A NEW LINK IN THE CHAIN.
Mahaska sat motionless until she heard her husband’s footsteps die away
from the outer room; then she laid the child back among the cushions and
hurried to the window. She then pushed the draperies aside and looked
out. From her stand she could see far up the lake, which was lying
placid and bright in the afternoon sun. The whole scene was one of such
pleasant summer tranquillity, so out of tune with her wild thoughts,
that she gazed upon it as a lost spirit might look into heaven. She saw
Gi-en-gwa-tah come out upon the bank accompanied by a couple of his
men—stood there and watched the canoe unmoored, and all their
preparations made complete. They were off at last, paddling swiftly up
the lake; but still she watched them until the barque became a mere
speck in the distance. Then she put silver whistle to her lips and blew
a shrill call—her usual summons to the squaws who attended upon her.
When an Indian woman came in she motioned her to take away the child,
resumed her eager walk for a few moments’ reflection, but soon hurried
from the house. She walked down into into the village, pausing to speak
kindly to a group of women sunning themselves on the grass, followed, as
she always was, by looks of love and awe when she appeared among her
people, and made her way toward the lodge inhabited by the old chief,
Upepah.
He was sitting there in characteristic indolence, surrounded by several
chiefs nearest his own age and dignity. When they saw Mahaska enter so
unexpectedly they arose, with the grave courtesy she had taught them as
her due, waiting in silence for her to declare the errand which had led
to that unusual visit. Knowing that they were all in favor of her
schemes against the French, there was no need for argument and
persuasion.
“The queen has come to hold council with her father,” she said to the
old chief, “and with the wise chiefs gathered about him.”
“It is well,” Upepah answered; “let the queen speak.”
She motioned them to be seated, and sat down among them, calm and
deliberate in every action as was in accordance with their habits.
“The queen has tidings from the English chief,” she said; “his nation
are out on the war-path against the French.”
They never asked how her information was acquired; in their strong faith
in her supernatural powers they believed it easy for her to attain any
knowledge.
“The time has come,” she continued, “to prove to the English that the
chiefs were not deceiving them in their protestations of friendship—are
they ready?”
They looked at each other with a little doubt. The gifts and promises of
the British had made them eager for the new alliance; but the burning
eloquence of Gi-en-gwa-tah had made them somewhat ashamed of the
treachery they meditated, and they hesitated to take the first decisive
step which should complete their double-dealing. Mahaska saw what was in
their minds, and hastened to remove the fear that they were going to be
called upon to commence open hostility against their former allies. She
had planned leading them to open war by degrees, entangling them so
completely that a positive outbreak would be unavoidable.
“The English chief does not ask them to make ready for the war-path,”
she said. “This is what he wishes, and the prophet has bidden Mahaska
urge its fulfillment upon the chiefs.”
They listened eagerly, glad to depend upon the will of the spirits, as
pronounced by the queen’s lips, and so cast from their minds any
personal blame in the matter.
“Let the chiefs send out a band of warriors to watch the movements of
the French—nothing more is desired. Mahaska herself will go with them.
If, while they are gone, the French are guilty of any bad faith toward
the Senecas, the chiefs will not have been the first to break the
treaty.”
They looked from one to another, well content to have the matter thus
arranged, and Upepah said:
“The queen speaks wisely—let it be as she wishes.”
“No time must be lost,” she urged; “before the sun is in the heavens
to-morrow, Mahaska and her warriors must be on their way.”
“Let the queen decide,” they answered.
“Her own band will be enough,” she continued, certain that not a man
among them would oppose her will in any way, but rather would second her
efforts to bring on an outbreak between the French and the tribe.
She conversed with them for some time; all the plans were completed, and
her guard warned to be in readiness at the appointed hour.
“The chiefs have acted wisely,” she said, as she arose to go; “the
prophet is pleased with them.”
A satisfied murmur ran through the group. On the instant the thought
flashed through her mind to choose this moment to plant in their minds a
feeling of suspicion against Gi-en-gwa-tah stronger than she had ever
yet ventured to arouse.
“The queen’s dreams are troubled,” she said, in a troubled tone, turning
again toward them.
They looked at her in surprise, and then waited.
“The time has not come for her to speak openly; but her spirits have
whispered strange words in her ear.”
“Will she repeat them to the chiefs?”
“She can tell them, because they are old men and very wise; but let them
be silent for the present.”
“They will not reveal Mahaska’s words until she wills it.”
She went close up to the old men, and whispered:
“The prophet fears that the chiefs forced a choice upon Mahaska too
quickly. The chief they made for her husband is false and ambitious,
hating her for her visions and the love the people bear her. The prophet
has warned Mahaska against his treachery; she will watch night and day;
the spirits will make it known to her; then she will bring the matter
before the whole people. Let the chiefs be silent until she returns.”
