sorely grieved at heart. He began to pine away. His soft and melancholy
eye became dull. He had no pleasure in the chase which took him far from
the encampment. Every step that he trod in pursuit led him farther from
the spot trodden by her, the very soles of whose feet he worshiped, and
he could not continue. Thus, when a stray buffalo would cross him, easy
to be killed, and offering himself as an unerring mark to his rifle, his
passion would so trouble his mind as to unnerve his arm. Then the ball
would pass unwounding by, and the half sneers of his companions arise
and bring the blush to his cheek; as they bade him tauntingly leave the
rifle to be handled by men, and go and amuse himself with the women. In
like manner he sought to avoid the war-dance, and the ball playing, and
the foot-race, for his mind was too painfully interested to engage
unrestrainedly in these amusements, and unless excellence was to be
obtained in whatever he undertook, Wawandah cared not to be a
competitor. Wawandah was beginning to lose caste not only with the
elders of the tribe but with the young men who were jealous of his
superiority, and so much was he talked of that the very women knew all
that was said by the warriors, and the Sunflower like the rest. It was
the first time Wawandah had ever come under the notice of her he so
fondly loved, and as he knew the cause, he secretly blessed the fate
which had, even under circumstances so humiliating to the pride of a
warrior, been the cause of her bestowing even the slightest attention
upon him.
The White Bear had been the friend of the father of Wawandah, who for
ten long years, according to Indian computation, had slumbered in his
grave with the red stained pole at its head. Since he had taken the
Sunflower to his bosom, he had neglected the boy, for his own breast was
full of the natural selfishness of love, and he had not found time to
regard him as he would have done had he been free from the influence
that now exclusively governed him in all things. But when the Sunflower
told him that there was a youth in the village who, oppressed by some
secret care, had so degenerated in the tastes and pursuits of the young
warriors, as absolutely to have incurred their scorn, her husband
recollected the name, and determined as far as he could to comfort him,
and to restore to him the respect of his tribe; and straightway he sent
a young boy to the wigwam of Wawandah, who was then lying on the skin of
a grizzly bear, which he had killed before the spirit of guilty love had
entered into his heart, and the recollection of his skill and prowess in
obtaining which was the only circumstance that still preserved to him a
certain consideration among the elders of the tribe. Astonished, almost
dismayed at the message, Wawandah rose from his couch, and disguising
his feelings, said to the young messenger, “That it was good. He would
go to White Bear’s wigwam presently.” The boy departed, and Wawandah was
torn with emotion. What was the meaning of this message? Since the death
of his father, the Black Vulture, the White Bear had taken no other
notice of him than he had of the young warriors generally; then how was
it that he sent for him now, when almost shunned by the young men of his
tribe; he bowed submissively and uncomplainingly to the effects of the
passion that was preying upon his heart, rendering him regardless of all
things else. Why, he again asked himself, was this? Or had the White
Bear discovered his secret in the only way in which it could have
transpired—through his eyes—and sent for him to reprove and to
threaten. Still he was glad that he was sent for, no matter for what
reason, for there was a faint hope at his heart that the Sunflower might
be present at the interview in the wigwam, and he felt that it would be
pleasant to be condemned in her hearing for that which she alone had,
however innocently, occasioned.
Still, with slow, and timid, and undecided step, he approached the tent
of the great chief. The latter motioned him to be seated. Wawandah, who,
on entering, had seen in a corner of the tent a muffled figure, which
his beating heart told him was the wife of the White Bear, silently
obeyed, and waited until the chief had finished his pipe. Wawandah now
and then turned his eyes furtively in the direction of the squaw who was
embroidering moccasins with the dyed quills of the porcupine, and could
perceive that she, too, occasionally glanced at him in the same furtive
manner. The heart of Wawandah was troubled yet full of gladness. To be
looked at with interest by the Sunflower had been the summit of his
highest ambition.
“Wawandah,” said the White Bear, who had finished his pipe, and was now
emptying the bowl of its ashes, “the chief, your father, was a great
warrior in the tribe; and when, a year after his death, you slew the
white bear that was about to kill a young girl, all the tribe thought
that you too would become a great warrior. What says my son—why is
this?”
“Ugh!” was the sole and assentient reply of the youth.
“The braves say you cannot shoot, and that your arm is wide as that of a
squaw from the buffalo or the deer—that every papoose can beat you in
the race—that you cannot wrestle, and that the ball never rebounds from
your foot. Is this true? Are you no longer a warrior? Why is this, my
son?”
