MY ORENDA SAVES US
A lightning-bolt exploded with a crash, and a cold, purple radiance
briefly illuminated our surroundings. The air was filled with trees,
wisps of grass, clods of earth. The distorted bodies of a man and a
horse lay against the opposite bank of the depression--'twas they,
doubtless, had stampeded our mounts. Apparently they had been hurled
there by some caprice of the wind. I had a vision, too, of the
strained faces of my comrades--Peter's little eyes very wide,
Kachina's hair all tumbled about her face, Tawannears grimly
watchful. Then darkness again, and the steady, monotonous roar of
the wind, no thing of puffs or gusts, but a stupendous, overpowering
blast of sheer strength that no living being could stand up to.
It was tricky and sly, ruthless and resourceful. It dropped pebbles
and earth-clods on us. It eddied in the depression and created
whirlpools which snatched at us lustfully. And once there was a thud
overhead and a crumbling of the bank--and a large tree rolled down
upon us, the butt of the trunk missing Kachina by a hand's-breadth.
But this last attack was really a blessing in disguise, for presently
the rain came, and when the wind let up we were able to prop the tree
against the bank, and it furnished some slight shelter, stripped
though it was of leaves.
The rain was almost more terrible than the wind. For a while,
indeed, the wind continued undiminished, lashing us with slanting
columns of water that struck like liquid lances, the drops spurting
up half a man's stature from the ground after the impact. Then, as
the wind dropped, the rain came down perpendicularly, whipping our
naked bodies with icy rods. A chill permeated the air. We were so
cold that our teeth chattered. And the cold and the rain and the
darkness continued, hour after hour.
How long it lasted I do not know, but I remember noting the lessening
of the downpour, its swishing away in the East and the frosty
twinkling of the stars. We were all too exhausted to think of
anything except rest and we cowered beneath the tree-trunk, huddling
close for warmth, and somehow slept. When we awoke the sun was
rising, and the air was fresh and clear. The sky was cloudless and a
soft blue. But all around us was strewn the wreckage of the storm.
The bodies of the man and horse the lightning-flash had revealed in
the night still lay in two heaps of broken bones and pounded flesh.
Three other horses, battered beyond recognition, were scattered along
the bank of the shallow ravine or river-bed. Peering over the top of
the bank we discovered that broad patches of the prairie had been
denuded of grass, the underlying earth gouged up as though with a
plough. The grove in which we had hidden was hacked and torn, an
open swath cut through it, many trees down, all more or less
mutilated.
Of the Tonkawas there was not a trace. Whatever casualties they had
endured, plainly they had fled from so unlucky a spot; and that they
had suffered by the storm we were convinced by ascertaining that the
dead man the wind had blown into our hiding-place wore the hide
cuirass which distinguished these raiders. Probably they had
continued upon their way south as soon as the rain abated
sufficiently.
Our horses had vanished with equal completeness. The rain had washed
out hoof-prints, and we had no means of tracking them. And I have
often reflected upon the oddity of circumstance in twice throwing the
spotted stallion in my path, only to separate us without warning
after he had fulfilled his mission. I hope that Sunkawakan-kedeshka
and his mares escaped the storm, and that he lived out his life, free
and untamed, leading his herd upon the prairies. But I do not know.
Destiny had its use for him. He served his dumb turn--and passed on.
Yet I like to think--and it may be I have imbibed somewhat of the red
man's pagan philosophy from over-much dwelling in his society--that
in this shadowy after-world of spirits, in which both red man and
white profess belief, man shall find awaiting him the brave beasts
that loved him on earth. There I may ride through the fields of
asphodels, gripping between my knees the spirit-form of that which
was Sunkawakan-kedeshka, feeling again the throb and strain of
willing muscles, curbing the patient, tireless energy as I used to,
watching the velvet ear that ever switched back for a kind word or
drooped at a rebuke. But I dream--as old men must.
Consider now our plight. We who had been lately so harried by fate
were once more exposed to its whimsies. But recently prisoners, next
free but weaponless, we were today at liberty and armed, but the
horses upon which we had relied to expedite our passage of the plains
were gone. Also, we required food for we had not eaten since noon of
the day previous. Our nakedness I do not emphasize because
Tawannears was an Indian and accustomed to it, and Peter and I had
been habituated to it by years of exposure. For Kachina we had saved
enough clothing to cover her, although she resented the distinction,
and was as ready to bear her share of hardship as any of us.
Our food problem was solved temporarily by Peter, who insisted, and
proved to our satisfaction that the flesh of the horses killed by the
storm was still perfectly good. We ate it without avidity, tough,
stringy meat, and sodden with moisture, but it sustained us for new
efforts.
Having unburied our cache of weapons, we examined them carefully and
were able to equip ourselves anew, Peter carrying the two extra
quivers of arrows at his own insistence. The two hide cuirasses,
cumbrous garments of the thick neck-hide of the buffalo slowly dried
by fire, we discarded as being too hot and confining and stinking of
their former wearers. We likewise threw into the bed of the rivulet
those knives and tomahawks for which we had no use, retaining four of
each, of very fine Spanish steel, which the Tonkawas must have traded
or ravaged from the Apache or other Southern tribes.
We were none of us disposed to continue eating horse-meat and we were
all anxious to get as far as possible from a country which had been
so singularly prolific in misfortune for us. So as soon as we had
tested our bows and drunk deep of the brown stream that foamed along
the gulch, we set out northeastward, aiming to work back to the river
we had been following ever since we quit the Eastern skirts of the
Sky Mountains. We were governed in adopting this course by the same
reasons which had influenced us before: we were afraid to venture
away from water, we were more likely to find game near a river, and
finally, it served as a guide to us in threading this pathless
territory. To be sure, as we had proved already, there was more
danger of meeting savages adjacent to a considerable river; but that
was a risk we had to take. We were resolved to be doubly vigilant
after our experiences with the Comanches and Tonkawas.
For three days we paralleled the river, pitching our course several
miles to the south of it and approaching its banks only when we were
driven to do so by need of water. During this time we fed on hares
and a small animal which lived in multitudes in burrows under the
prairies, besides a few fish which Tawannears caught in the river,
employing a bone-hook he fashioned himself and a string of rawhide
from Kachina's shirt. We saw no other men or large animals, and the
country gave every indication of having been swept bare by the storm.
On the fourth day we began to sight buffalo, and supped to
satisfaction on the luscious hump of a young cow Tawannears shot,
overjoyed at this welcome change in our diet. But the buffalo were
the cause of our undoing. The small scattered herds that we first
met were the usual advance-guards of an enormous army, grazing its
way northward, and in order not to be delayed by its slow progress we
crossed the river to the North bank and hurried east, intending to
loop the front of the main herd. This we succeeded in doing, and
then decided to remain on that side of the river, inasmuch as we knew
we must be far south of the point at which we sought to strike the
Mississippi, and ought really to be heading rather north of east.
'Twas this move which brought fresh trouble upon us, albeit conducing
in the long run to our salvation. Had we remained on the south bank,
we might have run the gauntlet of enemies by other means, but this
story must have been shaped differently--additional evidence of the
immutable determination of Destiny to govern the issue of our lives.
And had we not been blinded by our desire for haste and the isolation
we had found in the track of the storm we should have realized that
the approach of so large a herd would be a bait for the first tribe
whose scouts marked it down. But we were blinded--by accident or
Destiny, as you please.
As I have said, we pushed on north of the river, adhering to our
former plan of keeping out of sight of its channel, and scouting
carefully the ground ahead. We never gave a thought to what was
behind us, and were paralyzed when Kachina, idly surveying the
country from the summit of one of the long, easy swells which broke
the monotony of the level plains, caught Tawannears by the arm and
pointed westward, too surprised for words, fear and amazement
struggling in her face.
It was the middle of the forenoon, a warm, bright Summer day, yet not
warm enough to bring up the dancing heat-haze which played strange
tricks with vision in these vast open spaces. The next swell behind
us was some two or three miles distant, and over its crest were
galloping a string of tiny figures--horsemen with waving lances and
glaring white shields. We were as distinct to them as they were to
us, and the fact that they gave no special sign of exultation at
seeing us was proof sufficient that they had been following us for
some time. They were trailing us, scores of them, ay, hundreds, as
they poured over the crest of the swell in a colorful, barbaric
stream of martial vigor--and they could travel three feet to our one.
Of course, they had picked up our trail in riding down to the river
to meet the buffalo herd, and had followed it with the insatiable
curiosity and rapacious instinct of their race.
