When Sir William left me in the school-room, he left a lad of sixteen
puffed up in a glow of pride. To be treated no longer as a fractious
child--to be received at last as a man among men!
And what would Esk say? And Silver Heels, poor little mouse harnessed
in the stocks below?
I had entered the school-room that morning a lazy, sullen, defiant
lad, heavy-hearted, with chronic resentment against the discipline of
those who had sent me into a hateful trap from the windows of which I
could see the young, thirsty year quaffing spring sunshine. Now I was
free to leave the accursed trap forever, a man of discretion,
responsible before men, exacting from other men the same courtesies,
attentions, and considerations which I might render them.
What a change had come to me, all in one brief May morning! As I stood
there, resting my bandaged hand in the palm of the other, looking
about me to realize the fortune which set my veins tingling, a great
tide of benevolent condescension for the others swept over me, a
ripple of pity and good-will for the hapless children whose benches
lay in a row before me.
I no longer detested Silver Heels. I walked on tiptoe to her bench.
There lay her slate and slate-pen; upon it I read a portion of the
longer catechism. There, too, lay her quill and inky horn and a
foolscap book sewed neatly and marked:
FELICITY WARREN
1774
HER BOOKE.
Poor child, doomed for years still to steep her little fingers in
ink-powder while, with the powder I should require hereafter, I
expected to write fiercer tales on living hides with plummets cast in
bullet-moulds!
Cramped with importance, I cast a contemptuous eye upon my poem which
embellished the great slate, and scoured it partly out with the
buckskin.
"My books," said I, to myself, "I will bestow upon Silver Heels and
Esk;" and I carried out my philanthropic impulse, piling speller,
reader, and arithmetic on Esk's bench; my Caesar, my pair of globes, my
compass, and my algebra I laid with Silver Heels's copy-book, first
writing in the books, with some malice:
SILVER HEELS HER GIFT BOOKE FROM
MICHAEL CARDIGAN
BE DILIGENT AND OF GOOD THRIFT
KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.
For fat Peter, because I allowed Vix to bite his tight breeches, I
left a pile of jacks beside his horn-book, namely, a slate-pen, three
mended quills, a birchen box of ink-powder, a screw to trade with, two
tops and an alley, pumice, a rule, and some wax.
Peter, though duck-limbed and half Mohawk, wrote very well in the
Boston style, and could even copy in the Lettre Frisee--a poor art in
some repute, but smelling to my nose of French flummery and deceit.
Having bestowed these gifts with a light heart, I walked slowly around
the room, and I fear my walk was somewhat a strut.
I knew my small head was all swelled with vain imaginings; I saw
myself in a flapped coat and lace, fingering the hilt of a sword at my
hip, saluted by the sentries and the militia; I saw myself riding with
Sir William as his deputy; I heard him say, "Mr. Cardigan, the enemy
are upon us! We must fly!"--and I: "Sir William, fear nothing. The day
is our own!" And I saw a lad of sixteen, with sword pointing upward
and one hand twisted into Pontiac's scalp-lock, smile benignly upon
Sir William, who had cast himself upon my breast, protesting that I
had saved the army, and that the King should hear of it.
Then, unbidden, the apparition of Mr. Butler rose into my vain
dreaming, and, though I am no prophet, nor can I claim the gift of
seeing behind the veil, yet I swear that Walter Butler appeared to me
all aflame and bloody with scalps bunched at his girdle--_and the
scalps were not of the red men!_
Now my imagination smoking into fire, I saw myself dogging Mr. Butler
with firelock a-trail and knife loosened, on! on! through fathomless
depths of forest and by the still deeps of shadowy lakes, fording the
roaring tumble of rivers, swimming silent pools as otters swim, but
tracking him, ever tracking Captain Butler by the scent of his reeking
scalps.
There was a dew on my eyebrows as I waked into sense. Yet again I fell
straightway to imagining the glories of my young future. Truly I
painted life in cloying colours; and always, when I accomplished
gallant deeds, there stood Silver Heels to observe me, and to marvel,
and to stamp her little moccasins in vexation that I, the pride and
envy of all men, applauded, courted, nay, worshipped--I, the playmate
she had in her silly ignorance flouted, now stood so far beyond her
that she dared not twitch the skirt of my coat nor whisper, "Sir
Michael, pray condescend to notice one who passes her entire life in
admiring your careless exploits."
