a paleface has killed one of the children of the Stone, this boy has saved the life of more than one. His hand has been free, and his heart open to the Oneida, and his good deeds are more than enough to atone for the evil deeds of another. The ashes of thy pipe, Black Eagle, upon the hearth of Prevost, call out shame upon the murder of his son!"
"Get ye hence, women!" said another chief. "We are not soft as water, to be turned in what course ye will: we are the children of the Stone, and our heart is the rock."
"Be it so, then!" cried Black Eagle's sister. "Look upon us now, oh chiefs! We are here, your mothers, your sisters, your daughters, your wives; those ye love best, those who best love you. See, now, what we are commanded to do by the voice of the Good Spirit. If ye slay the youth, ye slay us. Every lodge shall be left desolate; there shall be wailing through the village and through the land. Now, my sisters, if their heart be a stone, let our heart be soft, and let the knife find it easily!"
As she spoke, every mantle was thrown back, and every arm was raised, and in every hand was seen the gleam of a knife.
Black Eagle covered his eyes with his mantle, but sat still. Walter sprang across and cast himself at the feet of Otaitsa, exclaiming: "Hold! hold! For God's sake, hold, my Blossom!"
"Back! back!" cried the girl, vehemently. "If thou diest, I die!"
"All! all!" said the women, in the same determined tone.
At the same moment the old priest rose and stretched forth his hands. "It is the voice of the Great Spirit!" he exclaimed, in the tone of one inspired. "He speaks to us by their tongue; he tells us to forbear! The deed is evil in his sight; we must not do it! The blood of our brother is atoned--it is the voice of the Great Spirit!"
"It is the voice of the Great Spirit--it is the voice of the Great Spirit!" exclaimed each of the chiefs, and Black Eagle, casting from him the tomahawk, took Walter in his arms, saying, in a low voice, "My son! my son!"
Otaitsa took a step forward toward them, but before she reached her father her sight grew dim and she fell at his feet.[3]
There was the bustle and the din of preparation in the great Castle of the Oneidas. With the first light of the morning, numerous small bands began to pour in, summoned secretly long before, to hold a war council, and to march against the enemy. Before noon larger bands began to appear, led by several of the noted warriors of the nation, and one very numerous body coming across the lake in a little fleet of canoes brought with them a great quantity of baggage in the shape of huts and provisions, with women and even children.
The scene which took place when all were assembled, in number more than a thousand, is perfectly indescribable. Nor shall I attempt to give a picture of it. A long period of peace seemed only to have given the western warriors a sort of thirst for war; and their joy at the unburying of the hatchet and the march against the enemy broke forth in demonstrations which to any civilized eye would have appeared perfectly frantic. Screaming, shouting, singing, dancing, striking the war post with their tomahawks, and shaking their rifles in the air, they seemed like beings possessed by some evil spirit--the calm and grave demeanor was altogether cast aside, and the calmest and most moderate boasted outrageously of deeds done in the past or to be performed in the coming war. About an hour after noon, however, a sudden and complete change came over the scene. In an open space before the great lodge, all the chieftains of the different totems or tribes assembled, and the usual circle was formed around the great war post of the Black Eagle. The younger warriors gathered in other rows without the first, and the youths, the women, and the children were seen beyond these again. One exception to the usual order took place. The great chief had on either side of him one of those, both of whom he now called his children. Otaitsa, in her most brilliant costume, stood upon his left, and Walter Prevost, armed and dressed like the Oneidas, with the sole difference that his head was not shaved, like theirs, remained standing throughout the ceremony, on his right.
As soon as all was quiet--and the stillness of death very soon fell over the whole multitude--Black Eagle, in a speech of powerful eloquence, related all that had occurred on the preceding night, and justified the act of himself and the other chiefs in the eyes of the people. He said that he himself and five of his brethren had been prepared to sacrifice the son of Prevost to atone for the blood of the Snake, and to satisfy the customs of the Oneidas, although they would rather have slain their own son; but that the Great Spirit had spoken by the tongue of his sister, and they had forborne. When he had done, the Old Cedar Tree rose, but uttered only a few words. "It was the voice of the Great Spirit," he said; and immediately a murmur of "Koui! koui!" ran round the assembly, in confirmation of the act.
