And what was Edith's journey? Would the reader have me present it as a
picture--as it appeared to her after it was over--massed together in
its extraordinary rapidity, and seen but from one point at the end?
Swiftly skimming in a bark canoe upon the glossy bosoms of the lovely
lakes, which reflected every hue of herb and tree, and sky and
mountain, darting along bright and sparkling streams, sometimes
beneath the overhanging canopy of boughs, sometimes under the pure
blue eye of heaven. Often struggling with a rapid, often having to
pass along the shore to turn a waterfall; at times walking along
through the glowing woods, burning with the intense coloring of
autumn; at times surrounded by a number of Indians, each rendering
quiet, earnest service to the adopted daughter of the great Oneida
chief; at times wandering on in the dim forest, with no one but her
two dark attendants near; now the fierce howl of the midnight wolf
sounding in her ear; now the sharp, garrulous cry of the blue jay; now
the shrill scream of the woodhaw. Now the Indian lodge or castle, as
the Iroquois sometimes called their dwellings, now the brown canopy of
the autumn wood covered her; but still, under the skillful guidance
and with the eager help of the two negroes, she went forward with
extraordinary rapidity, leaving miles and miles behind her every hour.
It seemed almost like a pleasant dream, or at least it would have
seemed so had the sad and fearful motives which led her on been ever
banished from her mind. Even as it was, the variety of the objects,
the constant succession of new matters of interest, the events, small
in themselves, but important to her, which occurred to facilitate or
impede her progress, were all a relief to her overcharged mind, and
she reached the Oneida territory less depressed than when she set out
from her home.
One cause, perhaps, of the feeling of renewed strength which she
experienced was a renewal of hope from the conduct of the Indians
toward her wherever she met them. She found that even amongst the
Mohawks she was recognized at once as the adopted daughter of the
great Oneida chief; and it was evident that he had spread far and
wide, as he returned to his own abode after the conference at Johnson
Castle, the fact of his having adopted the daughter of the paleface,
Prevost. There is always something, too, in the fact of an enterprise
being actually commenced, which gives spirit to pursue it to the end.
While we stand and gaze at it from a distance, hesitating whether we
shall undertake it or not, the difficulties are magnified, the
facilities obscured; the rock and precipice rise up threateningly to
our imagination, while the small paths by which they may be surmounted
are unseen.
Day had yet an hour of life when Edith approached what we find called
in the history of the times, "The Castle of the Oneidas." "Wigwam" it
is customary to name all the Indian villages, giving an idea of
insignificance and meanness, and completely savage state, which the
principal residences of the Five Nations did not at that time merit.
Most of them were very like that which Edith now approached. It was
built upon a slight elevation near the lake, with a large protruding
rock near it; for the Oneidas always affected near their dwelling some
symbol significant of their favorite appellation, "The Children of the
Stone." Around it were high palisades, enclosing a considerable area,
within which the huts of the Indians were constructed. Rising
considerably above the rest were two wooden buildings, in the erection
of which European workmanship was apparent. The one was a large,
oblong building, regularly roofed and shingled, like that of any
English settler. It consisted of two stories, and in the upper one
regular framed windows were to be seen. In the lower story there were
none, light being admitted by the door. That lower story, however, was
floored by plain pine boards, and divided by a sort of curtain into
two equal compartments. The other building bore the appearance of a
church in miniature, with a small cottage or hut attached, which was
in reality the residence of the missionary, Mr. Gore.
Even Edith was surprised to see the home of Otaitsa so different from
the ideas conveyed to her by the wandering traders, who even while
carrying on commercial intercourse with the tribes, were in a state of
semi-hostility toward the Indians, representing them as bloody
savages, and cheating them whenever they could.
Slowly walking on between her two negro companions, for she was tired
with a longer walk than usual, Edith approached the open gates of the
Castle and met with no opposition in entering. A tall, handsome
warrior passed out, fully clothed in Indian costume, and only marked
out from any civilized man by the shaved head and the painfully
significant scalp-lock. His step was stately and calm, and his air
grave and reserved. Twice he turned his eyes upon Edith's face, with a
look of evident wonder and admiration, but he took no farther notice,
and passed on. He was the only man whom she saw on entering the
village, till after passing through many huts, where women and
children were to be seen busily employed, she came in sight of the
door of the chief's house, and beheld there a figure seated on the
ground, quietly engaged in the art of embroidery, after the fashion in
which the Indian women so greatly excel.
