“Oh, come and hear what cruel wrongs Befel the Dark Ladye.”--COLERIDGE.
THE Mohawk girl was in high spirits at the coming of the wild fowl to
the lake; she would clap her hands and laugh with almost childish glee
as she looked at them darkening the lake like clouds resting on its
surface.
“If I had but my father’s gun, his good old gun, now!” would Hector say,
as he eyed the timorous flocks as they rose and fell upon the lake; “but
these foolish birds are so shy, that they are away before an arrow can
reach them.”
Indiana smiled in her quiet way; she was busy filling the canoe with
green boughs, which she arranged so as completely to transform the
little vessel into the semblance of a floating island of evergreen;
within this bower she motioned Hector to crouch down, leaving a small
space for the free use of his bow, while concealed at the prow she
gently and noiselessly paddled the canoe from the shore among the
rice-beds, letting it remain stationary or merely rocking to and fro
with the undulatory motion of the waters. The unsuspecting birds,
deceived into full security, eagerly pursued their pastime or their
prey, and it was no difficult matter for the hidden archer to hit many a
black duck or teal or whistlewing, as it floated securely on the placid
water, or rose to shift its place a few yards up or down the stream.
Soon the lake around was strewed with the feathered game, which Wolfe,
cheered on by Lewis, who was stationed on the shore, brought to land.
Indiana told Hector that this was the season when the Indians made great
gatherings on the lake for duck-shooting, which they pursued much after
the same fashion as that which has been described, only instead of one,
a dozen or more canoes would be thus disguised with boughs, with others
stationed at different parts of the lake, or under the shelter of the
island, to collect the birds. This sport was generally finished by a
great feast.
The Indians offered the first of the birds as an oblation to the Great
Spirit, as a grateful acknowledgment of his bounty in having allowed
them to gather food thus plentifully for their families; sometimes
distant tribes with whom they were on terms of friendship were invited
to share the sport and partake of the spoils. Indiana could not
understand why Hector did not follow the custom of her Indian fathers,
and offer the first duck or the best fish to propitiate the Great
Spirit. Hector told her that the God he worshipped desired no sacrifice;
that his holy Son, when he came down from heaven and gave himself as a
sacrifice for the sins of the world, had satisfied his Father, the Great
Spirit, an hundred-fold.
They feasted now continually upon the waterfowl, and Catharine learned
from Indiana how to skin them, and so preserve the feathers for making
tippets, and bonnets, and ornamental trimmings, which are not only warm,
but light and very becoming. They split open any of the birds that they
did not require for present consumption, and these they dried for winter
store, smoking some after the manner that the Shetlanders and Orkney
people smoke the solan geese: their shanty displayed an abundant store
of provisions, fish, flesh, and fowl, besides baskets of wild rice, and
bags of dried fruit.
One day Indiana came in from the brow of the hill, and told the boys
that the lake eastward was covered with canoes; she showed, by holding
up her two hands and then three fingers, that she had counted thirteen.
The tribes had met for the annual duck-feast, and for the rice harvest.
She advised them to put out the fire, so that no smoke might be seen to
attract them; but said they would not leave the lake for hunting over
the plains just then, as the camp was lower down on the point _[FN:
This point, commonly known as _Anderson’s Point_, now the seat of the
Indian village, used in former times to be a great place of rendezvous
for the Indians, and was the site of a murderous carnage or massacre
that took place about eighty years ago; the war-weapons and bones of the
Indians are often turned up with the plough at this day.]_ east of the
mouth of a big river, which she called “Otonabee.”
Hector asked Indiana if she would go away and leave them, in the event
of meeting with any of her own tribe. The girl cast her eyes on the
earth in silence; a dark cloud seemed to gather over her face.
“If they should prove to be any of your father’s people, or a friendly
tribe, would you go away with them?” he again repeated, to which she
solemnly replied,
“Indiana has no father, no tribe, no people; no blood of her father’s
warms the heart of any man, woman or child, saving myself alone; but
Indiana is a brave, and the daughter of a brave, and will not shrink
from danger: her heart is warm; red blood flows warm here,” and she laid
her hand on her heart. Then lifting up her hand, she said with slow but
impassioned tone, “They left not one drop of living blood to flow in
any veins but these,” and her eyes were raised, and her arms stretched
upwards towards heaven, as though calling down vengeance on the
murderers of her father’s house.
“My father was a Mohawk, the son of a great chief, who owned these
hunting-grounds far as your eye can see to the rising and setting sun,
along the big waters of the big lakes; but the Ojebwas, a portion of the
Chippewa nation, by treachery cut off my father’s people by hundreds in
cold blood, when they were defenceless and at rest. It was a bloody day
and a bloody deed.”