The chief then explained to his warriors why he had that day called them around him; for although the object was already well known to all, and the news had by that time spread that the Englishmen were marching against the French upon Lake Champlain, the Indians never acted in masses without solemn deliberation; and a war speech, as they called it, was universally expected from their renowned leader. He dealt at length upon the alliance between the English and the Five Nations, upon the good faith with which the stipulations of their treaties had been maintained by the British Provinces; he referred to the talk held some six months before, at the Castle of Sir William Johnson, skilfully mingling with his discourse the names of several persons most popular with the tribes, and he ended by exhorting his hearers to show their truth and friendship toward their English brethren, and to pour down their fiercest wrath upon the French, whom he spoke of contemptuously as brethren of the Hurons and the Algonquins.
The same signs of approbation followed; and many another chief added his voice, raising the passions of the warriors to the highest pitch. One, especially, urged them to immediate action, telling them that the Mohawks had already marched, that they were with the English army, and that the faces of the children of the Stone would be full of shame if a Mohawk brought home more scalps than an Oneida.
Some were for setting out on the instant, but this proposal was overruled, and the following morning was appointed for the march to begin, as more parties were expected from the different districts, and some had not come fully prepared for the long journey and important enterprise.
The council was succeeded by scenes similar to those with which the day began, and it must not be concealed that in many instances the dreadful firewater was employed, so far as even to produce beastly intoxication. Small drums and wild instruments of music, songs of every different character, from the wailing lament or the religious chant to the fierce and boastful war song, rose from every part of, the village; and it was not till the sun had completely set that anything like quiet and order was restored. Paint it in what colors we will, it was a barbarous and terrible, though exciting scene, and Walter Prevost was well pleased to hear the noise gradually die away into low murmurs, and silence again begin to resume her reign.
Then came a very, very happy hour. He sat with Otaitsa alone, in the great lodge, while the Black Eagle wandered amongst his people without; and for the first time since his deliverance from death the two had an opportunity of pouring forth to each other the many feelings which, had accumulated in the last four and twenty hours.
"At this time last night," said the youth, "I was preparing to die."
"And at this time last night," answered the girl, gazing fondly upon his face as he sat with his arm clasped fondly round her, and her head leaning on his shoulder, "and at this time last night Otaitsa was ready to die with you. I have since thought it very wrong of me, Walter; and fearing what I did was sinful, I have prayed part of the night to God for forgiveness, and another part I have spent in praise and thanksgiving. But I believe I was mad, my beloved, for I hardly knew what I did, and followed blindly what they told me to do to rescue him for whom I would have sacrificed a thousand lives. Besides, I was surrounded by my countrywomen, and you know they do not think as we have been taught to think."
"If it was an error it was a blessed one, my own Blossom," answered Walter, "for to it I owe my life; and life, when it is brightened by Otaitsa's love, is but too precious to me. The time will come, dear one, when we shall look back upon these days as but a painful dream, and the only bright reality that will last will be the memory of my Blossom's love, and all that she has done to save and bless me."
She gazed at him believingly; for hers was not a heart to doubt, and his was not a heart to be doubted; and then she said, with a sigh: "But you are now going to battle, to risk your life and all your happiness. Still it is strange, but I would not stay you, though all I have heard from good Mr. Gore should make me look upon such things with horror, and though I would fain have you keep away from danger. I suppose it is the habits of my people still clinging about me, even with a better faith than theirs."
"Fear not, dearest, fear not," answered Walter, boldly. "No harm will happen to me, I do trust and believe, and I only leave you for a few short weeks."
"You will not leave me at all, Walter," she answered, "no, never more. I will go with you, if not to the battle, as near it as I can be. I have my father's leave; the warriors of my race will defend me, and I will not part with my recovered treasure any more."
"Go to my father's house," said Walter, joyfully. "It is very near the spot, and Edith will rejoice to have you with her."
Otaitsa fixed her eyes upon vacancy, and fell into a deep reverie; and an expression came into her face which Walter had remarked more than once before.
"Do you know, my beloved," he said, "that sometimes you strike me as very like our dear Edith, especially when you look thoughtful, as you did just now?"