So much we reasoned in the first second of discovery. We wasted no
time in conversation, but dodged below the crest of the swell and ran
at top-speed for the river as offering the nearest available cover
under its banks. But the wily savages behind us divined our plan,
and when, after we had traveled a mile, Tawannears reconnoitered
their positions, it was to learn that they had detached a troop to
ride diagonally up the slope of the swell and so cut us off from our
goal. Two hundred of them were abreast of us at that moment less
than a mile away.
Tawannears halted.
"'Tis useless," he said brusquely. "We shall wind ourselves to no
purpose. All that is left for us is to sell our lives dearly."
He turned his face skyward and appealed to his gods as a warrior and
an equal.
"Oh, Hawenneyu," he exclaimed, "and you, too, of the Honochenokeh,
have you permitted Tawannears to escape all these perils, to obtain
his Lost Soul, and abandoned him at the end to Hanegoategeh? See,
Tawannears calls upon you for aid. And upon you of the Deohako,
Three Sisters of Sustenance, Our Supporters! Tawannears calls upon
you by right.
"Will you desert him when he has toiled and suffered so? Will you
desert his white brothers who have been loyal through dangers no men
ever dared before? Will you desert the Lost Soul who has been true
to him in death, who returns with him from the land beyond the
sunset, she who has traversed the Halls of Haniskaonogeh, the
Dwelling-place of Evil, she who has passed with us through the lodge
of Gaoh, lord of the winds, she who has defied Hanegoategeh?
"Oh, Tharon the Sky-holder, Tawannears calls upon you to uphold him!
But if death must come, then, oh, Hawenneyu, let Tawannears and his
Lost Soul die together! Let the white brothers go with us to the
Halls of the Honochenokeh! Let us take with us the spirits of many
warriors! Grant us a good death, oh, Hawenneyu!"
I am a Christian, but I thrilled to that prayer, and I called
out--"_Yo-hay!_" after the manner of the People of the Long House.
Kachina notched an arrow, and loosed it into the air.
"Whatever the gods say, we fight!" she said. "We fight where the
arrow falls."
It quivered into the sod a hundred yards in front of us just under
the crest of the swell.
"_Ja_, dot's as goodt a place as any," Peter agreed equably. "Andt
now we fight, eh?"
We trotted up to the arrow and clustered around it as the flanking
party of the attackers galloped over the crest between us and the
river. They whooped their delight upon seeing they had headed us,
and a warrior commenced to ride his pony in furious circles to signal
the main body they had us at bay, whilst the rest raced back to
engage us. In five minutes they had strung a ring and were drawing
in closer and closer toward bowshot distance.
Of all the tribes we had seen these men were the handsomest and most
imposing. Tall, broad-shouldered, their bronze bodies shining with
grease, they sat their pad-saddles, stirrupless, as though they were
part of the horses under them. Their heads were shaven, except for a
narrow ridge from forehead to scalplock, which was stiffened with
paint and grease until it stood erect in semblance of a horn. Their
faces were fierce, but intelligent. They proved their reckless valor
by the way they overwhelmed us.
As bowmen they had no rivals. We opened upon them as soon as we
thought we had a faint chance of driving a shaft or two home; but
they, clinging to their horses, shooting sometimes from the opposite
sides or even from under their bellies, encumbered, too, with lance
and shield, were able to send in shaft for shaft, which we avoided
only by rapidly shifting our ground. We saw at once that in an
arrow-duel we stood no chance, and as they did not seem anxious to
force conclusions immediately, at Tawannears' suggestion we suspended
our fire. They promptly desisted from their attack, their restless
circle hovering round and round us, ready to smother any attempt at
escape.
"Why do they wait?" cried Kachina. "They surely do not fear us!"
"Not they!" retorted Tawannears. "These people are great warriors."
"Who are they?" I asked.
"Tawannears never saw them before, brother."
"Here comes der chief," spoke up Peter.
With hundreds of deep voices chanting rhythmically, a mighty
cavalcade came slowly over the summit of the swell, rank on rank of
horsemen, the sunlight glinting on the white or painted surfaces of
their shields, a forest of feathered lances standing above the
horn-like headdresses. Leading them all was a warrior taller than
the tallest, his chest arched like a demi-cask, the muscles playing
on his huge shoulders as he controlled his mettlesome white horse.
His face was as gravely handsome as Tawannears'; with a high forehead
and a jutting, beaked nose; but his eyes were the fierce, watchful
eyes of a savage, and his mouth was a cruel, thin line.
"A t'ousandt men!" gasped Peter.
The warriors in the circle around us reined in their horses, tossed
their lances aloft and joined their voices in the booming chant of
their brethren. Two of them quirted out of the line and raced up to
the chief on the white horse to report. We could see their animated
gestures, the frequency with which they pointed at us. The chief
raised his hand, the chant was stilled, and he rode through the
circle, attended by the two messengers, or sub-chiefs, and halted
within hail of us.
Tawannears strode forward to meet him, and I marveled at the
assurance the Seneca conveyed in his attitude. It was as if he were
backed by the whole force of the keepers of the Western Door.
"Who are you?" he demanded in the tone of one who holds power,
speaking in the same mingled dialect of Comanche and Dakota he had
used with the Tonkawas.
The chief on the white horse was manifestly amazed at Tawannears'
assurance, but he replied quietly in the same tongue:
"They say I am Awa, war-chief of the Chahiksichahiks.* Who are you
who walk on the ground with white men?"
* Men-of-men, the real name of the Pawnee, the latter name, meaning
Horn-wearers, being their designation by other tribes.
"They call me Tawannears, warden of the Western Door of the Long
House, war-chief of the Hodenosaunee," Tawannears shot back.
"Tawannears is many moons' journey from his teepee," rejoined Awa.
"He did not come to our village and ask permission to cross our
country."
"Why should a chief of the Long House ask permission to go on the
Great Spirit's business?" returned Tawannears. "We have done your
people no harm."
"If that is so," said the chief on the white horse, "render up to my
people the maiden who is with you, and you may go free."
"Why?" asked Tawannears, bewildered.
"Every Summer Tirawa, the Old One in the Sky, sends my people a maid
for a sacrifice. They say the maid with you comes to die on the
scaffold under the morning star."
"They say lies," answered Tawannears with passion. "You shall not
have her alive. She is holy."
Awa's reply was a gesture with his hand and a shouted order in his
own language. A hundred warriors slipped from their horses in the
first rank of the array outside the circle, dropped lances, shields
and bows and ran toward us.
Tawannears, his face a mask of fury, ripped an arrow from his quiver
and drove it at Awa's chest; but the chief on the white horse calmly
interposed his shield and stopped it neatly, and the charge of
warriors on foot compelled the Seneca to run back to us. We, who had
understood practically nothing of the dialogue which had passed, were
uncertain what the situation meant. Tawannears, himself, was at a
loss.
"Fight," he shouted hoarsely. "We must not be captured."
We loosed arrows as rapidly as we could draw from quivers and notch
them. 'Twas impossible to miss at that point-blank range, and we
killed a dozen men before they came to hand-grips. Then we used
knife and hatchet, Kachina as remorselessly as the rest of us, our
assailants, evidently under Awa's orders, scrupulously refraining
from drawing a weapon, lest they harm the girl who was destined for
the sacrifice.
Back to back, striving to protect Kachina, we fought like wolves in
famine-time, our arms aching from slaughter, but the Pawnee would not
give in. They dived betwixt the legs of their comrades who were
grappling barehanded against our knives, and so pulled us down.
Peter was last to go, a dozen men clinging to his limbs. Kachina,
biting at her captors, was led struggling from the heap of bodies.
We others were jerked to our feet, arms pinioned and dragged after
her.
The Pawnee horsemen crowded around us and the men we had killed. The
chief on the white horse stared with satisfaction at Kachina's lithe
body, hardly covered by the rags of her garments, and grinned
amusement when she spat at him, trying to plant her teeth in the arm
of one of the men who restrained her. He turned from her to the
panting, bleeding warriors who held us, and to the pile of dead
around the arrow Kachina had shot into the air. It stood there yet,
hub of an ill-omened wheel of corpses, its feathers ruffling in the
breeze. It seemed to fascinate him. His grin became a frown.
"You have made me pay a price for the girl," he said to Tawannears.
"That is well. The Pawnee are not afraid to pay what Tirawa asks.
But you shall pay now a price to me."
He drew his own bow from its case, and selected a shaft from the
quiver at his side, notched it and aimed it at my chest.
"Awa will shoot you, one by one," he announced. "Afterward your
hearts shall be cut out, and we will make strong medicine with them.
This white man shall die first."
I had no more than time to smile at Tawannears and Peter when he
pulled the bow-string taut and loosed. I had braced myself for the
shock, knowing the shaft at that range must go clean through me. And
certes, the blow was all that I had expected. I staggered before it.
