If the feet of my brother from the distant land have ever carried him
to the spot where the Oswegatchie joins with the river called by the
people of his nation the St. Lawrence, he must have seen a broken wall
of stone, which that same people built very soon after they had taken
possession of the High Rock, and made it the great village of the pale
faces. At that time the red men of the wilderness were not very well
disposed towards the strangers who had come among them, viewing them
as they do wolves, and panthers, and catamounts, which are very much
in the way of Indians, and therefore they put them out of it as soon
as possible. At length, the great chief or governor at the City of the
High Rock, finding that the men whom he left within the big walls he
had built on the Oswegatchie were every moment in danger of being
massacred by their fierce and warlike neighbours, the Iroquois,
recalled his soldiers to his wing from their perilous flight, and bade
them soar no more in that dangerous direction. So the high walls he
had thrown up to serve as a barrier against the forest warrior fell to
the earth, and were never rebuilt. The grass grew up over them, the
winds whistled among them, and many spirits, white and red, came and
took up their residence in the corners and recesses of the deserted
habitation.
Among the white spirits that sojourned in the ruined fort there was
one who was very kind to the Indians, and often held long talks with
them, though they never saw him. Often, when the sun had retired to
his place of rest beyond the western mountains--for he would only hold
conversation when darkness covered the earth--the Indians would repair
to the outside of the ruins, and, calling upon the "Good Little
Fellow," he would come and entertain them, until the purple and grey
tints of morning shone in the eastern sky, with tales of his own pale
race, and of that other, the red, as connected with them. The eager
listeners would be told of cabins in which the Great Spirit was
worshipped, that were twice the flight of an arrow broad, and three
times its flight in length, and so high as to be beyond the daring of
the bird of morning. And he taught them to wonder much, and laugh a
little, by telling them that when men went to worship the Being in
whose honour and for whose worship the cabin was built, they dressed
themselves in their most gorgeous apparel, and put on long robes,
painted to look like the gay birds of the forest, and emulating in the
brightness of their dyes the bow in the clouds after a shower of rain.
When the Indians laughed at this, he told them that the Great Spirit,
the white people thought, never listened to those who were not well
dressed, and "looked smart." He said the white people were not like
the Indians; they only worshipped the Master of Life on the seventh
day of the week and a few other days, whereas the Indians worshipped
him every day--which was much the best way, he thought. And he told
the Indians many other things, respecting the white people living over
the Great Salt Lake, some of which made them think they were very
wise, and valiant, and prudent, but the most of what he said went to
prove them great fools. And when he told them that the men weeded the
corn, while the women sat doing nothing, or "galloping from cabin to
cabin," the Indians, who had become so well acquainted with him that
they could speak with freedom, bade him return and tell his people how
much better the Indians managed these things.
Once upon a time, as he sat repeating his tales to the wondering
Indian visiters, he said to them: Did you ever hear about Garanga,
the beautiful bird that was taken from her perch in the cabin of the
White Crane, the great warrior of the Iroquois, by a man of my nation?
The Indians all answered, No; and so they would have answered had they
heard it twenty times, for he varied his stories every time he
repeated them, as the pale faces always do; so they were sure to have
a new story though it had an old name. Then I will tell it you, said
he, and he began as follows.
There came to this fort, while it was yet standing in all its pride, a
young chief of my nation to be its governor. He was a mere youth to be
entrusted with so high and responsible an office, but, though young in
years, he was old in understanding. He was also very beautiful to look
upon, and his stature was of the tallest of the sons of the earth. The
Indian maidens that visited the fort with their fathers and brothers
bestowed much praise upon his fine and manly form, and their friends
of the other sex did the same upon his courageous spirit, and his
superiority in those exercises in which one must excel if he would
command the esteem, and excite the awe, of the red men of the forest.
The men likened him for swiftness to the deer, and for agility to the
mountain-cat, and for strength to the bear, and for courage to all
that is courageous; the women compared his skin to the water-lily, and
his eyes to the blue sky when it is bluest, and his hair to the silken
tassels of ripened corn, and his step to the stag's, and his voice to
the song-sparrow's. Whatever is beautiful among the works of nature
was brought in by comparison, to express their admiration of the
graceful and gallant stranger.