Instead of hiding herself, as Hector and Louis strongly advised the
young Mohawk to do, she preferred remaining as a scout, she said, under
the cover of the bushes on the edge of the steep that overlooked
the lake, to watch their movements. She told Hector to be under no
apprehension if the Indians came to the hut; not to attempt to conceal
themselves, but offer them food to eat and water to drink. “If they come
to the house and find you away, they will take your stores and burn your
roof, suspecting that you are afraid to meet them openly; but they will
not harm you if you meet them with open hand and fearless brow: if they
eat of your bread, they will not harm you; me they would kill by a
cruel death--the war-knife is in their heart against the daughter of the
_brave_.”
The boys thought Indiana’s advice good, and they felt no fear for
themselves, only for Catharine, whom they counselled to remain in the
shanty with Wolfe.
The Indians seemed intent only on the sport which they had come
to enjoy, seeming in high glee, and as far as they could see quite
peaceably disposed; every night they returned to the camp on the north
side, and the boys could see their fires gleaming among the trees on the
opposite shore, and now and then in the stillness of the evening their
wild shouts of revelry would come faintly to their ears, borne by the
breeze over the waters of the lake.
The allusion that Indiana had made to her own history, though conveyed
in broken and hardly intelligible language, had awakened feelings of
deep interest for her in the breasts of her faithful friends. Many
months after this she related to her wondering auditors the fearful
story of the massacre of her kindred, and which I may as well relate,
as I have raised the curiosity of my youthful readers, though to do so
I must render it in my own language, as the broken half-formed sentences
in which its facts were conveyed to the ears of my Canadian Crusoes
would be unintelligible to my young friends. _[FN: The facts of
this narrative were gathered from the lips of the eldest son of a Rice
Lake chief. I have preferred giving it in the present form, rather
than as the story of the Indian girl. Simple as it is, it is matter of
history.]_
There had been for some time a jealous feeling existing between the
chiefs of two principal tribes of the Ojebwas and the Mohawks, which
like a smothered fire had burnt in the heart of each, without having
burst into a decided blaze--for each strove to compass his ends and
obtain the advantage over the other by covert means. The tribe of the
Mohawks of which I now speak, claimed the southern shores of the Rice
Lake for their hunting grounds, and certain islands and parts of the
lake for fishing, while that of the Ojebwas considered themselves
masters of the northern shores and certain rights of water beside.
Possibly it was about these rights that the quarrel originated, but if
so, it was not openly avowed between the “Black Snake,” (that was the
totem borne by the Mohawk chief,) and the “Bald Eagle” (the totem of the
Ojebwa).
These chiefs had each a son, and the Bald Eagle had also a daughter of
great and rare beauty, called by her people, “The Beam of the Morning;”
she was the admiration of Mohawks as well as Ojebwas, and many of the
young men of both the tribes had sought her hand, but hitherto in vain.
Among her numerous suitors, the son of the Black Snake seemed to be the
most enamoured of her beauty; and it was probably with some intention of
winning the favour of the young Ojebwa squaw for his son, that the Black
Snake accepted the formal invitation of the Bald Eagle to come to his
hunting grounds during the rice harvest, and shoot deer and ducks on
the lake, and to ratify a truce which had been for some time set on foot
between them; but while outwardly professing friendship and a desire for
peace, inwardly the fire of hatred burned fiercely in the breast of the
Black Snake against the Ojebwa chief and his only son, a young man of
great promise, renowned among his tribe as a great hunter and warrior,
but who had once offended the Mohawk chief by declining a matrimonial
alliance with one of the daughters of a chief of inferior rank, who was
closely connected to him by marriage. This affront rankled in the heart
of the Black Snake, though outwardly he affected to have forgiven and
forgotten the slight that had been put upon his relative. The hunting
had been carried on for some days very amicably, when one day the Bald
Eagle was requested, with all due attention to Indian etiquette, to go
to the wigwam of the Black Snake. On entering the lodge, he perceived
the Mohawk strangely disordered; he rose from his mat, on which he had
been sleeping, with a countenance fearfully distorted, his eyes glaring
hideously, his whole frame convulsed, and writhing as in fearful bodily
anguish, and casting himself upon the ground, he rolled and grovelled on
the earth, uttering frightful yells and groans.