Had it not been for the warriors who held my arms I must have fallen
backward.
Involuntarily I had shut my eyes. I opened them again, expecting to
be in another world, marveling that the pain of an arrow in my vitals
was no worse than a smart rap upon the chest. Around me I heard a
gusty sigh, the sound made by many people expelling their breath. I
looked down, wondering if I could still see myself, if the blood
would be spurting or trickling.
But I could find no wound. There was no arrow, no mark, no blood. I
felt the savage holding my left arm sag strangely and turned to him.
His face was gray, his eyes glazing. The arrow which had struck me
was projecting from his side, buried half-way to the head. He
collapsed as I looked at him.
There was an audible gasp from the ranks of horsemen. I found Awa's
face in the throng, and noted that it was almost as ashen as that of
the dying man beside me. The chief held the bow stiffly in his left
band, right arm crooked as when he had loosed.
Tawannears laughed harshly.
"Strong medicine Awa has made!" he mocked. "He shot at my white
brother an arm's-length away, and my brother turned the arrow against
the great chief's warrior. Will Awa try again? Shall we make more
medicine for him?"
Awa's arm was trembling as he returned the bow to its case.
"Your white brother has strong medicine," he admitted. "We will
carry you all to our village, and our medicine-men shall try their
magic upon you. Awa is a war-chief, not a maker of magic."
"We are both warriors and medicine-men!" Tawannears derided him
mercilessly. "Shall we make trial of our medicine again?"
Awa abruptly reined his horse about, shouted an order and clattered
off at the head of his cavalcade. Our guards first bound our arms
loosely behind us, then tied strips of rawhide betwixt us and
themselves, one on either side, and mounted us upon ponies. Thus
each of us was tied to a pair of the Pawnee.
I called to Tawannears as he was led by me.
"What happened? My eyes were shut. I----"
"Your Orenda is powerful, brother," he replied seriously. "It has
spread its hand over our heads. Hawenneyu has used it to answer the
prayer of Tawannears."
I was no less puzzled by this, but Peter cackled shrilly.
"Look adt your chest," he squeaked.
I bent my head. My chest was bare, unscarred. All it showed was the
little deerskin pouch Guanaea had hung around my neck by a thong the
day we left Deonundagaa, which had stayed by me through all our
adventures. No Indian would have dreamed of taking it from me, for
it contained my medicine, and the possibilities for evil inherent in
interference with another man's medicine were boundless.
I regarded the pouch idly, my mind occupied with the thought that it
was practically the only possession with which I had started upon our
journey that was still with me--and I was startled to see a slit in
its front. I looked at it more closely. Yes, there was a slit, such
a slit as an arrow-head might make.
What had Tawannears said?
"Your Orenda is powerful, brother."
And what had Guanaea said in hanging it there?
"That will protect you against all evils! A most powerful Orenda! I
had it made by Hineogetah, the Medicine Man."
But that was ridiculous, I told myself! I had worn it to please
Guanaea, and because her forethought had touched me. But was that a
reason for subscribing to gross superstition? This fetched me around
to my starting-point. The fact remained that the bag had stopped an
arrow. How? My mind cast back for further aid, and memory came to
my rescue.
What had it contained?
"The fangs of a bull rattlesnake. That is the spirit to resist evil.
The eye-tooth of a wolf. That is the spirit to resist courage."
The eye-tooth of a wolf! That had done it. I wiggled my
chest-muscles and felt the protuberance under the draw-string--and
beneath it a certain soreness. The arrow had driven head-on into the
tooth and been diverted sideways into the warrior on my left. So
mysterious as this are the wonders of Providence--or Destiny--or an
Iroquois medicine man?
CHAPTER XXI
A PROPHET IN SPITE OF HIMSELF
During the afternoon of the fifth day of hard riding our guards
fetched us from the midst of the column to a position next to Awa.
The chief had recovered somewhat from his bedazed wonder--no doubt he
had half-expected me to continue working miracles--and regarded us
with saturnine satisfaction.
"Soon we shall enter the villages of our people," he announced,
swinging his arm toward the prairie in front of us. "The
medicine-men of the Chahiksichahiks then will make trial of the white
man's medicine--and we will build a scaffold for the red maiden to
lie upon when she weds the morning star."
"That is to be seen," returned Tawannears with undisturbed arrogance.
"A voice has whispered in my ear that the Great Spirit has other
plans. It says there will be misfortune for the Horn-wearers if the
red maiden is sacrificed."
Awa scowled.
"We shall see," he agreed.
Feathered lances bobbing overhead, our great escort of savage
horsemen cantered out of a shallow gulley onto the bank of a sizeable
river. A mile or so east and well back from high-water mark began a
series of low, hump-backed mounds, which I took to be natural
features of the terrain. But as we came nearer people popped out of
them, and we perceived that they were houses, partly dug out of the
ground and roofed and walled with sods, commodious dwellings, larger
than the largest of teepees and invariably round in shape.
The people who met us were old men and women, with an occasional
young child of toddling age or under. Awa barked a question to the
first group, and one of the old men quavered an answer, gesturing
down-river, where the sod-covered earth-houses reached as far as we
could see. With a nod of acknowledgment, the chief heeled his horse
to a gallop, and we rode on at speed along a rough trail that led
betwixt houses and river-bank. Beyond the houses were simple
gardens, and in rear of these horses grazed. Dogs ran out of many
houses and barked at us. But nowhere did we see a man or woman in
the prime of life or a half-grown child.
The mystery of the deserted village--or, rather, succession of
villages--was settled after we had ridden another three miles, when
an enormous crowd of savages appeared in an open space in the center
of the largest collection of earth-houses. There must have been ten
or twelve thousand people clustered together, men, women and
children, all deeply interested in some proceeding which we could not
see at first. But the thudding of the hoofs of Awa's band attracted
their attention, and they opened their ranks for us, so that our
column passed through the outskirts of the throng and came to a halt
on the verge of a circle of hard-trodden clay, perhaps a hundred feet
across.
In the center of this space stood a fire-charred stump of wood, and
lashed to it with strips of green hide was the black-garbed figure of
a man whose dead-white face brought a gasp of astonishment from my
lips. 'Twas Black Robe, Père Hyacinthe, the Jesuit, whom we had last
seen the day he insisted upon leaving us on the western bank of the
Mississippi, striding alone into the unknown wastes ahead!
His ankles were hobbled loosely and bound to the base of the stump.
His hands, knotted behind his back, were likewise fastened to it. He
could move a foot or so in either direction, and six feet away from
him a party of warriors were building a pile of light-wood, which had
reached the height of his knees when our arrival distracted them from
their labors.
His soutane was the same rusty, torn garment he had worn three years
before. His sandals were patched and worn. His gaunt figure
testified, as always, to the ceaseless toil and deprivation to which
he subjected himself. His emaciated features shone with the
radiation of some inward light, and his face, with eyes closed, was
upturned in prayer. Certes, no man could have been in worse case,
yet his racked body contrived to express an ecstasy of joy beyond all
words. Indeed, his utter lack of fear, the otherworldliness of his
devotion, had already sapped the savage energy of his would-be
tormentors. They were not used to seeing a man face the prospect of
torture without boasting or exultation, with no more than the calm
disdain of a courage higher than any emotion they knew.
I was not alone in my surprise. Tawannears clicked his tongue.
Peter muttered--
"Der Jesuit!"
Kachina remarked with interest--
"Another white man!"
And Awa was as dumfounded as ourselves. He shouted a question, and a
knot of gorgeously-decorated chiefs and medicine-men detached
themselves from the front rank of the onlookers and clustered about
his horse, pointing at us, their eyes fairly popping from their
heads. Evidently, they, too, were surprised--and that was not
strange, for 'twas seldom these wild horsemen of the plains saw three
white men at once, or so I reasoned.
"The Great Spirit's ways are difficult to follow," commented
Tawannears. "He has carried us again along Black Robe's trail."
"Awa will see in his capture an excuse for daring to disregard my
Orenda," I said pessimistically.
"_Nein, nein,_" squeaked Corlaer. "All is not well wit' der Pawnee.
See how dey boggle andt chaw togedder."
'Twas so. Awa's face was a mingling of baffled rage, hysterical
superstition and credulous awe. His gaze shifted rapidly from us to
the figure of Black Robe, eyes still closed, lips murmuring in silent
prayer. The medicine-men and chiefs who had swarmed up to the
war-chief were staring at us with expressions akin to fear. Awa
suddenly spat out an ejaculation, and pushed his horse beside us. We
four were now the focal object of the crowd's attention.