It was a figure which she knew well; and the tranquil air and easy
grace, as well as the quiet, peaceful employment, showed Edith at once
that she had not been mistaken in supposing that Otaitsa was
altogether ignorant of the peril of one dear to them both. As she came
near, she heard the Indian girl, in her happy ignorance, singing a
sweet but somewhat plaintive song; and the next moment, Otaitsa,
raising her eyes, beheld the three figures, and at once perceived that
they were not of her people.
For an instant she did not recognize Edith in her Indian garb; but
when she did recognize her, the emotion produced was alarm rather than
joy. She felt at once that some great and important event--some
occurrence full of peril or of sorrow--must have brought Edith
thither. The beautiful lips parted with a tremulous motion; the large
dark eye, Indian in its color, but European in its form, became full
of anxiety; the rosy color of her cheek, which probably had obtained
for her the name of the Blossom, faded away, and paleness spread over
the clear brown skin. Starting up, however, she cast the embroidery
away from her, and springing forward, threw her arms around Edith's
neck. Then, as her hand rested on her fair companion's shoulder, she
asked in a whisper: "What is it, my sister? There must be a storm in
the sky--there must be lightning in the cloud! What tempest wind has
swept my sister hither? What flood of sorrow has borne Edith to
Otaitsa?"
"Hush!" said Edith, in a low tone, for there were some other Indian
women near. "I will tell my sister when no ears can hear but her own.
There is tempest in the sky. A pine tree has fallen across the
threshold of my father's house, and we are sad for fear the hatchet of
the woodman should lop all its green branches away. Can I speak with
the Blossom speedily, and in secret?"
"Instantly," answered Otaitsa. "The warriors have all gone forth to
hunt for three days the bear and the moose. The Black Eagle is with
them. There are but three men of deeds in the Castle, now, and why
they are women now and go not forth to the hunting with the rest, I
cannot tell. But they are little within the palisade--daily they go
forth, and remain absent long. Come in hither, my sister, for though
few here speak the tongue we speak, it were better not to let the wind
hear us."
"Can some of the women give food and lodging to these two negroes?"
asked Edith, adding: "They have been well warned, and know that a life
depends upon their silence."
Otaitsa called to an elderly Indian woman who was cooking at the door
of a cabin near, and placed Chaudo and his companion under her charge.
She then turned to Edith, saying: "Come, my sister;" but before they
entered the building, Edith inquired if Mr. Gore was there, saying:
"Perhaps he might give us counsel."
"My father sent him away some days ago," answered Otaitsa. "He will
not be back for a month, perhaps longer. I think he has sent him to
secure him from danger."
"Alas," said Edith, "that the danger should have fallen upon others!"
"Alas! alas!" said Otaitsa, and Edith felt her hand tremble much as
she led her into the building.
A staircase, rude indeed, but still a staircase, led from the more
barnlike part of the building below to the upper floor, and in this
respect appeared the first difference between this house--for it
deserved the name--and the lodge, or castle, of King Hendrick the
younger, though both had been built by European workmen, and that of
King Hendrick at the cost of the British government, which was not the
case with the dwelling of the Oneida chief. As soon, however, as you
reached the upper floor, the differences became more frequent and more
remarkable. It was partitioned off into rooms, with regular doors
between them; and when Edith entered the chamber of Otaitsa she saw at
once how she acquired European habits. Of rude manufacture, but still
very correct as imitations, and not without a certain degree of
uncouth ornament, were chairs, tables, and writing materials, a
bedstead and a bed; and from wooden pegs, driven into the partition,
depended some sketches--some colored, some in pencil, but all very
different from the gaudy daubs which, at a later period, peddlers were
accustomed to take into the Indian territory as articles of barter.
As Edith's eye glanced around, it gleaned a general notion of all
these things, but her mind was too full of deeper and sadder thoughts
to suffer even curiosity to turn it from its course for a moment.
"There is no one in any other chamber here," said Otaitsa, "None comes
up these stairs but myself and my father. Now, Edith, speak, for
Otaitsa's heart is very heavy and her mind misgives her sadly. Is it
your father they have taken?"
"No; oh no!" answered Edith, "but one as dear;" and she went on
briefly to relate all that had occurred, endeavoring to soften and
prepare the way for intelligence which she feared would affect the
Indian girl much. But Otaitsa darted at her own conclusions, divining
the whole truth almost as soon as the words were spoken. She was far
more affected than Edith had anticipated. She cast herself upon her
fair companion's neck and wept aloud.
