An hour had passed after the conversation detailed in the last
chapter, and Woodchuck had steadily and sturdily refused to pursue any
further the subject of his fixed determination, although both Mr.
Prevost and Edith, deeply touched, and, to say truth, much agitated,
would fain have dwelt upon the topic longer. Edith felt, and Mr.
Prevost argued in his own mind, that the poor man was performing a
generous and self-devoted act, which no moral obligation forced upon
him. They felt, too, that so noble a heart was not one which ought to
be sacrificed to the vengeful spirit of the Indians; and the natural
feeling of joy and satisfaction which they experienced at the apparent
certainty of Walter's deliverance from death seemed to them almost a
crime when it was to be purchased at so dear a price.
Woodchuck's obstinacy, however, had conquered; the subject had been
changed; and, as they now sat together in the little room, to which he
had led the way after speaking the last words cited, they continued,
while the shades of evening gathered quickly round them, a broken sort
of conversation upon topics connected with that which they had
quitted, though avoiding the point which was most painfully prominent
in the mind of each. They rambled a good deal indeed, though ever
taking a direction which faintly showed, like the waves in the trees
marking the course of a forest-path, what the mind was running on
beneath the mere words.
Sometimes gazing into the embers of the fire with his feet upon the
hearth, Woodchuck would talk, neither unphilosophically nor
unlearnedly in the best of all learning, upon a world to come, and
life immortal, and compensation beyond the grave; and, in his
simplicity, his words would reach almost to the sublime. Then, at
other times, they would speak of the Indians, and their habits, and
their good and bad qualities; and here many of the poor man's
prejudices were seen clinging to him strongly.
"They are like vermin," he would say; "and the devil himself has a
share in them. I have heard people talk largely of their generosity,
and all that; but I guess I've not seen much of it."
Mr. Prevost was silent, for his feelings had suffered a natural change
towards the Indians; but Edith exclaimed warmly--
"We cannot say that of dear Otaitsa, at all events, Woodchuck, for she
surely has a heart full of generosity and everything that is noble."
"That's nat'ral, that's nat'ral," answered Woodchuck; "that comes of
the blood that is in her. For that matter, Black Eagle has some fine
things about him--he's the best of them I ever saw. We used to say,
whole Ingian, half devil; but I think in his case it must have been
quarter devil, and that's saying a good deal for so fierce a man as he
in battle. They say he has scalped more enemies than all his tribe put
together; especially in that war down upon the Pennsylvania side some
nineteen years ago, when some of our people foolishly took part with
the Mohaguns."
Mr. Prevost started, and Woodchuck went on, saying,--"He has good
things about him, for he always makes his people spare the women and
children, which is what them Ingians seldom think of. A scalp's a
scalp to them, whether it has got long hair on it or only a
scalp-lock. But, as I was saying, the Blossom has got all that is good
in him, and all that was good in her mother, poor thing! and that was
a mighty great deal."
"I have often wished," said Mr. Prevost, "that I could hear something
of Otaitsa's history. Her mother, I believe, was a white woman, and I
have more than once tried, when I found the Black Eagle in a
communicative mood, to lead him to speak upon the subject; but the
moment it was touched upon, he would wrap his blanket round him, and
stalk away."
"Ay, he has never forgotten her," said Woodchuck. "He never took
another wife, you know; and well he may remember her, for she was his
better angel, and ruled him completely, which was what no one else
could. But I can tell you all about it if you like to know; for I
heard it all from an old squaw one time, and I saw the lady once too
myself, and talked to her."
"I think," said Edith, thoughtfully, "that she must have been a lady;
for, when I was in their lodge, I saw in Otaitsa's little chamber a
great number of things of European manufacture, and of high taste."
"May not those have been procured for the dear girl by our good friend
Gore?" asked Mr. Prevost; "he is a man of much taste himself."
"I think not," answered Edith; "they are evidently old, and seemed to
have belonged to one person. Besides, there are a number of drawings,
all evidently done by one hand--not what any one would purchase, and
apparently the production of an amateur, rather than of an artist."
Mr. Prevost fell into a fit of thought, and leaned his head upon his
hand; but Woodchuck said,--
"Oh, they are her mother's; beyond doubt, they are her mother's. She
was quite a lady every inch of her; you could hear it in the tone of
her voice; you could see it in her walk; her words too were all those
of a lady, and her hand was so small and delicate, it could never have
seen work. Do you know, Miss Edith, she was wonderful like you--more
like you than Otaitsa; but I'll tell you all about it just as I heard
it from the old squaw.