"Whence did you say you have come?" he demanded of Tawannears in the
polyglot trade dialect.
"From beyond the setting sun," Tawannears replied gravely. "I have
been to the Land of Lost Souls, and there I found this maiden who
loved me once before on earth and is come back with me to reënter my
lodge."
"But this Taivo, this white man?" Awa leveled his finger at me.
"He, too, has come with me from the land beyond the sunset."
Awa spoke rapidly in the Pawnee tongue, and one of the medicine-men,
a brightly painted, elderly man with wrinkled face, took up the
conversation in Comanche.
"It was foretold by the white man at the stake that you would come,"
he began.
"That is likely," admitted Tawannears, unperturbed.
"He told us," continued the medicine-man, with a fearful look over
his shoulder at that black figure bound to the tree-stump, "that he
served a God who would come to us from the sky, and when we asked him
if he meant Tirawa, the Old One in the Skies, he said no. But when
we asked if this new God would come from the sunset he said it might
be, that He would come in a great blaze of glory, with power to bend
all to His will. Is this Taivo at your side the God of whom the
first white stranger spoke?"
Tawannears turned and translated swiftly the gist of this to me.
"Say that we come to herald the coming of that God," I directed him.
"Even as the white man at the stake came to tell the Chahiksichahiks
that we should come to them from the setting sun."
The medicine-man and his fellows, even the fierce Awa, heard this
announcement with growing awe.
"For a sign," added Tawannears, "the Taivo, who permits me to call
him brother, and who is attended by the great white warrior who has
the strength of many buffalo showed Awa, the war-chief, how he could
turn aside arrows and direct them against his enemies. Let Awa speak
for me!"
The war-chief admitted the fact, no longer surly, but agitated by a
sense of the prestige attaching to him as a principal participant in
a miracle transcending any like event his people had ever known.
"But what of the maiden?" he urged practically. "Surely, Tirawa
directed you to bring her here for the sacrifice?"
"The maiden is holy," replied Tawannears. "She has paid the price of
life here on earth. She comes, as has been said, from the Land of
Lost Souls. Would Tirawa ask for the sacrifice of one who had
descended from his own lodge?"
The medicine-man interjected fierce dissent, and Awa's arguments were
stilled.
"Make them release Black Robe," I suggested as Tawannears repeated to
me what had been said.
A hush, as complete as the quietness of universal death, had
descended upon these thousands of savages, whose glances turned from
us, bound and helpless as we were, to the equally straitened figure
of the Jesuit against the torture-stake.
"No," retorted the Seneca with a hint of humor, "but first, brother,
we must make them release us."
He fastened his eyes upon Awa.
"For many sleeps we have endured the treatment Awa's ignorance led
him to impose upon us," he declared. "We have been loath to slay any
more of his people. We came hither to serve the Chahiksichahiks, to
assure them of Tirawa's favor. But the time is arrived when we must
know if we are to receive the respect due to Tirawa's messengers.
Shall we burst our bonds--and in doing so slay this multitude--or
will you do us honor?"
The medicine-man leaped forward, and slashed off our bonds. There
were beads of perspiration on his brow. Awa, magnificent savage that
he was, looked away from us, but I saw that his sinewy hands were
shaking as they clutched his horse's bridle.
"It is well," said Tawannears. "Give my white brother, the
Messenger, the knife, and he will free the Fore-goer, who has stood
quietly at the torture-stake, holding back the wrath of Tirawa by the
pleas that came from his lips."
The medicine-man offered me the knife.
"But must a messenger of Tirawa have a knife to cut hide thongs?" he
inquired, curious as a child.
"No," answered Tawannears, "but if the power of Tirawa is used, the
power of the thunder and the lightning which shakes the world, who
shall say what harm may come? The Chahiksichahiks have been fools.
Let them be satisfied with what has happened. If they are wise they
will possess the favor of Tirawa. If they continue to be foolish
Tirawa will wipe them out here on this spot!"
He raised his arm in a menacing gesture, and chiefs and medicine-men
cowered before him.
"No, no," pleaded the medicine-man. "We have seen enough. Release
the Black One with the thin face. We did not understand him. He
spoke to us after the manner of the Comanche and the Dakota, telling
us, as we thought, that our gods were not, that we must worship this
one he spoke of. We did not understand him, that waft all. We were
ignorant, but we meant no harm."
Tawannears shrugged his shoulders.
"That is to be decided," he said. "The Taivo will consult with Black
Robe, and afterwards will speak through me. It is for him to decide."
I strode into the empty circle of people and walked slowly, so as not
to seem undignified, up to the stake, stepping across the material
for the fire which would now be roasting the priest but for our
unexpected arrival, and the conjunction of circumstances it had set
in train. The fire-makers had gone. There was nobody inside the
circle except Black Robe and myself, and he stood yet, with his eyes
shut, a trickle of Latin pattering from his lips.
For a moment I was shocked by the traces of suffering in that haggard
face, the skin tight-drawn over the prominent bones, the cavernous
eye-holes so shadowed, the deep lines graven in the pallid cheeks. I
seemed to see in retrospect the labors he must have achieved in the
years since we had parted. Who could imagine how far he had
wandered, the hardships and suffering he had borne without the
assistance of a single comforter of his own color? And this thought
enabled me to envision as never before the ardent flame that was the
driving force of his life, the ardent devotion to a creed which
ignored every other consideration save that of the service to which
he had dedicated himself. I warmed to him in that moment, forgetting
ancient animus, brushing aside the barrier of hostile race and
religion.
"Père Hyacinthe!" I said softly in French.
He did not open his eyes, but his lips ceased the Latin exhortations.
"I dream!" he exclaimed to himself, in that humble tone I had
observed on a previous occasion when he forgot himself and his stern
rôle and lapsed into some gentler habitude of the past.
"Was that Gaston's voice? So, I remember, he crept upon me as I read
in the garden at Morbouil! Dear olden days! Their memory comes so
seldom. So little time left for the work to be done. Ah, Jesus, the
task is heavy--heavy----"
He opened his eyes, peered into mine.
"You!" he gasped.
"Yes, 'tis I, Father--Henry Ormerod!"
"My enemy! France's enemy!"
"Not your enemy! And never France's unless she wills it. I am come
here to save you."
"How may that be?" he asked dumbly. "Are you alone amongst these
savages?"
"Alone with my friends whom you know--and one woman."
"Then you cannot help me," he answered decisively. "You had best
leave me, if you can. These people are the most independent of all
the tribes. They fear naught save their own superstitions. And
heretic though you be, I cannot wish you the death they plan for me."
"Yet you have not been moved by pity for me in the same case in
former years," I said curiously.
He sighed.
"The truth is hard to see. I do not know. I have thought---- But I
do not know."
I cut the lashings of his arms, stooped and freed his legs. Not a
soul spoke. Amazement dawned in his face that was somehow more
placid than I remembered having seen it.
"You see!" I said. "They gave me the knife to cut you free."
"Marvelous!" he murmured.
And he employed his first instant of freedom to reach down stiffly
with his cramped arm and lift to his lips the crucifix which hung at
his belt.
"How have you curbed them?" he asked--and he was yet governed by that
mood of gentle humility, which was seldom of long continuance.
"I think, Father, it has been through God's mercy," I answered. "But
judge for yourself."
And I repeated to him, briefly, what had transpired since Awa proudly
led his warriors into the circle around the torture-stake. A frown
clouded the Jesuit's eyes, mouth formed a grim, hard line.
"What blasphemy is this?" he interrupted. "Man, would you mock the
authority of heaven? You are no more messengers of the divine will
than these savages themselves!"
"How can you be sure!" I asked.
"How can I----"
He paused abruptly, frowning in thought.
"Is it coincidence," I continued quickly, "that when you climbed the
Mississippi bluff I would not let my companions kill you, as they
desired--and for the matter of that, is it coincidence that once
before the time of which I speak, I saved you from them, ay, and from
the wrath of the Long House? Is it coincidence that we were the
means of your passing the Mississippi, and that now we and you, alike
in danger of death, are saved by the interlinking facts of our
separate captivities!
"Ponder it, Père Hyacinthe! Where does coincidence begin and
Providence end? Are you so wise that you can say what Heaven
intends? Can you afford to throw away the life that has been
returned to you? Have you the right to sacrifice four other people's
lives? How do you know that what has happened today was not for the
purpose of giving you another opportunity to preach your creed?"
He hesitated, head bowed.
"Go!" I said, honestly stirred. "Say what you please! I could stop
you, but I will not take the responsibility of interfering with
another man's sense of honor. I will leave with you the lives of my
comrades."
He looked at me, puzzled, uncertain.
