THE SECRET JOURNEY AND THE HIDDEN TREASURE.
The long-threatened war between the French and English betokened its
nearer approach by numerous aggressions upon both sides, and skirmishes
became frequent.
At this time Gaston de Laguy had been appointed Governor of Canada. He
was a young man to hold an office of such importance, but there had been
a variety of peculiar circumstances which led to his appointment, and
among those which most induced him to accept the position had been the
health of his wife, Adèle. She had been the adopted daughter of Count de
Frontenac, the former Governor, and was the playmate of Mahaska in her
childhood, as well as the hated rival of her girlish years, for she had
won the love of de Laguy whom Mahaska had worshiped with a passion
bordering on frenzy in its intensity and reckless disregard of
conventional proprieties.
Madame de Laguy’s health had declined after the birth of her first-born,
and the physicians decided that a return to Canada and the enjoyment of
the free air of the wilderness, in which so much of her early life had
been spent, would conduce more than all their skill to restore her to
health. So they had returned to Canada, and, though Adèle retained few
pleasant memories of the country, she was content to remain there for a
time, since she could have the enjoyment of her husband’s society and
that of her child, with the prospect of recovering her wasted strength.
The love between de Laguy and his beautiful wife was something truly
impressive to witness. They seemed to have grown so closely into each
other’s souls that not even death could disturb the ties which bound
them.
The birth of their boy drew them still more closely together, and,
content with the world of happiness which they could center in their
home, they came unrepiningly out to the New World. During the summer,
business of importance took the Governor to Montreal, whither his wife
and child accompanied him. While there, they received intelligence of
the arrival of an old friend and relative of de Laguy at Quebec, and, as
the Governor could not leave for some time, Adèle determined to return
at once in order to welcome him at the gubernatorial castle.
The parting between the young husband and his wife was very painful, but
it would be only of brief duration, and the Governor saw his treasures
depart under the charge of a numerous escort without fear for her safety
or anxiety beyond the pain of separation. The Governor’s wife made the
journey in boats, and, as the weather was delightful, the trip was
exceedingly pleasant.
Adèle did her best to shake off the oppression which parting from her
husband had caused, with the unselfishness which made one of the most
beautiful traits of her character, and endeavored to make every return
for the efforts which the officers, who commanded her escort, employed
to render her journey pleasant. So she drifted on toward her own
sumptuous home, counting the days in her loving heart as blanks in her
life till they brought back her husband.
While this journey was taking place, Mahaska and her band of warriors
were threading the forest till they reached the vicinity of the St.
Lawrence. It had been a dreary journey to Gi-en-gwa-tah; Mahaska had
paid very little attention to his presence, but she never missed an
opportunity to make his slight impatience apparent to the band, and to
irritate, him by a thousand feminine efforts of malice. Still, he would
not speak harshly to her; in spite of all, he loved her with the fervor
of a noble heart that has set all its hopes on one object. He suffered
cruelly and he changed greatly during those long days, but he bore up
bravely under the heart-martyrdom which she inflicted on him. But he
watched her; doubt and jealousy grew every day stronger in his mind. If
once fully convinced that she was deceiving his people, all his love
would not prevent his exposing her plots; his keen sense of honor and
right would not have allowed him to remain silent.
So they journeyed on, but nothing arose to throw light upon the trouble
in his mind or to make the reason of this hasty journey more apparent.
He could neither eat nor sleep; all his faculties seemed absorbed in
that eager suspense as if some great crisis were at hand and he was
waiting for its approach.
Besides her other reasons for this expedition, Mahaska had one which was
unknown to any human being—a project which she might not be able to
carry out at that time, but which was swayed by the passion in her
nature next in magnitude to her thirst for powder and revenge—her love
of wealth.