"At the time I talk of," continued he, "that's a good many years
ago--eighteen or nineteen may be--Black Eagle was the handsomest
young man that had ever been seen in the tribes, they say, and the
fiercest warrior too. He was always ready to take part in any war; and
whenever fighting was going on, he was there. Well, the Delawares had
not been quite brought under at that time by the Five Nations; and he
went down with his warriors, and the Mohawks, to fight against the
Mohaguns--they were Delawares too, you know; some were on the
Monongahela river, just at the corner of Pennsylvania and Virginny.
Our people had given some help to the Mohaguns, and they were at that
time just laying the foundations of a fort, which the French got hold
of afterwards, and called Fort Du Quesne.
"Well, there was an old general officer, who thought he would go up
and see how the works were going on; and, as things were quiet enough
just then--though it was but a calm before a storm--he took his
daughter with him, and journeyed away pleasantly enough through the
woods, I dare say, though it must have been slow work; for, as he
intended to stay all the summer, the old man took a world of baggage
with him; but, the third or fourth night after leaving the civilized
parts, they lodged in an Ingian village; when, all in a minute, just
as they were going to bed, down comes Black Eagle upon them, with his
warriors. There was a dreadful fight in the village; nothing but
screams, and war-whoops, and rifle-shots; and the Mohaguns, poor
devils! were almost put out that night, for they were taken unawares,
and they do say, not a man escaped alive out of the wigwam.
"At the first fire, out runs the old general from the hut, and at the
same minute a rifle ball, perhaps from a friend, perhaps from an
enemy, no one can tell, goes right through his heart. Black Eagle was
collecting scalps all this time; but when he turned round, or came
back, or however it might be, there he found this poor young lady, the
officer's daughter, crying over her father. Well, he wouldn't suffer
them to hurt her; but he took her away to the Oneida country with him,
and gathered up all her goods and chattels, and her father's, and
carried them off too, but all for her; for it seems that he fell in
love with her at first sight. What, they say, made her first like him,
was, that he wouldn't let his savages scalp the old man, telling them
that the English were allies, and declaring that the ball that killed
him had not come from an Oneida rifle.
"However that may be, the poor girl had no choice but to marry Black
Eagle, though his mother said that, being a great chief's daughter,
she made him promise never to have another wife; and, if ever a
Christian priest came there, to be married to her according to her own
fashion."
While he spoke, Mr. Prevost remained apparently buried in deep and
very gloomy thought. But he had heard every word; and his mind had
more than once wandered wide away, as was its wont, to collateral
things, not only in the present, but in the past. It was a strange
habit of his--a sort of discrepancy in his character--thus to suffer
his thoughts to be turned aside by any accidental circumstance even in
matters of deep interest; for, in times of action--when it was
necessary to decide and do--no intellect was ever more prompt and
decisive than his own, going straight forward to its object with great
and startling rapidity. Where there was nothing to be done, however,
where it was all a matter of mere thought, this rambling mood almost
always prevailed: but still, like a stream flowing through a level
country, and turning aside at every little obstacle, though pursuing
its onward course towards the sea and reaching it at length, his mind,
sooner or later, got back into the course from which it had deviated.
When Woodchuck stopped, he raised his head and gazed at him for a
moment in the face, with a look of earnest and melancholy inquiry.
"Did you ever hear her name?" he asked. "Can you tell me her father's
name?"
"No," replied Woodchuck. "I had the history almost all from the old
squaw, and if she had tried to give me an English name she would have
manufactured something such as never found its way into an English
mouth. All she told me was that the father was a great chief among the
English, by which I made out that she meant a general."
"Probably it was her father's portrait that I saw at the Indian
castle," said Edith. "There was hanging up in Otaitsa's room a picture
that struck me more than any of the others, except, indeed, the
portrait of a lady. It was that of a man in a military dress of
antique cut. His hand was stretched out with his drawn sword in it,
and he was looking round with a commanding air, as if telling his
soldiers to follow. I marked it particularly at first, because the sun
was shining on it, and because the frame was covered with the most
beautiful Indian beadwork I ever saw. That of the lady too was
similarly ornamented; but there was another which interested me
much--a small pencil drawing of a young man's head, so like Walter,
that, at first, I almost fancied dear Otaitsa had been trying to take
his portrait from memory."