"I do not know," he repeated, "It seems different. You are a
heretic, yet--I do not know. God's wonders strange--I do not know---"
"Who does?" I asked,
He shook his head.
"I used to be sure," he said, more to himself than to me. "But--I do
not know. I was reconciled to death. I had no fear of the torment.
I hoped to move these people at the end. And now you say that they
respect me, that I am free, I may do as I will."
"Yes."
"It is too much for me to decide, Monsieur Ormerod. Perhaps I grow
weak. Well, we shall see. But I think it is as you say! I have
been given a second opportunity to woo them for Christ. God's
wonders--how strange! How impossible to comprehend! And you a
heretic, the companion of a savage! It baffles me."
He paused suddenly.
"You spoke to me first?" he questioned. "There was--no other?"
"None."
"Strange!" he muttered to himself again. "Gaston--I thought I
heard--the garden at Morbouil! Ah, Maman, Maman! So many, many
years!"
CHAPTER XXV
HOMEWARD
To my surprise, Black Robe expressed a desire to accompany us on our
continued journey East.
"I have said all that I have to say concerning what you have told
these people about me," he said simply. "But I am sure I should lose
favor in God's sight were I to continue my mission on the strength of
the heathen superstitions you have aroused."
I pointed out to him that he would probably be exposed to additional
dangers in our company after we had crossed the Mississippi.
"Say, instead, that you will not be exposed to so many dangers if I
am with you, Monsieur Ormerod," he answered. "'Tis necessary for my
soul's good, as I now realize, that I should return and seek the
discipline of my superiors. I have wandered too long alone. My
pride hath been unduly stirred. In my heart I have flouted the rules
of my order. It is best that I should go to Quebec, and submit to
the punishment my sins require."
"Sins? What sins?" I exclaimed.
"There are sins of the spirit as wicked as sins of the flesh," he
returned enigmatically. "Whoso thinks himself worthy of martyrdom
therein nourishes his own pride. But enough hath been said on this
score. I will go with you."
"Why?" I asked. "'Tis not your wont to profess friendship for my
people, Père Hyacinthe?"
His grim face creased in the rare smile that told of some hidden
spring of kindliness, forgotten these many years.
"You are pertinacious--like all heretics. Go to! Is it forbidden
that I should return good for good, as well as for evil?"
And no more could I extract from him. At intervals in the months
that followed he would lapse into moods of dour fanaticism, but no
matter how long they lasted the day would come when he would smile
with childlike humility, and, silent always, contrive to invest
himself with gentle friendliness. I do not pretend to understand the
transformation of his character; but the fact remains that he was
become a different man from the bigot who had accused us on the Ohio.
He spoke to us only when occasion required; Kachina he ignored
completely, much to her disgust. But he did his full share of the
work, and his prestige sufficed to speed us on our way once the
Mississippi was behind us.
We had many weary miles to go before we reached the Great River,
however. Awa and his medicine-man and brother chiefs would have had
us stay on in the Pawnee villages, and opposed our departure with as
much ugliness as they dared exhibit to beings of semi-divine origin.
But Tawannears placated them by explaining that the strong medicine I
was going to present to the tribe could only wax to its full robust
proportions after I had gone.
This medicine was prepared with many attendant ceremonies and
considerable pomp under the Seneca's directions. Kachina sewed a bag
of deerskin, and then, in the presence of all the Pawnee notables, I
solemnly removed from my neck the bag which Guanaea had hung
there--the arrow-slit having been repaired by Peter--and introduced
its open mouth into the throat of the bag Kachina had made.
A suitable interval having elapsed, I removed my bag, rehung it about
my neck, fastened the neck of the new bag and entrusted it--quite
empty--to the chief medicine-man, with strict injunctions never to
open it lest the medicine escape. The Pawnee were satisfied. They
felt capable of whipping any confederacy of near-by tribes, and were
convinced that they would never lack for buffalo-meat, horses or
warriors. There was nothing they would not do for us. When we
finally departed for the East Awa and five hundred warriors rode with
us and compelled an Osage village to supply us with a canoe for use
on the Mississippi.
We were many days paddling below the mouth of the Ohio, with the
current against us, both on the Father of Waters and after we had
turned east into the first stream; and Indian Summer had begun when
we reached the mouth of the Ouabache. Here we expected to part with
Black Robe, but he surprised me again.
"You are yet many weeks' journey from your own country, Monsieur
Ormerod," he said. "And if you continue by water you must paddle
against the current all the way. Why do you not strike overland
direct?"
"Because your people and the tribes they control would certainly not
approve of it," I answered with a laugh.
"Come with me to Vincennes," he offered. "I will secure you
safe-conduct to Jagara."
"Are you sure----" I began hesitantly.
"That I can do what I say!" he interrupted. "I have some authority
in New France. You may rest confidence in my pledge. I, myself,
will attend you so far as Jagara. 'Tis on my way to Montreal and
Quebec."
I consulted with the others, anticipating Tawannears and Corlaer
would be unwilling to trust him; but both assented promptly.
"Black Robe is no longer a hater of those who do not believe in his
god," responded the Seneca to my query as to his changed attitude.
"He has learned that we are honest in what we think. He has learned,
too, that love is the servant of truth."
"_Ja_," said Peter. "Andt he remembers der time he was a man before
he was a bpriest."
"He is a nasty old ant," declared Kachina. "He flaps like a raven.
_Ugh_! I hate him!"
We paddled up the Ouabache to Vincennes, undisturbed by the savages
along the river. The French garrison at the trading-post eyed us
with suspicion, but made no objection to our presence. On the trip
overland to Le Detroit, the French post on the straits betwixt the
Huron Lake and the Lake of the Eries, the priest guided us past the
scowling scrutiny of tribe after tribe, to whom Tawannears' presence
was a menacing reminder of their dreaded enemies, the People of the
Long House. Savages, traders, habitants, trappers, soldiers of the
Lilies, all bowed and stood aside at sight of that gaunt figure, the
crippled hand upraised in blessing. Under the skirts of his
threadbare robe he carried us through the heart of the new empire
France was creating below the Lakes, saving us I know not how many
months of dangerous, roundabout traveling. And from Le Detroit he
escorted us to the fortress at Jagara, which the great French
soldier-statesman of the wilderness, Joncaire, had built to form a
bulwark against the Iroquois.
'Twas here we said good-by, in the woods on the edge of the glacis,
sloping up to the stone walls of the fort. In the distance we heard
the subdued roar of the mighty falls. On the walls of the fort stood
the white-coated sentinels of France. At our feet commenced a
tenuous trail, the Northern approach to the Western Door of the Long
House.
Black Robe gave Tawannears the Iroquois salute of parting. He
pressed Peter's hand. On Kachina he bestowed his blessing.
"There is a place on Christ's bosom for you, my daughter," he said in
the Seneca dialect, which she had mastered.
She scowled back at him in a way that must have compelled a man with
a sense of humor to laugh.
"We are not Christians," Tawannears stated proudly. "The gods of our
people are good enough for us. Have they not reunited us in the face
of death--and beyond!"
The priest sighed and drew me to one side.
"Do you ever pray, Monsieur Ormerod?" he asked.
"I have done so."
"Forget not one Louis Joseph Marie de Kerguezac. He is dead,
Monsieur, although he lives. I pray you, forget him not. He needs
your prayers, ay, heretic or not, he needs them! So, too, I fear
doth one Hyacinthe, of the Order of Jesus, a hard man, who hath
wreaked harm under cover of saintliness. Ah, God, how little do we
know what we do!"
"Hard you have been in times past, Father," I replied, "but I bear
testimony you have redeemed yourself in my eyes--albeit I hold I, nor
any other man, may judge you after what you have suffered for your
faith."
He considered this, crucifix in hand.
"Who can say!" he said at length. "I have lived over-much
self-centered. Never trust yourself too far, Monsieur Ormerod. Man
is--man! You, too, have suffered. Therefore you will know that
suffering is worth while--so long as you do not seek satisfaction in
it. You, Monsieur, went forth to forget a woman--near four years
ago, was it not? Have you--forgotten?"
'Twas my turn to think.
"Not forgotten," I decided, stirred, but not resentful. "Yet the
pain is dead. Say, rather, reconciled to loss."
His face was contorted with agony.
"Four years, and reconciled! Monsieur Ormerod, I have striven to
forget for twenty years, and the pain still burns my soul! I chose
the wrong way, the wrong way!"
He turned and stumbled from the forest, hands outthrust before him,
as he walked blindly toward the fort.
"The wrong way! The wrong way!"
