INDIAN DIPLOMACY.
Natah Otann feigned not to have perceived the Count's smile.
"Now that you have recovered," he said to Prairie-Flower, in a gentler
tone than he at first assumed towards her, "mount your horse, and
return to the village. Red Wolf will accompany you; perhaps," he added,
with an Indian smile, "we may again come across cougars, and you are
so frightened at them, that I believe I am doing you a service in
begging you to withdraw."
The young girl, still trembling, bowed and mounted her horse. Red Wolf
had involuntarily made a start of joy on hearing the order the chief
gave him, but the latter, occupied with his thoughts, had not surprised
it.
"One moment," Natah Otann went on, "if living lions frighten you, I
know that in return you greatly value their furs; allow me to offer you
these."
No one can equal the skill of Indians in flaying animals; in an instant
the two lions, over which the vultures were already hovering and
forming wide circles, were stripped of their rich hides, which were
thrown across Red Wolfs horse. That animal, terrified by the smell that
emanated from the skins, reared furiously, and almost unsaddled its
rider, who had great difficulty in restraining it.
"Now go," the Chief said, drily, dismissing them with a haughty gesture.
Prairie-Flower and Red Wolf departed at a gallop; Natah Otann watched
them for a long time, then let his head fall on his breast, as he
uttered a deep sigh, and appeared plunged in gloomy thought. A moment
later he felt a hand pressing heavily on his chest; he raised his
head--White Buffalo was before him.
"What do you want with me?" he asked, angrily.
"Do you not know?" the old man said, looking at him fixedly.
Natah Otann quivered.
"It is true," he said, "the hour has arrived, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Are all precautions taken?"
"All."
"Come on then; but where are they?"
"Look at them."
While uttering these words, White Buffalo pointed to the Count and his
comrades lying on the grass, at the skirt of a wood, about two hundred
yards from the Indian encampment.
"Ah, they keep aloof," the Chief observed, bitterly.
"Is not that better for the conversation which we wish to have with
them?"
"You are right."
The two men then walked up to the hunters without speaking again. The
latter had really kept away, not through contempt for the Indians, but
in order to be more at liberty. What had occurred after the death of
the cougars, the brutal way in which the Chief spoke to Prairie-Flower,
had vexed the Count, and it needed all the power he possessed over
himself, and the entreaties of Bright-eye, to prevent him breaking out
in reproaches of the Chief, whose conduct appeared to him unjustifiably
coarse.
"Hum," he said, "this man is decidedly a ruffian: I am beginning to be
of your opinion, Bright-eye."
"Bah! that is nothing yet," the latter replied, with a shrug of his
shoulders; "we shall see plenty more, if we only remain a week with
these demons."
While speaking, the Canadian had reloaded his rifle and pistols.
"Do as I do," he continued; "no one knows what may happen."
"What need of that precaution? are we not under the protection of the
Indians, whose guests we are?"
"Possibly; but no matter, you had better follow my advice, for with
Indians you can never answer for the future."
"There is considerable truth in what you say; what I have just seen
does not at all inspire me with confidence."
The Count, therefore, began reloading his weapons; as for Ivon, he had
not used his. The two Indian Chiefs came up at the moment the Count
finished loading the last pistol.
"Oh, oh!" Natah Otann said, in French, saluting the young man
with studied politeness, "have you scented any wild beast in the
neighbourhood?"
"Perhaps so," the latter replied, as he returned his pistols to his
belt.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Nothing but what I say."
"Unfortunately for me, doubtlessly, that is so subtile, that I do not
understand it."
"I am sorry for it, sir; but I can only reply to you by an old Latin
proverb."
"Which is?"
"What need to repeat it, as you do not understand Latin?"
"Suppose I do understand it?"
"Well, then, as you insist upon it, here it is--_si vis pacem para
bellum_."
"Which means--" the Chief said, impertinently, while White Buffalo bit
his lips.
"Which means--" the Count said.
"If you wish for peace, prepare for war," White Buffalo hurriedly
interrupted.
"It was you who said it," the Count remarked, bowing with a mocking
smile.
The three men stood face to face, like skilful duellists, who feel
the adversary's sword before engaging, and who, having recognized
themselves to be of equal strength, redouble their prudence before
dealing a decisive thrust.
Bright-eye, though not understanding much of this skirmish of words,
had still, through the distrust which was the basis of his character,
given Ivon a side-glance, and both, though apparently inattentive,
were ready for any event. After the Count's last remark there was a
lengthened silence, which Natah Otann was the first to break.
"You believe yourself to be among enemies, then?" he asked, in a tone
of wounded pride.
"I did not say so," he replied, "and such is not my thought; still, I
confess that all I have seen during the last few days is so strange to
me, that, in spite of all my attempts, I can form no settled opinion
either about men or things, and that causes me deep reflection."
