Oh, how this tyrant, doubt, torments my breast!
My thoughts, like birds, who're frighten'd from their nest,
Around the place where all was hush'd before,
Flutter, and hardly nestle any more.
OTWAY.
Our story now reverts to the Indians, of whom we have for so long made
little or no mention. It is in vain for us to attempt to control the
course of our tale, and to compel it, as it were, to be content with
the artificial banks of a canal, stealing insensibly on, with uniform
smoothness, to its terminus. Whatever we may do, it will assert its
liberty, and wander in its own way, foaming down rocks and rugged
precipices, like a mountain stream, at one moment, at the next,
stagnating into a pool, and afterwards gliding off in erratic
windings, roaming like Ceres, searching through the world for her lost
Proserpine. Not ours to subject the succession of events to our will,
but to narrate them with such poor skill as nature and a defective
education concede, trusting that a homely sincerity, if it cannot
wholly supply the place of art, may palliate its want.
Peéna, the partridge, or Esther, as she was more commonly called by
the whites, heard, with an exquisite delight, that the little boy;
whom she had left on the steps of the house, in New York, and now
discovered to be Pownal, was the son of Holden. Nothing could have
happened more calculated to deepen the reverence she had long felt
for the Solitary, and to convince her--though no such argument was
necessary--that he was a "great medicine," or one peculiarly the
favorite, and under the guardianship, of Superior Powers. She
herself seemed controlled by the Manito that watched over Holden, and
compelled, even unknown to herself, to guard his interests. For was it
not she who had preserved the child? Was it not she who had placed
him in a situation to become a great and rich man?--for such, to her
simplicity, Pownal seemed to be--was it not she who had brought father
and son together, and revealed each to the other? As these reflections
and the like passed through her mind, a shudder of superstition
thrilled her frame, and she turned her attention to the consideration
of how she might best fulfill the designs of the Manito. For it will
be remembered, that, although nominally a Christian, she had not
wholly cast off the wild notions of her tribe, if it be, indeed,
possible for an adult Indian to do so. The maxim of Horace:
"Quo semel est imbuta recens servabit odorem
Testa diu,"
is of universal application, nor has it ever greater force than when
reference is had to ideas, connected with the terrors of an unseen
world, and where the mind that entertains them is destitute of the
advantages of education.
Esther, it may readily then be supposed, did not delay after their
arrival, to go to see both Holden and his son. She could not behold
again, and recognize the child she had preserved, in the young man
who stood before her, without strong feeling, nor could Pownal look
unmoved upon the gentle and timid woman, to whom he was so much
indebted. Esther knew again the string of coral beads she had left
upon the boy's neck, and ascribed it to the whispers of the Great
Spirit, that she had allowed them to remain. She did not return from
her visit to Pownal empty handed. In fact, she was loaded with as many
presents, of such articles as suited her condition and half-civilized
taste, as she and the boy, Quadaquina, who commonly accompanied her,
could carry. It was the mode which naturally suggested itself to
Pownal, as alike most pleasing to Peéna, and most calculated to
impress her mind with a sense of his estimate of her services,
especially as there was connected with the gifts a promise, that
during his life her wants and wishes should all be supplied. Peéna
now felt herself the happiest and richest of her tribe, and her heart
glowed with devotion towards those who had been the means of investing
her with wealth, and the consequence attached to it.
"Hugh!" ejaculated Ohquamehud, in amazement, as the squaw and her son
threw down upon the floor of the cabin the rich red and blue cloths,
and hats, and shoes, and other articles which Pownal had pressed
upon them. The exclamation escaped involuntarily, but, with a natural
politeness, the Indian asked no questions, but waited till it should
please the squaw to furnish an explanation.
The sweet-tempered Peéna saw his desire, and turning to the boy, she
said, in their native language, in which the three always conversed
together:
"Speak, Quadaquina, that the eyes of thy father's brother may be
opened."
The boy, in obedience to the command of his mother, and without
looking at the Indian, tersely replied:
"They are the gifts of my white brother with the open hand, the son of
the Longbeard."
Ohquamehud appeared offended, and he asked, in a sharp tone:
"Is Quadaquina ashamed, when he speaks to a warrior, to look him in
the eyes, and did he learn his manners from the pale faces?"
The boy turned round, and gazed full at the other, and his eyes
glistened, yet it was in a low, soft tone he replied:
"Quadaquina is a child, and knows not the customs of warriors, and
children turn away their eyes from what they do not wish to see."