"It is very natural," said Otaitsa, nestling closer to him; "you do not know that she is my cousin. My mother was your father's sister. Hush! not a word, especially in the ears of any of the tribe. My father knows it, but he will not know it, because amongst the elder people of the nation it was held contrary to our customs that cousin should marry cousin. I asked Mr. Gore long ago if it were against your law; but he said no, that it was neither against law nor religion. He inquired why I asked so earnestly," she added, laughing, "but I would not tell him. Come with me into my chamber, and I will show you many things belonging to my mother. Stay! I will light my lamp!"
Otaitsa bent down and lighted her lamp, and guided her lover up to her little chamber; and there they sat, and turned over many a long-stored treasure, and she showed him the picture of his own father, and of her mother, and of their mutual kin, and drawings of fair scenes in Europe, some of which he remembered well, with others of the land in which they then were, but of spots which he had never seen. There was one, too, left unfinished, of a young, sweet child; and Walter gazed first upon the infant face and then upon the bright, happy countenance beside him, and clasped his Blossom warmly to his breast. The book, too, with the drop of blood upon it, told its own tale to both their hearts.
"And where is Mr. Gore?" he asked, at length; "he seems seems to have left altogether his little flock, or I am sure I should have seen him during my captivity."
"He is coming back now," said Otaitsa. "My father would not let him return before. He was afraid, I believe, that the breath of the good man would melt his icy purpose. He had a power over Black Eagle that none other had. I prayed and besought in vain. But had Mr. Gore been here he would have conquered. Black Eagle knew it and feared, and therefore he sent him hence, and would not let him return till the day was past."
"Would that he were here now," said Walter, earnestly.
Otaitsa asked him why, and he answered, with a warm kiss: "That he might unite us forever."
A flush came upon her cheek, but there was the low sound of a step below, and looking down the stairs, she said: "Is that you, my father?"
"I come," said the chief; and slowly mounting the stairs, he entered the chamber where they were. His eyes roved round the room in a manner which evidently showed that it was strange to him; and then he fixed them on the pictures which lay upon the table, lighted but faintly by the lamp. At first he seemed not to distinguish what they were, but the moment he saw them clearly, he drew his mantle over his face and turned toward the door. He uttered no word, he shed no tear, but he descended slowly, and Walter and Otaitsa followed.
On that part of Lake Champlain, or Corlear, as it was called by the Indians, where, quitting the narrow basin which it occupies from its southern extremity to some distance northward of Ticonderoga, it opens out into a broader sheet of water, and sweeps round the small peninsula of Crown Point, a large canoe was seen crossing to the Canada side, with some sixteen or seventeen persons on board, amongst whom were Edith Prevost and her companion, Woodchuck. There was no attempt at concealment, no creeping along under shelter of the banks, but boldly and openly the Indians paddled on, within range of the guns of the French fort, and then directly across the bows of two large, flat-bottomed boats or batteaux, accompanied by several light canoes, each of the latter containing six or seven men, which were going down the lake in the direction of Ticonderoga.
From each of the larger boats the flag of France was conspicuously displayed; but as the strange canoe above mentioned seemed bearing straight for the shore, fully in possession of France, its movements, for a time, appeared to excite no attention. Neither the batteaux nor the other canoes altered their course, the men in the former continuing a shouted conversation in a mixed jargon, part French, part Indian, with their dusky companions in the lesser craft, who kept as nearly alongside as possible.
At length, however, it would seem some suspicion was excited. Two figures, male and female, were discerned from the batteaux in the stern of the strange canoe, whose dress at once showed them to belong to none of the Indian tribes, and was also somewhat different from that of either the Canadian colonists or the native French. The two parties were now within less than a hundred yards of each other, and it seemed doubtful whether the large canoe would clear the eastern French boat without trouble. But suddenly a voice was raised loud in the foremost batteau and a question was put in French as to whither the others were bound, and who they were.
The Indians were silent, for they did not understand the words addressed to them; but Woodchuck whispered eagerly: "Answer! answer! if you can speak their jargon. Rather be in the hands of French officers than these incarnate devils!"
Edith's eyes had been cast down, and so full of bitter tears that she had seen nothing since they left the western shore. But now she looked up, and in an instant her presence of mind returned. It is true she did not speak at once, for she feared her voice would not reach the boat; but it was nearing the canoe fast, and in a moment after the question was repeated in a more peremptory and a more distinct tone.