It was a plan which would be very difficult to carry out, and in which
she could not trust even the most faithful of her band, resulting from a
secret confided to her by her grandmother, Ahmo, just before her death,
a few months previously. It was Ahmo to whose baleful influence the
child of Count Frontenac owed much of the unnatural ferocity of her
nature. It was Ahmo who had instilled into Mahaska’s mind the idea that
Frontenac had poisoned her mother—she it was who had inspired the girl
with the idea of a queenly supremacy over the tribes of the Six Nations,
by whom her mother’s father, the great chief and prophet Nemono, had
been held in the greatest reverence. After Mahaska’s rejection by the
gay young cavalier—de Laguy—to whom she made a remarkable proposition of
marriage, but who rejected her strange suit and soon wed Adèle,
Mahaska’s foster-sister and companion—the half-breed’s passions were in
a fit mood to bend to the will of Ahmo’s cunning and treacherous nature,
and the girl passed off among the Indians to become their queen and
prophet. Old Ahmo’s implacable soul only stayed long enough in its worn
out body to see her grandchild the wife of one of the Seneca braves and
the acknowledged princess of the tribe.
It was just after Mahaska’s arrival among the Senecas, that she was one
day sitting in her lodge, reflecting upon the savage life which now she
had chosen, when the draperies were flung back and Ahmo entered the
apartment. Her form was bent; her steps tottering and feeble, and it was
evident that she was rapidly passing away beyond the restlessness of
this life.
She had been for several days confined to her bed; Mahaska, hence,
looked in astonishment at her entrance.
“Ahmo could not rest; she longed to see her grandchild once again.”
“Mahaska would have come to you,” she said, kindly; “Ahmo is feeble; she
should not be out in the chill air.”
The old woman sunk down on a pile of furs near Mahaska and began
muttering to herself.
“Ahmo is tired, very tired,” said Mahaska, compassionately.
“Ahmo is dying,” replied the old woman, calmly.
Mahaska started; the idea of death was terrible to her then; she could
have met it once with fortitude, but now blankness and desolation were
abhorrent to her proud nature.
“All night she heard the voices of Nemono and her daughter Chileli,”
continued the old woman; “they are waiting for Ahmo; they have made
ready her lodge in the happy hunting-grounds.”
“Ahmo will stay yet with Mahaska, and watch her greatness increase till
it is beyond that of all the chiefs,” said the white girl.
The old woman shook her head.
“Three generations have blossomed before Ahmo’s eyes; she is very old
and wants rest.”
“Can she not rest in Mahaska’s lodge?”
“But she wants the rest without dreams that they sleep down yonder by
the water; Ahmo is old, and Chileli calls. She must go.”
She was silent again for some moments, then added:
“Ahmo has a secret for her grandchild.”
“Has Ahmo kept secrets from Mahaska?” she asked, reproachfully, her
heart softening strangely at the woman’s changed face and feeble manner.
“Ahmo will tell it now,” she returned. “There was no need till she was
ready to go forth in search of Nemono.”
“Ahmo could have trusted her child.”
“She knows it. But Ahmo was old; she loved power; she had grown
miserly—Mahaska will not be angry.”
“Mahaska is never angry with Ahmo; let her hear this secret.”
“Mahaska remembers the island lodge where she used to come and stay when
a child?”
The girl’s features contracted as they always did at the mention of any
thing connected with that portion of her life; but she bowed her head in
token of assent and motioned the old woman to proceed, not trusting her
voice lest it should startle the sick woman by the passion it betrayed.
“Below the lodge,” pursued Ahmo, “there stand two willow trees. Mahaska
has not forgotten them.”
It was not likely; as a child she had played under their shadow; as a
girl she had sat there weaving her wild visions; often in her sleep had
she heard the rustle of the long branches as they swayed to and fro, to
awaken, suddenly, almost believing for an instant that the events of the
past had been a dream, and that she was still a girl in the old lodge on
Orleans Island.
“Mahaska will find a little knot at the foot of the lower tree; let her
dig it away and push back the bark—she will see a box that was
Chileli’s, Mahaska’s mother—it is full of gold.”