Wawandah was silent for a moment, and then placing his palm over his
heart, he said in so mournful a tone, that the Sunflower suddenly
started and looked up. “Very sick here. Wawandah wishes only to
encounter another bear. The victory would not be the same.”
As he uttered these words, his eyes beaming with melancholy tenderness
were turned upon the wife of the White Bear. It was just at that moment
she looked up. Their glances met. His dark and handsome features became
flushed with crimson, as he traced in hers he thought, pity, sorrow, and
a full understanding of his position. A thousand delicious thoughts
possessed his being. That look of commiseration had repaid him for every
insult he had endured. To be rewarded by another, he would have
subjected himself to the same a thousand fold. As for the Sunflower, she
could not tell wherefore, but it seemed to her as if a new light had
dawned upon her being.
“My son,” said the chief, presenting his hand, “I pity you, for I see it
all. You love a squaw, who does not love you—and that I know is enough
to turn the rifle aside, and check the speed of the race. When the heart
is sick the body is sick also. I am old, Wawandah, but I know it—
“See!” he continued, after a short pause, “there is one who ought to be
your sister. The White Bear owes her life to you. Without your arm his
wigwam would be as a desert. Taken from the fangs of one white bear, you
have preserved her for the arms of another.”
The Sunflower and Wawandah looked this time fully, tenderly into each
other’s eyes—a new affinity had been created—a new tie mutually
acknowledged. It was the first time they had been made aware that she
was the young girl thus saved. They both colored deeply, and with a
consciousness that that information was fraught with good or evil, for
the future, to themselves. Both awaited with interest and impatience
what was to follow.
“Wawandah,” pursued the chief, “I feel that I have wronged you by
neglect. But I will make amends for it. Once more you shall be a man—a
hunter—a warrior. You shall abandon your tent and live in mine. It is
large enough for us all. The Sunflower will be glad to receive him who
saved her life in the most daring manner. Her smiles will make you
forget your hopeless love, and when her hands have prepared the morning
meal, we shall go forth to the chase, for I, too, feel that my pretty
Sunflower too often dazzles my path with its brightness, and keeps me
from the tracks of the deer and buffalo.”
“Oh, the friend of my father is too good,” replied Wawandah, with a
manner changed, from despair to life and hope, which, although unheeded
by the husband, was not lost upon his beautiful wife. “Wawandah is
thankful. He will sleep in the wigwam of the White Bear, and gain from
his goodness new courage to his heart, and strength to his arm, and
skill to his eye. He will go forth to the chase as before. He will
forget the love of the woman he cannot have, in the friendship of his
sister—in the child the Good Spirit allowed him to save for the friend
of his father. Wawandah will be happy, and the White Bear will make him
so.”
The Sunflower rose from the spot where she was seated at her work, and
moving in all her gracefulness and dignity of carriage to her husband’s
side, leaned over him, and thanked him for his goodness in permitting
her to aid in soothing him to whom she owed her life and happiness with
him.
“Wawandah,” said the husband of the Sunflower, “you may go; I wished to
give ease to your heart—not to pine away like a love-sick woman. You
live here. I am not quite old enough to be your father, for
five-and-twenty years have passed over your head, but I shall be every
thing else to you; nor is Sunflower old enough to be your mother, but
she shall be your sister, and her laughing eye shall make you glad. Go,
then, part with your wigwam, and let it be known throughout the tribe
the White Bear adopts you as his son.”
From that hour Wawandah became a changed man. He lived in the wigwam of
the White Bear. The beautiful Sunflower was ever before his eyes. Her
presence inspired, her soft eye turned in gratitude upon him who had
preserved her life, infused animation, if not hope, into his being. He
had no other thought, no other desire than to be loved by the Sunflower
as by a sister, to be near her, to listen to her sweet voice, to mark
the expression of her beautiful eyes, to follow the graceful movements
of her tall form—all this he enjoyed, and he was happy. Sustained by
her approval, once more the buffalo and the elk fell beneath his
unerring rifle, and his honors graced the interior of the tent which the
Sunflower decorated with her own hands. Again he was foremost in the
race, and left his competitors behind when darting into the swollen
stream they buffeted against the strong current that essayed to check
their upward progress. In the wrestling-ring no one could equal his
dexterity and strength; and where once his foot touched the ball, no
opponent could bear from him his prize until it had reached the desired
goal. The women were often spectators of these sports, and approved the
manliness and activity of the handsome and modest-looking Wawandah, but
none more than his newly found sister, the peerless Sunflower of the
White Bear.
