A GREAT MEDICINE COUNCIL.
For some time the three men, of such different birth, race, and
manners, remained silent. It was a solemn moment. Their meeting
appeared to them providential.
Above all was the young Frenchman absorbed in his reflections. Alone an
hour or two ago, he was now one of a formidable trio.
All the time the Canadian went on with his cooking, while the chief
gave fodder to the horses.
"Supper is ready," suddenly cried Bright-eye, laughing, "let us eat."
And all three seated themselves around a magnificent roast leg of
venison _à la boucanière._
We must hasten to remark that nearly all Indian tribes on the borders
of Canada understand and speak French, at all events, they did at the
time of which we speak. This was the more fortunate as Oliver did not
know one word of Huron.
The guests did honour to the feast, that is to say, they left nothing
but the bones.
The meal, which was washed down by several draughts of French brandy,
was merry, enlivened by jokes and witticisms. The Indians are always
thus among themselves. It is only when in the presence of the whites,
whom they hate, that they are grave, silent, and sullen, never
unbending except under the influence of drink, when their conduct is
that of beings under the influence of delirium tremens.
Brandy, or rather spirit in every shape and form, is doing the work of
extermination for the American.
As soon as the repast was finished, they began to smoke, speaking of
indifferent things. It was the design neither of Bright-eye nor Oliver
to hurry the young chief. Indian etiquette is excessively severe on
this point. It is a proof of intense ill breeding to question a chief,
or even a simple warrior, when he appears anxious for silence.
And yet the sun had disappeared from the horizon; night had spread over
the desert, blotting out the landscape, and mixing up forms in the most
fantastic and strange manner. The sky, of a deep blue, was dotted with
stars. The moon, in its second quarter, began to show itself above the
trees, floating in ether, and spreading on every side its silvery rays,
that lit the prairie here and there with fantastic gleams. The night
wind shivered through the branches of the trees producing plaintive and
melodious sounds, like those of the Æolian harp.
The sombre dwellers in the desert, roused by the setting of the sun,
moved slowly about in the darkness, breaking the silence occasionally
by their wild brays, their sharp barks, and their deep roars. Under
every blade of grass murmured the never silent world of grasshoppers.
The night was cold. It was the period of the great autumn hunts.
Several white frosts had already cooled the earth, soon the temperature
would be below zero. The rivers and streams would be frozen, and snow
would cover the desert as with a shroud.
The adventurers, after throwing on an armful of dry wood to revive the
flame, had wrapped themselves in their ponchos, and, sheltered by the
trees, continued smoking silently.
"This is the hour of the second watch," suddenly observed Numank,
drawing from his belt the medicine calumet, which is only used by
chiefs in council; "the blue jay has sung twice, all rests around us.
Will my pale friends sleep or listen to the voice of a friend?"
"Sleep is for women and children," replied Bright-eye; "men remain
awake when a friend desires to speak of serious things. Speak."
"We listen," added Oliver, bowing.
"I will speak, since my friends desire it; but as what I have to say is
grave, it will not be a talk but a medicine council."
"Let it be so," said Bright-eye.
Numank rose, bowed to the four cardinal points, speaking some
indistinct words; then he seated himself on his hams again, stuffed
his calumet with moriche, a kind of sacred tobacco only used in great
ceremonies. Then having burnt some in the fire as an oblation, he took
a medicine stick, and with it lifted a burning coal to the bowl of the
calumet.
The chief then gave several puffs, and then, still holding the bowl in
his hand, presented the stem to Bright-eye. The hunter gave several
puffs, as did Oliver in his turn; it then came back to the chief, this
going on until the last morsel of tobacco was consumed.
Then Numank-Charake rose, bent again to the four cardinal points of the
heavens, shook the ashes into the fire, and spoke.
"Wacondah, master of life," he said, "you who know all, inspire my
words."
This formality over he replaced his calumet and sat down.
Some minutes elapsed, during which he remained wrapped in deep thought.
Then he raised his head, before bowed on his chest, bowed to his
audience, and began.
"Eight moons ago," he said, "I had just returned from an expedition
against the Piekanns. After presenting the scalps taken by myself and
young men to the sachems, and receiving their thanks, I was going to
my wigwam to visit my father, detained at home by old wounds, when I
suddenly saw a young girl leaning against the ark of the first man.