Mahaska was not greatly surprised; she knew that in her mother’s
lifetime Frontenac had paid a large sum to old Ahmo, but she always
averred that it had been squandered among the tribe.
“How much gold has Ahmo there?” she asked.
The woman named the sum—it was much larger than Mahaska expected, and
the avaricious greed in her soul woke at once.
“But why did Ahmo leave it there?” she demanded.
The woman returned some vague answer.
“Mahaska can get it,” she said.
“But how? It will not be easy for Mahaska now to go so near Quebec. It
would have been better to have brought the money when Ahmo came on to
join the tribe.”
The old woman shook her head. The possession of that secret hoard had
been one of the chief delights of her old age; nothing but the approach
of death could have induced her to reveal her mystery even to her
grandchild. She had bitterly lamented leaving it behind when she was
forced to leave her home on the island, but she feared that it might be
discovered by some watchful eye, and so concluded to leave it in its
hiding-place.
“It may have been stolen,” Mahaska said.
“No, no,” returned Ahmo, with more energy than she had before betrayed;
“Ahmo did her work well—even with the knowledge she has given her,
Mahaska will find it hard to discover her gold.”
Mahaska was reflecting upon some means of placing the gold in her own
possession. She had no one whom she chose to trust on an errand like
that, while to go herself was an undertaking not at all agreeable to
contemplate. The thought of increasing her wealth was delightful enough
in itself, though there was a much broader passion than mere avarice
reigning in her mind—the greater her wealth the more extended her
influence. Gold and power—her soul centered its hopes on the two.
She looked at Ahmo and her heart softened again—she could not conceal
from herself that the old woman was dying—a little time and she would be
alone of all her race.
“Mahaska is not angry with Ahmo?” the woman demanded, rousing herself
quickly.
“Angry? no! Mahaska loves Ahmo; her heart is knit fast to that of her
grandmother.”
The old squaw’s face lighted up with a gleam of pleasure. She crept
nearer to her grandchild and sheltered her head in the folds of her
dress.
“Ahmo only kept her treasure secret to please her old age; it will be
all Mahaska’s now.”
“Ahmo did well; Mahaska cares nothing for the gold, she would rather see
her grandmother strong and vigorous than to possess all the gold the
world could offer.”
The old woman smiled; she was touched and gratified by these words of
affection.
“Mahaska shall be happy,” she said, “because she is kind to the aged
woman; she loves her grandame.”
“When the spring comes, Ahmo will grow strong again,” urged the
granddaughter.
The woman lifted her head warningly.
“Ahmo will never see the snow fall again; let not Mahaska deceive
herself.”
She supported herself against the furs and motioned Mahaska to sit by
her side. She sat for a long time silently regarding her, then she said:
“Mahaska will be a great queen; Ahmo only wishes to live long enough to
witness her marriage with the chosen brave of her tribe.”
“Ahmo will surely live,” Mahaska replied, more touched than she had
thought to be by the scene.
“She believes so,” said the woman; “Ahmo will watch over her from the
spirit-land; let Mahaska be content.”
At last she rose as well as her feeble strength would permit and
tottered away—she pressed a last kiss upon her grandchild’s forehead and
made a sign of farewell as she turned to move away.
“Mahaska will go with you,” she said
“No, no; Ahmo can still walk; she _must_ keep her strength; she must
live to see her grandchild go home to Gi-en-gwa-tah’s lodge.”
There never had been any further conversation between them on the
subject, for the old woman died suddenly during the midst of the
festivities which had followed the wedding of Mahaska. For a long time
after that event Mahaska had been too much occupied with her own
fortunes to devise any means for obtaining the coveted gold; but she had
by no means forgotten the affair, and, during this expedition, she
trusted to find an opportunity of approaching sufficiently near Quebec
to go to the island of which her grandmother had spoken, in the hope of
obtaining possession of the gold she had buried there, although she knew
well that such an expedition would be very perilous and it might be
impossible at the time.