"There is a light, sir, at the Castle," said one of the servants of
Sir William Johnson, entering the room where he was seated with Mr.
Prevost; "it comes from the great court."
"Then they have arrived," said the officer, turning to his guest; "let
us set out at once. Are the horses saddled?"
"They have been kept ready, sir, ever since the morning," replied the
servant, to whom the last words were addressed.
"It is strange," said Mr. Prevost, as he followed his host towards the
door of the room, "that the negro I sent to tell Edith the cause of
my delay has not returned, as I told him. He might have been here four
hours ago. I am growing somewhat anxious."
"Be not so, be not so!" replied Sir William. "Two or three years of
forest life, my good friend, are not enough to inure a man to all the
little accidents and discomforts he must meet with; and the first
serious danger so shakes his nerves that they vibrate at a trifle. The
man's horse may have fallen, or he may have purloined a bottle of
brandy, and got drunk, or he may have missed his way, or set out late.
Between this house and yours there is room for chances enough to make
a moderate volume. Let us not look out for uncertain evils, when there
are real ones enough around us."
"Real ones enough, indeed!" ejaculated Mr. Prevost, with a deep sigh.
A moment after, they reached the front of the stables, from which
their horses were immediately brought forth; and, mounting, they set
out, followed by a small party both on horseback and on foot; for Sir
William, though he affected the simplicity of the Indian, was not at
all averse to a little appearance of state and dignity in his dealings
with his red allies. There is a certain sort of pride which clothes
itself in humility; and without at all meaning to assert that the very
remarkable man in question desired to make the Indian chiefs feel that
his adoption of their manners was a condescension, yet it is certain
that from time to time he judged it expedient--perhaps from good
motives of policy--to make a somewhat ostentatious display of power
and authority.
The night was exceedingly dark. The moon now rose at a very late hour;
and dim clouds hid the stars from the dwellers upon earth. In such a
night, and in such circumstances, the fancy even of the most
stout-hearted is apt to indulge in deceits; and as the eye of Mr.
Prevost wandered round, dim forms like spectres seemed to be gliding
about the field of maize, cut in many places, but not yet garnered.
Not feeling certain whether imagination cheated him or not, he made no
observation, and for some time Sir William Johnson was silent also;
but, at length, the latter said, in a commonplace tone--
"Our good friends seem to have come in great force, probably, in
consequence of the urgency of my summons. Now, be patient, Prevost,
and bear with their cool, phlegmatic ways; for these people often feel
the strongest sympathies and serve their friends the best when they
seem the most cold and indifferent."
Mr. Prevost felt already how difficult it was to maintain that
equanimity which in theory he estimated as highly as an Indian, and in
practice strove for always, but not unfrequently lost. He promised,
however, to leave entirely to Sir William Johnson the management of a
conference with the chiefs of the Mohawk and Onondaga Nations, which
had been proposed by that officer himself, for the purpose of inducing
the two most powerful tribes of the Iroquois to interfere in behalf of
Walter, and save him from the fate that menaced him.
Through the gate of the castle (the door of which stood open as usual,
for, although it was filled with large quantities of those stores
which the Indians most coveted, its safety was left entirely to the
guardianship of their good faith) the two gentlemen entered the large
courtyard, which, on this occasion, was quite deserted, the weather
being cold enough now to render some shelter agreeable even to an
Indian. From the open door of the great hall, which stretched along
the larger part of the whole building, came forth a blaze of light;
and, on entering, Sir William Johnson and his companion found a number
of Mohawk and Onondaga chiefs assembled, sitting gravely ranged in a
semi-circle round the fire. Each was fully clothed in his garb of
ceremony, and bright and brilliant were the colours displayed in the
dresses and ornaments of the red men; but, as this was a peaceful
occasion, their faces were destitute of paint, and the scalp-lock was
concealed under the brilliant and graceful Gostoweh, or cap, in many
of which was seen the plume of the white egret, used to distinguish
the great chiefs of the different tribes, ever since the feathers of
the famous white bird of heaven had been exhausted.
All rose with quiet, native dignity when the Indian agent and his
companion entered, and a murmur of gratulation ran round while Sir
William and Mr. Prevost seated themselves in two large chairs.
"This is our brother," said Sir William Johnson, pointing to Mr.
Prevost.
"Hai, hai!" exclaimed the Indian chiefs. "Peace, peace! he is _our_
brother."
King Hendrick then approached Mr. Prevost, dressed in his sky-blue
coat of European manufacture, presented to him by the reigning monarch
of England, and took his hand, saying, in a tone of friendly sympathy,
and in the English tongue, "Our brother is sad. Be comforted."