Perhaps I would smile at her--yes, I certainly should speak to
her--not with familiarity. But I would be magnanimous; she should
receive gifts, spoils from wars, and I would select a suitable husband
for her from the officers of my household who adored me! No, I would
not be hasty concerning a husband. That would be foolish, for Silver
Heels must remain heart-whole and fancy-free to concentrate her
envious admiration upon me.
In a sort of ecstasy I paraded the school-room, the splendour of my
visions dulling eyes and ears, and it was not until he had called me
thrice that I observed Mr. Butler standing within the doorway.
The unwelcome sight cleared my brains like a dash of spring-water in
the face.
"It is one o'clock," said Mr. Butler, "and time for your carving
lesson. Did you not hear the bugles from the forts?"
"I heard nothing, sir," said I, giving him a surly look, which he
returned with that blank stare of the eyes, noticeable in hawks and
kites and foul night birds surprised by light.
"Sir William dines early," he said, as I followed him through the dim
hallway, past the nursery, and down stairs. "If he has to wait your
pleasure for his slice of roast, you will await his pleasure for the
remainder of the day in the school-room."
"It is not true!" I said, stopping short in the lower hallway. "I am
free of that ratty pit forever! And of the old ferret, too," I added,
insolently.
"By your favour," said Mr. Butler, "may I ask whether your erudition
is impairing your bodily health, that you leave school so early in
life, Master Cardigan?"
"If you were a real schoolmaster," said I, hotly, "I would answer you
with a kennel lash, but you are an officer and a gentleman." And in a
low voice I bade him go to the devil at his convenience.
"One year more and I could call you out for this," he said, staring at
me.
"You can do it now!" I retorted, angrily, raising myself a little on
my toes.
Suddenly all the hatred and contempt I had so long choked back burst
out in language I now blush for. I called him a coward, a Huron, a
gentleman with the instincts of a pedagogue. I heaped abuse upon him;
I dared him to meet me; nay, I challenged him to face me with rifle or
sword, when and where he chose. And all the time he stood staring at
me with that deathly laugh which never reached his eyes.
"Measure me!" I said, venomously; "I am as tall as you, lacking an
inch. I am a man! This day Sir William freed me from that spider-web
you tenant, and now in Heaven's name let us settle that score which
every hour has added to since I first beheld you!"
"And my honour?" he asked, coldly.
"What?" I stammered. "I ask you to maintain it with rifle or rapier!
Blood scours tarnished names!"
"Not your blood," he said, with a stealthy glance at the dining-room
door; "not the blood of a boy. That would rust my honour. Wait, Master
Cardigan, wait a bit. A year runs like a spotted fawn in cherry-time!"
"You will not meet me?" I blurted out, mortified.
"In a year, perhaps," he said, absently, scarcely looking at me as he
spoke.
Then from within the dining-hall came Sir William's roar: "Body o' me!
Am I to be kept here at twiddle-thumbs for lack of a carver!"
I stepped back in an instant, bowing to Mr. Butler.
"I will be patient for a year, sir," I said. And so opened the door
while he passed me, and into the dining-hall.
"I am sorry, sir," said I, but Sir William cut me short with:
"Damnation, sir! I am asking a blessing!"
So I buried my nose in my hollowed hand and stood up, very still.
Having given thanks in a temper, Sir William's frown relaxed and he
sat down and tucked his finger-cloth under his neck with an injured
glance at me.
"Zounds!" he said, mildly; "hell hath no fury like a fisherman kept
waiting. Captain Butler, bear me out."
"I am no angler," said Mr. Butler, in his deadened voice.
"That is true," observed Sir William, as though condoling with Mr.
Butler for a misfortune not his fault. "Perhaps some day the fever may
scorch you--like our young kinsman Micky--eh, lad?"
I said, "Perhaps, sir," with eyes on the smoking joint before me. It
was Sir William's pleasure that I learn to carve; and, in truth, I
found it easy, save for the carving of a goose or of those wild-ducks
we shot on the great Vlaie.