While they were still full of wonder and anger at her words, she passed
quickly from among them, and took her way back to her palace by the
lake. She had gained her ends; from that expedition she would not return
until by some covert act she had put it out of the power of the tribe to
continue at amity with the French; but the fiercest exultation in her
breast was at the thought of the suspicion she had aroused against
Gi-en-gwa-tah—a suspicion which should be carefully fanned until it
burst into a flame that would consume him. It was now sunset;
Gi-en-gwa-tah would not return until nightfall, and there was little
fear of his even learning any thing about the expedition until morning.
Then it would be too late for him in any way to thwart her.
* * * * *
That had been a long, dreary afternoon to the unhappy chief. When they
reached their place of destination he left his companions to their sport
and wandered away into the forest, anxious to be alone with the host of
strange thoughts which had suddenly forced his mind into such restless
activity. He could not have explained the feelings which tortured his
heart; but, even in his untutored state, his faculties were singularly
sensitive and imaginative. He was suffering the horrible grief and
jealousy a civilized man might, when the first doubt in regard to the
woman he loved arose in his mind—a doubt that she had never returned his
affection—that, back in the life of which he knew so little, lay the
only dream of love her heart had ever known.
There came, too, for the first time, a fear that she employed her
supernatural gifts to further her own ends, her ambition and her hatred.
He did not doubt the gifts ascribed to her, but he began to understand
how all her powers tended toward absolute dominion, and he was stunned
to see this woman, whom he had looked upon as a creature of a higher
sphere, prove herself capable of using her prophetic wisdom as a means
of personal aggrandizement.
But, even with the idea that she had loved the French Governor, there
came no thought of accepting the means of revenge in his power against
the man. By joining her plans the opportunity would have offered itself;
but a reason like that could not tempt him to urge his people to break
their pledge and plunge into a causeless war with those he knew to be
friends.
So, in the midst of these torturing reflections, the long afternoon
passed away, and in the dusk of evening he returned to his companions.
Their canoe sped swiftly down the lake, and once more Gi-en-gwa-tah
entered his dwelling, but now dark shadows walked beside him and stood
between him and the woman he had so blindly worshiped.
Mahaska received him with her brightest smiles, making not an allusion
to what had happened, but conversing only of his day’s sport. She sat
opposite him at the supper, spread, according to her habits, after the
fashion of the whites, so gay and fascinating that he tried to think the
dreadful thoughts of the day had been roused only by his own fancy.
He did not go down into the village, so no warning of the proposed
expedition reached him, and Mahaska sat smiling at the success of her
maneuvers as she furtively watched him.
The moon came up broad and full, and streamed into the apartment where
they sat. Mahaska had an appointment at that hour, and, without deigning
any explanation, she arose to go out.
“Mahaska is going away?” he asked.
“The prophet bade her be on the lake to-night in the moonlight; let
Gi-en-gwa-tah go to his rest; perhaps Mahaska’s spirits will set the
matter which troubles him at rest.”
He allowed her to depart in silence, no idea of opposition entering his
mind. Those midnight communings on the lake always had been her habit
since she came among the Indians, so that there was nothing in her going
out to excite his distrust.
Left to himself, all Gi-en-gwa-tah’s painful reflections returned, and
he went out into the night to forget them in a hurried walk. With no
thought of attempting to watch Mahaska he walked along the shore above
his dwelling, lost in the sad thoughts which crowded upon his mind. He
plunged into the depths of the forest and rushed away through its
shadows, feeling a sense of relief in rapid action. Miles beyond the
Indian village he came out upon the shore again, and stood on a little
eminence looking across the lake. The moonlight lay soft and clear upon
the waters; the shadows of the great trees were reflected in its depths;
the summer wind sighed up softly from the wilderness and rippled the
bosom of the lake until the broad sheet of silvery water sparkled and
shone as if countless gems had been flung up from its depths. The
tranquillity of the scene must have soothed the most agitated mind.
Unconsciously the chief’s mood changed, and he stood looking across the
waves with a feeling of rest that he had not known during the whole long
day. Suddenly his quick eye caught an object far out in the lake. He
gazed intently; it drifted nearer until Gi-en-gwa-tah saw distinctly a
canoe with Mahaska seated in it, the moonlight playing about her like a
halo. He was turning away, believing that light supernatural, and a
thrill of awe ran through his frame that he should unwittingly have been
a spectator of her secret watch. Just then his eye was attracted by an
object which changed the whole current of his thoughts. A canoe moved
close by that in which Mahaska sat, and a man was clearly visible in it.