"Ah!" the Indian said, coldly, "and what is it so strange you see
around you? Would you be kind enough to inform me?"
"I see no harm in doing so, if you wish it."
"You will cause me intense pleasure by explaining yourself."
"I am quite ready to do so; the more so, as I have ever been accustomed
to express my thoughts freely, and I see no reason for disguising them
today."
The two Chiefs bowed, and said nothing; the Count rested his hands on
the muzzle of his gun, and continued, while regarding them fixedly--
"My faith, gentlemen, since you wish me to unveil my thoughts, you
shall have them in their entirety: we are here in the wilds of the
American prairies, that is, in the wildest countries of the new
Continent; you are always on hostile terms with the whites; you
Blackfeet are regarded as the most untameable, savage, and ferocious of
the Indians; or, in other words, the most devoid of the civilization of
all the aboriginal nations."
"Well," Natah Otann remarked, "what do you find strange in that? Is
it our fault if our despoilers, since the discovery of the new world,
have tracked us like wild beasts, driven us back in the desert, and
regarded us as beings scarcely endowed with the instinct of the brute?
You must blame them, and not us. By what right do you reproach us with
a brutalization and barbarism, produced by our persecutors and not by
ourselves?"
"You have not understood me, sir: if, instead of interrupting me, you
had listened patiently a few minutes longer, you would have seen that I
not merely do not reproach you for that brutalization, but pity it in
my heart; for, although I have been only a few months in the desert,
I have been on several occasions in a position to judge the unhappy
race to which you belong, and appreciate the good qualities it still
possesses, and which the odious tyranny of the whites has not succeeded
in eradicating, despite all the means employed to attain that end."
The two Chiefs exchanged a glance of satisfaction; the generous words
uttered by the young man gave them hopes as to the success of their
negotiation.
"Pardon me, and pray continue," Natah Otann said, with a bow.
"I will do so:" the Count went on: "I repeat it, it was not that
barbarism which astonished me, for I supposed it to be greater than
it really is: what seemed strange to me was to find in the heart of
the desert, where we now are, amid the ferocious Indians who surround
us, two men, two Chiefs of these self-same Indians--I will not say
civilized, for the word is not strong enough--but utterly conversant
with all the secrets of the most advanced and refined civilization,
speaking my maternal tongue with the most extreme purity, and seeming,
in a word, to have nothing Indian about them, save the dress they
wear. It seemed strange to me that two men, for an object I know not,
changing in turn their manners and fashions, are at one moment savage
Indians, at another perfect gentlemen; but instead of trying to raise
their countrymen from the barbarism in which they pine, they wallow in
it with them, feigning to be as ignorant and cruel as themselves. I
confess to you, gentlemen, that all this not only appeared strange to
me, but even frightened me."
"Frightened!" the two Chiefs exclaimed, simultaneously.
"Yes, frightened!" the Count continued, quickly; "for a life of
continual feints, such as you lead, must conceal some dark plot.
Lastly, I am frightened, because your conduct towards me, the urgency
with which you sought to attract me amongst you, causes involuntary
suspicions to spring up in my heart as to your secret intentions."
"And what are those suspicions, sir?" Natah Otann asked, haughtily.
"I am afraid that you wish to make me your accomplice in some
scandalous deed."
These words, pronounced vehemently, burst like a thunderbolt on the
ears of the two strange Chiefs; they were terrified by the perspicuity
of the young man, and for several moments knew not what to say, to
disculpate themselves.
"Sir!" Natah Otann at length exclaimed, violently.
White Buffalo checked him by a majestic gesture.
"It is my duty," he said, "to reply to our guest's words: in his turn,
after the frank and loyal explanation he has given us, he has a right
to one equally frank on our side."
"I am listening to you," the young man said, coolly.
"Of the two men now standing before you, one is your fellow countryman."
"Ah!" the Count muttered.
"That countryman is myself."
The young man bowed coldly.
"I suspected it," he said, "and it is a further reason to heighten my
suspicions."
Natah Otann made a gesture.
"Let him speak," White Buffalo said, holding him back.
"What I have to say will not be long, sir: it is my opinion that the
man who consents to exchange the blessings of European civilization for
a precarious life on the prairie; who breaks all the ties of family
and friendship which attached him to his country, in order to adopt an
Indian life--in my opinion that man must have many disgraceful actions
to reproach himself with, and his remorse forces him to offer society
expiation for them."
The old man's brow contracted, and a livid pallor covered his face.
"You are very young, sir," he said, "to have the right to bring such
accusations against an old man whose actions, life, and even name are
unknown to you."
"That is true, sir," the Count answered, nobly. "Pardon any insult my
words may have conveyed."