We were but four to dine that day: Sir William, Mr. Butler, Silver
Heels, and myself. Mistress Molly remained in the nursery, where were
also Peter and Esk, inasmuch as they slobbered and fouled the cloth,
and so fed in the play-room.
Colonel Guy Johnson remained at Detroit, Captain John Johnson was on a
mission to Albany, Thayendanegea in Quebec, and Colonel Claus, with
his lady, had gone to Castle Cumberland. There were no visiting
officers or Indians at Johnson Hall that week, and our small company
seemed lost in the great dining-hall.
Having carved the juicy joint, the gilly served Sir William, then Mr.
Butler, then Silver Heels, whom I had scarcely noticed, so full was I
of my quarrel with Mr. Butler. Now, as Saunders laid her plate, I gave
her a look which meant, "I did not tell Sir William," whereupon she
smiled at her plate and clipped a spoonful from a dish of potatoes.
"Good appetite and good health, sir," said I, raising my wine-glass to
Sir William.
"Good health, my lad!" said Sir William, heartily.
Glasses were raised again and compliments said, though my face was
sufficient to sour the Madeira in Mr. Butler's glass.
"Your good health, Michael," said Silver Heels, sweetly.
I pledged her with a patronizing amiability which made her hazel-gray
eyes open wide.
Now, coxcomb that I was, I sat there, dizzied by my new dignity, yet
carefully watching Sir William to imitate him, thinking that, as I was
now a man, I must observe the carriage, deportment, and tastes of men.
When Sir William declined a dish of jelly, I also waved it away,
though God knew I loved jellies.
When Sir William drank the last of the winter's ale, I shoved aside my
small-beer and sent for a mug.
"It will make a humming-top of your head," said Sir William. "Stick to
small-beer, Micky."
Mortified, I tossed off my portion, and was very careful not to look
at Silver Heels, being hot in the face.
Mr. Butler and Sir William spoke gravely of the discontent now rampant
in the town of Boston, and of Captain John Johnson's mission to
Albany. I listened greedily, sniffing for news of war, but understood
little of their discourse save what pertained to the Indians.
Some mention, indeed, was made of rangers, but, having always
associated militia and rangers with war on the Indians, I thought
little of what they discussed. I even forgot my new dignity, and
secretly pinched a bread crumb into the shape of a little pig which I
showed to Silver Heels. She thereupon pinched out a dog with hound's
ears for me to admire.
I was roused by Sir William's voice in solemn tones to Mr. Butler:
"Now, God forbid I should live to see that, Captain Butler!" and I
pricked up my ears once more, but made nothing of what followed, save
that there were certain disloyal men in Massachusetts and New York who
might rise against our King and that our Governor Tryon meant to take
some measures concerning tea.
"Well, well," burst out Sir William at length; "in evil days let us
thank God that the fish still swim! Eh, Micky? I wish the ice were
out."
"The anchor-ice is afloat, and the Kennyetto is free, sir," I said,
quickly.
"How do you know?" asked Sir William, laughing.
I had, the day previous, run across to the Kennyetto to see, and I
told him so.
He was pleased to praise my zeal and to say I ran like a Mohawk, which
praise sounded sweet until I saw Silver Heels's sly smile, and I
remembered the foot-race and the jack-knife.
But I was above foot-races now. Others might run to amuse me; I would
look on--perhaps distribute prizes.
"Some day, Sir William, will you not make me one of your deputies?" I
asked, eagerly.
"Hear the lad!" cried Sir William, pushing back his chair. "On my
soul, Captain Butler, it is time for old weather-worn Indian
commissioners like me to resign and make way for younger blood! And
his Majesty might be worse served than by Micky here; eh, Captain
Butler?"
"Perhaps," said Mr. Butler, in his dead voice.
Sir William rose and we all stood up. The Baronet, brushing Silver
Heels on his way to the door, passed his arm around her and tilted her
chin up.
"Now do you go to Mistress Mary and beg her to place you in the stocks
for an hour; and stay there in patience for your body's grace. Will
you promise me, Felicity?"
Silver Heels began to pout and tease, hooking her fingers in Sir
William's belt, but the Baronet packed her off with his message to
Mistress Molly, and went out to the portico where one of his damned
Scotch gillies attended with gaff, spear, and net-sack.