He then seated himself, and the Attotarho, or grand chief of the whole
confederacy, an office held by descent by the chief of the Onondaga
Totem of the Bear, advanced to Walter's father, and spoke the same
words in Iroquois, showing clearly that the object of the meeting was
understood by the Indian leaders.
When all had arranged themselves around again, a silence of some
minutes succeeded. It was painful to Mr. Prevost; for no one who has
not associated with the Indians can fully comprehend the impressive--I
might almost call it oppressive--effect of their exceeding stillness
upon grave occasions.
At length the Attotarho said, rising to his full height, which might
be almost termed gigantic, "Our father has sent for us; and we are
obedient children. We are here to listen to his sweet words, and
understand his mind."
Sir William Johnson then, in a speech of very great power and beauty,
full of the figurative language of the Indians, related the events
which had occurred in the family of Mr. Prevost, and made an appeal to
his hearers for council and assistance. He represented his friend as
an old tree from which a branch had been torn by the lightning; he
strove to depict his desolate state; and he told a story of a panther,
one of whose young ones had been carried off by a wolf, but who, on
applying for assistance to a bear and a stag, recovered her young by
their means. "The panther was strong enough," he said, "with the aid
of the lion, to take back her young one from the wolf and to tear the
wolf to pieces; but the wolf was of kin to the bear and the stag, and
therefore the panther forbore."
"But the bear is slow, and the stag is not strong, when he goes
against his kindred," said the Attotarho, significantly; "and the lion
will never take the war-path against his allies."
"Heaven forbid that there should be need!" exclaimed Sir William; "but
the lion must consider his children, and the panther is his son."
Poor Mr. Prevost remained in a state of painful anxiety while the
discussion proceeded in this course, wandering, as it seemed to him,
round the subject, and affording no indication of any intention, on
the part of the chiefs, to give him assistance; for figures, though
they be very useful things to express the meaning of a speaker, are
sometimes equally useful to conceal it.
At length he could bear it no longer, and, forgetting his promise to
Sir William Johnson, he started up with all the feelings of a father
strong in his heart, and appealed directly to the Indians in their own
tongue, which he had completely mastered, but in a style of eloquence
very different from their own, and, perhaps, the more striking to them
on that account.
"My child!" he exclaimed, earnestly, "give me back my child! Who is
the man amongst the Five Nations whom he has wronged? Where is the man
to whom he has refused kindness or assistance? When has his door been
shut against the wandering red man? When has he denied to him a share
of his food or of his fire? Is he not your brother and the son of your
brother? Have we not smoked the pipe of peace together? and has that
peace ever been violated by us? I came within the walls of your Long
House trusting to the truth and the hospitality of the Five Nations. I
built my lodge amongst you in full confidence of your faith and of
your friendship. Is my hearth to be left desolate, is my heart to be
torn out, because I trusted to the truth and honour of the Mohawks, to
the protection and promises of the Onondaga, because I would not
believe the songs of the singing-bird, that said, 'They will slay thy
children before thy face?' If there be fault or failing in me or mine
towards the red man in any of the tribes--if we have taken aught from
him--if we have spoken false words in his ear--if we have refused
him aught that he had a right to ask--if we have shed any man's
blood,--then slay _me_; cut down the old tree at the root, but leave
the sapling. If we have been just and righteous towards you--if we have
been friendly and hospitable--if we have been true and faithful--if we
have shed no man's blood, and taken no man's goods,--then give
me back my child. To you, chiefs of the Five Nations, I raise my
voice; from you I demand my son, for a crime committed by one of the
league is a crime committed by all. Could ye find none but the son of
your brother to slay? Must ye make the trust he placed in you the
means of his destruction? Had he doubted your hospitality--had he not
confided in your faith--had he said, 'the lightning of the guns of
Albany and the thunder of her cannon are better protection than the
faith and truth of the red man,'--ye know he would have been safe. But
he said: 'I will put my trust in the hospitality of the Five Nations;
I will become their brother. If there be bad men amongst them, their
chiefs will protect me, their Attotarho will do me justice. They are
great warriors, but they are good men. They smite their enemies, but
they love their friends.' If, then, ye are good men--if ye are great
warriors--if ye are brothers to your brother--if ye are true to your
friends--if ye are fathers yourselves,--give me back my son."