The Bald Eagle was moved at the distressing state in which he found his
guest, and asked the cause of his disorder, but this the other refused
to tell. After some hours the fit appeared to subside, but the chief
remained moody and silent. The following day the same scene was
repeated, and on the third, when the fit seemed to have increased in
bodily agony, with great apparent reluctance, wrung seemingly from him
by the importunity of his host, he consented to reveal the cause, which
was, that the Bad Spirit had told him that these bodily tortures could
not cease till the only son of his friend, the Ojebwa chief, had been
sacrificed to appease his anger--neither could peace long continue
between the two nations until this deed had been done; and not only must
the chief’s son be slain, but he must be pierced by his own father’s
hand, and his flesh served up at a feast at which the father must
preside. The Black Snake affected the utmost horror and aversion at so
bloody and unnatural a deed being committed to save his life and the
happiness of his tribe, but the peace was to be ratified for ever if the
sacrifice was made,--if not, war to the knife was to be ever between the
Mohawks and Ojebwas.
The Bald Eagle seeing that his treacherous guest would make this an
occasion of renewing a deadly warfare, for which possibly he was not at
the time well prepared, assumed a stoical calmness, and replied,
“Be it so; great is the power of the Bad Spirit to cause evil to the
tribes of the chiefs that rebel against his will. My son shall be
sacrificed by my hand, that the evil one may be appeased, and that the
Black Snake’s body may have ease, and his people rest beside the fires
of their lodges in peace.”
“The Bald Eagle has spoken like a chief with a large heart,” was the
specious response of the wily Mohawk; “moreover, the Good Spirit also
appeared, and said, ‘Let the Black Snake’s son and the Bald Eagle’s
daughter become man and wife, that peace may be found to dwell among the
lodges, and the war-hatchet be buried for ever.’”
“The Beam of the Morning shall become the wife of the Young Pine,” was
the courteous answer; but stern revenge lay deep hidden beneath the
unmoved brow and passionless lip.
The fatal day arrived; the Bald Eagle, with unflinching hand and eye
that dropped no human tear of sorrow for the son of his love, plunged
the weapon into his heart with Spartan-like firmness. The fearful feast
of human flesh was prepared, and that old chief, pale but unmoved,
presided over the ceremonies. The war-dance was danced round the
sacrifice, and all went off well, as if no such fearful rite had been
enacted: but a fearful retribution was at hand. The Young Pine sought
the tent of the Bald Eagle’s daughter that evening, and was received
with all due deference, as a son of so great a chief as the Black Snake
merited; he was regarded now as a successful suitor, and intoxicated
with the beauty of the Beam of the Morning, pressed her to allow the
marriage to take place in a few days. The bride consented, and a day was
named for the wedding feast to be celebrated, and that due honour
might be given to so great an event, invitations were sent out to the
principal families of the Mohawk tribe, and these amounted to several
hundreds of souls, while the young Ojebwa hunters were despatched up
the river and to different parts of the country, avowedly to collect
venison, beaver, and other delicacies to regale their guests, but in
reality to summon by means of trusty scouts a large war party from the
small lakes, to be in readiness to take part in the deadly revenge that
was preparing for their enemies.
Meantime the squaws pitched the nuptial tent, and prepared the bridal
ornaments. A large wigwam capable of containing all the expected guests
was then constructed, adorned with the thick branches of evergreens so
artfully contrived as to be capable of concealing the armed Ojebwas and
their allies, who in due time were introduced beneath this leafy screen,
armed with the murderous tomahawk and scalping-knife with which to
spring upon their defenceless and unsuspecting guests. According to the
etiquette always observed upon such occasions, all deadly weapons were
left outside the tent. The bridegroom had been conducted with songs and
dancing to the tent of the bride. The guests, to the number of several
hundred naked and painted warriors were assembled. The feast was
declared to be ready; a great iron pot or kettle occupied the centre
of the tent. According to the custom of the Indians, the father of the
bridegroom was invited to lift the most important dish from the pot,
whilst the warriors commenced their wardance around him. This dish
was usually a bear’s head, which was fastened to a string left for the
purpose of raising it from the pot.
“Let the Black Snake, the great chief of the Mohawks, draw up the head
and set it on the table, that his people may eat and make merry, and
that his wise heart may be glad;” were the scornful words of the Bald
Eagle.
A yell of horror burst from the lips of the horror-stricken father, as
he lifted to view the fresh and gory head of his only son, the _happy_
bridegroom of the lovely daughter of the Ojebwa chief.
“Ha!” shouted the Bald Eagle, “is the great chief of the Mohawks a
squaw, that his blood grows white and his heart trembles at the sight of
his son, the bridegroom of the Beam of the Morning? The Bald Eagle gave
neither sigh nor groan when he plunged the knife into the heart of his
child. Come, brother, take the knife; taste the flesh and drink the
blood of thy son: the Bald Eagle shrank not when you bade him partake of
the feast that was prepared from his young warrior’s body.” The wretched
father dashed himself upon the earth, while his cries and howlings rent
the air; those cries were answered by the war-whoop of the ambushed
Ojebwas, as they sprang to their feet, and with deafening yells attacked
the guests, who, panic-stricken, naked and defenceless, fell an easy
prey to their infuriated enemies. Not one living foe escaped to tell the
tale of that fearful marriage feast. A second Judith had the Indian
girl proved. It was her plighted hand that had severed the head of her
unsuspecting bridegroom to complete the fearful vengeance that had been
devised in return for the merciless and horrible murder of her brother.
