Edith was very thoughtful through the rest of the day. Was it of
herself she thought? Was it of him who had been her companion through
the greater part of the morning? Hardly at all.
Hast thou not heard, reader, in eastern fable, of springs of deep,
clear water, covered from the eye of passing strangers by a sealed
stone; and how, when he who has the talismanic secret approaches and
says the words of power, or makes the sign, the sealed fountain opens
its cool treasure, and the bright stream wells forth? Such is woman's
love.
No word had been spoken, no sign had been given; no intimation to make
the seal on the fountain indicate that the master of its destiny was
near. Edith had had a pleasant ramble with one such as she seldom
saw--and that was all. That he was different from the common
multitude--higher, brighter, nobler in his thoughts--she had gathered
from their short acquaintance; and so far she might be led to think of
him somewhat more than she thought of other men. But her meditations
had another object; her mind was attracted strongly in another
direction.
It is strange how clearly and how willingly women look into the hearts
of others--how dimly, how reluctantly they see into their own. There
had been something in the manner of her brother Walter, a hesitation,
and yet an eagerness, a timidity unnatural, with a warmth that spoke
of passion, which had not escaped her eye. In the sweet Indian girl,
too, she had seen signs not equivocal: the fluttering blush; the look
full of soul and feeling; the glance suddenly raised to the boy's
face, and suddenly withdrawn; the eyes full of liquid light, now
beaming brightly under sudden emotion, now shaded beneath the long
fringe, like the moon behind a passing cloud.
They were signs that Edith did not mistake, and they were for her
suggestive of thoughtfulness.
It might tire the reader, were we to trace all the considerations that
chased one another through her mind, or to tell how, for the first
time--when she thought of her brother wedding an Indian girl, linking
his fate for ever to the savages of the woods--she realized the
consequences of the solitary life her father had chosen, of the
removal from civilization, of the life in the wild forest.
For the first time it seemed to her that a dark, impenetrable curtain
was falling between herself and all the ancient things of history;
that all, indeed, was to be new, and strange, and different. And yet
she loved Otaitsa well, and, in the last two years, had seen many a
trait which had won esteem as well as love. The old Black Eagle, as
her father was called, had ever been a fast and faithful ally of the
English; but to Mr. Prevost he had attached himself in a particular
manner. An accidental journey on the part of the old Sachem had first
brought them acquainted, and from that day forward the distance of the
Oneida settlements was no impediment to their meeting. Whenever the
Black Eagle left his lodge, he was sure, in his own figurative
language, to wing his flight sooner or later towards the nest of his
white brother; and, in despite of Indian habits, he almost invariably
brought his daughter with him. When any distant or perilous enterprise
was on hand, Otaitsa was left at the lodge of the English family; and
many a week she had passed there at a time, loved by, and loving, all
its inmates.
It was not there, however, that she had acquired her knowledge of the
English tongue, or the other characteristics which distinguished her
from the ordinary Indian women. When she first appeared there, she
spoke the language of the settlers as perfectly as they did; and it
was soon discovered that from infancy she had been under the care and
instruction of one of the English missionaries--at that time, alas!
few--who had sacrificed all that civilized life could bestow for the
purpose of bringing the Indian savage into the fold of Christ.
Nor was it altogether rare in those days to find an Indian woman
adopting, to a considerable degree, the habits and manners of the
Europeans. The celebrated Queen of Hearts, who played so important a
part in the conspiracy of Pontiac, went even further than Otaitsa, for
she assumed the garb of the French, while the latter always retained
the dress of her own nation, and was proud of her Indian blood. And
yet it was with a sort of melancholy pride; for she would frankly
acknowledge the superiority of the white race, and the advantage of
the civilization which her own people did not possess. It was,
perhaps, rather like the clinging affection which binds the
noble-hearted to the falling and unfortunate than that vainer sort of
pride which fancies a reflected light to fall upon ourselves through
connection with the powerful and the prosperous.
Whatever she was--whatever was high and bright in her nature--she was
still the Indian maiden; and as such only could Edith look upon her
when she thought of the love between her brother and Otaitsa, which
had become but too apparent to her eyes.