Ohquamehud's face darkened as he said:
"The arts of the Longbeard have blown a cloud between me and my
kindred, so that they cannot see me, and it is time my feet were
turned towards the setting sun."
"It is the fire-water that puts out the eyes of Ohquamehud, and makes
him forget what he owes to the wife of Huttamoiden," exclaimed the
boy, with suppressed passion.
"Peace, Quadaquina," said his mother. "Ohquamehud is not now the
slave of the fire-water. Go," she added, detecting, with a mother's
sagacity, the tumult in the mind of the high-spirited boy, "and return
not until thou hast tamed thine anger. Wolves dwell not in the cabin
of Peéna."
The boy, with downcast eyes, and obedient to his mother, left the hut.
In explanation of this scene we may say, that, unhappily, like most
Indians, Ohquamehud was addicted to the use of spirituous liquors,
his indulgence in the fiery gratification being limited only by his
inability at all times to obtain it. Although unable to indulge his
appetite in the cabin of Esther, he occasionally procured strong
liquors in the huts of the other Indians, with whom the practice
of taking stimulants was almost universal, and sometimes in such
quantities as utterly to lose his reason. Returned on one of these
occasions, he demanded rum from Esther, and, upon her refusal to give
it, struck her a blow. This so exasperated the boy, Quadaquina, who
was present, that, with a club, he prostrated the drunken man, which,
indeed, in the condition he was in, was not difficult, and would, had
he not been restrained by Peéna, have inflicted a serious injury, if
not killed him. Ohquamehud never knew that he had been struck, but
ascribed the violent pain in his head the next day to the fire-water,
and the contusion to a fall. Peéna, while lamenting the excesses of
her relative, felt little or no resentment towards him; but not so
with the boy. He despised Ohquamehud for the miserable exhibitions of
imbecility he made in his cups, and hated him for the violence to his
mother.
"Look," said Peéna, pointing to the articles, and desirous to remove
the rising discontent from the mind of the Indian, "the heart of the
young Longbeard (for she had no other name for Pownal in her language)
is large. All these he took out of it for Peéna."
"Accursed be the gifts of the pale faces!" exclaimed Ohquamehud. "For
such rags our fathers sold our hunting-grounds, and gave permission
to the strangers to build walls in the rivers so that the fish cannot
swim up."
"Peéna sold nothing for these," said the squaw, mildly. "Because the
young Longbeard loved Peéna he gave them all to her."
"Did not Peéna preserve his life? But she is right. The white face has
an open hand, and pays more for his life than it is worth."
"The words of my husband's brother are very bitter. What has the boy
whom Huttamoiden's arm saved from the flames, done, that blackness
should gather over the face of Ohquamehud?"
"Quah! Does Peéna ask? She is more foolish than the bird, from which
she takes her name, when it flies into a tree. Is he not the son of
Onontio?"
"Peéna never saw Onontio. She has only heard of him as one, who like
the red men, loves scalps. The Longbeard is a man of peace, and loves
them not. The eyes of Ohquamehud are getting dim."
"The eyes of Ohquamehud are two fires, which throw a light upon his
path, and he sees clearly what is before him. It is only blood that
can wash out from the eyes of a warrior the remembrance of his enemy,
and nothing but water has cleansed Ohquamehud's. Thrice have I
meet Onontio, once on the yellow Wabash: again, where the mighty
Mississippi and Ohio flow into each other's bosoms, and a third
time on the plains of the Upper Illinois. Look," he cried suddenly,
throwing open his shirt, and exposing his breast, "the bullet of
Onontio made that mark like the track of a swift canoe in the water.
It talks very plain and will not let Ohquamehud forget."
"If the Longbeard be Onontio, his son has done my brother no injury."
"The gifts of the pale face have blinded the eyes, and stopped the
ears of my sister, so that she can neither see nor hear the truth.
Who, when he kills the old panther, lets the cubs escape?"
"There is peace between the red man and the white on the banks of the
Sakimau. The long knives are as plenty as the leaves of the western
forests. Ohquamehud must forget the bullet of Onontio until he finds
him on the prairie, or where the streams run towards the setting sun."
"My sister is very wise," said the savage, his whole manner changing
from the ferocity, which had at first characterized it, to a subdued
and even quiet tone. "But," added he, as it were despondingly, "let
her not fear for the safety of the Longbeard. Ohquamehud is weak
and cannot contend with so great a medicine." He turned away, as if
unwilling to continue the conversation, nor did Peéna manifest any
disposition to renew it.
