THE TRAUMEREI AGAIN.
An hour passed in this mysterious and strange tranquillity--the noon hour
of night. The warriors seemed contented and satisfied. Many of them were
old; some of them remembered the coming of the first ships to the
Columbia, and a few of them the long visit of Vancouver. They knew the
wisdom of Umatilla, and seemed proud that his will had been so readily
obeyed.
But not so with the biters. They were young, and they had plotted on this
night to begin hostilities against the settlers. Their plan had been to
burn the log school-house and the house of the Woodses, and to make a
captive of Mrs. Woods, whose hostile spirit they wished to break and
punish. Soon after the quiet scene at midnight they began to be restless.
Their cries arose here and there about the margin of the plateau and along
the river.
The old chief knew their feelings, and saw the stormy ripples here and
there. He arose slowly, and called:
"My people, draw near."
The tribe gathered about the platform. The young braves knew what the old
chief was about to say, and their cries of discontent grew loud and
multiplied.
"The log school-house!" shrieked one, in a voice of rage.
"_Pil-pil!_" cried another. "_Pil-pil!_" echoed many voices. A tumult
followed, and Gretchen started up from her reverie, and heard among the
restless murmurs the name of Mrs. Woods.
She felt a nervous terror for a moment, but her spiritual sense and faith,
which had come to her like a new-born life, returned to her.
She arose on the platform and took her violin, and looked down upon the
sea of dusky faces in the smoky moonlight. She drew her bow. The music
quivered. There was a lull in the excited voices. She played low, and
there followed a silence.
The old chief came heavily up on the platform with a troubled face and
stood beside her.
"Play the beautiful air." She played the _Traumerei_ again.
The chief arose, as the last strain died away, and said:
"My people, listen."
The plateau was silent. The Columbia could be heard flowing. The trees
seemed listening. Benjamin came upon the platform, reeling, and seemed
about to speak to his father, but the old chief did not heed.
"My people, listen," repeated the chief.
A wild shriek of pain rent the air, and Benjamin dropped at the feet of
his father. It was his voice that uttered the cry of agony and despair as
he fell.
What had happened?
The boy lay on the platform as one dead. The old chief bent over him and
laid his hand on his face. He started back as he did so, for the face was
cold. But the boy's eyes pitifully followed every movement of his father.
Gretchen sunk down beside the body, and drew her hand across his forehead
and asked for water. Benjamin knew her.
Soon his voice came again. He looked wistfully toward Gretchen and said:
"I shall never go to find the Black Eagle's nest again. It is the plague.
My poor father!--my poor father!"
"Send for the medicine-man," said the chief. "Quick!"
Hopping-Bear, the old medicine-man, came, a dreadful figure in eagle's
plumes and bear-skins. To affect the imagination of the people when he was
going to visit the sick, he had been accustomed to walk upon his two hands
and one foot, with the other foot moving up and down in the air. He
believed that sickness was caused by obsession, or the influence of some
evil spirit, and he endeavored, by howlings, jumpings, and rattling of
snake-skins, to drive this imaginary spirit away. But he did not begin his
incantations here; he looked upon Benjamin with staring eyes, and cried
out:
"It is the plague!"
The old chief of the Cascades lifted his helpless face to the sky.
"The stars are gone out!" he said. "I care for nothing more."
The boy at times was convulsed, then lay for a time unconscious after the
convulsions, then consciousness would return. In one of these moments of
consciousness he asked of Gretchen:
"Where is Boston tilicum?"
"He is not here--he does not know that you are sick."
"Run for him; tell him I can't go to the Missouri with him. I can't find
the Black Eagle's nest. Run!"
His mind was dreaming and wandering.
Gretchen sent a runner to bring the schoolmaster to the dreadful scene.
A convulsion passed over the boy, but he revived again.
"Have faith in Heaven," said Gretchen. "There is One above that will save
you."
"One above that will save me! Are you sure?"
"Yes," said Gretchen.
She added:
"Mother is sorry for what she said to you."
"I am sorry," said the boy, pathetically.
He was lost again in spasms of pain. When he revived, Marlowe Mann had
come. The boy lifted his eyes to his beloved teacher vacantly; then the
light of intelligence came back to them, and he knew him.
"I can't go," he said. "We shall never go to the lakes of the honks
together. Boston tilicum, I am going to die; I am going away like my
brothers--where?"
It was near the gray light of the morning, and a flock of wild geese were
heard trumpeting in the air. The boy heard the sound, and started.
"Boston tilicum!"
"What can I do for you?"
"Boston tilicum, listen. Do you hear? What taught the honks where to go?"
"The Great Father of all."
"He leads them?"
"Yes."
"He will lead me?"
"Yes."
"And teach me when I am gone away. I can trust him. But my father--my
father! Boston tilicum, he loves me, and he is old."
Flock after flock of wild geese flew overhead in the dim light. The boy
lay and listened. He seemed to have learned a lesson of faith from the
instincts of these migratory birds. He once turned to the master and said,
almost in Gretchen's words:
"There is One above that will save me."
As the morning drew nearer, the air seemed filled with a long procession
of Canadian geese going toward the sea. The air rang with their calls. The
poor boy seemed to think that somehow they were calling to him.
There was silence at last in the air, and he turned toward Gretchen his
strangely quiet face, and said, "Play."
Gretchen raised her bow. As she did so a sharp spasm came over him. He
lifted his hand and tried to feel of one of the feathers from the Black
Eagle's nest. He was evidently wandering to the Falls of the Missouri. His
hand fell. He passed into a stertorous sleep, and lay there, watched by
the old chief and the silent tribe.
Just as the light of early morn was flaming through the tall, cool, dewy
trees, the breathing became labored, and ceased.
There he lay in the rising sun, silent and dead, with the helpless chief
standing statue-like above him, and the tribe, motionless as a picture,
circled around him, and with Gretchen at his feet.
"Make way!" said the old chief, in a deep voice.
He stepped down from the platform, and walked in a kingly manner, yet with
tottering steps, toward the forest. Gretchen followed him. He heard her
step, but did not look around.
"White girl, go back," he said; "I want to be alone."
He entered the forest slowly and disappeared.
Just at night he was seen coming out of the forest again. He spoke to but
a single warrior, and only said:
"Bury him as the white men bury; open the blanket of the earth; and
command the tribe to be there--to-morrow at sundown. Take them all away--I
will watch. Where is the white girl?"
"She has gone home," said the Indian.
"Then I will watch alone. Take them all away--I want to be alone. It is
the last night of the chief of the Umatillas. It is the last watch of the
stars. My blood is cold, my heart beats slow--it will not be long!"
The chief sat all night by the body. In the morning he went to his lodge,
and the tribe made the preparations for the funeral, and opened a grave in
the earth.