They were the last words I heard him speak. Months later, in New
York, the news came from Quebec that the famous Père Hyacinthe,
called far and wide the Apostle to the Savages, was serving a
disciplinary sentence as scullery servant in the headquarters of the
Order of Jesus.
On the afternoon of the second day after leaving Jagara we were
challenged by an out-flung party of Seneca Wolves, Watchers of the
Door, who made the forest aisles ring with their whoops of joy when
they recognized Tawannears, clamoring for the story of our
wanderings. But at his first question joy was turned to sadness, for
they gave us the sorry tidings that Donehogaweh, the Guardian of the
Door, lay at the point of death from a gangrened wound that had
festered about the barbed head of a Miami arrow, shot into his
shoulder during his last punitive raid.
We forgot all else in our haste to reach Deonundagaa in time to see
the Royaneh before his end; and there remained a lingering splash of
color in the Western sky as we trotted out of the forest, crossed the
gardens and entered the village streets lined by the long ganasotes
and thronged with mourning people. They exclaimed with amazement at
sight of Corlaer's vast bulk and Tawannears' familiar figure. An
irregular column formed at our heels, warriors who strove for a word
with members of our escort, gossiping women and children who babbled
and shrieked amongst themselves.
So we came to the open space by the council lodge. Beside its
entrance Donehogaweh lay on a pallet of skins, in compliance with his
request to pass in the outer air. A group of Royanehs and chiefs sat
about him, sternly watching, their sympathy unspoken, their faces
emotionless. Guanaea hovered over him, equally silent, but unable to
restrain the sorrow that was revealed in her eyes and trembling lips.
'Twas her cry of astonishment gave him the first intimation of our
coming. He turned his great head, with its gray-streaked scalp-lock,
and his fever-bright eyes dwelt upon us almost unbelievingly.
"Is it indeed you, oh, my sister's son?" he asked weakly. "Do I see
with you Otetiani, the white son of my old age, and Corlaer of the
fat belly? Or do evil dreams taunt me again?"
"We are here, oh, my uncle," answered Tawannears kneeling by the
pallet and drawing Kachina down beside him.
"And who is the maiden with you?"
"She is your daughter."
"My daughter? Not----"
Guanaea emitted a little shriek and ran closer.
"Gahano?" questioned the dying Royaneh.
The group of chiefs bent forward, startled out of their stoical
self-control. Guanaea knelt beside Tawannears and Kachina, her eyes
boring into the girl's face.
"Yes, she is Gahano," said Tawannears. "Tawannears and his white
brothers have been to the Land of Lost Souls, which is beyond the
sunset. They have passed the barriers of Haniskaonogeh. They have
ventured upon the altar of Hawenneyu. They have crossed the
mountains at the end of the world, where all is ice and snow. They
have traversed Dayedadogowar, the Great Home of the Winds. And in
the Land of Lost Souls they had speech with Ataentsic and Jouskeha,
as is told in the traditions of our people, and the Lost Soul of
Gahano came from a pumpkin shell and danced, and we took her and fled
to our own country."
"She is different from the Gahano I bore," protested Guanaea,
breaking the dead silence that ensued, whilst the blazing eyes of the
old Royaneh probed the faces of the pair beside him.
Kachina peered sideways at her a thought mutinously, but held her
peace, failing any sign from Tawannears.
Donehogaweh feebly nodded his head.
"She would look different," he announced. "Who would not look
different after death? Shall I look the same an hour hence? Yes,
she is different--and yet like the Gahano who was. And in truth did
you find the Land of Lost Souls, Tawannears?"
'Twas Corlaer who answered, speaking with a resonant ease that so
oddly became him when using an Indian dialect instead of English.
"It was all exactly as foretold in the legends," he said. "This
maiden had come there direct from the custody of the Great Spirit.
She was delivered in charge of him who was Jouskeha. Ataentsic was
not willing to give her up, but Jouskeha aided us and we took her by
force, the Great Spirit aiding us."
That was a long speech for the Dutchman. I felt myself called upon
to support him.
"If that was not the Land of Lost Souls," I declared, "then the
legends of the Hodenosaunee are a mockery."
"Yo-hay!" cried Donehogaweh, and he heaved himself to his haunches.
"Welcome back to my lodge, Gahano, although you go from it to----"
He choked and fell dead.
"Woe! Woe!" wept Guanaea. "The pine-tree is fallen! The light is
clouded. In my lodge now all is darkness and despair!"
Tawannears caught her hand.
"But see, you who are almost my mother," he said. "I have brought
back to you the daughter who was lost to you. We will be son and
daughter to you in your loneliness."
Guanaea would not be comforted.
"Who am I to scorn the generosity of Hawenneyu?" she cried. "Who am
I to doubt the deeds of great warriors? I am only a woman, only a
mother whose offspring left her, only a widow whose man went ahead of
her into the land of shadows. Yet I cannot take this new Gahano to
my breast. She is not to me as the child I suckled or the maiden
whose waywardness I curbed. Nay, I can only mourn. I am an old
woman. I have outlived my time! I will cover my face and sit by the
ashes of the fire and weep!"
She threw her robe around her head and tottered away to the lodge she
had shared with Donehogaweh, attended by the old women of her clan.
Ganeodiyo, senior Royaneh of the Senecas, stooped over and closed the
eyes of his dead colleague, then rose.
"Tawannears has spent many moons upon a twisting trail," he said.
"He and his white brothers have made us proud of them. They have
done what no other warriors have done. There was a stain upon the
women of their tribe, but they have wiped it off. It is well! Our
eyes are dazzled by the splendor of their achievement. Our ears do
not hear distinctly, for the cries of the enemies they vanquished.
The face of the maiden they have recovered seems strange to us, but
we shall grow accustomed to her again. Her feet will seek out the
ways she knew of old. All will be as it was before. She will seem
as though she had never departed.
"_Na-ho!_"
"Peter," I said, when we were alone together in the guest-chamber of
the ganasote of the bachelors of the Wolf Clan, "have we done well to
lie?"
He regarded me with twinkling eyes.
"Lie?"
"Yes, lie," I insisted. "Have we not lent our countenance to an
essential falsehood?"
He meditated.
"_Ja_, we liedt--maype," he admitted finally. "Dot is, we saidt dot
what Tawannears saidt was so--andt dot's no lie."
"How?"
"You pelief dot Tawannears peliefs what he says?"
"Yes."
"He wouldt die if he fought idt was not true." Corlaer spoke with
extraordinary vehemence for him. "You nefer knew a man who worshiped
der trut' more than Tawannears. What he says he saw andt didt is
true--isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Andt what you don't pelief is true is dot 'Lost Souls' pusiness, eh?"
"Yes."
"But Tawannears peliefs idt is true--don't he?"
"Yes, yes, Peter. I've already said so."
"What is a lie, then, eh? You t'ink der Lost Souls
is--funny-pusiness. Tawannears t'inks idt is gospel. Now, who is
lying--you or Tawannears?"
"But----"
"Nein, nein! Not so quick. Tawannears knew what he was looking for,
eh? Andt you didt not. Why shouldt you say dot Tawannears is lying
any more than you? You saw what Tawannears saidt dot you wouldt see.
He was right in dot, eh?"
"Yes, but----"
"So idt is," continued Peter inexorably. "Tawannears peliefs what he
saidt. You do not. If anybody lies, you lie. Idt is your lie, not
Tawannears'. But how can you be sure Tawannears is wrong?"
"The girl Kachina--Guanaea----"
"Kachina looks like Gahano. Andt it is like Donehogaweh saidt--if
she has peen deadt, how can she look der same? Nein!"
"But Guanaea!" I insisted.
"She is a woman, andt women are funny beoble. She nefer liked Gahano
pefore."
"And what do you think, yourself, Peter?"
"I pelief what Tawannears says. Idt is goodt for him to pelief idt.
Idt hurts nopody, eh? So I pelief. _Ja_, dot's goodt!"
CHAPTER XXVI
THE END OF THE TRAIL
The forest trees and the brown grass stubble of the meadow beneath
their skeleton boughs were powdered lightly with snow, except where a
tiny fire burned, its smoke floating upward into the overhanging
tree-tops. On the far side of the field, backed by the roofs of the
village, was massed the population of Deonundagaa, men, women and
children. Besides the fire the robes of the seven surviving Royanehs
of the Senecas, headed by Ganeodiyo, each with his assistant behind
him, made a splash of vivid color.