There was, however, something about the Indian, that alarmed the
squaw, as she had never been before, notwithstanding the pacific
language, with which he concluded. The time was drawing nigh for
Ohquamehud's return to the West, and, knowing his brutal temper, she
feared that under the influence of the spirituous liquors he indulged
in to excess, he might attempt to signalize his departure by some act
of wrong and revenge, which would bring down destruction on himself,
and disastrously affect the fortunes of the tribe. He evidently
cherished a bitter animosity toward Holden, whom he had recognized as
a formidable enemy, and although a cool and wary savage when himself,
and as capable of appreciating the consequences of an act as clearly
as any one and therefore likely to be deterred from violence, there
was no knowing what he might do, when stimulated by the frenzy that
lurks in the seductive draught. Peéna knew the difficulty, with
which an Indian foregoes revenge, and her apprehensions were the more
excited by the attachment she felt for the two white men. Fears, vague
and unformed had before floated through her mind, but they now assumed
consistency, and she determined to take such precautions until the
departure of her kinsman as should prevent harm either to himself or
others. With this view, the moment she was alone with her son, she
seized the opportunity to speak on the subject of her alarm. But,
first she thought it necessary to reprove him for his feelings towards
his uncle.
"Whose blood," she inquired, "flows in the veins of Quadaquina?"
"It is the blood of Huttamoiden," answered the boy, erecting his head,
and drawing himself up proudly.
"And who gave the bold heart and strong arm to Huttamoiden?"
"It was the mighty Obbatinuua, whose name men say is still mentioned
in the song on the great fresh water lakes."
"He had two sons?"
"Huttamoiden and"--He stopped as if unwilling to pronounce the name,
and turned with a gesture of contempt from his mother.
Peéna supplied the omission. "Ohquamehud," she said. "He is a brave
warrior, and the Shawnees are proud of his exploits."
"He is a dog!" exclaimed the boy, fiercely. "The blood of Obbatinuua
has leaked out of his veins, and the fire-water taken its place."
"He is the kinsman of Quadaquina, and it does not become a child to
judge harshly of any member of his tribe."
"Mother," said the boy, gravely, as if he thought it incumbent on
him to justify his conduct, "listen. The hearts of Obbatinuua and of
Huttamoiden both beat in my bosom. They tell me that the son should
remember the glory of his father. Quadaquina is very sick when he sees
Ohquamehud lying on the ground, a slave of the fire-water, with his
tongue lolling out like a dog's, and he disdains to acknowledge him as
of his blood."
Peéna was not disposed to blame the boy for his disgust at
drunkenness. It was a feeling she had herself most sedulously
cultivated by every means in her power, pointing out, as occasion
offered, like the Lacedemonians, its exhibitions in its worst forms,
and contrasting the wretched drunkard falling, from degradation to
degradation, into a dishonored grave, with the sober and vigorous man.
She had succeeded in imparting to Quadaquina her own abhorrence of the
vice, and was cautious not to weaken the impression.
"Enough," said Peéna; "my son will grow up into a brave and good man;
but if he despises Ohquamehud for his drunkenness, let him not forget
he is his kinsman. Hearken," she added, earnestly, and drawing the
boy nearer, while she lowered her voice; "does Quadaquina know that
Ohquamehud hates the Longbeard?"
"Quadaquina's ears and eyes are open," said the boy.
"Ohquamehud's feet will soon chase the setting sun," continued Peéna,
"but before he starts the fire-water may try to make him do some
foolish thing. Quadaquina must have love enough for his kinsman to
prevent the folly."
"Not because Quadaquina loves, but because Ohquamehud is his father's
brother."
"It is well. Ohquamehud must do the Longbeard no harm, and Quadaquina
must watch them both, and, if need be, warn the Longbeard of the
danger."
The boy, proud of the trust committed to him, promised to obey his
mother and be watchful, and from that time commenced a system of
patient vigilance, of which a white child would scarcely be capable,
but which seems to be a part of the nature of an Indian. Whenever
Ohquamehud left the cabin Quadaquina sought no more to avoid him, but
accompanied him whenever invited, and if not, generally followed, so
as not to lose him long out of sight. There was something about the
trust that agreed well with the cunning of the child. It had for him a
kind of fascination, like that which induces the hunter patiently, day
after day, to pursue the track of the flying game, looking forward to
the moment of success, when all his toil is to be repaid.