"Oho," thought I, "so it's salmon in the Sacondaga!" And I fell to
teasing that he might take me, too.
"No, Micky," he said, soberly; "it's less for sport than for quiet
reflection that I go. Don't sulk, lad. To-morrow, perhaps."
"Is it a promise, sir?" I cried.
"Perhaps," he laughed, "if the cards turn up right."
That meant he had some Indian affair on hand, and I fell back,
satisfied that his rod was a ruse, and that he was really bound for
one of the council fires at the upper castle.
So he went away, the sentry at the south block-house presenting his
firelock, and I back into the hall, whistling, enchanted with my new
liberty, yet somewhat concerned as to the disposal of so vast an
amount of time, now all my own.
I had now been enfranchised nearly three hours, and had already used
these first moments of liberty in picking a mortal quarrel with Mr.
Butler. I had begun rashly; I admitted that; yet I could not regret
the defiance. Soon or late I felt that Mr. Butler and I would meet; I
had believed it for years. Now that at last our tryst was in sight, it
neither surprised nor disturbed me, nor, now that he was out of my
sight, did I feel impatient to settle it, so accustomed had I become
to waiting for the inevitable hour.
I strolled through the hallway, hands in pockets, whistling
"Amaryllis," a tune that smacked on my lips; and so came to the south
casement. Pressing my nose to the pane, I looked into the young
orchard where the robins ran in the new grass; and I found it
delicious to linger in-doors, knowing I was free to go out when I
chose, and none to cry, "Come back!"
In the first flush of surprise and pleasure, I have noticed that the
liberated seldom venture instantly into that freedom so dearly
desired. Open the cage of a thrush that has sung all winter of
freedom, and lo! the little thing, creeping out under the sky, runs
back to the cage, fearing the sweet freedom of its heart's desire.
So I; and mounted the stairway, seeking my own little chamber. Here I
found Esk and Peter at play, letting down a string from the open
window, baited with corn, and the pullets jumping for it with great
outcry and flapping of wings.
So I played with them for a while, then put them out, and bolted the
door despite their cries and kicks.
Sitting there on my cot I surveyed my domain serenely, proud as though
it had been a mansion and all mine.
There were my books, not much thumbed save _Roderick Random_ and the
prints of Le Brun's _Battles of Alexander_. Still I cherished the
others because gifts of Sir William or relics of my honoured
father--the two volumes called _An Introduction to Sir Isaac Newton's
Philosophy_; two volumes of _Chambers's Dictionary_; all the volumes
of _The Gentleman's Magazine_ from 1748; Titan's _Loves of the
Gods_--an immodest print which I hated; my beloved "Amaryllis," called
_A New Musical Design_, and well bound; and last a manuscript much
faded and eaten by mice, yet readable, and it was a most lovely song
composed long since by a Mr. Pepys, the name of which was "Gaze not on
Swans!"
My chamber was small, yet pleasing. Upon the walls I had placed, by
favour of Sir William, pictures of the best running-horses at
Newmarket, also four prints of a camp by Watteau, well executed,
though French. Also, there hung above the door a fox's mask, my whip,
my hunting-horn, my spurs, and two fish-rods made for me by Joseph
Brant, who is called Thayendanegea, chief of the Mohawk and of the Six
Nations, and brother to Aunt Molly, who is no kin of mine, though her
children are Sir William's, and he is my kinsman.
In this room also I kept my black lead-pencil made by Faber, a ream of
paper from England, and a lump of red sealing-wax.
I had written, in my life, but two letters: one three years since I
wrote to Sir Peter Warren to thank him for a sum of money sent for my
use; the other to a little girl named Marie Livingston, whom I knew in
Albany when Sir William took me for the probating of papers which I do
not yet understand.
She wrote me a letter, which was delivered by chance, the express
having been scalped below Fonda's Bush, and signed "your cozzen
Marie," Mr. Livingston being kin to Sir William. I had not yet written
again to her, though I had meant to do so these twelve months past.
