It was not yet dawn, though a few birds sang in the darkness around
us, as Sir William and I set off for the Cayuga's lodge, which stood
beyond the town on a rocky knoll, partly cleared of trees.
The air was cold and without fragrance, for in our country it is the
sun that draws the earth's sweetness in early spring.
The stars lighted us through the streets of Johnstown, empty of life
save for the muffled watchman dozing in his own lanthorn glow, who
roused as he heard us, and shook his damp cloak. And far behind us we
heard his sing-song:
"Four o'clock! A cold, fair morn, and all well!"
One inn there was, where the dim bush swung wet and sleek as a
clinging bat, and where stale embers of the night's revelry still
flickered; for, behind the lighted windows, men were singing, and we
heard them as we passed:
"Oh, we're all dry
Wi' drinking on't--
We're all dry
Wi' drinking on't.
The piper kissed
The fiddler's wife;
And I can't sleep
For thinking on't!"
"Starbuck's Inn," muttered Sir William, grimly. "He's a Boston man;
they drink no tea there."
And, as we strode on in the darkness, behind us, from the lighted
hostelry, came a husky echo of that foolish catch:
"Diddle diddle dumpling,
My son John--"
So I knew that my buckskin birds were still chirping among us.
But now we were on the stony way and the town sank below us as we
climbed towards Quider's lodge, knee-deep in dewy thistles.
The spark of a tiny council fire guided us. Coming nearer we smelled
black birch burning, and we saw the long thread of aromatic smoke
mounting steadily to the paling stars.
We passed a young basswood-tree from which hung a flint, symbol of the
Mohawks. From another chestnut-sapling dangled the symbol of the
Cayugas, a pipe. All at once we saw Quider, standing motionless before
his lodge.
Sir William drew flint and tinder from his pouch, and sent a spark
flying into the dry tobacco of his pipe. He drew it to a long glow,
twice, and passed it, through the smoke of the fire, to Quider.
I saw the Cayuga's face then. It was a strange red, yet it was not
painted. He seemed ill; his eyes glittered like the eyes of a lynx.
And now, as the Indian sank down into his blanket before the fire, Sir
William produced a belt from the folds of his cloak and held it out.
The belt was black with two figures woven in white on it. The hands of
the figures were clasped together. It was a chain-belt.
"_Brother_," he said, slowly: "The clouds which hang over us prevent
us from seeing the sun. It is, therefore, our business, with this
belt, to clear the sky. And we also, with this belt, set the sun in
its proper course, so that we may be enabled to see the narrow path of
peace."
(_Gives the belt._)
"_Brother_: We have heard what you have said about Colonel Cresap; we
believe he has been misled, and we have rekindled the council fire at
Johnstown with embers from Onondaga, with embers from the Ohio, with
coals from our proper fireplace at Mount Johnson.
"We uncover these fires to summon our wisest men so that they shall
judge what word shall be sent to Colonel Cresap, to secure you in your
treaty rights which I have sworn to protect by these strings!"
(_A bunch of strings._)
"_Brother_: By this third and last belt I send peace and love to my
brethren of the Cayuga; and by this belt I bid them be patient, and
remember that I have never broken my word to those within the Long
House, nor yet to those who dwell without the doors."
(_A large black belt of seven rows._)
Then Sir William drew from his girdle a belt of wampum, so white that,
in the starlight, it shimmered like virgin silver.
"Who mourns?" asked Sir William, gently, and the Indian rose and
answered: "We mourn--we of the Cayuga--we of three clans."
"What clans shall be raised up?" asked Sir William.
"Three clans lie stricken: the Wolf, the Plover, the Eel. Who shall
raise them?"
"_Brother_," said Sir William, gravely. "With this belt I raise three
clans; I cleanse their eyes, their ears, their mouths, their bodies
with clean water. With this belt I clear their path so that no longer
shall the dead stand in your way or in ours."
(_The belt._)
"_Brother_: With these strings I raise up your head and beg you will
no longer sorrow."
(_Three strings._)
"_Brother_: With this belt I cover the graves."
(_A great white belt._)
In the dead stillness that followed the northern hill-tops slowly
turned to pink and ashes. The day had dawned.