The young girl was about fifteen, tall, elegant, and beautiful. I
had long loved her without ever revealing the secret of my heart. On
this occasion she seemed to wait for me, and saw me approach with a
melancholy glance."
Bright-eye's eyes glistened, despite his self-control.
"When I was near her the young girl spread out her arms towards me,
and then made a step forward. I paused, and waited. 'Numank is a great
warrior,' she said, modestly lowering her eyes; 'his hut is lined with
the scalps of his foes, he has rich skins of every kind of beast, his
ball never misses; happy will be the woman whom he loves.'"
"On hearing these words, I was deeply moved, and seizing the hand of
the young girl, 'Onoura--beautiful child,' I said in her ear, 'I have
a little bird in my heart which is always singing and repeating your
name. Does this bird sing in your heart?' She smiled, looked at me from
under her eyelashes, and murmured, 'Night and day he whispers tender
words in my ear, and repeats the name of the warrior who loves me. Does
not Numank-Charake find his hut very solitary during the long winter
nights, when the wind howls in the forest and the snow covers the
earth?' 'My heart has long flown out to you,' I cried, warmly, 'from
the first hour that I saw you amidst your companions. Do you love me?'
'For life,' she said, blushing deeply. 'Good,' said I, 'then I will
attempt a new expedition to win the marriage presents, and ask you
of your father. You will wait for me, Onoura?' 'I will wait for you,
Numank. Am I not your slave for life?' and she gently pressed my hand.
I then took a wampum off my neck, and placed it on hers. She kissed
it, her eyes full of tears, and taking a gold ring from the thumb of
her left hand, she placed it on one of my fingers. I allowed her to do
so with a smile. 'You love me,' she said; 'nothing shall ever separate
us,' and before I could say another word she fled as does the gazelle
before the hunter. I followed her with my eyes as long as I could, and
then when she had disappeared round a corner I thoughtfully took my way
to my father's hut."
The chief paused. After a few minutes the Canadian, finding that the
other was not disposed to continue, touched him gently on the arm.
"Why did Numank-Charake show such want of confidence in his brother?"
asked the Canadian, reproachfully.
"What does my brother Bright-eye mean?" asked the chief, with slight
embarrassment.
"My brother knows what I mean," said the Canadian, with great
animation. "Born almost the same day, brought up together, having made
our first trails together on the prairies, as also our first expedition
against the Sioux and Piekanns, our hearts melted into one, I thought
we had no secrets. I know who is the woman whom my brother loves, but
why let me guess all about it, instead of telling me? Have I done
anything to offend?"
"Oh, Bright-eye, don't think that," cried the young man, eagerly; "but
love delights in mystery."
"And yet it likes to confide its sorrows and its joys to the heart of
a friend. On that very same night when she had this interview with the
chief, Evening Dew--Nouma Hawa--on her return to her hut, told her
brother all. Her heart overflowed with joy, and she could not repress
her feelings."
"Then Evening Dew owned her love to Bright-eye?"
"Am I not her brother, and your best friend?"
"True. Let my brother forgive me; I was wrong not to place confidence
in him. Perhaps I was fearful he might disapprove of it."
"On the contrary, it carries out my dearest wishes, and binds us more
and more to one another."
"My brother is better than I am, his heart is better; he will pardon
the weakness of a friend."
"On one condition," said the hunter, laughing; "that Numank-Charake has
no more secrets."
"I promise you," continued the chief, in a low, sad tone; "what I have
now to say is very terrible. But the friends of Numank-Charake must
know all. Two moons had elapsed since I and Evening Dew had spoken. I
had not been able to carry out my projects. One day I again met her
near the ark of the first man. 'The chief has forgotten his promise,'
she said. 'No,' I replied; 'tomorrow I will keep it.' I left her with
only a few more words. Next day I began to carry out my promise. I
prepared everything, even the usual ceremonies were carried out--those
you know so well."
"One moment," interrupted Oliver. "Bright-eye, brought up in your
villages, knows all about them, but I, as a mere stranger, know not
what you mean. As I mean to live with you, I should like to know a
little."
"My brother is right," said the chief; "I will tell him the whole
expedition. Before starting, the turf was taken off a considerable
square of earth, the mould being made soft and pliable with the hands.
It was then surrounded by stakes. When all was ready I went in and sat
at the end opposed to the direction in which the enemy lived. After
singing and praying, I put on the edge of the open space two little
white stones."