She had yellow hair which was pleasing, and she did not resemble
Silver Heels in complexion or manner, having never flouted me. Her
father gave me two peaches, some Salem sweets called Black Jacks, and
a Delaware basket to take home with me, heaped with macaroons, crisp
almonds, rock-candy, caraways, and suckets. These I prudently finished
before coming again to Johnson Hall, and I remember I forgot to save a
sucket for Silver Heels; and her anger when I gave her the Delaware
basket all sticky inside; and how Peter licked it and blubbered while
still a-licking.
Thus, as I sat there on my cot, scenes of my life came jostling me
like long-absent comrades, softening my mood until I fell to thinking
of those honoured parents I had never seen save in the gray dreams
which mazed my sleep. For the day that brought life to me had robbed
my honoured mother of her life; and my father, Captain Cardigan, lying
with Wolfe before Quebec, sent a runner to Sir William enjoining him
to care for me should the chance of battle leave me orphaned.
So my father, with Wolfe's own song on his lips:
"Why, soldiers, why
Should we be melancholy boys?
Why, soldiers, why?
Whose business 'tis to die--"
fell into Colonel Burton's arms at the head of Webb's regiment, and
his dying eyes saw the grenadiers wipe out the disgrace of Montmorency
with dripping bayonets. So he died, with a smile, bidding Webb's
regiment God-speed, and sending word to the dying Wolfe that he would
meet him a minute hence at Peter's gate in heaven.
Thus came I naturally by my hatred for the French, nor was there in
all France sufficient wampum to wipe away the feud or cover the dear
phantom that stood in my path as I passed through life my way.
Now, as I sat a-thinking by the window, below me the robins in all the
trees had begun their wild-wood vespers--hymns of the true thrush,
though not rounded with a thrush's elegance.
The tree-shadows, too, had grown in length, and the afternoon sun wore
a deeper blazonry through the hill haze in the west.
Fain to taste of the freedom which was now mine, I went out and down
the stairs, passing my lady Silver Heels strapped to a back-board and
in a temper with her sampler.
"Oh, Micky," she said, "my bones ache, and Mistress Molly is with the
baby, and the key is there on that brass nail."
"It would be wrong if I released you," said I, piously, meaning to do
it, nevertheless.
"Oh, Micky," she said, with a kind of pitiful sweetness which at times
she used to obtain advantages from me.
So I took the key and unlocked the stocks, giving her feet a pinch to
let her know I was not truly as soft-hearted as she might deem me, nor
too easily won by woman's beseeching.
And now, mark! No sooner was she free than she gave me a slap for the
pinch and away she flew like a tree-lynx with the pack in cry.
"This," thought I, "is a woman's gratitude," and I locked the stocks
again, wishing Silver Heels's feet were in them.
"Best have it out at once with Mistress Molly," thought I, and went to
the nursery. But before I could knock on the door, Mistress Molly
heard me with her ears of a Mohawk, and came to the door with one
finger on her lips.
Truly the sister of Thayendanegea was a stately and comely lady, and a
beauty, too, being little darker than some French ladies I have seen,
and of gracious and noble presence.
Bearing and mien were proud, yet winning; and, clothed always as
befitted the lady of Sir William Johnson, none who came into her
presence could think less of her because of her Mohawk blood or the
relation she bore to Sir William--an honest one as she understood it.
She ruled the Hall with dignity and with an authority that none
dreamed of opposing. At table she was silent, yet gracious; in the
nursery she reigned a beloved and devoted mother; and if ever a man's
wife remained his sweetheart to the end, Molly Brant was Sir William's
true-love while his life endured.
"Why did you release Felicity from the stocks, Michael?" said she, in
a whisper.
So her quick Indian ear had heard the click of that lock!
"I had come to tell you of it, Aunt Mary," said I.
She looked at me keenly, then smiled.
"A sin confessed is half redressed. I had meant to release Felicity
some time since, but the baby had fretted herself to sleep in my arms
and I feared to put her down. But, Michael, remember in future to ask
permission when you desire to play with Felicity."
"Play with Felicity!" I said, scornfully. "I am past the playing age,
Aunt Molly, and I only released her because I thought her back ached."
Mistress Molly looked at me again, long and keenly.
"Little savage," she said, gently, "mock at my people no more. I
should chide you for misusing Peter, but--I will say nothing. You make
my heart heavy sometimes."