* * * * *
When again we reached the village cocks were crowing in every yard;
the painted weather-vanes glowed in the sun; legions of birds sang.
From Starbuck's Inn stumbled forth a blinking, soiled, and tipsy
company, linking arms, sidling, shoving, lurching, and bawling:
"Oh, we're all dry
Wi' drinkin' on't!"
And I plainly saw my two coureurs-de-bois, boozy as owls, a-bussing
the landlord's greasy wench while mine host pummelled them lustily,
foot and fist.
So on through the cold shadowy street and out into the sun-warmed road
again, and at last to the Hall where, on the sunny porch, stood Silver
Heels, hair in her eyes, her naked white feet in moccasins, washing
her cheeks in the dew.
"Tut! tut!" cried Sir William, sharply. "What foolishness is this,
Felicity? Off to bed! with your bare legs!"
"Betty said that beauty grew with dew-baths at dawn," said Silver
Heels, coolly. "I have bathed my limbs and my body in the grass and
I'm all over leaves."
"Betty's a fool! Be off to bed!--you little baggage!" cried Sir
William. And away up-stairs scampered Silver Heels, dropping both
moccasins in her flight.
"Betty! Betty!" fumed Sir William. "I'll Betty her, the black witch!"
And he stamped off to the nursery, muttering threats which I knew
would never be fulfilled.
That day Sir William sat in his library writing with Mr. Butler, so
there was no school, and Peter, Esk, Silver Heels, and I went
a-fishing in the river. And I did not wear my uniform, for fear of
soiling.
All day long, as we sat in the grass to watch our poles a-quiver,
horsemen from our stables passed us, galloping east and south,
doubtless bearing letters from Sir William to Albany and New York--and
farther south, perchance--for there came one rider with six soldiers
in escort, and two led horses well packed, all trotting and clattering
away towards the Fort Pitt trail.
That day was the last of the old days for us; but how could we suspect
that, as we waded in the shallows there, laughing, chattering,
splashing each other, and quarrelling to our hearts' content. The
familiar river, which every freshet changed just enough to sharpen our
eyes for new pools, slipped over its smooth golden stones, inviting
our dusty feet. Up to our knees we moved in the ice-cold stream,
climbing out on the banks at times to warm our legs in the sun, and
lie deep in the daisies, winking at the swallows in the sky.
We played all our old games again--but that we played them for the
last time, none of us suspected. I held a buttercup under Silver
Heels's snowy chin to prove her love for cheese; I played buzzing
bee-songs on grass-blades; I whittled whistles for Peter and Esk; I
skipped flat stones; I coloured Silver Heels's toes yellow with
dandelion juice so she should ever afterwards wade in gold--this at
her own desire.
Twice those tiny spotted lady-beetles perched on my hand, and Silver
Heels, to ward off threatening evil, took them on the pink tip of her
little finger, repeating:
"Lady-bird, Lady-bird, fly away home!
Thy lodge is afire! thy babies will burn!"
Which she said would save me from torture at the stake some day.
The late sun settled in the blue ashes of the western forests as we
pulled on our stockings and moccasins and gathered up our strings of
silvery fish.
For a whole day I had carefully forgotten that I was anything but a
comrade to these children; but I did not know how wise I had been to
lay by, in my memory, one more perfect day ere the evil days came and
the years drew nigh wherein, God wot! I found no pleasure.
Silver Heels and I walked back together through the evening glow, and
I remember that the windows of our house were all on fire from the sun
as we climbed the hill under the splendour of the western sky.
As we came through the orchard I saw Sir William sitting on the stone
seat near the bee-hives. His chin had fallen on his chest, both hands
rested on his cane, and over his body fell the glory of the red sky.
He heard us as we came through the orchard, and he raised his head to
smile a welcome. But there was that in his eyes which told me to stay
there with him after the others had trooped in to be fed, and I
waited.
Presently he said: "Quider is sick. Did you discover anything in his
face that might betoken--a--a fever?"
"His eyes," I said.
"Was he blotched? My sight is dim these years."
"His face was over-red," I answered, wondering.
Sir William said nothing more. After a little while he rose, leaning
on his cane, and passed heavily under the fruit-trees towards the
house.