“Strange!” she would muse to herself, as she saw him amidst the loud
plaudits of the aged and the young of the warriors, of the matron and of
the maid bear off every prize for which he contended—“strange, that
before he came to dwell within our wigwam, he was as a child, and even
now is a strong man, proud in his own power. It was disappointed love
made him weak and uncertain of aim in the chase, he said to the White
Bear. What, then, has made him strong, for no love warms him yet but the
love of his sister.” The Sunflower sighed; she thought of the eloquent
looks he had often cast upon herself, and she endeavored to give a new
direction to her thoughts.
Often would the White Bear and Wawandah set out on a hunting excursion
of a couple of days, and return so laden with the meat of the buffalo
and the deer, that the horses they took with them for the purpose, could
with difficulty walk under the heavy burdens. Then would the children,
seeing them coming from a distance, clap their hands, and utter shouts
of rejoicing, until the whole encampment attracted by their cries, would
turn out and gathered together in small groups, await the arrival of the
hunters, to whom the word and hand of greeting were cordially given. The
Sunflower would watch all this from a distance, and in silence; and her
heart would become glad, for well she knew where the choicest of the
game killed by Wawandah’s hand would be laid—at his sister’s feet with
a look of such touching eloquence of prayer for its acceptance that the
very anticipation took from her loneliness in absence; and she was
always right, for never on one occasion did Wawandah fail, and when he
had given of the best to the wife of the White Bear, his soft and
beautiful eyes rendered more lustrous by the deep hectic overspreading
his brown cheek, would thank him with such expression of silent
eloquence, that her own heart would invariably flutter, and her own
cheek flush with as deep a crimson. And then, happy and contented and
rewarded for all his toil, Wawandah would bear the remainder of his game
to the tents of the chiefs, and distribute among the grateful wives of
these the remainder of the proceeds of his unequalled skill. No one was
now a greater favorite throughout the Saukie camp than the late despised
Wawandah, the son of the Black Vulture.
Once in the middle of August the White Bear and Wawandah set out with
two others on an excursion, which was to last five days. Time had so
accustomed the Sunflower to the presence of her brother, and his absence
on similar occasions had so seldom exceeded a couple of days, that when
the fifth had arrived she was uneasy and unhappy; and her longing for
Wawandah’s return became such that she now, for the first time, became
aware of the full extent of her own feelings for him. She trembled to
admit the truth to herself, but it was in vain to conceal it. Guilt was
in her soul. She loved Wawandah. True, but she was resolved that while
she sought not to change the character of their existing relations, she
would allow them to go no further.
It has already been shown that the Sunflower was in the habit of bathing
in the stream on which the encampment of the Saukies had been pitched.
This was about a mile up, and in a secluded nook or narrow bay, the
overhanging banks of which, closely studded with trees, formed a
complete shelter from the observation of the passing stranger. The
evening of the day previous to that on which the hunters were expected
back was exceedingly sultry, and the Sunflower had gone with another
Saukie—a daughter of one of the chiefs—to indulge in her favorite and
refreshing bath. After disporting themselves for some time in the
running and refreshing stream, they were preparing to resume their
dress, when both were startled by a low and sudden growl from the top of
the bank immediately above them. The Saukie maiden looked for a moment,
and then trembling in every limb, and yet without daring to utter a
word, pointed out to the Sunflower, on whose shoulder she leaned, two
glaring eyes which, without seeing more of the animal, they at once felt
to be those of a panther evidently fixed on themselves. The animal gave
another low growl, and by the crashing of the underwood amid which it
lay, they knew it was about to give its final spring. Filled with terror
the Sunflower uttered a loud scream and even as the animal sprang
downward from his lair the report of a rifle resounded, and the whizzing
ball was distinctly heard as it passed their ears. The water around the
gurgling spot where the panther leaped into the stream, was deeply
tinged with his blood. He had been wounded, but not so severely as to
prevent him from being an object of unabated terror. Not five seconds,
however, had elapsed, before another form came from the very spot whence
the panther had sprung. The beast, infuriated by its wound, was running
or rather bounding rapidly toward the Sunflower, who, paralyzed at the
danger, stood incapable of motion, and standing immersed up to her waist
in the stream, and with her long dark hair floating over its surface.