"After waiting half an hour in prayer, asking the Wacondah to guide
me right, the village crier, or hachesto, approached. I gave him my
orders. He turned and invited all the great warriors to smoke; then in
their turn the inferior warriors were invited. After all had smoked,
everyone examined the result of the ko-sau-ban-zich-egass. The white
stones had fallen in the direction of a well-known path."
"And what was the result?" asked Bright-eye.
"The Wacondah favoured his children. The path led towards the land of
our hereditary foes, the Sioux of the West."
"Good," said the hunter.
"Our party consisted of a hundred and fifty warriors, the picked men of
the nation, armed with guns. Every man carried the offerings to be cast
away on the field of battle, and hidden, if possible, in the entrails
of our foes."
"A pious custom," said Bright-eye.
Oliver looked at the Canadian, wondering whether he spoke seriously or
not. But there was no doubt of his good faith.
"Two days later we started. A small band of twenty presently joined us,
commanded by Tubash-Shah, the Cheat. My brother knows this restless and
ambitious chief. I offered to yield the command to him. My warriors
would not consent. Misunderstandings soon arose. Crossing some vast
prairies, we began to feel great thirst, and Tubash at once violated
the laws of war. I knew that water was not far off. The greater number
of the elder warriors, who had to walk, were exhausted by heat and
fatigue. Tubash sent out mounted scouts, and private signals were
agreed on. Soon a small river was discovered. Those who got first to it
fired guns, but before the detachments and the laggers had got up to
the river, the sufferings of most of us were excessive. Some vomited
blood, others were delirious. The expedition was a failure. Next day
desertions began among the warriors of Tubash, he setting the first
example. Soon I had only five-and-twenty men left. They offered to
follow me to the end of the world. But what could I do? With despair in
my soul I turned homeward. Halfway our scouts gave the alarm. An hour
later we were engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict with the Sioux. Their
party, six times as numerous as ours, was luckily composed chiefly of
young warriors on their first warpath. Our defence was so desperate,
that the Sioux yielded and fled. We were masters of the field, but out
of four-and-twenty only ten were alive, and these were badly wounded."
"It would be too terrible to tell the story of our sufferings on the
way home. We found that all was known about the expedition. But all
the sachems acclaimed us, the more that I brought back the scalps of
eighteen Sioux who had fallen on the field of battle. But if my honour
was safe, my happiness was lost. Evening Dew was gone."
"My sister abducted?" cried Bright-eye.
"No," said the other, sadly, "not abducted. She went away of her own
accord."
"Of her own accord?" repeated the hunter.
"During the absence of Bright-eye and myself, a paleface came to the
village. This man, it appears, for your father and grandfather refused
any explanation, is a relative of my brother. After remaining a week he
went away, accompanied by your father. Evening Dew followed, weeping
bitterly. Still she offered no resistance to the orders of her father.
Three days after your father returned to his tribe. He was alone. What
had become of the lovely young girl none could tell me. I made the most
minute inquiries without any result. Not knowing what else to do, I
then sent a warrior to my brother to appoint a meeting. Here I am, my
friend--what am I to do?"
"I tell you, chief, that your extraordinary story is inexplicable to
me. I cannot advise."
"Allow me to speak," said Oliver, "I am wholly disinterested in the
matter. I can therefore speak with that calmness which suits neither of
you at this moment."
"Speak!" cried the two young men.
"My advice is, to start at daybreak for the village. The father of
Bright-eye may have reasons for refusing explanations to the chief.
Family matters are sacred. But the brother of Evening Dew has a right
to demand a full explanation. I am certain it will be given to him by
his father, who can have no reason for being mysterious with him. Let
us then away to the village. Successful or not, we shall know what to
do. In every case, my dear friend and brother, count on me."
"What says the chief?" asked Bright-eye.
"The chief thanks Bounding Panther," replied the young man, warmly;
"his heart is loyal, and his soul generous. His advice is good and
should be followed. With two such friends, the redskin warrior is
certain of success."
The conversation then continued for some time on a subject always
interesting to a lover and a brother. Then, after throwing a pile
of dry wood on the fire, the three men rolled themselves in their
blankets, and lay down on the ground.
The two wood rangers lay face downwards, according to Indian custom.
As for Oliver, he lay on his side with his feet to the fire. At the
first hoot of an owl--the first bird which announces the rising of
the sun--the chief wakened his companions, and ten minutes later they
started on their journey.