Dimly through the bare foliage I glimpsed the long file of the
Royanehs of the other four nations--the Mohawks, Dagoeoga, the Shield
People; the Onondagas, Hodesannogeta, the Name-Bearers; the Oneidas,
Neardeondargowar, Great Tree People; the Cayugas, Sonushogwatowar,
Great Pipe People. The Tuscaroras, sixth nation in the great league,
had no representation in the Hoyarnagowar, because the founders had
created only so many names, or seats, and no Iroquois would have
thought of altering the framework they built; but a group of
Tuscarora chieftains followed in the train of the Royanehs, mute
witnesses by right to what should transpire.
I have seen many ceremonies in my day. I have watched the Pope
celebrate mass in St. Peter's. I have attended at the mummery of the
French Court, with the splendor of Versailles and the Louvre for
background. But I have never seen aught more imposing than the rites
of the condoling council of the Iroquois, the ceremonies by which at
one and the same time they express their appreciation of a great man
who has died and install his successor, beginning with the ceremony
Deyughnyonkwarakta, "At the Wood's Edge."
Slowly, at a sign from Hoyowenato, the Keeper of the Wampum, the long
file of the Royanehs paced out from the forest and formed in a
half-circle opposite the little group of Seneca Royanehs, with the
fire betwixt them. Then Ganeodiyo, spokesman for the Senecas,
stepped forward with arms outflung in welcome to the visitors. His
trained orator's voice rolled in the measured cadences of the stately
ritual, opening with the sentence--
"_Onenh weghniserade wakatyerenkowa desawennawenrate ne
kenteyurhoton!_"
"Now, today, I have been greatly startled by your voices coming
through the forest to this opening."
And proceeding in the set phrases of the greeting:
"You have come with troubled minds through all obstacles. You kept
seeing the places where they met on whom we depended, my offspring.
How then can your mind be at ease? You kept seeing the footmarks of
our forefathers; and all but perceptible is the smoke where they used
to smoke the pipe together. Can, then, your mind be at ease when you
are weeping on your way?
"Great thanks, therefore, that you have safely arrived. Now let us
smoke the pipe together. Because all around are hostile agencies,
which are each thinking--'I will frustrate their purpose.' Here
thorny ways, and here falling trees, and here wild beasts lying in
ambush. Either by these you might have perished, my offspring, or
here by floods you might have been destroyed, my offspring, or by the
uplifted hatchet in the dark outside the house. Every day these are
wasting us; or deadly invisible disease might have destroyed you, my
offspring."
The echoing voice went on, flexing the emotions of the words like a
great organ. The orator recited the rules the forefathers had laid
down. He repeated the traditional list of the villages of the three
original clans, the Wolf, the Tortoise and the Bear. Then the fire
was put out, and one by one the Royanehs marched from the meadow to
the council house of the village, where a new fire was kindled by
Ganeodiyo, and they sat in a wide circle on robes placed for them by
their assistants.
Hoyowennato produced the pipe of ceremony from its case; the
mystically-carven soapstone bowl was filled with tobacco and he
handed it to Ganeodiyo, who lighted it with a coal from the council
fire, blew the required puffs to the four quarters and to the earth
and the sky and passed it on to Tododaho, senior of all the Royanehs,
he who sits beside the ancient undying council fire of the League,
which has burned for ages of ages at Onondaga. The pipe went the
rounds of the circle and was returned to Hoyowennato, who replaced it
in its case.
Tododaho rose.
"My offspring, now this day we are met together," he intoned. "The
Great Spirit has appointed this day. We are met together on account
of the solemn event which has befallen you. Now into the earth he
has been conveyed to whom we have been wont to look. Therefore in
tears we have smoked together.
"Now, then, we say, we wipe away the tears, so that in peace you may
look about you.
"And further, we suppose there is an obstruction in your ears. Now,
then, we remove the obstruction carefully from your hearing, so that
we trust you will easily hear the words spoken.
"And also we imagine there is an obstruction in your throat. Now,
therefore, we say, we remove the obstruction, so that you may speak
freely in our mutual greetings.
"Now again another thing, my offspring. I have spoken of the solemn
event which has befallen you. Every day you are losing your great
men. They are being borne into the earth; so that in the midst of
blood you are sitting.
"Now, therefore, we say, we wash off the blood-marks from your seat,
so that it may be for a time that happily the place will be clean
where you are seated.
"And now, that our hearts may be prepared for the instructions of our
forefathers and the memory of their greatness, we sing the hymn
'Yondonghs Aihaigh.'"
Almost a hundred voices boomed out the rhythmic lines:
"I come again to greet and thank the League;
I come again to greet and thank the kindred;
I come again to greet and thank the warriors;
I come again to greet and thank the women.
My forefathers--what they established--
My forefathers--hearken to them!"
And after the song was ended, Tododaho walked up and down the council
house, crying out:
"Hail, my grandsires! Now hearken while your grandchildren cry
mournfully to you--because the Great League which you established has
grown old.
"Even now, oh, my grandsires, that has become old which you
established--the Great League! You have it as a pillow under your
heads in the ground where you are lying--this Great League which you
established; although you said that far away in the future the Great
League would endure."
A second time they sang the hymn, and then Tododaho called the roll
of the founders, commencing with Tehkarihhoken and ending with
Tyuhninhohkawenh, and after each name the Royanehs thundered the
responses:
"This was the roll of you,
You who were joined in the work,
You who completed the work,
The Great League!"
Tododaho reseated himself, and a Royaneh of the Cayugas rose to speak
for the so-called Younger Nations--the Cayugas, Oneidas and
Tuscaroras.
"Now our uncle has passed away," he recited, "he who used to work for
all, that they might see the brighter days to come--for the whole
body of warriors and also for the whole body of women, and also for
the children that were running around, and also for the little ones
creeping on the ground, and also for those that are tied to the
cradle-boards; for all these he used to work that they might see the
bright days to come. This we say, we Three Brothers.
"Now another thing we will say, we Younger Brothers. You are
mourning in the deep darkness. I will make the sky clear for you, so
that you will not see a cloud. And also I will give the sun to shine
upon you, so that you can look upon it peacefully when it goes down.
"Now, then, another thing we say, we three Younger Brothers. If any
one should fall--it may be a principal chief will fall, a Royaneh,
and descend into the grave--as soon as possible another shall be put
in his place. This we say, we three Younger Brothers.
"Now I have finished. Now show me the man!"
A hush mantled the council house. All eyes turned toward the door
where Tawannears stood with Peter and me. Ganeodiyo and another
Seneca Royaneh rose from their places and crossed the room to us. At
a sign Tawannears went to meet them. They took position, one on each
side, with their hands under his elbows, and so guided him into the
center of the circle around the council fire. Three times they
walked him around the circuit of Royanehs. Then Ganeodiyo spoke.
"Denehogaweh is dead, oh, Royanehs! Our eyes have been blinded with
tears. Our hearts have been heavy. Loudly we have cried our grief.
But the forefathers laid down rules for us to follow and we have
followed them. A vacant place must be filled. Work laid aside must
be completed. The places left by the founders must be carried on
that our children may continue to have peace.
"Behold, oh, Royanehs, after the tradition of our people, as required
by the founders, the wise women of the Wolf Clan gathered in Council.
They considered deeply. Donehogaweh was dead. Another of his line
must succeed him. Donehogaweh was the Guardian of the Western Door.
No foes entered the Long House after he kept watch. Who should
endeavor to take his place?
"The wise women pondered, oh, Royanehs. They continued to ponder.
They remembered that Donehogaweh had a nephew, Tawannears, Warden of
the Door. He was his uncle's prop, his right hand, a tried warrior,
feared by the enemies of the Great League, respected by the subject
nations, the friend of our friends.
"Oh, Royanehs, we present him to you! He is no longer Tawannears.
He is Donehogaweh! He is the Guardian of the Western Door. Give him
your favor!"
"_Aigh! Aighhaigh! Kwa, Kwa!_" applauded the Royanehs.
Peter and I slipped out of the door as they formed in procession and
took our station with Kachina--for I cannot bring myself to give her
the name Gahano by which Tawannears always addressed her--to watch
the formal presentation to the assemblage of Senecas gathered in the
open around the gaondote, or war-post. A shout of approval came from
the people when Tawannears, now Donehogaweh, was led forth by
Tododaho and Ganeodiyo.
"The Guardian of the Door!" they cried. "He is favored by Hawenneyu!
_Kwa! Kwa!_"
Kachina clapped her hands with glee--one of many tricks that proved
to me her Caucasian origin.
"He has his uncle's place!" she exclaimed. "I was afraid that fat
old she-ant, Guanaea, would make trouble for him. I will put a snake
in her bed some night."
"Nonsense!" I rebuked her. "She is your mother. Her eyes are
clouded by grief. Be kind, and she will learn to love you."
"Love me! _Hai_, I care not whether she loves me. I have
Tawannears' love, and that is enough."