"He was mine, Edith," she said, in the full confidence of sorrow.
"He was mine, my betrothed, my loved; and they have hidden it from
me--hidden it from all the Indian women here, for they knew that
everyone in the tribe loved him, though not so well as I. Where was
the poor wanderer who passed your house with her infant on her back
who did not receive kindness from Walter Prevost? Where was the Indian
girl who could say he did not treat her with as kindly gentleness as
the highest white woman in the land? He was the tree which had grown
up to shelter the hut of the woodman, giving him cool shade and
comfort in the days of summer and of gladness, to be cut down and
burnt for fire when the winter winds are singing in the bare branches.
Oh, my brother, my brother, bad is the return they make thee, and hard
the measure that they deal. But shall Otaitsa suffer this?" she cried,
rising vehemently, and casting her arms abroad. "Shall the Black Eagle
let the ravens pick out the eyes of his young in his own nest? No! my
sister, no! They shall take Otaitsa's blood first. They shall shake
the Blossom from the old bough that is no longer able to bear it up
against the winds of heaven. If the Black Eagle can no longer protect
even his daughter's husband, let him cast away the tomahawk, let him
lay down the rifle, and be a woman amongst the chiefs of his people!"
It was impossible for some minutes to stop her vehement burst of
passionate sorrow; but at length Edith succeeded in somewhat calming
her, beseeching her to still her agitation and her anger, and to bend
her whole mind to the consideration of what means could best be used
to discover whither Walter had been taken, and to rescue him from the
peril in which he was placed.
As soon as Otaitsa could listen, however, or rather as soon as she
caught the sense of Edith's words, and appreciated their importance,
it was wonderful how rapidly she became calm, how soon she stilled all
the strong and struggling emotions in her heart, and directed every
effort and energy of her spirit to the one great object before her.
Enough of the Indian blood flowed along her veins, enough of Indian
characteristics had been acquired in early youth, to give her a
portion of that strong, stoical self-command which characterized the
Indian warrior rather than the woman of the race. The first burst of
grief showed the woman, and, perhaps, in some degree, not the pure
Indian; but the moment after, those who knew the character of the Five
Nations best, might have supposed her not only a pure Indian, but a
man and a chief, so quietly did she reason upon and ponder the means
of accomplishing her purpose. She remained, at first, for two or three
minutes in perfect silence, revolving all the circumstances in her
mind, and calculating every chance. But then she said: "The first
thing, Edith, is for you to go back to your poor father; not that you
are in any danger, but it were well, if possible, that no one knew you
had been with me, at least till I have discovered where they have hid
our poor brother. The women here will all aid me, and never part their
lips, if I desire them not; for though the men think they are very
shrewd in hiding the secrets of the nation from their wives and
daughters, the women, when they please, can be as secret and as
resolute, too. At all events, whether your coming be known or not, it
would be better you should go back before the chiefs return. They have
gone forth to hunt, they say; but whether it be the black bear, or the
brown deer, or the white man, is in great doubt, dear Edith. At all
events, they will not know the object of your coming. They may
suspect, and probably will, that you came to inquire for your brother;
but knowing that I was ignorant of his capture, and am still ignorant
of where they keep him, they will think you have gone back
disappointed and in sorrow, and leave me unwatched, to act as I will."
"But can I do nothing to aid?" asked Edith. "Remember, dearest
Blossom, what it is to remain inactive and ignorant while the fate of
one so near and so dear hangs in the balance."
"You shall not remain in ignorance, dear Edith," replied Otaitsa.
"With every possible opportunity (and I will find many) my sister
shall know what the Blossom does; and if there be any way by which you
could give help, you shall have instant tidings. At present I know not
what is to be done to save our Walter from the power of the Snake. I
know not, even, what they have decided themselves, or whether they
have taken any decision; and I have much to think of, much to do. I
must seek out those in whom I can place confidence; I must employ
many, probably, to obtain me information; I must try some, consult
with others, and judge what is to be done. You can rest here, my
Edith, for this day, but to-morrow you must speed home again. But be
sure of one thing--if Walter dies, Otaitsa is dead, too!"
"That is no consolation," said Edith, throwing her arms round
Otaitsa's neck, with tears in her eyes. "Oh, do not do anything rash,
dear Blossom! Remember, you are a Christian; and many things are
forbidden to Christians as sins which are regarded as virtues by pagan
nations."