Then again she asked herself, how should she act towards Walter,
towards her father. Could she direct his attention to that which was
so evident to her? Oh, no! She felt as if it would be betraying a
secret intrusted to her keeping. True, no word had been spoken, no
confession made; still they had both unveiled their hearts to eyes
they believed friendly, and she would not take advantage of the
knowledge so acquired. Her father could and would see, she thought,
and he would then judge for himself, and act according to his
judgment.
But Edith did not know how little and how rarely men see into such
secrets--especially men of studious habits. Mr. Prevost judged it
quite right that Walter should stay with Otaitsa, and he even sent out
the old slave Agrippa, who, somehow, was famous as a marksman, with a
rifle on his shoulder, to act as a sort of scout upon the hill-side,
and watch for anything bearing a hostile aspect.
After dinner, too, he walked out himself, and sat for an hour, with
his son and the Indian girl, speaking words of affection to her that
sank deep into her heart, and more than once brought drops into her
bright eyes. No father's tenderness could exceed that he showed her;
and Otaitsa felt as if he were almost welcoming her as a daughter.
When Mr. Prevost returned to the house, he gave himself up to
conversation with his guest, transporting his spirit far away from the
scenes before him to other lands and other times. Matters of taste and
art were discussed: the imperishable works of genius, and the triumphs
of mind; and, from time to time, the musical tones of Edith's voice
mingled with the deeper sounds of her two companions. It was a
pleasant afternoon to all, for Mr. Prevost was himself somewhat of a
dreamer; and he, or Edith, or both, perhaps, had taught Lord H----,
for the time, at least, to be a dreamer also.
Nor were higher topics left untouched. Nowhere so well as in wide
solitudes can the spirit feel itself free to deal with its own mighty
questions. The pealing organ and the sounding choir may give a
devotional tone to the mind; and the tall pillar and the dusty aisle
may afford solemnity to the thoughts; but would you have the spirit
climb from the heart's small secret chamber towards the footsteps of
the throne of God, and bring back some rays of brighter light to
illuminate the darkness of our earthly being, choose the temple
unprofaned of his own creation; stand and contemplate His might and
majesty amidst the solemn woods or on the awful mountain-tops: or gaze
with the astronomer at the distant stars, resolving filmy clouds into
innumerable worlds, and separating specks of light into suns and
systems.
Evening had not lost its light, when a shout from Walter's voice
announced that he was drawing nigh the house; and in a moment after he
was seen coming across the cleared land, with his bright young
companion, and two other persons.
One was a tall red man, upwards of six feet in height, dressed
completely in the Indian garb, but without paint. He could not have
been less than sixty years of age; but his strong muscles seemed to
have set at defiance the bending power of time. He was as upright as a
pine, and he bore his heavy rifle in his right hand as lightly as if
it had been a reed. In his left he carried a long pipe, showing that
his errand was one of peace; but tomahawk and scalping-knife were in
his belt, and he wore the sort of feather crown or Grostoweh
distinguishing the chief.
The other man might be of the same age, or a little older. He, too,
seemed active and strong for his years; but he wanted the erect and
powerful bearing of his companion; and his gait and carriage, as much
as his features and complexion, distinguished him from the Indian. His
dress was a strange mixture of the ordinary European costume and that
of the half-savage rangers of the forest. He wore a black coat, or one
which had once been black; but the rest of his garments were composed
of skins, some tanned into red leather, after the Indian fashion, some
with the hair still on, and turned outwards. He bore no arms whatever,
unless a very long and sharp-pointed knife could be considered a
weapon, though in his hands it only served the innocent purpose of
dividing his food, or carving willow whistles for the children of the
Sachem's tribe.
Running, with a light foot, by the side of the chief, as he strode
along, came Otaitsa; but the others followed the Indian fashion,
coming after him in single file, while old Agrippa, with his rifle on
his arm, brought up the rear, appearing from the wood somewhat behind
the rest.