"Koué, koué!" cried the Indians, in a sad tone, more profoundly
affected by the vehement expression of a father's feelings than Sir
William Johnson had expected; but the moment that the word was uttered
which, according to the tone and rapidity with which it is pronounced,
signifies either approbation and joy, or sympathy and grief, they
relapsed into deep silence.
Sir William Johnson, though he had been a good deal amazed and alarmed
at Mr. Prevost taking upon himself to speak, and fearful lest he
should injure his own cause, now fully appreciated the effect
produced; and would not add a word to impair it.
At length, King Hendrick arose, and said, in a grave and melancholy
tone--
"We are brothers; but what can we do? The Oneidas are our brethren
also. The Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Onondagas, the Cayugas, and the
Senecas are separate nations, though they are brethren and allies. We
are leagued together for common defence, but not that we should rule
over each other. The Oneidas have their laws, and they execute them;
but this law is common to all the nations, that if a man's blood be
shed, except in battle, the man who shed it must die. If he cannot be
found, one of his nearest kin must be taken. If he have none, one of
his tribe or race. The same is it with the Mohawk as with the Oneida.
But in this thing the Oneidas have done as the Mohawks would not have
done. They have not sought diligently for the slayer, neither have
they waited patiently to see whether they could find any of his
kindred. The Oneidas have been hasty. They have taken the first man
they could find. They have been fearful like the squirrel; and they
keep their prisoner lest, in the time of need, they should not find
another. This is unjust. They should have first waited, and searched
diligently, and should not have taken the son of their brother till
they were sure no other man could be found. But, koué, koué! what is
to be done? Shall the Mohawk unbury the hatchet against the Oneida?
That cannot be. Shall the Mohawk say to the Oneida: 'Thou art unjust?'
The Oneida will answer,--'We have our laws and you have yours: the
Mohawk is not the ruler of the Oneida: repose under your own tree; we
sit upon a stone.' One thing perchance may be done," and a very slight
look of cunning intelligence came into his face; "subtlety will
sometimes do what force cannot. The snake is as powerful as the
panther. I speak my thought; and I know not if it be good. Were my
brother, the Attotarho, to choose ten of the subtlest serpents of his
nation, and I to choose ten of the subtlest of mine, they might go
unpainted and unarmed, and, creeping through the woods without rattle
or hiss, reach the place where the young man lies. If there be thongs
upon his hands, the breath of a snake can melt them. If there be a
door upon his prison, the eyes of a snake can pierce it. If there be a
guard, the coil of the snake can twine around him; and many of the
Oneida chiefs and warriors will rejoice that they are thus friendly
forced to do right, and seek another. I speak my thought; I know not
whether it is good. Let those speak who know; for no nation of the
Five can do aught against another nation alone, otherwise we break to
pieces like a faggot when the thong bursts."
Thus saying, he ended, sat down, and resumed his stillness; and, after
a pause, as if for thought, the Attotarho rose, addressing himself
directly to Mr. Prevost, and speaking with a great deal of grave
dignity.
"We grieve for you, my brother," he said, "and we grieve for
ourselves. We know that our great English father, who sits under the
mighty pine-tree, will be wrath with his red children; but let him
remember, and speak it in his ears, that the Mohawk and the Onondaga,
the Seneca and the Cayuga, are not to blame for this act. They say the
Oneidas have done hastily, and they will consult together, around the
council-fire, how thou mayest best be comforted. Haste is only fit for
children. Grown men are slow and deliberate. Why should we go quickly
now? Thy son is safe; for the Oneidas cannot, according to their law,
take any sacrifice, except the life of the slayer, till they be well
assured that he, the slayer, cannot be found."
Mr. Prevost's lip quivered with emotion as if about to speak; but Sir
William Johnson laid his hand upon him, saying, in a quick whisper,
"Leave him to me." And the Onondaga proceeded.
"We will do the best that we can for our brother; but the meadow-lark
has not the strength of the Eagle, nor the fox of the panther; and if
we should fail, it would not be the fault of the Mohawks or the
Onondagas.--I have said."
Sir William Johnson then rose to reply, seeing that the Attotarho
sought to escape any distinct promise, and judging that, with the
support of King Hendrick, a little firmness might wring something more
from him.