"Would you remember the old man's face, my child, if you saw it
again?" asked Mr. Prevost, gazing earnestly at his daughter.
"I think so," answered Edith, a little confused by her father's
eagerness. "I am quite sure I should."
"Wait then a moment," said Mr. Prevost, "and call for lights, my
child."
As he spoke, he rose and quitted the room; but he was several minutes
gone, and lights were burning in the chamber when he returned. He was
burdened with several pictures of small size, which he spread out upon
the table, while Edith and Woodchuck both rose to gaze at them.
"There, there!" cried Edith, putting her finger upon one, "there is
the head of the old officer, though the attitude is different, and
there is the lady too; but I do not see the portrait of the young
man."
"Edith," said her father, laying his hand affectionately upon hers,
and shaking his head, sadly, "he is no longer young, but he stands
beside you, my child. That is the picture of my father, that of my
mother. Otaitsa must be your cousin. Poor Jessie! we have always
thought her dead, although her body was not found with that of her
father. Better had she been dead, probably."
"No, no, Prevost," said Woodchuck, "not a bit of it. Black Eagle made
her as kind a husband as ever was seen. You might have looked all
Europe and America through, and not found so good a one. Then think of
all she did, too, in the place where she was. God sent her there to
make better people than she found. From the time she went, to the time
she died, poor thing! there was no more war and bloodshed, or very
little of it. Then she got a Christian minister amongst them--at
least, he never would have been suffered to set his foot there if she
had not been Black Eagle's wife. It is a hard thing to tell what is
really good, and what is really evil, in this world. For my part, I
think, if everything is not exactly good, which few of us would like
to say it is, yet good comes out of it like a flower growing out of a
dunghill; and there's no telling what good to the end of time this
lady's going there may produce. Bad enough it was for her, I dare say,
at first, but she got reconciled to it; so you mustn't say, it would
have been better if she had died."
"It is strange, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, "what turns human fate will
take! That she--brought up in the midst of luxury, educated with the
utmost refinement, sought and admired by all who knew her--should
reject two of the most distinguished men in Europe, to go to this wild
land, and marry an Indian savage! Men talk of Fate and Destiny; and
there are certainly strange turns of fortune so beyond all human
calculation and regulation, that one would almost believe that the
doctrine of the Fatalists is true."
"Do you not think, my dear father," said Edith, waking up from a
profound reverie, "that this strange discovery might be turned to some
great advantage? that Walter, perhaps, might be saved without the
necessity of our poor friend here sacrificing his own life to deliver
him?"
"That's like a kind, dear girl," interposed Woodchuck; "but I can tell
you it's no use."
"Still," urged Edith, "Otaitsa ought to know; for Black Eagle
certainly would never slay the nephew of a wife so dear to him."
"It's no use," repeated Woodchuck, almost impatiently. "Don't you
know, Miss Edith, that Walter and the Blossom are in love with each
other? and that's worth all the blood relationship in the world--
'Sometimes it doesn't last as long,
But, while it does, 'tis twice as strong.'
Then as to Black Eagle, he'd kill his own son, if the customs of his
people required it. I guess it would only make him tomahawk poor
Walter the sooner, just to show that he would not let any human
feeling stand in the way of their devilish practices. No, no; much
better keep it quiet. It might do harm, for aught we can tell; it can
and will do no good. Let that thing rest, my dear child. It is settled
and decreed. I am ready now, and I shall never be so ready again. Let
me take one more look at my mountains, and my lakes, and my rivers,
and my woods, and I have done with this life. Then, God in His mercy
receive me into another! Amen.--Hark! there is some one coming up at a
good gallop. That noble young lord, I dare say."
It was as Woodchuck supposed; and, the moment after, Lord
H---- entered the room with a beaming look of joy and satisfaction in
his countenance. He held a packet of considerable size in his hand,
and advanced at once to Mr. Prevost, saying--
"My dear sir, I am rejoiced to present you with this letter, not alone
because it will give you some satisfaction, but because it removes the
stain of ingratitude from the government of the country. His Majesty's
present ministers are sensible that you have not received justice;
that your long services to the country in various ways--all that you
have done, in short, to benefit and ameliorate your race, and to
advocate all that is good and noble--have been treated with long
neglect, which amounts to an offence; and they now offer you, as some
atonement, a position which may lead to wealth and distinction, which,
I trust, is but the step to more."
