THE EMBASSADRESS AND THE MOTHER.
Before the winter set in Mahaska conceived the project of making a visit
around among the several powerful tribes constituting the Six Nations,
hoping by the influence of her presence to increase still more her power
and to aid the furtherance of the ambitious projects which had formed in
her wily brain. She was accompanied on her journey by Gi-en-gwa-tah and
several of the principal chiefs, escorted by her body-guard, and all the
state and pomp which she commanded was freely displayed.
Among all the Nations she was received with every demonstration of
respect; all sorts of festivities were instituted in her honor and her
counsels were listened to with profound attention.
Her plans in regard to the English alliance were working well. The
delegates had returned with highly favorable reports, and Mahaska wrote
to the Governor, that, come when it might, the next struggle would see
the Six Nations in alliance with the British.
She managed artfully to hold consultations with the chiefs concerning
this matter during every absence of Gi-en-gwa-tah, and succeeded in
establishing the impression that he was weak and vacillating, at the
same time that his ambition was inordinate and could not endure to
witness the success of men superior to himself. Yet, while she was thus
undermining his future, the noble savage was aiding in every way to
extend her power. The freshness of his love came back at the sight of
her beauty and the admiration she excited, and he forgot entirely the
glimpses he had of late caught of the terrible spirit that lay hidden
under that gracious exterior.
Nothing could surpass the graciousness of the queen during her journey.
She knew only too well how to assume the appearance of generosity. She
made beautiful presents to the chiefs and their wives, scattered her
profuseness right and left, and, as she quitted each tribe in
succession, was followed by the love and wonder of their untutored
minds. She seemed to them like a being suddenly descended among them
from a higher sphere. They were never weary of gazing upon her beauty.
She dazzled their eyes with her rich attire and the costly goods which
had been the price of her treachery toward the French.
The snow began to fall heavily when Mahaska returned to her tribe and
again established herself in her palace by the Seneca lake. Her friend,
the English Governor, had furnished her with new gifts and her dwelling
was now replete with every article of comfort and luxury. She had
instructed the Indian women who performed the duties of servants in many
things which relieved her from the coarseness of savage life, and the
sumptuous table spread in her house would have done credit to the most
civilized household.
A year had passed—it had swept Mahaska far into the darkness of her new
career, and left many a stain of blood upon her soul which blotted out
the last trace of her youth forever. But a change came which, had she
been a woman of ordinary womanly instincts, would have subdued her
fierce nature. She sat in her palace crowned with the priceless blessing
of maternity. And her daring soul did soften under its tender influence.
Love for her child became for the time the one redeeming feeling of her
life, yet, like all emotions in her nature, it received a sort of
ferocity from its very strength. She pictured to herself a grand future
for her boy; he should be skilled in all the arts and knowledge of the
whites, while hatred toward his grandfather’s race would be the only
faith she impressed upon his soul.
The day her child was a month old she had made the occasion one of high
festival among the people, and she sat with her babe upon her knees
listening to the rejoicings that went up from the revelers without.
Gi-en-gwa-tah was absent at the birth of his child and had not yet
returned, but his arrival was daily expected. Mahaska was full of savage
joy in his absence, for the child had been all hers for a time at least.
She could not bear the idea of witnessing his love for it, and dreaded
with intense selfishness that the time might come when her boy would
give affection in return, to the brave savage that had been forced into
her life.
“Never,” she muttered; “he is all mine. No one shall share his love—the
savage who claims him shall have no part in my treasure.”
Saying these words she pressed her lips upon the forehead of the
sleeping babe as if registering a vow, so wickedly did she mingle evil
thought with the tenderest and holiest feelings that our human nature
can possess.
While she sat thus nursing her child with womanly seeming, the door was
flung open, and, with a quick, joyous tread, Gi-en-gwa-tah entered the
apartment.
Mahaska started so violently that the babe was disturbed in his slumber,
and uttered a faint cry that smote her heart like a sudden blow; and she
grew inwardly furious to see the man she so bitterly hated looking down
upon her and her child with an expression of such absorbing love,
claiming participation in her joy.
He bent over her, his dark, noble features aglow with emotion, his eyes
misty with the new tenderness which overflowed his heart.