Peter plucked me by the sleeve.
"Come!" he whispered.
I followed him behind the nearest ganasote, and he pointed to a
narrow opening in the wall of the forest opposite, the throat of the
great trail of the Long House.
"Here is no blace for us," he said. "We hafe saidt goodt-by to
Tawannears--who is no longer Tawannears. He has a new life to lif.
He must be an Indian of Indians. He has a wife andt a
mother-in-law----"
"Who is not his mother-in-law," I gibed.
"_Ja_, berhaps. But dot doesn't matter now. We are white men. He
is an Indian. We don't do him no goodt for a time. We petter go,
andt leafe him to himself."
"Yes," I agreed slowly. "You are right, Peter. 'Tis strange how
tactful you can be--and how talkative. But where shall we go?"
He gave me a curious look.
"It's petter you go home, eh?"
"Home?"
"_Ja_! New York--der gofernor--andt----"
He left the sentence unfinished, for which I was duly grateful. I
was conscious of no impelling urge to return to civilization. The
zest which had attended our homeward journey was gone from me. But I
could not argue against Peter's suggestion. The governor expected a
report from me. For the rest, I shrugged my shoulders. But I did
not hunger for the house in Pearl Street. I did not even attempt to
picture what awaited me there.
A snowstorm overtook us near the headwaters of the Mohawk, and after
securing snowshoes from an Oneida village we decided we might as well
save time by pushing straight southeast through the forest country on
the west bank of Hudson's River, avoiding Fort Orange* and the
contiguous settlement, and crossing the river at the first point we
came to where the ice would hold. Corlaer knew every inch of this
wild land, and was never at a loss to steer a bee-line in any
direction he fancied.
* Albany.
But as a result of this we saw no other white men until we reached
the outlying villages above New York, and their residents could give
us no tidings of the town's affairs, for they had been cut off by the
great drifts since Christmas--a feast to which we had given no
thought. We had completely lost track of days and were not even sure
of the month. For years we had regulated ourselves by the seasons.
It was hot or cold, Winter or Summer, with us. We let it go at that.
The burghers of the Out-ward eyed us askance for the wastrels we
seemed in our deerskin shirts and leggings, bearskin robes belted
about us, hair and beard sweeping our shoulders. And as it chanced,
we saw none we knew until we reached the Broadway just above the
Green Lane, when honest John Allen, my clerk, turned the corner in
face of us and would have passed on, with an uneasy glance for our
ruffian pair.
"How, now!" I cried. "Is it so you greet your master, John?"
He dropped his bundle of papers in the snow and his chin sagged to
his chest.
"'Tis never you, Master Ormerod! Why, we had given you up two years
gone--all, that is, save Master Burnet. But for him the magistrates
would have settled your estate."
Now, why it was I know not, but at this I was smitten with an insane
desire to laugh, and I rocked my sides so that people across the way
deemed me witless and hastened by us.
"I am glad there is one man of intelligence left," I said when I had
found my breath again. "But I never doubted the governor, John."
"He is governor no longer, sir."
"What?"
Even Peter fetched out a shrill Dutch curse.
"Ay, sir. But last month the Lords of Trade gave him notice
transferring him to Massachusetts. He sailed ten days since."
"He is gone hence?"
"'Tis so, sir."
"But who has his place!"
"Master Montgomery, sir. And oh, Master Ormerod, things are very
different from what they were. The malcontents in the town have the
new governor's ear. There is much ado about municipal reforms, and
small thought to the fur-trade and the alliances with the savages
that Master Burnet gave thought to."
I clapped an arm on Peter's fat shoulder.
"Then here are two shall give Master Montgomery somewhat to think
on," I proclaimed. "We'll tell him of the Wilderness Country, eh,
Peter? We'll acquaint him with the doings of the French! We'll make
plain to him the empires and kingdoms that lie waiting the
Englishman, if he have but the courage of his ancestors!"
"Nein," said Peter. "You go."
"But you?"
"I go wit' John here."
"Have it your own way," I returned cavalierly. "Shall I find the
governor in the fort, John?"
"Ay, sir." He hesitated. "But sure, Master Ormerod, you'll stop in
Pearl Street. Elspeth and----"
"Anon, anon," I said airily. "I am not much of a home-body, John."
And I swaggered on my way, poor fool, secretly fearful of the
memories that Pearl Street might evoke.
At the fort I was recognized by an officer, and he passed me into the
governor's house with a celerity that made me fume all the more
during the hour I must cool my heels in his anteroom. But all things
end in time, even the whims of jacks-in-office. A liveried servant
opened the inner door, and I was ushered in my motley forest-garb
into a room which expressed in every detail the finicking niceties of
its occupant.
A small man, with a pompous carriage, insignificant features
expressing vanity and pride, Master Montgomery made no effort to
disguise his displeasure that a citizen should have ventured to
appear before him so roughly dressed.
"Master Ormerod?" he said. "Ah, yes, I am aware who you are, sir.
The late--ah--governor was pleased to give me some account of you,
and of the--ah--ridiculous mission upon which he was pleased to
dispatch you. Close to four years gone, was it not? You have been
overlong, sir. I----"
"One moment," I interrupted. "You call my mission ridiculous. Are
you aware, sir, that I have traveled where no Englishman has been
before? Do you understand the value of the information I bring?
Does it mean nothing that I have news of the French dispositions in
the Wilderness Country?"
He waved me to silence.
"You attach unnecessary importance to your wanderings, Master
Ormerod," he reproved me. "Here, sir, we have work sufficient to
occupy us for many generations. The--ah--failures of my predecessor,
I venture to assert, may be ascribed to his unfortunate predilection
to extravagant views and policies. The day for such delusions, I
assure you, is past. Here in New York we are now occupied with the
important task of improving the lot of our loyal, law-abiding
citizens, and the abatement of hindrances to trade and commerce."
He selected a paper from several on the table before him.
"I have here a draft of a new charter I am issuing to the citizens!
Too little attention has been paid to such matters, and it shall be
my care to----"
"Do I understand you have no ear for my report, your Excellency?" I
broke in.
"Some other time, Master Ormerod. At the present, I am occupied with
affairs of serious moment."
"But the French----"
"Tut, tut, sir," he remonstrated severely. "Here is overmuch stress
upon the French. Another fault of my--ah--distinguished predecessor
was to exaggerate the animosity of the French. Treat the French
fairly, live and let live, so you may construe my policy. I have no
fault to find with French expansion. There is land enough for all on
this continent. As for the near-by savages, we have humored them
more than is good for them. In future----"
How I got from that room I do not remember, but in some way I dammed
the flow of pompous rhetoric and futile reasoning, brushed by all who
would have questioned me in the fort, and found my way by oft-trodden
paths into Pearl Street. I was still seething with indignation as
the red-brick house came in view. When I tapped at the door none
answered me, so I pushed it open and entered the wide hallway. I
called, but no answer was returned. And then I heard a bubbling
chuckle of mirth in the rear garden, capped by Corlaer's squeaking
laughter.
It was as if a secret hammer tapped at my heart. I caught my breath,
and stepped softly through the corridor to the door which gave on the
garden. On the steps below me sat stout Scots Elspeth, heedless of
the snow, and John Allen, both of them helpless with laughter; and in
the garden's center a small, lusty urchin in breeches, a wooden
scalping knife clutched in one mitten-covered fist, circled
cautiously the ponderous figure of Corlaer, who contrived a most
realistic mimicry of panic-fear.
"And now I shall scalp you!" the urchin shrieked gleefully.
But Peter gestured him towards me, and the boy turned with a glad
cry. The knife dropped from his hand. There was a scurry of feet,
and two arms were stretched up to me, two brown eyes--eyes that it
seemed I had looked into so many times before--shone into mine.
"You have come back!" shouted the treble voice. "John said you
would! And so did Master Burnet! Do you always wear a beard! Will
you buy me clothes like those you and Peter wear? Will you teach me
to cast the tomahawk and shoot with the bow and arrow? Will you take
me to live with the Indians? Did you kill very many this time? What
did you find beyond the sunset?"
I swept him in my arms, gray eyes beaming steadily through the mist
that veiled my sight.
"I found contentment--and love," I said.
Elspeth burst into tears.
"_Hecht_, but them's the bonny worrds," she blubbered. "The master's
hame and richt in his mind again!"
My son's bubbling laughter stirred me afresh, and I peered over his
shoulder to perceive Corlaer waltzing like a clumsy bear, with John
Allen's sedate person clasped against his enormous belly. And I sat
down beside the boy and laughed, too, laughed as I had laughed in
bygone years, with the joyous vigor of a happy heart.
THE END