THE REVELATION.
A dark plot lay buried in Mahaska’s soul, of which she had as yet given
no hint even to the chiefs. She intended to forsake the alliance with
the French and carry the Six Nations over to the service of the English
in the war then imminent between the two powers. But the time for that
action had not yet arrived, though her thoughts were constantly dwelling
upon it, and after that night’s thought she rose up stronger and more
determined than ever, as her hatred for the French increased from the
reflections which Gi-en-gwa-tah’s words had aroused in her mind.
Before giving any clue to her scheme to the other chiefs, she wished to
sound Gi-en-gwa-tah upon the subject and learn if it was possible that
he could be brought to second her schemes. She knew how honorable he
was, unlike the generality of his nation; in his eyes a pledge was
sacred, and the very idea of breaking off the alliance with the French,
unless some treachery or ill-treatment on their part gave reason for it,
would have been abhorrent to him. Still, with all her wonderful
knowledge of human nature, she did not thoroughly understand the chief;
she could not give his savage mind credit for all the uprightness which
it possessed; so utterly false was she herself that, with the usual
weakness of such natures, she believed that every man could be induced
to yield to a plan which he felt to be wrong if the personal temptation
and reward were sufficiently strong.
Long before she left her girlish home in Quebec to dwell among the
Indians, this idea of breaking off the alliance with the French had been
paramount in her mind, and it was only the lack of opportunity which had
prevented her already making such communications to the English Generals
as would induce them to offer overtures to the tribes then comprised in
the great Iroquois league known in history as the Six Nations, of whom
it was now her scheme to become sole chief. She was not aware how strong
a feeling of friendliness Gi-en-gwa-tah held toward the French, and she
determined, even before he went away upon the war-path, to give him some
idea of the plan in her mind under the promise of inviolable secrecy;
well knowing that, however he might regard her design, she could trust
his word; the most fearful tortures could not have wrung from him a
secret which he had pledged himself to preserve.
There were many things besides her hatred of the French urging her on in
this matter, though that was the dark foundation upon which all her
plans were laid, and other desires were faint and poor beside the
craving for vengeance which filled her soul against her father’s people.
She felt certain that the English would aid her in her schemes if she
would turn the tribes over to them—they would do their utmost to
increase among the Indians a belief in her supernatural gifts, they
would lavish upon her rich presents and plentiful sums of money which
would make her still more powerful and more firmly settled in her sway.
All these things she was confident an alliance with the English would
afford her, and she determined to enter upon her work at once.
Difficulties had, for a long time, been frequent between the French and
British, and she saw clearly that, ere long, they must ripen into war.
It was for that she wished to be prepared.
She wanted so to work upon the minds of the leaders of the tribes that
they would be ready to fall into her plans when the moment arrived; she
wished the rupture to be sudden; she would deceive the French up to the
last moment and then turn unexpectedly against them in some battle, and
overwhelm them by this sudden onset of the savages whom they had treated
as allies and friends.
Her thoughts rushed forward to the time when she might actually rush
into Quebec with her train of bloodthirsty Indians, carrying desolation
and death into the city of her birth. She recalled the streets and
houses familiar to her girlish years; in fancy she saw them in flames
and heard the death-shrieks from scores of voices that had been familiar
in the past and had known only accents of friendship and affection for
her. But she only remembered, with added hatred, all who had shown her
kindness. Every proof of affection had stung her like a wrong. They had
dared to pity her for the Indian blood which darkened her veins, and
their kindness had sprung out of the commiseration they felt for her
condition.
The day would come when they should be repaid with interest—when she
would give back dagger-thrusts for every tender smile, and laugh at the
death-agonies of those who had sought to brighten her first youth by
their sympathy.
Gi-en-gwa-tah was sitting in their lodge during the early part of the
day which had crowned her bloodily as queen, when she said, abruptly:
“Mahaska had strange visions last night.”
He turned toward her with a face full of curiosity and interest.
“What did the voices say to Mahaska?” he asked.
“They spoke vaguely,” she replied—“for Mahaska’s ear alone.”
He looked disappointed, and she added, in her softest voice:
“But things which Mahaska would not declare at the council, surely she
may whisper to her chief; they did not forbid her to do _that_. Mahaska
knows that she can trust her brave.”
Gi-en-gwa-tah drew himself proudly up:
“The chief has never broken his word,” he said; “that which Mahaska
tells him in the secrecy of her lodge shall never be whispered to the
wind outside.”
“It is well,” she returned; “better even than his courage Mahaska loves
the chiefs honor; she will trust him.”
“She may do so; he will be silent as the grass over the graves of our
fathers—let Gi-en-gwa-tah hear the queens visions.”
He liked to call her by that title; his nature was too noble for him to
feel the slightest jealousy of her power, and even the thought which had
of late crossed him of his own secondary position brought no bitterness
toward her; it only made him burn to distinguish himself by greater
deeds, that he might win for himself honors which should prove him
worthy to have been selected as her husband.
After a few moments’ pause she said, in the deep, impressive tone in
which she was wont to relate her visions:
“Mahaska was not alone until almost dawn; all night the voices of her
spirits filled the lodge like the sighing of the south wind; many things
they told her. They are pleased that the Fox is gone. Mahaska saw him,
too, at a distance; he could not approach her for her presence is
sacred, but he stood far off, moaning and wringing his hands, full of
suffering and misery for the trouble he tried to bring upon her. He took
with him no hunting-knife, no tomahawk, into the land of shadow; he
suffers from hunger and cold, and there are none to help him. All the
spirits say to him: ‘thus shall it befall those who plot against the
queen whom Mineto has given to the Senecas.’”