"Tell them we are allies of the great French chief," said Apukwa, who seemed to comprehend in some degree the meaning of the call. "Say we are going to join our Canadian father;" and he glared fiercely as he spoke.
"We are English!" exclaimed Edith, in French, exerting her utmost power of voice. "We are English and Iroquois, going I know not whither!"
Instantly, at a signal from the batteaux, the light canoes dashed out with extraordinary rapidity, and before any effectual effort could be made to escape, the larger canoe was surrounded, while the yells of the Hurons announced that they recognized at length a band of ancient enemies. With a fiend-like look at Edith, Apukwa drew his tomahawk from his belt; but the brother of the Snake spoke some words to him in a low tone, the weapon was replaced, the men ceased to work the paddles, and every face assumed the quiet stillness of perfect indifference. The yells and whoops of the Hurons still continued, so that one danger seemed only to be escaped to encounter a still greater. Their fierce faces and dark, half-naked forms, tattooed and painted, were seen all round, and the tomahawk and the knife were brandished, as if for immediate action. But one of the large boats bore right down amongst them, and soon grappled the canoe in which Edith and her companion were. A handsomely dressed, middle-aged man stood up in the stern, as it came near, and turning to an Indian who seemed a chief, by his side, said to him in French: "Keep your people quiet, Great Elk!"
A few words were then spoken, or rather shouted, by the Indian to the others in the canoes, in a language which Edith did not at all understand, and in an instant every Huron sank down in silence, and the light skiffs lay quiet upon the water, or only moved slightly with the momentum they had already received from the paddles. Then raising his hat and plume, with an air of much grace, the French officer addressed Edith, saying: "Will you have the goodness to explain to me, mademoiselle, who and what you are, and how you came to be in the position in which I find you? I am sorry to be obliged to detain a lady, but you have too many men with you to suffer your canoe to pass."
"I am the daughter of an English gentleman," replied Edith. "I have been attacked and captured with the friend who was escorting me from my father's house to that of Colonel Schneider; my two servants were murdered--at least one of them, I am sure, was. The Indians who are with me are Iroquois, who are taking me forcibly across the lake, toward Canada, and I have little doubt that I shall be put to death also, if you do not save me from their hands."
"But this is a strange story, mademoiselle," said the officer. "The Iroquois and your countrymen are in alliance."
"I cannot account for it," said Edith. "They are certainly Iroquois, for they speak no other language, except a few words of English. You must ask them what is the meaning of their conduct, if you have any on board who can speak their tongue."
The officer turned once more to his Indian companion and addressed some words to him in French; but the chief shook his head, and then drawing his eyelids together, as if to see more distinctly, gazed into the canoe, scanning the persons of the Indians closely. "They are Iroquois," he said, at length. "Let us scalp them."
This proposal the officer did not think fit to comply with, at least for the time, and he replied, with a laugh: "Wait a little, my friend. The Great Elk shall have scalping enough soon. We will take them ashore with us, at all events, and perhaps may learn more. Then, if they are really enemies, you may exercise your skill upon them to your heart's content. The lady and her English companion, however, I claim as my prisoners. Permit me, mademoiselle, to assist you into the boat. You will be safer here, and may trust to the honor and courtesy of a French gentleman."
"I have no fears on that score, sir," answered Edith, rising; and, with the aid of the officer and Woodchuck, passing into the other boat, which, flat-bottomed and heavily laden, was not much higher above the water than the canoe. Woodchuck followed her closely, but not without exciting the wrath of the Honontkoh. They had sat ever since the canoe had been grappled by the boat with the most tranquil stillness. Not a limb, not a feature had moved; and to the eye of an observer ignorant of their habits, they would have seemed perfectly indifferent to all that was taking place. In fact, one of them appeared actually going to sleep; for the sun, which had now broken out after the storm, shone full on his face, and his eyes were closed, and his head bent. But the moment that Woodchuck put his foot over the side of the batteau a yell of disappointed rage burst from every lip; and, unable to contain himself, Apukwa arose and poured forth a few words of Huron, mixed with a good deal of Iroquois.
"Hold your tongues!" exclaimed the French officer, waving his hand imperiously. "Tow them along behind us; and you, Great Elk, command your people to keep close round them and see they do not cut the rope and slip away."