That night came our doctor, Pierson, galloping from the village with
an urgent message for Sir William. Later I saw soldiers set out with
bayonets on their muskets, and, with them, the doctor, leading his
horse.
In the morning we knew that the small-pox had seized the Cayuga, and
that our soldiers patrolled Quider's lodge to warn all men of the
black pest.
The days which followed were busy days for us all--days fraught with
bustle and perplexity--hours which hurried on, crowding one on another
like pages turning in a book--turning too swiftly for me to cipher the
ominous text.
All Sir William's hopes of averting war were now centred in the
stricken Cayuga. He and I haunted the neighbourhood of Quider's lodge,
staring for hours at the silent hut in the clearing, or, rambling by
starlight, we watched the candle burning in the lodge door as though
it were the flame of life, now flaring, now sinking in its socket.
On such rambles he seldom spoke, but sometimes he leaned on my
shoulder as we walked, and his very hand seemed burdened with the
weight of his cares.
Once, however, when from the sentinels we learned that Quider might
live, Sir William appeared almost gay, and we walked to a little hill,
all silvery in the light of the young moon, and rested on a rock.
"Black Care rides behind the horseman, but--I have dismounted," he
said, lightly. "Quider will live, I warrant you, barring those arrows
of outrageous fortune of which you have doubtless heard, Michael."
"What may those same arrows be marked with?" I asked, innocently.
"With the totem of Kismet, my boy."
I did not know that totem, and said so, whereupon he fell a-laughing
and pinched my cheek, saying, "Are there no people in the world but
the Six Nations of the Long House?"
I answered cautiously: "Oe-yen-de-hit Sar-a-ta-ke," meaning, "there
are favourable signs (of people) where the tracks of (their) heels may
be seen. I have not travelled; there may be other tracks in the
world."
"Ten-ca-re Ne-go-ni," replied Sir William, gravely. "He scatters His
people everywhere, Michael. The world lies outside of the Long
House!"
"I shall say to the world I come from Ko-lan-e-ka, and that I am kin
to you, sir," said I, dropping easily into that intimate dialect we
children often used together, or in the family circle.
"The world will say: 'He comes from Da-o-sa-no-geh, the place without
a name; let him return to The-ya-o-guin, the Gray-Haired, who sent him
out so ignorant.'"
"Do you say that, sir, because I am ignorant of the poets?" I asked.
"Even women know the poets in these days," he said, smiling. "You
would not wish to know less than your own wife, would you?"
"My wife!" I exclaimed, scornfully.
"Why, yes," said Sir William, much amused; "you will marry one day, I
suppose."
After a moment I said:
"Is Silver Heels going to marry Mr. Butler?"
"I hope so," replied Sir William, a little surprised. "Mr. Butler is a
gentleman of culture and wealth. Felicity has no large dower, and I
can leave but little if I provide for all my children. I deem it most
fortunate that Captain Butler has spoken to me."
"If," said I, slowly, "Silver Heels and I are obliged to marry
somebody, why can we not marry each other?"
Sir William stared at me.
"Are you in love with Felicity?" he asked.
"Oh no, sir!" I cried, resentfully.
"Is she--does she fancy she is in love with you?" insisted Sir
William, in growing astonishment.
"No! no!" I said, hastily, for his question annoyed and irritated me.
"But I only don't want her to marry Mr. Butler; I'd even be willing to
marry her myself, though I once saw a maid in Albany--"
"What the devil is all this damned nonsense?" cried Sir William,
testily. "What d'ye mean by this idiot's babble? Eh?"
The expression of my face at this outburst first disconcerted, then
sent him into a roar of laughter. Such startled and injured innocence
softened his impatience; he carefully explained to me that, as
Felicity had no fortune, and I barely sufficient to sustain me, such
a match could but prove a sorry and foolish one for Silver Heels and
for me.
"If you were older," he said, "and if you loved each other, I should,
perhaps, be weak enough not to interfere, though wisdom prompted. But
it is best that Felicity should wed Mr. Butler, and that as soon as
may be, for I am growing old very fast, older than I care to confess,
older than I dare believe. This I say to you, for I have come to trust
you and to lean on you, Michael; but you must never hint to others
that I complain of age or feebleness. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," I answered, soberly.