"I do honour and love you, Aunt Molly!" I said; "it was not that I
mocked at Peter, but his breeches were so tight that I wondered if Vix
could bite him. I shall now go to the garden and allow Peter to kick
my shins. Anyway, I gave him all my quills and a plummet and a screw."
She laughed silently, bidding me renounce my intention regarding
Peter, and so dismissed me, with her finger on her lips conjuring
silence.
So I pursued my interrupted way to the garden where the robins
carolled in every young fruit-tree, and the blue shadows wove patterns
on the grass.
Peter and Esk were on the ground playing at marbles, with Silver Heels
to judge between them.
Esk, perceiving me, cried out: "Knuckle down at taws, Micky! Come on!
Alleys up and fen dubs!"
"Fen dubs your granny!" I replied, scornfully, clean forgetting my new
dignity. "Dubs all, and bull's-eyes up is what I play, unless you want
to put in agates?" I added, covetously.
Esk shook his head in alarm, muttering that his agates were for
shooters; but fat Peter, sprawling belly down at the ring, offered to
put up an agate against four bull's-eyes, two agates, and twelve
miggs, and play dubs and span in a round fat.
The proposition was impudent, unfair, and thoroughly Indian. I was
about to spurn it when Silver Heels chirped up, "Micky doesn't dare."
"Put up your agate, Peter," said I, coolly, ignoring Silver Heels; and
I fished the required marbles from my pocket and placed them in the
ring.
"My shot," announced Peter, hurriedly, crowding down on the line,
another outrage which, considering the presence of Silver Heels, I
passed unnoticed.
Peter shot and clipped a migg out of the ring. He shot again and
grazed an agate, shouting "Dubs!" to the derision of us all.
Then I squatted down and sent two bull's-eyes flying, but, forestalled
by Peter's hysterical "Fen dubs!" was obliged to replace one. However,
I shot again and it was dubs all, and I pocketed both of my agates and
Peter's also.
This brought on a wrangle, which Silver Heels settled in my favour.
Then I sat down and, with deadly accuracy, "spun," from which
comfortable position, and without spanning, I skinned the ring,
leaving Peter grief-stricken, with one migg in his grimy fist.
"You may have them," said I, condescendingly, dropping my spoils into
Silver Heels's lap.
She coloured with surprise and pleasure, scarcely finding tongue to
say, "Thank you, Micky."
Peter, being half Indian, demanded more play. But I was satiated and,
already remembering my dignity, regretted the lapse into children's
pastimes. I quieted Peter by giving him the remainder of my marbles,
explaining that I had renounced such games for manlier sport, which
statement, coupled with my lavish generosity, impressed Peter and Esk,
if it had not effect upon Silver Heels.
I sat down on the stone bench near the bee-hives and drew from my
pocket the jack-knife given me by Silver Heels as a bribe to silence.
"Come over here, Silver Heels," I said, with patronizing kindness.
"What for?" she demanded.
"Oh, don't come then," I retorted, whereat she rose from the grass
with her skirt full of marbles and came over to the stone bench.
After a moment she seated herself, eying the knife askance. I had
opened the blade. Lord, how I hated to give it back!
"Take it," said I, closing the blade, but not offering it to her.
"Truly?" she stammered, not reaching out her hand, for fear I should
draw it away again to plague her.
I dropped the knife into her lap among the marbles, thrilling at the
spectacle of my own generosity.
She seized it, repeating:
"King, King, double King!
Can't take back a given thing!"
"You needn't say 'King, King, double King,'" said I, offended; "for I
was not going to take it back, silly!"
"Truly, Michael?" she asked, looking up at me. Then she added,
sweetly, "I am sorry I bit you."
"Ho!" said I, "do you think you hurt me?"
She said nothing, playing with the marbles in her lap.
I sat and watched the bees fly to and fro like bullets; in the quiet
even the hills, cloaked in purple mantles, smoked with the steam of
hidden snow-drifts still lingering in ravines where arbutus scents the
forest twilight.
The robins had already begun their rippling curfew call; crickets
creaked from the planked walk. Behind me the voices of Peter and Esk
rose in childish dispute or excited warning to "Knuckle down hard!"