"My brother, the Attotarho," he said, "has spoken well. The Five
Nations are leagued together in peace and in war. They take the scalps
of their enemies as one man. They live in brotherhood. But my brother
says that if the Oneida commits a crime, the Mohawk and the Onondaga,
the Seneca and the Cayuga, are not guilty of the act, and therefore
deserve no wrath. But he says at the same time, that if the man named
Woodchuck slays a red man, Walter Prevost, the brother of the red man,
must die for it. How is this? Have the children of the Five Nations
forked tongues? Do they speak double words? If the Onondagas are not
guilty of what the Oneidas do, neither is Walter Prevost guilty of
what the pale-face Woodchuck does. May the Great Spirit forbid that
your great father, near the rising of the sun, should deal unjustly
with his red children, or be wrath with them for acts done by others;
but he does expect that his children of the Five Nations will show the
same justice to his pale-face children; and, unless they are resolved
to take upon themselves the act of the Oneidas, and say their act is
our act, that they will do something to prevent it. My brother says
that haste is for children; and true are his words. Then why have the
Oneidas done this hasty thing? We cannot trust that they will not be
children any more, or that, having done this thing hastily, they will
not hastily do worse. True, everything should be done deliberately; we
should show ourselves men, if we want children to follow our example.
Let us take counsel then fully, while we are here together. The
council-fire burns in the midst of us; and we have time enough to take
thought calmly. Here I will sit till I know that my brothers will do
justice in this matter, and not suffer the son of my brother to remain
in the hands of those who have wrongfully made him a prisoner. Yes,
truly, here I will sit to take counsel with the chiefs, till the words
of wisdom are spoken, even although the sun should go five times round
the earth before our talk were ended. Have I spoken well?"
"Koué! Koué!" exclaimed a number of voices; and one of the old Sachems
rose, saying, in slow and deliberate tones,--
"Our white brother has the word of truth and resolution. The Oneida
has shown the speed of the deer, but not the wisdom of the tortoise.
The law of the Oneida is our law; and he should have waited at least
one moon, to see if the right man could be found. The Oneida must be
in trouble at his own hastiness. Let us deliver him from the pit into
which he has fallen; but let us do it with the silent wisdom of the
snake, which creeps through the grass where no one sees him. The
rattlesnake is the most foolish of reptiles; for he talks of what he
is going to do beforehand. We will be more wise than he is; and, as
our thoughts are good, we will keep them for ourselves. Let us only
say, the boy shall be delivered, if the Mohawks and the Onondagas can
do it; but let us not say how, for a man who gives away a secret
deprives himself of what he can never recover, and benefits nothing
but the wind.--I have said."
All the assembled chiefs expressed their approbation of the old man's
words, and seemed to consider the discussion concluded. Mr. Prevost,
indeed, was anxious to have something more definite; but Sir William
Johnson nodded his head significantly, saying, in a low tone, "We have
done as much,--nay, more, than we could expect. It will be necessary
to close our conference with some gifts, which will be, as it were, a
seal upon our covenant."
"But have they entered into any covenant?" rejoined Mr. Prevost. "I
have heard of none made yet on their part."
"As much as Indians ever do," answered Sir William Johnson; "and you
can extract nothing more from them with your utmost skill."
He then called some of his people from without into the hall, ordered
the stores to be opened, and brought forth some pieces of scarlet
cloth, one of the most honourable presents which could be offered to
an Indian chief. A certain portion was cut off for each, and received
with grave satisfaction. Mats and skins were then spread upon the
floor in great abundance. Long pipes were brought in, and handed
round; and, after having smoked together in profound silence for
nearly half an hour, the chiefs stretched themselves upon the ground,
and composed themselves to rest.
Sir William Johnson and his guest, as a mark of confidence and
brotherhood, remained with them throughout the night, but retired to
the further end of the hall. They did not sleep so soon as their dusky
companions. Their conversation, carried on in low tones, was,
nevertheless, eager and anxious; for the father could not help still
feeling great apprehension regarding the fate of his son; and Sir
William Johnson was not altogether without alarm regarding the
consequences of the very determination to which he had brought the
chiefs of the Mohawks and Onondagas. Symptoms of intestine discord had
of late been perceived in the great Indian confederacy. They had not
acted on the behalf of England with the unanimity which they had
displayed in former years; and it was the policy of the British
Government by every means to heal all divisions and consolidate their
union, as well as to attach them more and more firmly to the English
cause. Although he doubted not that whatever was done by the chiefs
with whom he had just been in conference, would be effected with the
utmost subtlety and secrecy, yet there was still the danger of
producing a conflict between them and the Oneidas in the attempt, or
causing angry feeling even if it were successful; and Sir William, who
was not at all insensible to the value of his government's
approbation, felt some alarm at the prospect before him.
He and Mr. Prevost both slept at length; and the following morning saw
the chiefs dispersing in the gray dawn of a cold and threatening day.