“Mahaska—Mahaska!”
He could speak no other words. He bent over her, encircling his wife and
child in his arms. She drove back the bitter tide that surged up from
her heart, and forced herself to greet him with an appearance of
pleasure.
“Mahaska and her boy have been waiting for days,” she said; “the chief
has been long in returning.”
“The days have seemed like years to Gi-en-gwa-tah,” he answered; “he had
left his heart here and was like one in the dark till he could come back
and find it.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah speaks pleasantly like the south wind,” she returned,
with a smile; “he has been studying the flowery language of the
pale-faces.”
“It is his heart that speaks! Mahaska has not pined because this little
flower opened its eyes to console her for the chief’s absence.”
She held up the babe to his admiring gaze.
“Is he not brave and beautiful?” she cried.
The chief looked at him with a sort of wonder, not daring even to touch
his new treasure, so full of strange thoughts which he could not fathom
that he was quite speechless. The babe awoke and looked around; his
large black eyes dwelt wonderingly on the chief.
“See how brave he looks,” said Mahaska; “the chief will find a great
warrior in his son.”
“Mahaska will be happy and content now,” he said, gravely.
“She was so before,” replied the young mother.
“Sometime her face was sad—the wilderness was dark and made her youth
gloomy.”
“It is Mahaska’s home,” she replied; “she is among her people and asks
no more.”
He looked fondly down upon her, with a betrayal of feeling which habit
did not often permit him to reveal.
“The people are more drawn toward their queen than ever,” he said; “she
can stir their hearts as the wind ruffles the water.”
She smiled proudly. Better than he did she understand the power in her
hands; his generous nature could not conceive the use which she intended
to make of it.
“The chief has heard that before many moons the tribe will go out on the
war-path,” she said.
He bowed his head.
“This time Mahaska will lead them,” she exclaimed; “she is weary of
leading the life of a squaw.”
He looked at her in astonishment.
“The queen will do more wisely to stay at home and consult with the old
chiefs,” he said; “her wisdom will aid the warriors.”
Her eyes flashed; she laid the babe down upon her knees again.
“The Great Spirit has warned Mahaska,” she said; “will Gi-en-gwa-tah
teach her duty after that?”
He was silent, and she went on:
“Mahaska will lead forth the warriors; the people shall see that she is
great in the battle-field as at the council-fire. Her soul thirsts for
action; she will work out brave deeds with her own tomahawk.”
He attempted further expostulation, but she cried out:
“Is Gi-en-gwa-tah ashamed to fight by the side of a woman? Does he think
Mahaska a coward?”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah loves Mahaska; he fears for her safety.”
“Nothing can harm her when she is protected by the Great Spirit,” she
answered; “her enemies will flee her path like dust before the
whirlwind. The prophet has spoken, and the queen will obey.”
Gi-en-gwa-tah still looked troubled, but he had learned the uselessness
of opposition—he might as well have struggled against an earthquake as
against the power of that woman’s will.
“The queen has much time for thought,” he said, calmly; “she will decide
wisely.”
“She has decided! Did I not say that the prophet had come in dreams,
saying: ‘Let Mahaska lead her warriors forth to the war-path—without her
presence they will take no scalps, but will return feeble and broken,
leaving half their number to be buried like dogs by their enemies.’”
“The Senecas have been always brave.”
“Is Mahaska to find opposition only in her own palace, from the father
of her boy?” she exclaimed.
The lightning of her eyes checked further expostulation.
“Let Mahaska decide,” he answered. “It shall be as she says.”
He turned from the subject, but his words rankled in her mind. She began
to believe, judging of his nature by her own instincts, that he was
jealous of her power, and could not bear the idea of her winning new
glory on the war-path.
“He shall be swept aside like chaff,” she thought. “Gi-en-gwa-tah,
beware! The clouds grow black—the earth resounds under your feet! Twice
you have disputed Mahaska—attempt it once more, and your little glory
shall go out like a feeble flame that my deeds will extinguish.”
The chief left her alone, and she remained bending ever her babe,
watching with solicitude his slightest movement, yet all the while
brooding over the dark thoughts forming in her mind.