Already the delicate spring twilight stained the east with primrose
and tints of green. A calm star rose in the south.
Presently Silver Heels pinched me, and I felt around to pinch back.
"Hush," she whispered, jogging my elbow a little, "there is a strange
Indian between us and the block-house. He has a gun, but no blanket!"
For a moment a cold, tight feeling stopped my breath, not because a
strange Indian stood between me and the block-house, but because of
that instinct which stirs the fur on wild things when taken unawares,
even by friends.
My roughened skin had not smoothed again before I was on my feet and
advancing.
Instantly, too, I perceived that the Indian was a stranger to our
country. Although an Iroquois, and possibly of the Cayuga tribe, yet
he differed from our own Cayugas. He was stark naked save for the
breech-clout. But his moccasins were foreign, so also was the pouch
which swung like a Highlander's sporran from his braided clout-string,
for it was made of the scarlet feathers of a bird which never flew in
our country, and no osprey ever furnished the fine snow-white fringe
which hung from it, falling half-way between knee and ankle.
Observing him at closer range, I saw he was in a plight: his flesh
dusty and striped with dry blood where thorns had brushed him; his
eyes burning with privation, and sunk deep behind the cheek-bones.
As I halted, he dropped the rifle into the hollow of his left arm and
raised his right hand, palm towards me.
I raised my right hand, but remained motionless, bidding him lay his
rifle at his feet.
He replied in the Cayuga language, yet with a foreign intonation, that
the dew was heavy and would dampen the priming of his rifle; that he
had no blanket on which to lay his arms, and further, that the
sentinels at the block-houses were watching him with loaded muskets.
This was true. However, I permitted him to advance no closer until I
hailed a soldier, who came clumping out of the stables, and who
instantly cocked and primed his musket.
Then I asked the strange Cayuga what he wanted.
"Peace," he said, again raising his hand, palm out; and again I raised
my hand, saying, "Peace!"
From the scarlet pouch he drew a little stick, six inches long, and
painted red.
"Look out," said I to the soldier, "that is a war-stick! If he shifts
his rifle, aim at his heart."
But the runner had now brought to light from his pouch other sticks,
some blood-red, some black ringed with white. These he gravely
sorted, dropping the red ones back into his pouch, and naively
displaying the black and white rods in a bunch.
"War-ragh-i-ya-gey!" he said, gently, adding, "I bear belts!"
It was the title given by our Mohawks to Sir William, and signified,
"One who unites two peoples together."
"You wish to see Chief Warragh," I repeated, "and you come with your
pouch full of little red sticks?"
He darted a keen glance at me, then, with a dignified gesture, laid
his rifle down in the dew.
A little ashamed, I turned and dismissed the soldier, then advanced
and gave the silent runner my hand, telling him that although his
moccasins and pouch were strange, nevertheless the kin of the Cayugas
were welcome to Johnson Hall. I pointed at his rifle, bidding him
resume it. He raised it in silence.
"He is a belt-bearer," I thought to myself; "but his message is not of
peace."
I said, pleasantly:
"By the belts you bear, follow me!"
The dull fire that fever kindles flickered behind his shadowy eyes. I
spoke to him kindly and conducted him to the north block-house.
"Bearer of belts," said I, passing the sentry, and so through the
guard-room, with the soldiers all rising at attention, and into Sir
William's Indian guest-room.
My Cayuga must have seen that he was fast in a trap, yet neither by
word nor glance did he appear to observe it.
The sun had set. A chill from the west sent the shivers creeping up my
legs as I called a soldier and bade him kindle a fire for us. Then on
my own responsibility I went into the store-room and rummaged about
until I discovered a thick red blanket. I knew I was taking what was
not mine; I knew also I was transgressing Sir William's orders. Yet
some instinct told me to act on my own discretion, and that Sir
William would have done the same had he been here.
A noise at the guard door brought me running out of the store-room to
find my Cayuga making to force his way out, and the soldiers shoving
him into the guest-room again.
"Fall back!" I cried, my wits working like shuttles; and quickly added
in the Cayuga tongue: "Cayugas are free people; free to stay, free to
go. Open the door for my brother who fears his brother's fireside!"