Gi-en-gwa-tah shuddered at the picture she drew. Mahaska noted the
effect of every word.
“They have told Mahaska that the expedition against the Delawares shall
be successful. When the young men go forth Mahaska will hang a crimson
plume in the door of her lodge to be worn by the brave who brings her
the scalp of Shewashiet. Let Gi-en-gwa-tah take heed that no other hand
than his bears off the prize.”
The chief murmured some unintelligible words, but she saw by the
kindling of his eyes that only the loss of his own life would prevent
his claiming the guerdon. Even in that busy moment she had time to hope
that this might be the end—that the warriors might come back and lay the
dead body of her husband at her feet—it was to spur him to new
recklessness that she suggested the prize.
“All these things they told Mahaska clearly; they showed her a future
for Gi-en-gwa-tah full of glory if he aids the queen—ruin and desolation
for him as well as for all who oppose her.”
“The chief loves the queen,” he answered with deep feeling; “the wishes
of her heart are his own.”
“It is well,” she said again; “then let Gi-en-gwa-tah listen and heed.”
He bowed his head silently and she went on:
“The voice of the great prophet came after. When _he_ speaks Mahaska
knows that the occasion is very solemn. He was angry and spoke harshly.”
“Not angry with the queen?” interrupted Gi-en-gwa-tah.
“Never that” she replied; “he knows that Mahaska will always obey his
commands; but the people are blind and deaf, and hard to persuade; he
foresees trouble in the carrying out of his desires; but so surely as
they are not fulfilled, ruin and woe will fall upon the Senecas and all
the nations connected with them.”
She watched him still with her eagle glance; it was necessary to startle
him by those warnings before she made known her treacherous project.
“What said the prophet?” demanded Gi-en-gwa-tah.
“He says the people have followed foolish counselors; Mahaska must set
them right.”
“They will hear the voice of their queen,” returned the chief; “they
know how the prophet loves her.”
“But the prophet does not love the French nation,” she exclaimed,
quickly; “he says they are like jays, rich in bright colors, but with
many tongues and full of lies.”
Gi-en-gwa-tah looked at her in trouble and astonishment, but did not
reply.
“The Nations have been deceived; the French chiefs do not mean fairly by
them; they will let the Iroquois fight their battles, and when they are
weakened will take away their lands.”
“The French chiefs have kept their word with the Nations,” returned
Gi-en-gwa-tah; “did Mahaska hear the prophet aright?”
A thrill of anger burned in her breast; the opposition which she had
feared was rising up in the very outset.
“Let Gi-en-gwa-tah listen,” she said, calmly; “he only sees the faces of
the French chiefs, the prophet looks into their hearts. The pale-faces
will have long and bloody wars between themselves; the Indians have no
cause to love either; if they are wise they will join the side which is
to prove the most powerful and where they have not already been cheated
by false promises.”
“The Six Nations must keep their pledge,” exclaimed the chief; “they
have smoked the pipe of peace with the French leaders; they have taken
his presents; they would be dogs if they deserted him.”
“The English chiefs are very rich,” said Mahaska; “they would give great
sums to the Senecas; they are very powerful and will finally drive the
French across the great waters.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah has found the French men brave,” he replied, firmly;
“they fight like great warriors; they will not be conquered nor driven
away.”
Mahaska could hardly restrain a movement of impatience, but she
controlled herself; even her tutored face gave no sign of the tempest
which had begun to rage within.
“Mahaska does not speak her own words,” she said, warningly;
“Gi-en-gwa-tah contradicts the words of the prophet.”
“But Mahaska says he did not speak clearly; may she not be mistaken?”
“Only yesterday the chief saw the cloud-chariot which would have borne
Mahaska away from her people forever if they had refused her wishes;
does he doubt her _already_?”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah does not doubt; he only asks her to listen well to the
voices of her spirits.”
“She listens; she repeats their words; Mahaska can not twist them to
please Gi-en-gwa-tah.”
“No, no,” he said, quickly; “Mahaska knows that the chief does not wish
that. Speak, Mahaska; the prophet did not bid you tell the Nations to
forsake the French?”
The question took her by surprise; she was not prepared to make a direct
avowal, and remained silent for a time.
“I was bid to speak as I have,” she said; “this is not the season for
more words; by the time the chiefs return, Mahaska will see clearly and
will then tell Gi-en-gwa-tah all.”
She dropped the subject and began speaking of other things, artfully
making allusions to the English, their growing power, and comparing
their magnificent presents to their allies with the meager gifts which
the French had bestowed upon the tribes.
Gi-en-gwa-tah was greatly disturbed by all that she had said, and left
the lodge to complete his preparations for departure. He believed that
Mahaska would yet be convinced of the good faith of the French.
Certainly in his opinion, nothing, not even warnings from higher people,
could warrant his nation in throwing aside their pacific treaty with
them unless some act of faithlessness should render them justified in so
doing.
“Go,” muttered Mahaska, as he disappeared; “not long will I argue and
barter with that fastidious savage; my foot once on his neck and I can
throw off these irksome disguises, and free myself of him forever—fool!
blind fool, that he is!”
She stamped upon the ground as if already feeling her victim beneath it;
a spasm of fury swept over her features, so darkening and distorting
them that the face no longer seemed the same which had looked so
smilingly at the deluded chief.