BRAVE DEATH OF THE OLD MAJOR
The evening preceding that night of death and terror was spent quietly
and pleasantly, as was their wont, by Edith and Ah-mo in Major Hester's
room. It was an unusually happy time, for Ah-mo, having received her
father's permission to do so, told them of Donald, his bravery, his
wounds, his captivity, the strange manner in which he had been
identified by the mark of a totem on his arm, his recovery from illness
in the secluded quiet of Pontiac's island, and the glad tidings that,
on the morrow, he would be allowed to visit them.
To both Major Hester and Edith the first knowledge that Donald was a
prisoner came as a shock, but when they reflected upon the kindness
with which they had been treated, and realized, from Ah-mo's account,
that the young ensign was regarded with equal favor by Pontiac, they
became reconciled to the idea of his captivity, and only anxious to
note for themselves his reported recovery from the illness caused by
wounds. So they impatiently watched the passing of the hours that
brought him nearer to them, and beguiled the time by talking of him.
Major Hester told the story of Songa and Mahng, and how the life of the
former had been saved by the baby Donald. With infinite zest he
recalled the kick with which he had repelled Mahng's attack on the
young Ottawa chief, who was now known to all men as Pontiac.
Ah-mo had never before heard of this, and she anxiously wondered if
that Mahng could be the same who was now the leader of one of the
Ojibwa bands.
But the major was still reminiscing, and describing the brave deed of
Songa's beautiful squaw.
"My mother," murmured Ah-mo.
"And more worthy of honor than a queen!" exclaimed the major.
Then he told of their escape from Tawtry House, of Donald's subsequent
disappearance, and of the strange mark found on his arm when he was
restored to them.
"I soon learned," said the old soldier, "that it was the symbol of a
totem, though I never knew why it was tattooed on the child's arm, nor
by whom. Perhaps you can tell us of it, Ah-mo. It was something after
this fashion."
Here the major drew a sketch of the design on a bit of paper.
"Yes," replied the Indian girl, regarding the sketch, "from this alone
could I tell the clan of the warrior wearing it, his standing in the
tribe, and who had tattooed the symbol. Even without the sketch I
could have told you these things, for I have looked upon the original."
"When?" asked Edith, wonderingly.
"At the time when my father recognized his own handiwork on the arm of
a captive."
"You then have seen our Donald and never told us of the meeting, nor
what he said, nor anything!" exclaimed the white girl, in a grieved
tone.
"I have seen him twice," replied Ah-mo, "but we have never exchanged
words, nor do I think he knows who I am. The first time I saw him was
shortly after my coming from Montreal, when I was on the river in a
canoe with one of my girl friends. He was also in a canoe, but
helplessly drifting, having broken his only paddle. I laughed at his
predicament and would have let him drift, had not my companion
mentioned his name. It was one esteemed by all of Indian blood, and
though I knew not whether the young man bore any relation to my
father's friend, I determined, for the sake of his name, to help him.
We approached him so quietly that he did not hear us, tossed a paddle
into his canoe, and were off almost before he knew of our presence.
That was one time. The other was but a few weeks since, when I stood
with my father and a captive was laid unconscious at our feet. My
father knew him not, and but for the totem would never have recognized
him."
"What is this totem?" inquired Edith.
"It is that of the Bear, the same to which my father belongs."
"And you, too, and your brothers?"
"No, we belong to our mother's totem, which is that of the Beaver, for
no one may belong to the totem of his father."
"And what means the circle of serpents?" asked Major Hester.
"It signifies the magic circle of the Metai, to which none but a brave
warrior, who has won the honor by some notable deed, may belong."
"But Donald was a child."
"Was he not by birth a warrior who could be naught but brave? and had
he not already, as you have just told, saved the life of a chief of the
Metai?" queried Ah-mo.
"True, so he had," asserted the major. "But what is this Metai of
which you speak?"
"Being a woman, I know but little of it," answered the Indian girl.
"It is a powerful order of much mystery extending over many tribes. It
is greatly feared by those who do not belong to it, while those who do
will aid each other in any extremity and to the full extent of their
powers. In it are many degrees of merit, and he who is its chief must
be obeyed by all who acknowledge its authority."
"Why, girl, you are describing free-masonry!" cried the major, who was
himself a master-mason. "Have the members of this Metai signs and
passwords by which they may recognize each other?"