"What is it, George, what is it?" asked Edith, eagerly.
"It is, I am told," replied Lord H----, "in a letter which accompanied
the packet, a commission as commissary-general of the army here, and
an offer of the rank of baronet."
"Thank God!" exclaimed Edith; and then, seeing a look of surprise at
her earnestness come upon her noble lover's face, a bright smile
played round her lips for a moment, and she added--"I say, thank God,
George--not that I am glad my father should have such things, for I
hope he will decline them both; but because the very offer will heal
an old wound, by showing him that zealous exertions and the exercise
of high and noble qualities are not always to be treated with neglect,
forgetfulness, and contempt. He will be glad of it, I am sure,
whatever his decision may be."
"Now I understand you, my own love," answered Lord H----. "With regard
to the baronetcy, he shall do as he will; but I must press him
earnestly to accept the office tendered to him. To decline it might
show some resentment. By accepting it, he incurs no peril, and he
serves his country; for, from his knowledge of the people here, of the
physical features of the land and its resources, and of the habits and
feelings of all classes, I believe no man could be found, with one or
two exceptions, so well fitted for the task as himself. Ah, my good
friend, Captain Brooks, how do you do? I have much wished to see you
lately, and to hear of your plans."
"I am as well as may be, my lord," replied Woodchuck, wringing in his
heavy grasp the hand which Lord H---- extended to him. "As for my
plans, they are the same as ever--you did not doubt me, I am sure."
"I did not," returned Lord H----, gravely; and, looking down, he fell
into a fit of thought. At length, looking up, he added, "And yet, my
good friend, I am glad you have had time for reflection; for since we
last met I have somewhat reproached myself for, at least, tacit
encouragement of an act in the approval of which so many personal
motives mingle that one may well doubt oneself. Forgive me,
Edith--forgive me, Mr. Prevost,--if I ask our friend here if he has
well considered and weighed in his mind, calmly and reasonably,
without bias--nay, without enthusiasm--whether there be any moral
obligation on him to perform an act which I suppose he has told you he
contemplates."
"There is no forgiveness needed, my lord," replied Mr. Prevost. "I
would have put the same question to him, if he would have let me.
Nay, more; I would have told him--whatever I might suffer by the
result--that, in my judgment, there was no moral obligation. Because
he did a justifiable act, these Indians commit one that is
unjustifiable upon an innocent man. That can be no reason why he
should sacrifice his life to save the other. God forbid that, even for
the love of my own child, I should deal in such a matter unjustly. I
am no Roman, father--I pretend not to be such. If my own death will
satisfy them, let them take the old tree withered at the root, and
spare the sapling full of strength and promise. But let me not
doom--let me not advise--a noble and honest man to sacrifice himself
from a too generous impulse."
"I don't know much of moral obligations," replied Woodchuck, gravely;
"but I guess I have thought over the thing as much as e'er a one of
you. I have made up my mind just upon one principle, and there let it
rest, in God's name. I say to myself: 'Woodchuck, it's not right, is
it, that any one should suffer for what you ha' done?' 'No, it's not.'
'Well, is there any use talking of whether they've a right to make him
suffer for your act or not? They'll do it.' 'No; there's no use o'
talking; because they'll do it. It's only shuffling off the
consequences of what you did upon another man's shoulders. You never
did that, Woodchuck; don't do it now. Man might say, "It's all fair;"
God might pardon it; but your own heart would never forgive it.'"
Edith sprang forward, and took both his hands, with the tears rolling
over her cheeks.
"God will prevent it," she said, earnestly. "I have faith in Him. He
will deliver us in our utmost need. He provided the Patriarch with an
offering, and spared his son. He will find us a means of escape if we
but trust in Him."
"Miss Edith," replied Woodchuck solemnly, "He may, or He may not,
according to His good pleasure; but of this I am certain, that, though
Christ died for our transgressions, we have no right to see any one
else suffer for our doings. I have read my Bible a great deal up there
on the hill-side lately--more than I ever did before, since I was a
little boy--and I'm quite certain of what I'm about. It has been a
comfort and a strength to me. It's all so clear--so very clear. Other
books one may not understand--one can't misunderstand _that_--unless
one tries very hard. And now, pray let us have an end o't here. My
mind is quite made up. There is no use in saying a word more."
All the rest were silent, and Edith left the room, with: the large
tears falling down her face.