"It is seldom I have so many parties of guests in two short days,"
said Mr. Prevost, moving towards the door. "Generally, I have either a
whole tribe at once, or none at all. But this is one of my best
friends, my lord, and I must go to welcome him."
"He is a noble-looking man," observed the young officer. "This is the
Black Eagle, I suppose, whom the pretty maiden talked of."
Mr. Prevost made no reply, for, by this time, the chief's long strides
brought him almost to the door, and his hand was already extended to
grasp that of his white friend.
"Welcome, Black Eagle!" said Mr. Prevost.
"Thou art my brother," returned the chief, in English, but with a much
less pure accent than that of his daughter.
"What news from Corlear?" asked Mr. Prevost.
But the Indian answered not; and the man who followed him replied in
so peculiar a style, that we must give his words, though they imported
very little, as far as the events to be related are concerned.
"All is still on the banks of Champlain Lake," he said; "but Huron
tracks are still upon the shore. The friendly Mohawks watched them
come and go; and tell us that the Frenchman, too, was there, painted
and feathered like the Indian chiefs; but finding England stronger
than they thought, upon the side of Horicon, they sailed back to Fort
Carrillon on Monday last."
For awhile, Lord H---- was completely puzzled to discover what it was
that gave such peculiarity to the missionary's language; for the words
and accents were both those of an ordinary Englishman of no very
superior education; and it was not till Mr. Gore had uttered one or
two sentences more, that he perceived that everything he said arranged
itself into a sort of blank verse, not very poetical, not very
musical, but easily enough to be scanned.
In the mean while, the Black Eagle and his host had entered the house,
and proceeded straight to the great eating-hall, where the whole party
seated themselves in silence, Otaitsa taking her place close to the
side of Edith, and Walter stationing himself where he could watch the
bright girl's eyes, without being remarked himself.
For a moment or two, no one spoke, in deference to the Indian habits;
and then Mr. Prevost broke silence, saying,--
"Well, Black Eagle, how fares it with my brother?"
"As with the tamarack in the autumn," answered the warrior; "the cold
wind sighs through the branches, and the fine leaves wither and fall;
but the trunk stands firm as yet, and decay has not reached the
heart."
"This is a chief from the land of my white fathers," said Mr. Prevost,
waving his hand gracefully towards Lord H----; "he has but lately
crossed the great water."
"He is welcome to what was once the red man's land," said Black Eagle;
and, bending his eyes upon the ground, but without any sign of emotion
at the thoughts which seemed to lie beneath his words, he relapsed
into silence for a minute or two. Then raising his head again, he
asked, "Is he a great chief? Is he a warrior? or a man of council? or
a medicine man?"
"He is a great chief and a warrior," answered Mr. Prevost; "he is
moreover skilful in council, and his words are clear as the waters of
Horicon."
"He is welcome," repeated the chief; "he is our brother. He shall be
called the Cataract, because he shall be powerful, and many shall
rejoice at the sound of a strong voice.--But my brother--"
"Speak on," said Mr. Prevost, seeing that he paused; "they are
friends' ears that listen."
"Thou art too near the Caturqui; thou art too near to Corlear," said
the warrior, meaning, the river St. Lawrence and Lake Champlain.
"There is danger for our brother; and the wings of the Black Eagle
droop when he is in his solitary place afar amidst the children of the
Stone, to think that thou art not farther within the walls of the Long
House."
"What does he mean by the walls of the Long House?" asked Lord H----,
in a whisper, addressing Edith.
"Merely the territory of the Five Nations, or Iroquois, as the French
call them," answered his fair companion.
"I fear not, brother," replied Mr. Prevost; "the fire and the iron
have not met to make the tomahawk which shall reach my head."
"But for the maiden's sake," pursued Black Eagle. "Is she not unto us
as a daughter? Is she not the sister of Otaitsa? I pray thee, White
Pine-tree, let her go with the Eagle and the Blossom into the land of
the children of the Stone--but for a few moons--till thy people have
triumphed over their enemies, and till the Five Nations have hewed
down the tree of the Huron and the Alonquin; till the war-hatchet is
buried, and the pipe of peace is smoked."
