I will pursue to death this spiteful knight:
Not earth's low centre, nor sea's deepest part,
Nor heaven, nor hell, can shield him from my might:
I will o'ertake him, take him, cleave his heart.
FAIRFAX' TASSO.
The suspicions of the Indian were confirmed beyond a doubt. It was,
perhaps, the voice and accent of the Solitary in his native tongue
that at first attracted his attention and induced him to try the
experiment which resulted as we have seen. He must have had or fancied
that he had a cause of deadly hatred of long standing against Holden.
It is impossible otherwise to explain his conduct. But no length of
time can erase the recollection of an injury from the mind of a North
American Indian. He cherishes it as something never to be parted with,
and would feel degraded in his own estimation were he to forgive.
Revenge is the central sun round which his spirit revolves; and to
gratify the feeling no hardships are too severe. For such a purpose
he will traverse, with an unerring instinct, pathless forests for
hundreds of miles, swim wide rivers, climb lofty mountains, sleep,
unrepining, on the bare ground, exposed to all vicissitudes of heat
and cold, supporting himself by the chase and fishing, and sustained
throughout by his vindictive passion and the glory he connects with
its gratification. The kindness shown by Holden to his sister and
her son, and the reverence with which she regarded him, it might
be expected would have influenced Ohquamehud; but they had no such
effect. To the kindness he ascribed a sinister motive; and of course,
Peéna's gratitude was misplaced. It was therefore with a fiendish joy
unalloyed by misgivings, that he brooded over the means to accomplish
his purpose.
He dared not communicate it to Peéna. He understood her gentle
nature too well to suppose that, under any circumstances, she could
sympathize with him, even though she felt no sense of obligation to
Holden; and, besides, he distrusted her as one who had abandoned the
faith of her fathers. For, although no Christian in the proper import
of the word, the sweet and purifying influences of Christianity had
not been wholly thrown away upon Peéna. She had many friends in the
neighboring village who had been attracted by her gentle temper and
modesty, conspicuous among whom was Faith Armstrong. Hence, when she
came to the village, as not unfrequently was the case, in order to
sell the berries she had gathered in the fields, or pretty baskets
stained with such lively colors as the simple skill of the Indians
knew how to extract from roots and the bark of trees, it seldom
happened that she returned without having made Faith a visit. On such
occasions the enthusiastic girl would strive to inform her on points
of religion which, to her own mind, were of the highest importance.
Peéna would listen, and never contradict, though, it is probable, she
understood but little of what to Faith's apprehension was clear.
It was impossible, however, not to derive benefit from such meetings.
None could be in the presence of Faith without being influenced by
the atmosphere of goodness in which she moved. And, indeed, that she
herself derived pleasure from the presence of Peéna, was evidence of
the gentle worth of the latter.
No wonder then that Ohquamehud determined to conceal his fell purpose
in his own heart. When, therefore, with the quiet step peculiar to his
race, he glided into her hut, just before the setting of the sun, he
had chased the traces of passion from his brow, and met her with a
calm and satisfied mien. So perfect was the dissimulation that even
one less guileless than the woman would have been deceived. In the
present case, the preoccupation of her mind in Holden's favor made it
easier.
"My brother," she said, with a pleased expression, as she caught sight
of his altered appearance, "is like the sky in summer when not a cloud
is to be seen."
"The cloud has left the sky of Ohquamehud."
This was said with a natural and easy air, as if all suspicion were
banished from his mind; nor was the subject further adverted to.
The time at which the children of nature retire to rest, is not that
observed by the artificially-cultivated man. For them, the hours of
light and darkness mark out the periods for action and repose. It was
then still early in the evening, when a heavy breathing in the hut of
Peéna indicated the sleep of its inmates. Ohquamehud had listened
for it, and having waited until the breathing became deep and full to
assure him of the profoundness of the slumber, he sat up on his couch
and looked cautiously around. The brands were smouldering in the
ashes with a dim flickering light, but sufficient to direct and give
certainty to his movements. With a step so noiseless that the acutest
ear would not have detected it, he crossed the floor, took his rifle
from the corner where it had been placed, with equal caution opened
the door, and stood in the open air.
It was a clear star-lit night, and on the placid bosom of the water
shone one star larger and brighter than the rest, as if to light him
on his way. But it was all unobserved by the Indian. He had no eyes,
no ears, no senses, except for the crime he was about to commit. To
him, no crime, but a heroic act. Slowly, and measuring each step as
though a thousand ears were listening, he proceeded in the direction
of the canoe, untied it, and softly pushed it into the stream. As he
took his seat the dip of his paddle made no sound, and thus, stern as
an iron statue, and almost as still, he paddled on.
And now Ohquamehud approached the island. He stopped his paddle and
held his breath, and listened. Not a living sound was to be heard,
not even the cry of a night bird; nothing save the soft flowing of the
water against the shore. Like an eagle circling round and round before
he pounces on his quarry, the Indian cautiously paddled around the
island. From one of the windows, before concealed, he saw a light.