As for Esther, she lost no time in starting off to apprise Holden and
Pownal of the danger she feared. As the canoe glided along under the
strokes of the paddle, which she knew how to use as well as any
man, she reflected upon the proper manner of communicating her
apprehensions; but the more she thought on the subject, the more
difficult it appeared. She could not mention the name of her kinsman
as the person whom she suspected of an evil design. That seemed to her
a sort of treason, a violation of the rights of relationship and of
hospitality. He might be innocent. She herself might be to blame for
cherishing such suspicions. She knew not what evils the disclosure of
Ohquamehud's name connected with the charge might occasion. He might
be arrested and put in prison, perhaps, executed. The white people,
in the opinion of the Indians, had never exercised much forbearance
towards them, and regarded them as an inferior race. The liberty or
life of an Indian was, probably, with them, but of little consequence.
Besides, might she not be running some risk herself? But this
reflection weighed but little with the affectionate creature. While
such considerations occurred to the ignorant and timid woman, she
was half tempted to turn back, and trust to the Manito or protecting
genius, who had thus far borne the Solitary triumphantly through all
perils, but her fears at last prevailed over these scruples, and she
resolved to give the warning without making allusion to any person.
But Holden, a man naturally of great courage, and familiarized from
his earliest years with danger, and the means of avoiding it, paid but
little attention to the obscure hints of Esther. He did not even take
the trouble to inquire to what direction her allusions pointed.
From whom, from what, had he to apprehend danger to his life? He had
voluntarily embraced poverty; there was nothing about him to tempt
cupidity; he loved all the world, and would hardly, indeed, hesitate
to sacrifice, if need were, his life for that of an another. What
motive could there be to injure him? He was not in the boundless
forest of the West, roamed by predatory savages, but in a land of law,
and order, and religion. Were he, indeed, in those regions which had
witnessed the fiery trials and perils of his youth, caution would be
necessary; but even then, he would have relied with confidence on his
own resources, controlled and directed by a shaping Providence. It was
not probable that Holden thought at all of Ohquamehud, but if his mind
rested for a moment on the Indian, it could not be with an emotion of
fear. The western pioneers feel their superiority too greatly to
be accessible to such apprehensions, and Holden had been too long a
hunter of savages, to dread either their cunning or their force. Had
he reflected on the subject, he would have seemed to himself to stand
in pretty much the same relation to a red skin that a grown man does
to a child; or, if the Indian were hostile, as the hunter does to the
bears, and wolves, and catamounts, he pursues.
"Peéna," said Holden, "I thank thee. It is not in human nature to
be ungrateful for affection, whatever be the color of the skin that
covers the heart which offers it. But dismiss thy fears, and think of
them as unsubstantial as the morning mist. And know that at all times
doubt and fear are in vain. Thou canst not make one hair white and
another black. It is appointed unto all men once to die, but of the
times and seasons, though fixed by the Master of Life with infallible
wisdom, and by a decree that may not be gainsaid, no man knoweth. The
arrow shot by the hand of Jehovah must reach its mark, though thou
seest not its track in the clouds."
Somewhat more effect attended Esther's visit to Pownal, not that,
indeed, she felt the same apprehensions for him as for his father, or
was able to inspire him with fears on his own account. Living in the
village, and with habits so different from those of Holden, he was
vastly less exposed to a danger of the kind she apprehended. The
bullet or the knife of the savage would not be likely to reach him
in the streets of Hillsdale. For it is no part of the tactics of
an American Indian to expose his own life. On the contrary, he is
considered a fool who does so unnecessarily. Stratagem is prized above
force, and he is the greatest warrior who, while inflicting an injury,
takes care not to expose himself to harm. Esther knew all this, and
for these reasons, perhaps, if with Holden she was vague, with his son
she was oracular. Consequently, Pownal only laughed at her, when she
spoke of himself, as well, indeed, he might, but when she referred
to his father, the case was altered. Not that any clear, well-defined
danger presented itself, but as in low, monotonous tones the squaw
proceeded, darkly hinting at what she would not explain, an oppression
fell upon his spirits as strange as it was painful. We can liken it
to nothing with more propriety than to that dim sense of terror and
discomfort which is sometimes observed in the inferior animals at the
approach of an eclipse or the bursting of a hurricane. Yielding to the
mysterious monitor, and prompt in action as he was rapid in judgment,
Pownal proceeded instantly to seek his father.