The orders were given as he directed, and the arrangements made; but when all was completed, and the boat was once more moving along the lake, the Indian by his side pulled the officer's sleeve, thus interrupting a speech he had just begun, with a gallant air, to Edith, and seemed to explain something to him in a low tone.
"Well, we shall soon find out," said the Frenchman, with a gay laugh. "If they are Iroquois who are going to become Hurons, and take service under his majesty, we will make them fight for us where we are going. We shall not have too many hands to help us, Great Elk, and they'll make a good reinforcement to your party. As for the lady and her attendant, I will take care of them;" and turning to Edith, with a courteous smile, he spread his roquelaure in a more convenient part of the boat, and assisted her to seat herself more comfortably, saying: "Mademoiselle is a great deal too charming to travel any more with such savages. But may I know the name of this gentleman? Can he not speak French?"
"Not a word, I believe," replied Edith.
"That is singular," exclaimed the Frenchman, giving expression to the general feeling of his nation, who seem to believe that the French language is one of those blessings of God which it is strange He should deny to any of his creatures. "What is his name?"
It instantly passed through the mind of Edith that if she gave her good companion the name of Captain Brooks she would be certain to cause his detention as a prisoner of war, and she therefore simply replied: "He is called Woodchuck."
"Woodchuck!" exclaimed the Frenchman; "quel drol de nom! Is Monsieur Woodchuck in the army?"
To the question, thus put, Edith could fairly answer in the negative, for Brooks, though he had seen no little fighting in his day, was merely one of those amateur soldiers, then very common in the provinces, who rarely missed an opportunity of joining some band of volunteers in times of war with France, or fighting upon their own hand, according to the Dutchman's expression, as one of the extensive class called stragglers. They generally bore away from the field, especially if they distinguished themselves, some military title, such as captain or major, without ever having commanded half a dozen men in their lives.
After having asked hie questions, and settled his conduct, the French officer's next business was, of course, politeness, and he would fain have engaged his lovely companion in gay and lively conversation during the rest of their little voyage; but Edith, though her mind was greatly relieved to find herself freed from the power of the Honontkoh, had many a subject of melancholy contemplation to occupy her thoughts. There was the dark and dreary consideration of her brother's fate; there was the uncertainty of what might befall her father and her lover; there was the separation from all most dear to her; there was the doubt, even now, whether she might not herself be detained a prisoner amongst strangers; for the war in America had hitherto been conducted by the French upon principles the most barbarous and most opposed to the ordinary characteristics of the nation. The scene which succeeded the capture of Fort William Henry was a dark and damning fact, never to be obliterated from the minds of men; and although it has been put forth by an American author as the only stain upon the character of Montcalm, that author must surely have forgotten the violated capitulation of Oswego, the death of the gallant De la Court, and the scalping and massacre of the sick in the hospital. All that we can trust is that these barbarities were only permitted, not encouraged. But how can we account for or excuse, how can we even palliate, the witting and voluntary delivery of twenty of the garrison into the hands of the Indians, in direct violation of the articles of capitulation, to be tortured to death under the very eyes of the French soldiery, as compensation for the loss of twenty of the French Indians? It is a fact which has never been denied, or it would be too horrible for belief.
Edith replied briefly, therefore, to the compliments and pretty speeches of her military companion, and in the meanwhile the boat proceeded rapidly over the surface of the lake, passed Crown Point, and entered the narrow portion of Lake Champlain, which stretches from that promontory to the spot where the Sounding Waters, as the Indians called the outlet of Lake George, flow into the greater lake, near Ticonderoga.
The French officer, somewhat baffled in his attempts to make her speak, tried his fortune with Woodchuck, but with still less success; for to everything he said in French he received what can hardly be called an answer in English; and generally, it must be said, not a very civil one; for Brooks was filled with all the most unreasonable prejudices of his country, and never uttered the word "Frenchman" without coupling it with the epithet "rascally." The voyage was brought to a close, however, before night fell, for the boat stopped short by a mile or two of Ticonderoga, and considerably to the north of the spot where the ferry now exists.