Keeping at a distance, so that the rays should not fall upon him, he
stole around until he had interposed the hut between himself and its
beams. Then, apparently satisfied there was nothing to be feared, he
directed the canoe towards the island, and slowly advanced until its
bottom touched the sand, when he sat still and listened again. Hearing
nothing, he left the canoe, and crouching down, crept towards the
cabin. Having reached it, he applied his ear to the side and listened,
and again advanced. Thus slowly proceeding, some little time elapsed
before he found himself at the window whence streamed the light.
Without venturing to touch the wooden boards, as if fearful they might
communicate a knowledge of his presence, he raised himself almost
imperceptibly at the edge of the window, until he obtained a view of
the interior. Holden was sitting at a distance of not more than six
feet, near a small table, on which a single candle was burning, and
in his lap lay a large opened book, on which his folded hands were
resting. He seemed lost in meditation, gazing into the wood-fire
before him, towards which his crossed legs were extended at full
length.
The Indian slid his hand down to the lock of the gun, and drew back
the trigger. Cautiously as it was done, he could not prevent a slight
clicking sound, which, perhaps, struck the ear of the Solitary, for he
turned his head and moved in the chair. The Indian slunk to the edge
of the window, so as to conceal his person from any one within the
room, and remained motionless. Presently he advanced his head, and
took another view. The Solitary had resumed his former position, and
was buried in profound thought. The Indian stepped back a couple of
steps, so as to allow the necessary distance between himself and the
window, and raised the rifle to his shoulder.
At that instant and just as he was about to discharge the deadly
weapon, a large rattlesnake, attracted by the warmth, or for some
other reason, glided from the opposite side of the hut towards the
outstretched limbs of Holden, over which it crawled, and resting
its body upon them, with upraised head seemed to fasten its eyes,
glittering in the fire-light, full upon the face of the startled
Indian. The effect was instantaneous. The rifle nearly dropped from
his uplifted hands, a cold sweat burst from every pore, his knees
shook, and his eyes, fixed on the snake by a fascination that
controlled his will, felt bursting from their sockets. After
preserving its attitude for a short time, the snake, as if taking
Holden under its protection, coiled itself around his feet, and lay
with its head resting on his shoe, looking into the fire. As the
snake turned away its bright eyes the spell that bound the Indian
was dissolved. An expression of the deepest awe overspread his
countenance, his lips moved, but emitted no sound, and cautiously as
he had advanced be returned to the canoe, and was soon swallowed up in
the darkness.
The abstraction of Holden must have been deep and long, for upon
recovering from his reverie, the reptile was gone. Without his
consciousness it had come, and without his consciousness departed; and
when he laid the Bible, in which he had been reading, upon the table,
he knew not either the danger he had escaped, or the means by which it
had been averted.
Nor let the conduct of Ohquamehud excite surprise. An American Indian,
he was susceptible to the influence of the legends and traditions of
his race. Among them are some inculcating a superstitious reverence
for certain animals. The bear, for instance, is regarded by some
tribes as a sort of relation, and when the necessity of hunger compels
them to kill him, they apologize, and beg him not to be angry. The
rattlesnake again is an object of great respect. Supplied with a
deadly venom that makes him the most formidable of enemies, he never
attacks unless first injured, and then, if he can reach his foe, his
vengeance is sure. On his trail he disdains concealment, but with the
rattles nature has provided to announce his approach, apprises all,
that they may remove themselves out of his way. Indeed, he comprehends
within himself those qualities most valued by the Indians, and is the
type of a brave warrior. When, therefore, at such an hour and such a
place, the reptile made its appearance, and first darting its fiery
glances at the Pequot, quietly and, as if scorning and defying the
danger, laid itself caressingly on the limbs of Holden, it seemed to
the astonished Indian that the snake knew his purpose, and angrily
ordered him to desist. Vain, he thought, would it be to assail one so
protected, nor was he willing to incur the mysterious enmity of the
snake. How its power might be displayed, whether in striking him
dead on the spot, or in laming his limbs, or defeating his success
in hunting, or what other dreadful manner, he knew not, but he was
convinced that some awful punishment would follow disobedience. He
thought it, therefore, more prudent to yield for the present, and wait
till he had propitiated the snake, or it had withdrawn its protection.
As long as that lasted Onontio was beyond his power. Not that
vengeance was forborne; it was only postponed.
Of such a character were the thoughts that darted through the mind of
the Pequot when frightened from his purpose, and in less time than it
has taken to record them, as with drooping head he pursued his lonely
way. Even what he considered the interposition of a supernatural
power, had not shaken the determination of his spirit. The desire
for revenge had been too long cherished to be given up at a single
warning, however awful, or however strongly appealing to the deepest
implanted superstitions.