There was a silence; the soldiers stood back respectfully; a sergeant
opened the outer door. But the Indian, turning his hot eyes on me,
swung on his heel and re-entered the guest-room, drawing the flint
from his rifle as he walked.
I followed and laid the thick red blanket on his dusty shoulders.
"Sergeant," I called, "send McCloud for meat and drink, and notify Sir
William as soon as he arrives that his brothers of the Cayuga would
speak to him with belts!"
I was not sure of the etiquette required of me after this, not knowing
whether to leave the Cayuga alone or bear him company. Tribes differ,
so do nations in their observance of these forms. One thing more
puzzled me: here was a belt-bearer with messages from some distant and
strange branch of the Cayuga tribe, yet the etiquette of their allies,
our Mohawks, decreed that belts should be delivered by sachems or
chiefs, well escorted, and through the smoke of council fires never
theoretically extinguished between allies and kindred people.
One thing I of course knew: that a guest, once admitted, should never
be questioned until he had eaten and slept.
But whether or not I was committing a breach of etiquette by squatting
there by the fire with my Cayuga, I did not know.
However, considering the circumstances, I called out for a soldier to
bring two pipes and tobacco; and when they were fetched to me, I
filled one and passed it to the Cayuga, then filled the other, picked
a splinter from the fire, lighted mine, and passed the blazing
splinter to my guest.
If his ideas on etiquette were disturbed, he did not show it. He
puffed at his pipe and drew his blanket close about his naked body,
staring into the fire with the grave, absent air of a cat on a wintry
night.
Now, stealing a glance at his scalp-lock, I saw by the fire-light the
stumps of two quills, with a few feather-fronds still clinging to
them, fastened in the knot on his crown. The next covert glance told
me that they were the ragged stubs of the white-headed eagle's
feathers, and that my guest was a chief. This set me in a quandary.
What was a strange Cayuga chief doing here without escort, without
blanket, yet bearing belts? Etiquette absolutely forbade a single
question. Was I, in my inexperience, treating him properly? Would my
ignorance of what was due him bring trouble and difficulty to Sir
William when he returned?
Suddenly resolved to clear Sir William of any suspicion of
awkwardness, and at the risk of my being considered garrulous, I rose
and said:
"My brother is a man and a chief; he will understand that in the
absence of my honoured kinsman, Sir William Johnson, and in the
absence of officers in authority, the hospitality of Johnson Hall
falls upon me.
"Ignorant of my brother's customs, I bid him welcome, because he is
naked, tired, and hungry. I kindle his fire; I bring him pipe and
food; and now I bid him sleep in peace behind doors that open at his
will."
Then the Cayuga rose to his full noble height, bending his burning
eyes on mine. There was a silence; and so, angry or grateful, I knew
not which, he resumed his seat by the fire, and I went out through the
guard-room into the still, starry night.
But I did not tarry to sniff at the stars nor search the dewy herbage
for those pale blossoms which open only on such a night, hiding
elf-pearls in their fairy petals. Straightway I sought Mistress Molly
in the nursery, and told her what I had done. She listened gravely and
without comment or word of blame or praise, which was like all
Indians. But she questioned me, and I described the strange
belt-bearer from his scalp-lock to the sole of his moccasin.
"Cayuga," she said, softly; "what make was his rifle?"
"Not English, not French," I said. "The barrel near the breech bore
figures like those on Sir William's duelling pistols."
"Spanish," she said, dreamily. "In his language did he pronounce _agh_
like _ahh_?"
"Yes, Aunt Molly."
She remained silent a moment, thoughtful eyes on mine. Then she
smiled and dismissed me, but I begged her to tell me from whence my
Cayuga came.
"I will tell you this," she said. "He comes from very, very far away,
and he follows some customs of the Tuscaroras, which they in turn
borrow from a tribe which lives so far away that I should go to sleep
in counting the miles for you."
With that she shut the nursery door, and I, no wiser than before, and
understanding that Mistress Molly did not mean I should be wiser, sat
down on the stairs to think and to wait for Sir William.
A moment later a man on horseback rode out of our stables at a gallop
and clattered away down the hill. I listened for a moment, then
thought of other things.