Was it only a shadowy barque that he saw? Did her spirits take visible
shapes and thus appear to her.
He stood spell-bound, divided between the superstition which made a part
of his religious belief, and the jealous pang which wrung his breast.
While he watched, trying to believe that it was no human shape or
earthly barque, he saw the canoes parted company. Mahaska rowed swiftly
away down the lake while the other boat sped off in a contrary
direction.
Gi-en-gwa-tah watched the strange canoe disappear, still divided in his
feelings—one moment tempted to rush up the shore and attempt to keep the
barque in sight, the next checking the impulse as a wicked thought
which, if carried out, might bring destruction not only upon himself but
his whole people. Mahaska’s canoe had disappeared and the boat he
watched was turning a distant point. At that moment a clear whistle
sounded from it. He listened; no supernatural tones were they. Fragments
of a melody he had heard among the pale-faces during his visits to
Quebec, were given out by the whistler with careless grace.
Before the chief could recover from his stupefaction the canoe had
disappeared, and Gi-en-gwa-tah stood alone in the still midnight, with
his most terrible fears confirmed, his heart wrung and tortured with
pangs undreamed before, and, worse than all, his religious faith—the
faith in the spiritual powers of the queen which had made her so holy an
object in his eyes—shaken to its very foundation.
After these first moments of agony, he rushed away down the shore,
suddenly plunged anew into the forest and buried himself in its depths,
not trusting himself to return to his dwelling until a few hours’
reflection had given him back something of his old strength and
composure.
The gray dawn was breaking over the lake when Gi-en-gwa-tah emerged from
the forest and approached his own dwelling. He saw Mahaska’s body-guard,
increased till its number consisted of at least two hundred and fifty
warriors, drawn up before the entrance to the palace. Filled with
astonishment at the sight, with his mind so racked by the suspicions of
the past that he was doubtful what their appearance there at that hour
might portend, he rushed through the groups of savages collected about
and entered the house. In one of the inner rooms he met Mahaska, face to
face. She was attired after her usual fashion when going upon a long
journey, and every thing about her betokened the haste of approaching
departure.
“What are Mahaska’s warriors stationed by her palace for?” he asked,
abruptly, with a sudden conviction that some treachery was intended by
this sudden and secret move. “Whither is Mahaska going?”
She looked at him with undisguised triumph.
“The chiefs have desired Mahaska to go into the forest,” she said, “and
watch the movements of the pale-faces; they are at war.”
“This hides some treachery toward our friends” he exclaimed; “Mahaska
means evil.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah mutters still like an old squaw,” she said, scornfully;
“but his words are weak as the wind; Mahaska is going forth.”
“Let her wait!” he exclaimed, passionately; “Gi-en-gwa-tah will see the
chiefs; there have been false whispers in their ears.”
“The squaws of burthen may obey Gi-en-gwa-tah; the warriors who serve
under him may heed,” she cried, “but Mahaska is queen of the Senecas and
a prophet in the whole Six Nations; let the young brave choose other
words when he speaks to her.”
Astounded at her air of defiance, and yet not to be put aside,
Gi-en-gwa-tah plead earnestly with her for a few moments, but his words
were idle. It was too late now to seek the chiefs; there was nothing for
it but submission—the wily woman had outwitted him. She turned away
without even a show of parting, and passed out of the house where her
horse awaited. Gi-en-gwa-tah gave some order to one of the savages and
followed. Mahaska was in her saddle, exchanging last words with a few of
the elder chiefs who had come up to witness her departure, when
Gi-en-gwa-tah rode up to her side mounted on his war-horse.
She stared at him in haughty anger and surprise.
“Whither goes Gi-en-gwa-tah?” she demanded.
“With Mahaska and her warriors,” he replied, with quiet firmness which
she well understood.
For an instant it seemed as if she would give way to the storm of
passion which this determination aroused; but it was checked by a sudden
thought of the danger of such a course to her schemes at that moment of
their initiation.
Let him go—she would not oppose it. During this journey the long-sought
opportunity to ruin him should be found; in his blind obstinacy he had
rushed toward the fate she held in store for him. Her brow cleared; she
gathered up her reins with a smile.
“Mahaska is glad that the chief accompanies her; he shall be one of her
warriors now.”
He did not return the smile, for he understood perfectly the meaning she
intended to convey—that the expedition was entirely under her control,
and that, in accompanying it, he went without any authority. Still, he
did not falter in his resolve; he _must_ learn the truth of his doubts
concerning her. Besides that, his presence might be the means of
preventing any trouble between her party and the French; but, in that,
he counted upon an influence which he no longer possessed. Mahaska’s
guard were bound to her by blind devotion, and her slightest wish would
be their law. With them the chief was powerless.