With a wild and savage cry, meant to divert his attention to himself,
Wawandah, for it was he, pursued the animal as rapidly as he could
through the interposing water. Startled by his unexpected appearance,
the Sunflower became, for the first time, conscious of her position,
when turning, she fled as fast as she could with a view to gain the
beach and turn the ascent to the hill. This act saved her from severe
laceration, if not death, for it afforded time for Wawandah to overtake
the monster. Seeing itself closely pursued, the latter turned to defend
itself, and before Wawandah could seize it by the back of the neck, with
a force against which it vainly struggled, it had severely wounded him
in the left shoulder. Infuriated with pain, and still more so at what he
knew to be the exposed position of the Sunflower, the latter, even while
the teeth of the panther were fastened in his shoulder, drew from his
side his deadly knife, and burying it to the handle in its heart, while
he worked furiously to enlarge the wound, at length contrived to leave
it lifeless floating on the surface of the stream. This done, his first
care was the safety of the Sunflower. He knew that while he continued
there she would not return for her clothes, which were lying on the
beach immediately under the point from which he had, on hearing the
scream, leaped into the river, and therefore he had no alternative than
to call out in clear and distinct tones that she might return without
fear, as the panther was dead and he himself about to ascend the bank on
the opposite side, to secure his rifle and await her coming, as, after
the danger she had so barely escaped, he was determined not to allow her
to be exposed, unprotected, to another.
That evening it was made known in every part of the Saukie encampment by
the daughter of the chief, that but for the sudden appearance and prompt
action of the brave Wawandah, both herself and the Sunflower would have
been torn to pieces by an enormous and savage panther, whose eyes were
balls of fire, and whose teeth were like the wild boar’s tusk. Again
were the plaudits of the camp bestowed upon him, and the head chief
ordered a war dance to be performed in honor of the exploit.
The dance was continued until late at night, but Wawandah did not mix in
it. Thoughts were passing in his mind that little disposed him to join
in festivities given in honor of himself. For the first time, that day
he had seen enough of the symmetry of form of the Sunflower to know that
she could no longer be as a mere sister to him. He felt that she must be
to him as a wife or he must die. Giving as a reason, and it was a true
one, that his arm pained him very much, he retired to his bear-skin
couch long before the war dance had terminated.
The Sunflower sat at his side, and with a decoction of herbs which she
had boiled down to a thick gelatinous matter, ever and anon bathed the
wound, and with a look so eloquent with thankfulness for this second
serious service which he had rendered her, that Wawandah felt an
irrepressible fire kindling in his veins, while his eyes were absolutely
riveted on her own.
“How came my brother so near me and so far away from the camp,” she
asked, desirous of turning his thoughts from an admiration that pained,
yet not displeased her, “and where has he left the White Bear and his
companions. Was it well to come back without them?” she concluded, half
reproachfully, for she began to feel the danger of her position.
“It was well that Wawandah came,” he said, with more animation than he
had hitherto evinced. “But listen, my sister. An elk, with horns like
the branches of a great tree, had fallen beneath my rifle, when suddenly
a panther sprang from its lair. Determined to lay its skin at your feet,
I followed it. The chase was long; it lasted from daybreak to the
setting sun. I knew not where I was, or in what direction I was going.
Suddenly the panther crouched in a small thicket. I heard a cry. Oh, who
could mistake the birdlike voice of my sweet sister. The hair on the
crown of my head seemed to move. I felt my cheek white as that of a pale
face—my heart was sick. As the panther took his spring I fired. Oh, had
I been myself, I should have killed him dead, but fear took away my
skill and I was a woman, even as I had been for many moons before, until
the sister that I loved without hope brought comfort to my soul by
smiling upon me under the roof of her own wigwam.”
The eyes of the Sunflower bent beneath the ardor of his gaze,—her
heaving bosom marked her emotion, and her hands dropped mechanically at
her side. Now, for the first time, she knew that it was through his
silent love for her that the generous and noble-hearted Wawandah had
incurred the odium of his tribe.
“Yes,” pursued the youth, “now that the panther is dead, and the
Sunflower is safe, Wawandah is glad of the wound received in saving her.
His step had never dared to move toward the spot where she bathed, but
the Good Spirit led him, even in the guise of a panther, to behold that
which he had never seen but in his dreams.”