"Why should I be angry with you?" he continued, in a sad voice; "a
child born yesterday, whose eyes opened amid songs and fêtes, whose
life, which counts but a few days, has been spent gently and calmly in
the peace and prosperity of that beloved France which I weep for every
day."
"Who are you, sir?" he asked.
"Who I am?" the old man said, bitterly. "I am one of those crushed
Titans who sat in the Convention of 1793."
The Count fell back a pace, letting fall the hand he had taken.
"Oh!" he said.
The exile looked at him searchingly.
"Enough of this," he said, raising his head and assuming a firm and
resolute tone; "you are in our hands, sir, any resistance will be
useless; so listen to our propositions."
The Count shrugged his shoulders.
"You throw off the mask," he said, "and I prefer that; but allow me one
remark before listening to you."
"What is it?"
"I am of noble birth, as you are aware, and hence we are old enemies;
on whatever ground we may meet, we can only stand face to face, never
side by side."
"They are ever the same," the other muttered; "this haughty race may be
broken, but not bent."
The Count bowed, and folded his arms on his breast.
"I am waiting," he said.
"Time presses," the exile continued; "any discussion between us would
be superfluous, as we cannot agree."
"At least, that is clear," the Count remarked, with a smile; "now for
the rest."
"It is this: in two days, all the Indian nations will rise as one man
to crush the American tyranny."
"What do I care for that? Have I come so far to dabble in politics?"
The exile repressed a movement of anger.
"Unfortunately, your will is not free; you are here to obey our
conditions, and not to impose your own: you must accept or die."
"Oh, oh, always your old means, as it seems, but I will be patient:
come, what is it you expect from me?"
"We demand," he went on, laying a stress on every word, "that you
should take the command of all the warriors, and direct the expedition
in person."
"Why I, rather than anyone else?"
"Because you alone can play the part we give you."
"Nonsense--you are mad."
"You must be so, if, since your stay among the Indians, you have not
seen that you would have been killed long ago, had we not been careful
to spread reports about you, which gained you general respect, in spite
of your rashness and blind confidence in yourself."
"Eh, then, this has been prepared a long time?"
"For centuries."
"Hang it!" the Count went on, still sarcastically, "what have I to do
in all this?"
"Oh, sir, not much," the White Buffalo answered, with a sneer; "and
anyone else would have suited us just as well; unfortunately for you,
you have an extraordinary likeness to the man who can alone march at
our head; and as this man died long ago, it is not probable that he
will come from his grave expressly to guide us to battle; hence you
must take his place."
"Very well; and would there be any indiscretion in asking you the name
of the man to whom I bear so wonderful a likeness?"
"Not the slightest," the old man replied, coldly; "the more so, because
you have doubtlessly already heard his name; it is Motecuhzoma."
The Count burst into a laugh.
"Come!" he said, "it is a capital joke; but I find it a little too
long. Now, a word in my turn."
"Speak."
"Whatever you may do, whatever means you may employ, I will never
consent to serve you in any way. Now, as I am your guest, placed under
the guarantee of your honour, I request you to let me pass."
"That resolution is decided."
"Yes."
"You will not change it."
"Whatever happens."
"We shall see that," the old man remarked, coldly.
The Count looked at him contemptuously.
"Make way there," he said, resolutely.
The two Chiefs shrugged their shoulders.
"We are savages," Natah Otann said, gibingly.
"Make way!" the Count repeated, as he cocked his rifle.
Natah Otann whistled; in an instant, some fifteen Indians rushed from
the wood, and fell on the white men, who, however, though surprised,
endured the shock bravely. Standing instinctively back to back, with
shoulder supported against shoulder, they suddenly formed a tremendous
triangle, before which the Redskins were constrained to halt.
"Oh, oh," Bright-eye said, "I fancy we are going to have some fun."
"Yes," Ivon muttered, crossing himself piously; "but we shall be
killed."
"Probably," the Canadian said.
"Fall back!" the Count ordered.
The three men then began to retire slowly toward the wood, the only
shelter that offered, without separating, and still pointing their
rifles at the Indians. The Redskins are brave, even rash; that question
cannot be disguised or doubted; but with them courage is calculated;
they never fight save to gain an object, and are not fond of risking
their lives unprofitably. They hesitated.
"I fancy we did well to reload our arms," the Count said, ironically,
but with perfect calmness.
"By Jove!" Bright-eye said, with a grin.
"No matter, I am very frightened," Ivon groaned his eyes sparkling and
his lips quivering.
"_Eha_, sons of blood!" Natah Otann shouted, as he cocked his gun. "Do
three Palefaces frighten you? Forward! Forward!"
The Indians uttered their war yell, and rushed on the hunters. The
other Indians, warned of what was happening by the shouts of their
comrades, ran up hurriedly to take part in the fight.