Nor was the sacrifice yet finished, for with fearful cries the Indians
seized upon the canoes of their enemies, and with the utmost speed,
urged by unsatisfied revenge, hurried down the lake to an island where
the women and children and such of the aged or young men as were
not included among the wedding guests, were encamped in unsuspecting
security. Panic-stricken, the Mohawks offered no resistance, but fell
like sheep appointed for the slaughter: the Ojebwas slew there the
grey-head with the infant of days. But while the youths and old men
tamely yielded to their enemies, there was one, whose spirit roused to
fury by the murder of her father, armed herself with the war club and
knife, and boldly withstood the successful warriors. At the door of the
tent of the slaughtered chief the Amazon defended her children: while
the war lightning kindled in her dark eye, she called aloud in scornful
tones to her people to hide themselves in the tents of their women, who
alone were _braves_, and would fight their battles. Fiercely she taunted
the men, but they shrank from the unequal contest, and she alone
was found to deal the death-blow upon the foe, till overpowered with
numbers, and pierced with frightful wounds, she fell singing her own
death-song and raising the wail for the dead who lay around her. Night
closed in, but the work of blood still continued, till not a victim was
found, and again they went forth on their exterminating work. Lower
down they found another encampment, and there also they slew all the
inhabitants of the lodges; they then returned back to the island, to
gather together their dead and collect the spoils of their tents. They
were weary with the fatigue of the slaughter of that fearful day; they
were tired of blood-shedding; the retribution had satisfied even their
love of blood: and when they found, on returning to the spot where the
heroine had stood at bay, one young solitary female sitting beside the
corpse of that dauntless woman, her mother, they led her away, and did
all that their savage nature could suggest to soften her anguish and dry
her tears. They brought her to the tents of their women, and clothed and
fed her, and bade her be comforted; but her young heart burned within
her, and she refused consolation. She could not forget the wrongs of
her people: she was the only living creature left of the Mohawks on that
island. The young girl was Indiana, the same whom Hector Maxwell had
found, wounded and bound, to perish with hunger and thirst on Bare-hill.
Brooding with revenge in her heart, the young girl told them that she
had stolen unperceived into the tent of the Bald Eagle, and aimed a
knife at his throat, but the fatal blow was arrested by one of the
young men, who had watched her enter the old chiefs tent. A council was
called, and she was taken to Bare-hill, bound, and left in the sad state
already described.
It was with feelings of horror and terror that the Christian children
listened to this fearful tale, and Indiana read in their averted eyes
and pale faces the feelings with which the recital of the tale of blood
had inspired them. And then it was that as they sat beneath the shade
of the trees, in the soft misty light of an Indian summer moon, that
Catharine, with simple earnestness, taught her young disciple those
heavenly lessons of mercy and forgiveness which her Redeemer had set
forth by his life, his doctrines, and his death.
And she told her, that if she would see that Saviour’s face in Heaven,
and dwell with him in joy and peace for ever, she must learn to pray for
those dreadful men who had made her fatherless and motherless, and her
home a desolation; that the fire of revenge must be quenched within her
heart, and the spirit of love alone find place within it, or she could
not become the child of God and an inheritor of the kingdom of Heaven.
How hard were these conditions to the young heathen,--how contrary to
her nature, to all that she had been taught in the tents of her fathers,
where revenge was virtue, and to take the scalp of an enemy a glorious
thing!
Yet when she contrasted the gentle, kind, and dovelike characters of her
Christian friends, with the fierce bloody people of her tribe and of her
Ojebwa enemies, she could not but own they were more worthy of love and
admiration: had they not found her a poor miserable trembling captive,
unbound her, fed and cherished her, pouring the balm of consolation into
her wounded heart, and leading her in bands of tenderest love to forsake
those wild and fearful passions that warred in her soul, and bringing
her to the feet of the Saviour, to become his meek and holy child, a
lamb of his “extended fold?” *
_[*Footnote: The Indian who related this narrative to me was a son of a
Rice Lake chief, Mosang Poudash by name, who vouched for its truth as an
historic fact remembered by his father, whose grandsire had been one of
the actors in the massacre. Mosang Poudash promised to write down
the legend, and did so in part, but made such confusion between his
imperfect English and Indian language, that the MS. was unavailable for
copying.]_