"'Twere better, truly, my good friend Prevost," said Mr. Gore. "We
have seen sights to-day would make the blood of the most bold and
hardy man on earth turn cold and icy to behold, and know he had a
daughter near such scenes of death."
"What were they, my good friend?" asked Mr. Prevost. "I have heard
of nothing very new or near. The last was the capture of Fort
William-Henry, some six weeks since, but as yet we have not heard the
whole particulars; and surely, if we are far enough away for the
tidings not to reach us in six weeks, it is not likely that hostile
armies would approach us very soon."
"Thou art deceived, my brother," answered the Black Eagle. "One short
day's journey lies betwixt thee and the battle-field. This morning we
crossed it when the sun wanted half an hour of noon, and we are here
before he has gone down behind the forest. What we saw chilled the
blood of my brother here, for he has not seen such things before. The
children of the Stone slay not women and children when the battle is
over."
"Speak, speak, my good friend, Mr. Gore," said the master of the
house; "you know our habits better, and can tell us more of what has
happened. Things which are common to his eye must be strange to
yours."
"We passed the ground between the one fort and the other," answered
the missionary. "The distance is but seven or eight miles, and in that
short space lay well nigh a thousand human bodies slain by every dark
and terrible means of death. There were young and old; the grey-headed
officer; the blooming youth fresh from his mother's side; women, and
boys and girls, and little infants snatched from a mother's breast, to
die by the hatchet, or the war-club. We heard that the tiger Montcalm,
in violation of his given word, in defiance of humanity, Christianity,
and the spirit of a gentleman, stood by and saw his own convention
broken, and gallant enemies massacred by his savage allies. But what
the chief says is very true, my friend. You are far too near this
scene; and although, perhaps, no regular army could reach this place
before you received timely warning, yet the Indian forerunners may be
upon you at any moment; your house may be in flames and you and your
children massacred ere any one could come to give you aid. The troops
of our country are far away; and no force is between you and Horicon,
but a small number of our Mohawk brethren, who are not as well pleased
with England as they have been."
Mr. Prevost turned his eyes towards Lord H----, and the young
Englishman replied to Mr. Gore at once, saying, with a quiet
inclination of the head,--
"On one point you are mistaken, sir. Lord Loudon has returned, and
there is now a strong force at Albany. I passed through that city
lately, and I think that, by the facts which must have come to his
knowledge, General Montcalm will be deterred from pushing his brutal
incursions farther this year, at least. Before another morning shines
upon us, he may receive some punishment for his faithless cruelty."
"If not here, hereafter," said the missionary. "There is justice in
heaven, sir, and often it visits the evil-doer upon earth. That man's
end cannot be happy. But I fear you will not give us aid in persuading
your friend here to abandon, for a time, his very dangerous position."
"I know too little of Mr. Prevost's affairs," replied Lord H----, "to
advise either for or against. I know still less, too, of the state of
the country between this and the French line. Perhaps, in a day or
two, I may know more, and then, as a military man myself, I can better
tell him what are the real dangers of his situation. At all events, I
should like to think over the matter till to-morrow morning, before I
offer an opinion. From what was said just now, I infer that the Hurons
and the French having gone back, there can be no immediate peril."
Mr. Gore shook his head, and the Indian chief remained in profound and
somewhat dull silence, seeming not very well pleased at the result of
the discussion.
A few minutes after, the evening meal was brought in, and to it the
Black Eagle did ample justice; eating like an European with a knife
and fork, and displaying no trace of the savage in his demeanour at
the table. He remained profoundly silent, however, till the party
rose, and then, taking Mr. Prevost by the hand, he said,--
"Take counsel of thine own heart, my brother. Think of the flower that
grows up by thy side--ask if thou wouldst have it trodden down by the
red man's moccassin; and listen not to the Cataract, for it is cold."
Thus saying, he unrolled one of the large skins, which lay at the side
of the room, and stretched himself upon it to take repose.
Edith took Otaitsa by the hand, saying--"Come, Blossom: you shall be
my companion as before." Walter, retiring the moment after, left Lord
H---- and his host to consult together with Mr. Gore.