THE FIRST STORM.
Some new trouble had again broken out with a neighboring tribe, and
Gi-en-gwa-tah went with a band of warriors to desolate their territory.
Mahaska, ever on the alert, perceived that a favorable moment had
arrived for bringing the great body of chiefs to her views in regard to
the English alliance. She had been craftily at work for weeks, but now
she intended to urge her cause with boldness.
Delegates from several of the Six Nations chanced to be there, and that,
added to the absence of Gi-en-gwa-tah, rendered the time a favorable one
for acting promptly. She feared the honest rectitude of the chief, and
knew that he would have great influence among the people; so she trusted
to having matters so far settled before his return that any opposition
on his part would prove useless.
The old chiefs were debating about the council-fire upon some
unimportant matter. She sent them word, by one of her honorary
body-guard, that she was coming to hold a consultation. Mahaska had
appropriated to herself a guard of one hundred warriors, to be always at
her command. When she wished to go upon the war-path the band swelled to
twice that number, and, during all the after years of her life, it was a
mark of high distinction to be chosen a member of that body.
She had not yet gone personally into battle, though the time came when
there was no carnage in which she did not take part—when for years and
years her very name was a sickening terror among the whites, and the
sight of one of the white queen’s private guard was a signal for coming
slaughter which knew neither distinction nor mercy.
She presented herself among the chiefs, who received her with all
possible honor, and waited to hear her errand.
“Queen Mahaska’s sleep has been troubled for many nights,” she said;
“her visions have been vague and indistinct; but, of late, her anchor,
the prophet Nemono, has spoken clearly to her again, and bid her speak
words of wisdom to the chiefs.”
They bowed their heads, saying:
“We will hear the words of the great prophet.”
“For many, many moons,” continued Mahaska, “the Six Nations have been
friends with the French; they have aided them in their wars, and have
given their young men to die for them; they have helped them to preserve
power and dominion to which they had no right. Is it not true? Let the
chiefs answer.”
“It is true,” they said with one voice.
“But what have the French done in return for the red-men?” she went on,
her voice deepening and her form dilating with new majesty. “They have
offered many promises, but Mahaska can find no trace of their
fulfillment. They have taken lands which were yours; they have treated
your young men harshly; they have refused to buy your furs at honest
prices—was this the conduct of _friends_? They laugh at you; they say
that the chiefs are old squaws to be cheated with presents of tobacco
and beads. Mahaska has dwelt among them; she knows their thoughts. They
will spurn you like dogs when you have worked their bidding! Have the
Six Nations no warriors that they submit to such insults?”
She hurried on with a passionate speech which carried her hearers
blindly along the stream of her eloquence. She urged upon them the
advantages of an alliance with the English, assuring them that it was
desired by the prophet. She threatened them with the anger of the Great
Spirit if they refused to obey, and, at length, worked them up to a
pitch of enthusiasm which rendered them ready and willing to concede to
her desires.
Three chiefs were appointed as a delegation to confer with the English
Governor, from whom Mahaska had received such offers of friendship. She
sent by them letters of instruction to the British authorities, and when
every thing was done that was necessary to her plans she awaited
Gi-en-gwa-tah’s return with composure, satisfied that it was then too
late for him to demur to her schemes with any success.
The war-party came back at last, and when Gi-en-gwa-tah learned what had
happened during his absence he was greatly troubled, and burning with
indignation. He called a council at once, and made a speech full of
feeling and honor to the chiefs, which was coldly received. During his
absence Mahaska quietly and subtly had done much to undermine his
influence; he was, therefore, totally at a loss to account for the
change he perceived among his people.
He sought the queen with his mind full of bitterness. She understood
these signs of discontent the moment she looked in his face, and said,
coldly:
“Gi-en-gwa-tah brings back more frowns than scalps from the war-path.”
The cutting sarcasm increased his irritation.
“The queen has done an evil thing,” he said, gloomily; “she has listened
to the voice of lying spirits.”
Mahaska sprung to her feet in sudden fury. She had grown so accustomed
to undisputed sway that even the slightest opposition roused her to
terrible passion.
“Who comes into Mahaska’s presence with false words?” she cried. “Has
Gi-en-gwa-tah drank too much fire-water on his bloodless war-path that
he enters here with such folly on his tongue?”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah speaks wisely,” he answered, with quiet dignity. “The
French are our brothers; Mahaska should not have urged the chiefs to
break their long-respected pledge.”