"They have, but I know them not," replied Ah-mo.
"Of course not, seeing that you are a girl; but Pontiac is certain to
know something of this thing, and, if the mighty brotherhood that
encircles the world has indeed penetrated the American wilderness, then
will we settle this useless war in short order. By the way, Ah-mo, who
is the present chief of this magic circle? or is it not known to the
uninitiated?"
"It is known to all who care to know," replied the girl, proudly, "for
his name is Pontiac, and it is his own mark, which no other may use,
that encloses the all-seeing eye of the Metai on your son's arm."
"Whew-w-w," whistled the major, reflectingly. "So that is the secret
of Pontiac's wide-spread influence? Well, I must see and question him
about it to-morrow. Now, girls, leave me, for it is late, and Ah-mo's
revelations have given me much food for thought."
As he kissed his daughter good-night and blessed her, so he also, for
the first time, kissed Ah-mo and gave her his blessing, saying that she
was becoming as dear to him as an own daughter.
As the two girls crossed the space intervening between Major Hester's
quarters and the house in which they slept, Edith wondered that they
did not meet any of the guards who were generally so quick to note
every movement in that vicinity, especially at night. She was also
impressed with Ah-mo's unusual silence and her frequent starts at the
little noises made by birds or insects. When they reached their room,
the Indian girl sat by the open window, saying that she did not feel
like going to bed just yet, and after a while Edith fell asleep leaving
her sitting gazing out into the night.
It seemed many hours later when she awoke to find her companion still
sitting in the same position. On rising and going to her, she found
the Indian girl to be trembling as though with a chill.
"What is it, Ah-mo?" she asked in alarm. "Are you ill, dear?"
As though in answer there came a roar of musketry from a point not far
distant, and yells, and shrill cries, and the sharp crack of rifles.
At the sounds Pontiac's daughter sprang up, crying: "It has begun! Oh,
my father! my father!"
"What does it mean? Tell me, Ah-mo!" gasped Edith, her voice sunk to a
whisper with terror.
"It is a battle," replied the Indian girl, sternly, "between thy people
and my people. It is time to dress and be prepared for what may
happen."
In a few minutes Edith, fully dressed, declared that she must go to her
father, that they might share together whatever danger threatened.
"Whither you go," replied the other, "there must I go also," and so
they left the house in company. They heard the old Canadian couple who
owned it moving about as they went out, but did not stop to speak to
them. As they gained the road, the firing, which had been momentarily
silenced, broke out afresh apparently nearer than before. In Major
Hester's quarters they saw a dim light, and with clasped hands they
started to run toward it.
At that moment a score of dark figures appeared, coming swiftly from
the direction of the light. The next instant the girls were
surrounded, seized in brawny arms, and borne away, their gasping cries
of terror being smothered ere they were fully uttered.
An hour later, in the gray of dawn, two young men came hurrying down
the road. "Is that the place, Atoka?" asked one, pointing to the house
occupied by Major Hester, in front of which a little group of
frightened Canadian peasants were gathered.
His companion nodded assent, whereupon the other exclaimed, "Thank God,
there has been no fighting here!" Then he sprang forward, scattering
the Canadians, who recoiled in terror at his sudden appearance, and
entered the house. In another minute a bitter cry rang from the open
windows, and the hearers crossed themselves at the sound.
Donald Hester had discovered his father lying in a pool of blood, from
which none had dared lift him, and pierced by a dozen wounds, but still
breathing.
"Father! Dear father! Speak to me. It is your own boy, Donald!"
cried the youth in pitiful accents, as he raised the prostrate form in
his arms. "Tell me, father, who has done this thing."
The dying man opened his eyes, and fixed them full on the face of his
son. For a few seconds he gazed on the loved features, and his lips
moved as in a blessing, though no sound came from them. Then, with a
smile of ineffable sweetness, and a sigh of perfect content, the light
faded from the dear eyes, and the spirit of the brave old soldier
passed gently from the war-worn body into the fadeless dawn of eternity.
Very tenderly did Donald lift the lifeless body of his father to the
humble pallet that had been the soldier's bed for many weeks. Then he
sat beside it, keeping motionless watch over his dead, while Atoka
stood silently in the doorway guarding the grief of his friend from
curious intrusion.