He paused; leaning on his elbow, he had taken the small hand of the
Sunflower. He felt it tremble beneath the slight pressure of his. Then
he continued:—
“The love that filled my heart like the devouring fire of the prairie,
before the good White Bear adopted me as his son, was nothing to what it
is now. The Sunflower must be Wawandah’s wife or she must see him die.
He will not live without her.”
Never had the warrior awakened such interest in the bosom of the wife of
the White Bear. His beautiful eyes spoke a language she could not
resist. The deepening crimson of her cheek, the languor of her eye, and
the heaving of her bosom, were her only answer.
“Then the Sunflower is Wawandah’s forever,” he exclaimed, as he caught
and pressed her to his heart, and imprinted the first kiss of love upon
her brow.
Still she replied not. She felt as if an inevitable fate was impelling
both to their destruction; but there was sweetness in the thought. The
enormity of the ingratitude to the White Bear did not at first occur to
her.
“We must fly,” she at length murmured. “The Sunflower is now the wife of
Wawandah, and she must seek another home. The White Bear will be here
to-morrow, and never can the guilty one he loves bear to look upon his
generous face again.”
“The Sunflower shall look upon him no more—no more dazzle the White
Bear with the glare of her beauty,” answered the youth. “Far from this
Wawandah shall erect his tent, and alone. No one but his wife shall know
where he dwells, or share his solitude. He has no thought but of her.
While she gladdens his sight with her presence, he will ask no more of
the Spirit of Good. The camp is scarcely yet at rest. An hour before the
dawn we will depart; and when the sun rises its fairest flower will have
traveled far from the tent of the White Bear forever.”
“The heart of the Sunflower is full of gladness,” said the latter.
“Never does she wish to behold the face of another warrior but Wawandah.
She loves him because he has so long loved herself. Ah, how much must
she love him, when she leaves the tent of the White Bear forever to fly
with him. It is very wicked this. The Good Spirit will punish her, but
her love for Wawandah is too great. She has not power over herself. She
would not stay if she could. And now it is too late.”
At an hour before dawn Wawandah went stealthily forth. All was stillness
in the camp, and only here and there was to be seen the flickering of
some expiring fire, while the low growl of the dog, too vigilant to be
quite silent, and yet too lazy to bark outright, greeted him as he
passed outside the skirt of his encampment. Presently he arrived at an
open space or sort of oasis in the forest, where were tethered many
horses with great blocks of wood fastened to one of the fore fetlocks.
Selecting two of the best looking and best conditioned of these, he put
bridles upon them, and removing the unwieldy clogs, led them back to the
door of the wigwam of the White Bear. This time the dogs did not suffer
themselves to be disturbed. They seemed to recognize the horses, and to
know that he who led them was of the tribe to the masters of which they
belonged, and that the doubt they had in the first instance entertained
no longer had existence. Leaving the horses standing quietly at the
entrance, Wawandah went in. The Sunflower had put together every thing
that could be conveniently placed in two bundles, and then, having
thrown the rude saddles on the horses, Wawandah now fastened one to each
crupper. The Sunflower was dressed in leggings of blue and the moccasins
she was making when first Wawandah entered the tent. A man’s black hat,
with a white plume thrust through the band, was upon her head, and a
mantle of blue cloth, fastened by a large silver brooch, upon her
shoulders. Her linen was white as the snow, and altogether her great
beauty was adorned with the richest articles of her limited wardrobe,
and in a manner befitting the occasion. While Wawandah, too, decked
himself in his best and secured his faithful weapons and companions of
the chase, she cut from the long hair she loosened for the purpose, a
large tress, which she tied near the root with a blue ribbon, and
fastened it to a nail within the wigwam door. This was a token to the
White Bear that she still regarded even while she had deserted him for
ever.
Wawandah pressed her again fondly to his heart. He was not jealous, but
glad that the heart of the Sunflower bled for what she knew the White
Bear would suffer at her loss. He raised her in his arms to the saddle
she had been accustomed to use. Then carefully closing the door, and
putting a stick over the wooden latch to secure it, he vaulted into the
other. He then turned his horse, followed by the Sunflower, in the
direction of the bathing ground, beyond which the course he intended to
take lay, and as they passed, a beam from the moon which had then risen,
glanced upon the form of the dead panther floating nearly on the spot
where he had killed it.