"Besides," said Sir William, with a forced smile, "I have much to do
yet; I mean to accomplish a deal of labour before I--well, before many
weeks. Come, lad; we must not grope out here seeking unhappiness under
these pretty stars. We are much to each other; we shall be much
more--eh? Come, then; Quider will live, spite of those same slings and
arrows of which you know not the totem marks."
As we descended the hill through shadowy drifts of spice-fern, Sir
William looked long and hopefully at the candle burning in Quider's
hut.
"Ho-no-we-eh-to," he murmured; "I have given him white
belts--ho-way-ha-tah-koo!--they shall disinter him, though he lie
dead. He came, bearing wampum; shall his spirit go out bearing a
quiver--o-tat-sheh-te?--hoo-sah-ha-ho?"
"So-yone-wes; sa-tea-na-wat; he has a long wampum belt; he holds it
fast, sir," I said, cheerfully mixing the tongues of the Six Nations
to piece out my symbol.
So we went home, comforted and hopeful; but the morrow brought gravest
tidings from Quider's lodge, for the Cayuga had fallen a-raving in his
fever, and it was necessary to tie him down lest he break away.
Weighed down with anxiety concerning what Colonel Cresap might be
doing on the Ohio, dreading an outbreak which must surely come if the
Cayuga belts remained unanswered, Sir William, in his sore perplexity,
turned once more to me and opened his brave heart.
"I know not what intrigues may be afoot, what double intrigues revolve
within, what triple motives urge the men who have despatched Colonel
Cresap on this adventure. But I know this, that should Cresap's
colonials in their blindness attack my Cayugas, a thousand hatchets
will sparkle in these hills, and the people of the Long House will
never sit idle when these colonies and England draw the sword!"
Again that cold, despairing amazement crept into my heart, for I could
no longer misunderstand Sir William that his sympathies were not with
our King, but with the provinces.
He appeared to divine my troubled thoughts; I knew it by the painful
smile which passed like a pale light from his eyes, fading in the
shadowy hollows which care and grief had dug in his good, kind face.
"Learn from others, not from me, what acid chemistry is changing the
heart of this broad land to stone," he said.
"I cannot understand, sir," I broke out, "why we should warn Colonel
Cresap. Is it loyalty for us to do so?"
Sir William turned his sunken eyes on me.
"It is loyalty to God," he said.
The solemn peace in his eyes awed me; the ravage which care had left
in his visage frightened me.
He spoke again:
"I may have to answer to Him soon, my boy. I have searched my heart;
there is no dishonour in it."
We had been sitting on the bed in my little chamber. The window was
open, the breeze fluttered the cotton curtains, a spicy breeze, laden
with essence of the fern which covers our fields, and smells like
bay-leaves crushed in one's palm.
The peace of Sabbath brooded over all, a cow-bell tinkled from the
pasture, birds chirped. Sir William rose to stand by the window, and
his gaze softened towards the sunlit meadows where buttercups swayed
with daisies, and blue flower-de-luce quivered in the wind.
"God!" he muttered, under his breath. "That this sweet peace on earth
should be assailed by men!"
Again into my breast came that strange uneasiness which this month of
May had brought to us along with the robins and the new leaves, and
which I began to breathe in with the summer wind itself--a vague
unrest, a breathless waiting--for what?--I did not know.
And so it went on, Sir William and I walking sometimes alone together
on the hill-sides, speaking soberly of that future which concerned
our land and kin, I listening in silence with apprehension ever
growing.
Often during that week came Mohawk sachems and chiefs of the Senecas
and Onondagas to the Hall, pestering Sir William with petty disputes
to judge between them. Sometimes it was complaint against drunken
soldiers who annoyed them, sometimes a demand for justice, touching
the old matters of the moonlight survey, in which one, Collins, did
shamefully wrong the Mohawks by stealing land; and William Alexander,
who is now Lord Sterling, and William Livingston did profit
thereby--guiltily or innocently, I know not.
But these troubles Sir William settled impartially and with that
simple justice which made fraud loathsome, even to frauds.