Among the bright-eyed maidens who visited the fort, as they said, to
buy beads and gay toys, but in reality to gaze upon the noble chief,
was the beautiful Garanga, the daughter of one of the principal
warriors of the Iroquois. The first time she saw him her little bosom
was filled with the flames of love, but she never spoke of it to any
one. While the other maidens sat repeating the soft words he had
whispered in their ears, for he had the forked tongue which the white
man always possesses, the mild and lovely daughter of the White Crane
said nothing, but sighed. Her heart had been taken captive at first
sight, by the handsome stranger--her little bosom was filled with love
for the noble warrior. Nor were the charms of the maiden unmarked by
him she loved. He had singled her out among all the dusky maidens, in
some degree for her beauty, but more for her softness and her modesty,
and had asked himself what one among the women of his own clime was
superior to her in all that would give delight to him who should make
her his own. His heart answered, None. So, learning from the tell-tale
eyes of the beautiful maiden, that she was entirely willing to become
the bird of his bower, his companion, his wife, he asked her of her
father. The chief, proud to be connected with so distinguished a
warrior, gave her to him, without hesitation, and she became his wife.
They were married in the Harvest-Moon, and a great feast was given,
which made glad the hearts of both white and red. There was a great
firing of cannon, and the fire-eater was given to the Indians, who
became very drunk, and made the woods ring again with their boisterous
mirth. Before the month in which the Indians harvest their maize had
come round again, there was a young bird of the sex of its father, in
the house of the governor. Ere the child had lived a moon, the father
said to the mother, thoughtfully but kindly,
"Dost thou love thy husband?"
"The Great Spirit only knows how much, and how deeply," answered the
fond wife.
"Hast thou joy in the bright eyes, and smiling cheeks, and lovely
laugh, of our little son?"
"I have exceeding joy in our son," answered the mother, pressing her
infant with a warm embrace to her bosom. "When I look upon his young
face, and his little laugh rings in mine ear, and when I mark the
bright light of his eyes shining like stars upon me, my heart leaps
like a deer stricken to death by the shaft of the hunter. And often
while thou art slumbering by my side, do I lie sleepless, my eyes
filled with tears, to think that he may die. And yet I have exceeding
joy in our child."
"Does it not grieve thee to think that thou, and he, and I, may not
meet together in the land of souls?"
"May not meet together in the land of souls? Why? Thou hast sent an
arrow to my heart, my husband. Why are the gates of death to separate
those who loved each other in life?"
"Our gods are not the same, and the abodes of the souls of the white
man and the red man are far apart."
"Why wilt thou not come to the land which holds the spirits of the
departed of _my_ race? Thou art a lover of the chace, and often
preferrest the pastime of hunting the deer, and the bear, and the
panther, through the wild forest, to reposing in the arms of thy
Garanga. In the land--_my_ land of souls--thou wilt enjoy thy
favourite pursuit. There thou canst course the stag through flowery
meads, and over grassy hills, and know nothing of the bitter obstacles
which impede the path of an earth-borne hunter. There will be a
pleasant cabin built for us beside the placid river of that land--and
upon the green banks, beneath the wide-spreading shade of the
evergreen larch and cypress, shall our rest be appointed. Come to _my_
heaven, my beloved husband!"
"Garanga! my beautiful Garanga! mother of my son! it may not be!"
replied the husband. "The Christian's heaven is unlike the heaven of
the infidel, nor does he picture to himself such delights as thou and
thy nation fancy are to be the portion of the brave warrior and
skilful hunter--of all who do their duty faithfully, and according to
the best of their power."
"Then I will go with thee to thy heaven, for I will not be separated
from thee!" replied the fond wife. "Teach me how I shall worship _thy_
Master, for alas, I know not his ways."
So the beautiful Garanga forsook the religion of her own nation; and
hung round her neck the silver cross and rosary, which marked the
belief of her beloved husband. In vain did her father and his people
solicit her to quit her husband, and return to them, and to the belief
in which she had been bred. Her favourite brother, Mecumeh, came, and
besought her, by all the motives of national pride and family vanity,
to return to her people in this world, that she might not be severed
from them in the land of souls. But the young Garanga, whom her
husband called Marguerite, after a woman of his own nation, was bound
by a threefold cord--her love to her husband, to her son, and to her
religion. Finding that he could not succeed by persuasion, the cunning
Mecumeh had recourse to stratagem. The husband was in the habit of
going down the river often, on fishing excursions, and, when he
returned, he would fire his signal gun--and his wife would hasten,
with her little son, to meet him on the shore, and to place the fond
kiss of welcome on his cheek.