“Is Gi-en-gwa-tah to come between the queen and her dreams?” she
demanded. “Mahaska hears the words of wisdom from the lips of the great
prophet—can Gi-en-gwa-tah translate them better than she? Let him beware
how he opposes the wishes of the Manitou—how he brings shame on
Mahaska!”
The chief looked in astonishment at the rage in her countenance—she was
beginning to drop the mask which she had worn since their marriage.
“The red-men have no complaint to make against the French,” he urged.
“Let Gi-en-gwa-tah go and sew wampum with the squaws!” she insolently
exclaimed. “He has not the spirit of a chief.”
The chief’s haughty spirit rose to meet her own at this insult, and he
answered:
“The queen speaks biting words because she is a woman. Gi-en-gwa-tah can
not fling them back in return.”
Her rage kindled more hotly at the response, and she exclaimed, in a
low, terrible voice:
“Gi-en-gwa-tah’s feet are on hollow ground—let him take heed lest it
give way under him.”
“What does Mahaska mean?” he demanded, quickly.
“That the people will cease to be the slaves of the false-tongued
French; that, if Gi-en-gwa-tah does not join the other chiefs, he will
lose caste in the tribe.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah will not consent to a wrong,” he said; “he will tell the
people that they are deceived.”
“And Mahaska will go among them and say: ‘Regard that man—you desired
him to be the husband of the queen whom you have reverenced and obeyed;
he comes to you and says that her visions are false—her words those of
lying spirits!’ Follow me to the council-fire—speak, and Mahaska will
answer; _come_!”
She made a movement as if to rush away at once, but the chief did not
move. His head sunk upon his breast—his face was dark with sorrowful
thoughts. The idea of strife between himself and his idolized wife was
terrible to him; he was perplexed and sorely at a loss how to act. He
could not bear to think that this injustice should go on until the Six
Nations had betrayed their trust, and proved themselves false to their
pledges; yet, at the same time, it cut him to the heart to act in
opposition to Mahaska’s wishes. He was too simple minded and too full of
his first love for her to think, as yet, that she could wittingly be
acting a treacherous part. He had felt the most implicit faith in her
prophesies. It was not her truth he suspected, but he feared that she
had been deceived by some false dream-spirit.
“Why does not Gi-en-gwa-tah follow?” cried Mahaska, tauntingly. “Let him
go among the people and tell them that their queen is a child—that she
deceives herself and them—why does he not come?”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah only asks his wife to reflect.”
“Mahaska’s thoughts are like the flight of an eagle,” she interrupted;
“and they fly alway toward the sun—Gi-en-gwa-tah’s thoughts are like
owls that doze while others act.”
He was greatly irritated by her open contempt and unrestrained sarcasm,
but he still answered with grave dignity that expressed far more sorrow
than anger.
“When the chiefs return from their mission we will hold council again,”
he said; “bitter words will not bring wisdom either to Gi-en-gwa-tah or
the queen.”
“The Six Nations shall obey Mahaska,” cried the infuriated woman, cold
and terrible in her rage; “sorrow and desolation shall smite him who
opposes her! The race of Gi-en-gwa-tah shall become extinct—the children
he hopes for, to be sunshine in his old age, shall rise up to curse him.
Let him beware; he struggles against the Great Spirit; he will be
uprooted like a pine tree smitten by the tempest.”
She looked a heathen prophetess inspired by her deity; her hands were
outstretched, her form erect, her eyes blazing with passion. In spite of
his firmness the chief was greatly troubled by her words.
“Mahaska’s heart has gone away from the chief,” he said, mournfully.
Words of deeper scorn rose to her lips. Her first impulse was to rush
forth among the people, denounce him as a traitor and a coward and rouse
all their fury against him. But she checked herself; it was better to
wait. The people’s attachment to him was very great, and she might
injure her own influence by too sudden action.
She therefore changed her demeanor; assumed a kindlier air; sat down by
him and conversed more quietly—using all her arts to blind his clear
judgment—appealing to his love—exercising unmercifully her great control
over his mind; but through it all, the honest dictates of his soul broke
through and through her schemes, and, in spite of the pleadings of his
heart, refused to be convinced.