I do remember how he scourged and scored that villain German, Klock,
for making the Mohawks drunk to rob them of their lands by cunning;
and I recall how he summoned Counsellor John Chambers to witness
justice between Mr. Livingston and the Mohawks:
"Billy Livingston," said Sir William, "bear this message to Billy
Alexander, that the land belongs not to him or to you, but to my
Mohawks! It is enough that I say this to you, for you are my old
comrades and honoured friends, and I am assured you will relinquish
all title to what is not your own. But, by God! Billy, if you do not,
I shall spend every penny of my own on lawyers to drive you out--every
farthing, though it beggars me!"
This was but one of many scenes at which I was present. Why Sir
William always called me to bear him company in such private matters,
I could not at once comprehend. Little by little, however, I saw that
it was because of his trust in me, and his desire that I should know
of such affairs; and his love and confidence made me proud. Was I not
the only person in the world who knew his sentiments and his desire to
stop Colonel Cresap on the Ohio, lest, in ignorance, he should turn
the entire Six Nations against the colonies?
Had he not told me, sadly, that he could not speak of this plan even
to his own son, Sir John Johnson, lest his son, placing loyalty to the
King before obedience to his father, should thwart Sir William, and
even aid Colonel Cresap to anger the Cayugas, and so injure the cause
of the colonies?
He told me, too, that he could not confide in Mr. Butler or in his
father, Colonel John Butler; neither dared he trust his sons-in-law,
Colonel Claus or Colonel Guy Johnson, although they served as his
deputies in Indian affairs.
All of these gentlemen were, first of all, loyal to our King, and all
of them, clearly foreseeing a struggle between King and colonies,
would not raise a finger to prevent Colonel Cresap from driving the
Six Nations as allies into the King's arms.
"What I am striving for," said Sir William to me, again and again, "is
to so conduct that these Indians on our frontiers shall take neither
one side nor the other, but remain passive while the storm rages. To
work openly for this is not possible. If it were possible to work
openly, and if Quider should die, I would send such a message to my
Lord Dunmore of Virginia as would make his bloodless ears burn! And
they may burn yet!"
At my expression of horrified surprise Sir William hesitated, then
struck his fist into the open palm of his left hand.
"Why should you not know it?" he cried. "You are the only one of all I
can trust!"
He paused, eying me intently.
"Can I not trust you, dear lad?" he said, gently.
"Yes, sir," I cried, in an overwhelming rush of pity and love. "You
are first in my heart, sir--and then the King."
Sir William smiled and thought awhile. Then he continued:
"You are to know, Michael, that Lord Dunmore, Governor of Virginia,
is, in my opinion, at the bottom of this. He it is who, foreseeing the
future, as do all thinking men, has sent the deluded Cresap to pick a
quarrel with my Cayugas, knowing that he is making future allies for
England. It is vile! It is a monstrous thing! It is not loyalty, it is
treason!"
He struck his pinched forehead and strode up and down.
"Can Dunmore know what he is doing? God! The horror of it!--the horror
of border war! Has Dunmore ever seen how savages fight? Has he seen
raw scalps ripped from babies? Has he seen naked prisoners writhing
at the stake, drenched in blood, eyeless sockets raised to the skies?"
He stood still in the middle of the room. There was a sweat on his
cheek-bones.
"If we must fight, let us fight like men," he muttered, "without fear
or favour, without treachery! But, Michael, woe to the side that calls
on these savages for aid! Woe to them! Woe! Woe! For the first scalp
taken will turn this border into such a hell of blood and flame as the
devil himself in his old hell never dreamed of!"
This outburst left me stunned. Save for Sir William, I knew not where
now to anchor my faith. Our King already in these few days had become
to my youthful mind a distant wavering shadow, no longer the rock to
which loyal hearts must cling--unquestioning. And it is ever so; old
faiths fall when hearts question, and I know not whether hearts be
right or wrong to strive so hard for the answer which is their own
undoing.
Still, however, in that distant England which I had never seen, the
King, though fading to a phantom in my heart, yet loomed up still a
vast and mighty shape, awful as the threatening majesty of a dim cloud
on the world's edge, behind which lightning glimmers.