The scene would have appeared beautiful, had Edith's mind been free to enjoy it, for in front were seen the tops of the several bold eminences round the French fort, On the one side were those rich lands, varied at that time with scattered masses of forest, though now more highly cultivated, known as the New Hampshire grants, and to the westward a varied country, rising gradually to the foot of the Mohegan Mountains. The spot chosen for the landing was a secluded cove in the woods, where the shelving rocks broke through the soil and dipped gradually into the water. Boats and canoes were all speedily hauled up. The commander of the party, with delicate attention, handed Edith out, and then gave orders to his men to follow him, which was effected with rapidity and precision. The savages, under the orders of their chief, took care of the Iroquois prisoners, and apparently by no slight act of forbearance resisted the great temptation to possess themselves of their scalps. When all had disembarked the canoes were drawn safely up under concealment of the bushes on either side, and the voyageurs in the two larger boats pushed off and took their way up the lake again.
"I fear, mademoiselle," said the captain of the French soldiers, who might have amounted to sixty or seventy, "I must trouble you to take a somewhat fatiguing promenade of some four or five miles; at least so I am told, for I have never been here myself, and do not know the distance."
"Then are we not going to Fort Ticonderoga?" asked Edith.
"Not so," replied the officer. "We are going a little beyond, and I shall have no opportunity of detaching any party whom I could trust to send you into the fort to-night. The Indians, indeed, could be spared--at least a sufficient number to escort you--but I should really be apprehensive from what I know of their habits, that you might not be quite so safe in their charge as under the protection of my musketeers, with your devoted servant at their head. We will endeavor to make you as comfortable as we can for the night, and I doubt not that early to-morrow I shall be visited by some superior officer, who will have the honor of conveying you to the fort."
"Then am I to consider myself as a prisoner?" asked Edith, in a cold tone. "I did not know that it was the habit of French officers to make women captives."
"No!" replied the Frenchman, with a graceful bow; "we ourselves are much more frequently their captives. But, my dear lady, within the limits of this garrison I myself have no command--am merely acting under orders, and feel myself imperatively bound to send you and your companion, Monsieur Woodchuck, to the commandant of the fortress, who will act, I am sure, as he finds befitting. I only regret that I cannot do so at once; but my orders are strict, my route marked out, and I am told to hasten across this small peninsula, as fast as possible without approaching the fortress. It is certainly a rather long walk, but if you feel fatigued I can easily make my men construct a little litter, and carry you. We shall find some preparation made for us where we are going, though, I am afraid, not very suitable for your use."
Edith evidently saw that remonstrance was in vain; and saying that she should prefer to walk, she took the arm of Woodchuck, and explained to him as they went all that had passed between her and the Frenchman.
"I guess he is going to form an ambuscade," said Woodchuck. "If so, Miss Prevost, our army must be near, and we shall be long in their hands. I wish to heaven I could get away from them, and had but a horse to carry me," he added, thoughtfully, and with a sigh. "But it's no use wishing. God knows his own ways best! Them Hurons look very much as if they would eat the Oneidas before they've done. Pray God they mayn't take such a fancy to us, too!"
Thus saying, he took the place which was assigned to him and Edith in the march. A number of Indians preceded, several little parties moved upon the flanks, the small body of French infantry moved on two abreast, for the trail was barely wide enough for that number. Woodchuck and Edith followed them, and the French officer, with the Indian whom he called Great Elk, walked next, succeeded by the Iroquois prisoners, a large quantity of baggage, borne on men's shoulders, and the remainder of the Huron auxiliaries.
It was now twilight in the forest, and for more than an hour after darkness had fallen upon the earth the weary and somewhat perilous march was continued. Once a small stream was crossed, Woodchuck taking up his fair companion in his sturdy arms and bearing her over like an infant. Nothing of any note occurred, except a slow and low-toned conversation in the rear, which led Edith to believe that the Iroquois, her late captors, had found some of the other band of natives with whom they could converse; but she could not distinguish anything that was said.
Weary and exhausted, the sight of a fire at length glimmering through the trees was an exceedingly pleasant sight to her eyes, and a minute or two after a scene presented itself which might have seemed dreary and comfortless enough under other circumstances, but which looked cheerful and comfortable after that long and miserable march.