On one occasion he had been gone longer than usual, by the space of
near a moon. Garanga was filled with apprehensions, natural enough
to one fondly loving, and at a time when imminent dangers and
hair-breadth escapes were of every-day occurrence--when it was known
that the people of her nation, displeased with her husband for drawing
her away from the faith of her fathers, were studying deep plans of
revenge. She had sat in the lofty tower which overlooked the greater
part of the surrounding country, and watched for the returning canoe
till the last beam of day had faded away from the waters, and that its
great star had ever been, could only be gathered from a bright beam
that lingered about the folds of the western clouds. The deepening
shadows of twilight played tricks with her imagination, and she
frequently saw things, which, to her, appeared the object her heart
sought, but which were mere creations of a fancy moving at the
suggestions of hope. Once she was startled by a water-fowl, which, as
it skimmed along the surface of the water, imaged to her fancy the
light canoe impelled by her husband's vigorous arm. Again she heard
the leap of the heavy Muskalongi, and the splashing waters sounded to
her like the first dash of the oar. That passed away, and
disappointment and tears followed. The little boy was beside her; he
bore the same name as his father, and inherited the warlike
disposition and love of daring which distinguished him among his
companions. Born and bred among men of war, he understood the use of
the bow and the musket; courage and hardihood seemed to be his
instinct, and danger his element, and battles, wounds, and the deeds
of the valiant, were household words with him. He laughed at his
mother's fears, but, in spite of the boy's ridicule, they
strengthened till apprehension seemed reality, and she shed tears of
sorrow for the fancied death of her beloved husband.
Suddenly the sound of the signal gun broke on the stillness of night.
Both mother and son sprang on their feet with a cry of joy, and were
pressing, hand in hand, towards the outer gate, when a sentinel or
soldier, appointed to keep it, stopped them to remind them that it was
her husband's order, that no one should venture without the walls
after sunset. She, however, insisted on passing, and telling the
soldier that she would answer to her husband for his breach of orders,
she passed the outer barrier. Young Louis held up his bow and arrow
before the sentinel, saying gaily, "I am my mother's body guard, you
know." The sentinel saw the tears of the affectionate wife, gave way,
and permitted her to pass.
The distance from the fort to the place where the commander of the
white men usually moored his canoe was trifling and quickly passed.
Garanga and her little son flew along the narrow path, and soon
reached the shore. But, alas! instead of the face she loved, and the
form she fondly expected to press to her throbbing bosom, she beheld
the fierce Mecumeh. At a little distance from him were his companions.
Entreaties and remonstrance were alike in vain. On the part of
Garanga resistance was not attempted, but it was made with all the
spirit of a warrior by young Louis, who snatched a knife from the
girdle of one of the Indians, and attempted to plunge it into the
bosom of Mecumeh, as he was roughly attempting to bind his wampum-belt
over Garanga's mouth to deaden her screams. The uncle wrested the
knife from him, and smiled proudly on him, as if he recognized in the
brave boy a scion from his own noble and warlike stock. "You will be
the eagle of your tribe," said he, "which none will deem strange since
she that gave you birth was a daughter of the most valiant chief that
roams the wilds. The child of the panther will have the spirit of the
panther, nor need the young bear be taught to climb trees, nor the
eaglet to fly."
The Indians had two canoes: Garanga was conveyed to one, Louis to the
other; and both canoes were rowed into the Oswegatchie, and up the
stream as fast as it was possible to impel them against the current of
the river.
Not a word nor a cry escaped the boy: he seemed intent on some
purpose; and, when the canoe approached near the shore, he drew from
his head his fox-skin cap, and threw it so skilfully that it lodged
where he meant it should--on the branch of a tree which projected over
the water. There was a long white feather in the cap. The Indians had
observed the boy's movements; they held up their oars for a moment,
and seemed to consult whether they should return and remove the cap,
but, after a moment, they again dashed their oars in the water, and
proceeded forward. They continued rowing for a few miles, and then
landed, hid their canoes behind some trees on the river bank, and
plunged into the woods with their prisoners. It was the intention of
the Indians to return to their canoes in the morning; and they had not
proceeded far from the shore, when they kindled a fire, and prepared
some food, and offered a share of it to Garanga and Louis. The poor
Garanga had no mind to eat, but Louis ate as heartily as if he had
been within the walls of the fort. When the Indians had fed, they
stretched themselves before the fire, but not till they had taken the
precaution to bind Garanga to a tree, and to compel Louis to lie down
in the arms of the brother of his mother. Neither of the prisoners
closed their eyes that night. Louis kept his fixed on his mother. She
sat upright beside an oak tree; the cord was fastened around her
waist, and bound around the tree, which had been blasted by lightning.