The trail which they had followed terminated in a small open space, flanked on three sides by low earthworks of no very regular construction, but evidently designed by an experienced military hand. The outer surface of these works was partially concealed by a thicket, and great care had been taken not only to preserve the brambles and the large-leaved raspberry, but to fill every gap in this shrubbery screen with branches of pine, and hemlock, and maple. Within these embankments the ground had, to a certain extent, been cleared, though two or three of the larger trees had been left standing, to prevent a vacancy being apparent from without. About the middle of the open space a number of rude huts had been erected, of small felled trees and branches; and before one, somewhat larger than the rest, a sentinel was seen planted, who, at the moment Edith came in sight, stood motionless, presenting arms, as his comrades filed into the little quadrangle. Behind the soldier, and between him and the huts, was a large blazing fire, which threw out his dark figure, sharply outlined upon the flame.
"Ah! this will do," said the French commander, in a tone of relief. "The commandant has been careful of us. Mademoiselle, I welcome you to my redoubt, and will do my best to make the evening pass pleasantly for you. Now bring in the baggage. Tell the cook to get supper ready; and you, Pierrot, see that hut properly arranged for this young lady's accommodation. I calculated on sleeping upon a very comfortable bearskin to-night, but I will most willingly resign it to you, mademoiselle, in the hope of your passing a good night's rest."
Edith would fain have declined accepting a sacrifice so enhanced, but the captain insisted; and his servant, whom he called Pierrot, at once set about the preparations for her comfort with a degree of skill and dexterity truly French. In the meantime, while Edith, sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, waited till all was ready, and while a group of stragglers unpacked the baggage which had just been deposited from the sturdy shoulders of the bearers, the French officer called his friend, the Huron chief, to council; and Apukwa and the other Oneidas were brought before him, accompanied by two young Hurons, who undertook to act as interpreters. Many were the questions asked, and what between the captain's ignorance of Indian manners, and the interpreters' ignorance both of the French and Iroquois, the worthy officer seemed completely puzzled.
At length, however, after consulting the Great Elk in a low voice, he exclaimed: "Tell them, if their tale be really true--though I've got my doubts, for I never heard of Free Masons amongst Indians before, and that must be what you mean by Honontkoh--but if their tale be really true, they may stay here with us, and prove their devotion to His Majesty Louis the Fifteenth, King of France, by fighting the English at our side. They shall be sharply watched, however," he added, in a low voice, as if speaking to himself.
Apukwa heard his words translated, and then, saying something in reply, pointed to Edith and her English companion with a look of too much meaning to be misunderstood.
"Nothing of the kind," answered the French officer, without waiting for the words which seemed about to follow. "Tell him there's but one choice, either to prove their story and their loyalty by fighting on our side, or to pass under the fire of these gentlemen," and he laid his hand upon a pile of muskets which stood close beside him.
This intimation was quite sufficient. The Honontkoh agreed to stay and fight without any further conditions, and the Frenchman then gave strict orders, both to his own soldiers and the Hurons--by whom they were much more likely to be efficiently obeyed--that their very doubtful allies should be kept continually in sight. He then seemed to cast all thought of the affair behind him, and turned toward Edith, who was already in the hut, saying: "I hope, mademoiselle, Pierrot has taken good care of you."
"With all the skill and courtesy of a Frenchman, monsieur," she answered, really pleased with the attention and almost fatherly kindness of the soldier who had been arranging the hut.
"Then, now, as you have the means of rest, it only remains to provide you with meat and drink," said the officer. "I see they have spread my tablecloth on the grass there. Will you and your friend come and partake of my fare? Pray make my words understood to him."
Woodchuck readily agreed to accept the Frenchman's hospitality, but Edith declined taking anything more than a little bread and some wine, alleging that she needed rest more than anything. The French officer, however, would not be content with this, but with his own hands brought her some savory messes which would not have disgraced a Parisian dinner table, some choice wine, and, what was still more valuable to her, a small lamp. He then closed the hurdle door of the hut upon her and returned to his meal with Woodchuck, keeping up with him for half an hour a sort of conversation by words and signs, one-half of which was probably unintelligible to both. The Frenchman then took possession of another hut, and invited Woodchuck to share it with him for the night; but the stout woodsman declined any covering but the sky, and stretching himself across Edith's door, was soon in profound slumber.