The bright moon poured its beams through the naked branches upon her
face, convulsed with the agony of despair and fear. With one hand she
held to her lips the now loved symbol of the faith of her husband--the
crucifix; the other grasped another symbol--the rosary. The sight of
his beloved mother in such a situation stirred up daring thoughts in
the bosom of the heroic boy, but he lay powerless in the naked and
brawny arms of the brother of his mother. He tried to disengage
himself, but, at the slightest movement, Mecumeh, though still
sleeping, seemed conscious, and strained him closer to him. At last
the strong sleep that, in the depth of the night, steeps the senses in
utter forgetfulness, overpowered him--his arms relaxed their hold, and
dropped lifeless beside him, and left Louis free.
The boy rose cautiously--looked for a moment on the Indians, and
assured himself that they all slept profoundly. He then possessed
himself of Mecumeh's knife, which lay at his feet, and severed the
cord which bound his mother to the tree. Neither of them spoke a
word--but with the least possible sound they resumed the way by which
they had come from the shore--Louis with the confidence, and Garanga
with the faint hope, of reaching it before they were overtaken.
It may easily be imagined by those who hear it how often the poor
mother, timid as a fawn, was startled by the evening breeze stirring
the leaves, or the flight of a bird from among the boughs of the
trees, but the boy bounded forward with all the courage of his
race(1), as if there were neither fear nor danger in the world.
[_Illustration: Designed & Etched by W. H. Brooks, A. R. H. A._
The Boy rose cautiously from the Warrior's grasp.
_page 204_.
_London, Published by Colburn & Bentley, April 1830._]
They had nearly attained the margin of the river where Louis meant to
launch one of the canoes, and drop down the current, when the Indian
yell, resounding through the woods, struck on their ears. They were
missed, pursued, and escape was impossible. Garanga, her bosom filled
with overmastering fear, sunk to the ground. Nothing could check the
career of Louis. "On!--on, mother!" he cried, "to the shore!" She
rose, and instinctively followed her boy. The sound of pursuit came
nearer and nearer. They reached the shore, and there beheld three
canoes coming swiftly up the river. Animated with hope, Louis screamed
the watchword of the garrison, and was answered by his father's voice.
The possibility of escape, and the certain approach of her husband,
infused new life into Garanga. "Your father cannot see us," she said,
"as we stand here in the shade of the trees; hide yourself in that
thicket, I will plunge into the water." Louis crouched under the
bushes, and was completely hidden by an overhanging grape-vine, while
his mother advanced a few steps into the water where she could be
distinctly seen. A shout from the canoes apprised her that she was
recognised, and, at the same moment, the Indians, who had now reached
the shore, rent the air with their cries of rage and defiance. They
stood for a moment as if deliberating what next to do; Mecumeh
maintained an undaunted and resolved air, but, with his followers, who
did not possess the courage of their race, the aspect of armed men,
and a force of thrice their number, had the effect to paralyze their
souls. They fled. He looked after them, cried "Shame!" and then with a
desperate yell leaped into the water, and stood beside Garanga. The
canoes were now within a few yards--he put his knife to her
bosom--"The daughter of the White Crane," he said, "should have died
by the judgment of our warriors, but now by her brother's hand she
must perish:" and he drew back his arm to give vigour to the fatal
stroke, when an arrow from the bow of the brave boy pierced his
breast, and he fell insensible at his sister's side. A moment after
Garanga was in the arms of her husband, and Louis, with his bow
unstrung, bounded from the shore, and was received in his father's
canoe; and the wild shores rung with the acclamations of the soldiers,
while his father's tears were poured like rain upon his cheek.
Nor did the fierce Mecumeh die. He was conveyed to the fort, his wound
was healed, and he lived to be reckoned among the aged men of his
nation. The affectionate Garanga prevailed upon him to embrace the
religion which had become her own, so that they who lived happily
together in this life were not separated by the hand of death, but
repaired to the heaven of white men together.