"Nothing can be rash, nothing can be a sin," answered Otaitsa, "which
can save a life innocent, and good, and noble. I would not willingly
offend my sister, but my heart is open to God, and He will judge me in
mercy, seeing my motives. And now, dear sister, sit you here, and I
will send you food, such as we poor Indians eat. I myself may be away
for a time, for there must be no delay; but I will return as soon as
possible, and you shall know all that is done before you go. Do these
blacks who are with you understand the Indian tongue?"
"One of them certainly does," replied Edith; "that is to say, the
language of the Mohawks."
"'Tis the same," answered Otaitsa, "or nearly the same. We may have
altered a little, but amongst the Five Nations, he who speaks one
tongue understands all. Is it the man or woman--and can we trust?"
"It is the man," answered Edith, "and I do believe he can be trusted."
"Then I go," answered Otaitsa, and leaving Edith, she descended to the
room below, and then issued forth amongst the Indian huts, gliding
from one to another, and stopping generally for a few moments at those
lodges before which was to be seen a high pole bearing the ghastly
trophies with which the Indians signalized the death of an enemy.
Edith, in the meanwhile, remained for some time in sad meditation,
until her eyes turned toward the sketches hanging round the room. On
one in particular the reflected light from the surface of the lake
streamed as it passed from the window, and Edith, going near, examined
it attentively. It represented the head of a young man, apparently
from seven and twenty to thirty years of age, and was done well,
though not exactly in a masterly manner. It was merely in pencil, but
highly finished, and there seemed something in it very familiar to
Edith's eye. The features were generally like those of her brother
Walter, so like that at first she imagined the drawing must be
intended to represent his head; but the nearer view showed that it was
that of a much older man, and the dress was one long gone out of
fashion.
She was still gazing, and puzzling herself with the questions of
whence these drawings could come, and whether they could be Otaitsa's
own productions, when several Indian women entered, with their silent
and noiseless tread, and placed some carved bowls, filled with
different kinds of food, before her. It was all very simple, but she
was much exhausted, for she had tasted nothing from an early hour of
the day, and the refreshment was grateful to her. The women spoke to
her, too, in the Iroquois tongue, and their sweet, low-toned voices,
murmuring in the sort of sing-song of the tribes, was pleasant to her
ear. It spoke of companionship. Their words, too, were kind and
friendly, and she gathered from them that Otaitsa, in order to veil
the real object of her coming, had been making inquiries as to whether
anyone had seen Walter Prevost. They assured Edith that they had not
seen him, that he could not have come into the Oneida country, or
someone in the Castle must have heard of him. A paleface amongst them
was very rare, they said, but the coming of Walter Prevost, whom so
many knew and loved much, must have been noised abroad immediately.
They said that his absence from his home was certainly strange, but
added, laughing, that young warriors would wander, as Edith would
discover when she was old enough.
Thus they sat and talked with her, lighting a lamp in a bowl, till
Otaitsa returned, and then they left the two friends alone together.
Otaitsa was agitated, evidently, though she tried hard to hide, if not
to suppress her emotions under Indian calmness; but her agitation was
evidently joyful. She laid her lovely small hand upon Edith's and
pressed it warmly.
"I have found friends," she said, "and those who will work for me and
with me. My father's sister, who knew and loved my mother, and who is
supposed by some to have a charm from the Great Spirit, to make men
love and reverence her; the wife of the sachem of the Bear; the young
bride of the Running Deer; and the wife of the Gray Wolf, as well as
the wife of Lynx Foot, and many others; all these have vowed to help
me, whatever it may cost. They all know him, my sister; they all have
called him brother; and they are all resolute that their brother shall
not die. But I must first work for him myself, dear Edith," she
continued; and then, clasping her hands together, with a burst of joy
at the hope lighted up in her young, warm heart, she exclaimed: "Oh,
that I could save him all by myself--that I might buy him from his
bonds by my own acts alone--aye, or even by my own blood! Huah! huah!
That were joyful indeed!"
Edith could hardly raise her mind to the same pitch of hope, but still
she felt more satisfied. Her object was accomplished. Otaitsa was
informed of Walter's danger, and the bright, enthusiastic girl was
already actively engaged in the effort to deliver him. There was
something, too, in the young Indian--an eagerness, an energy unusual
in the depressed women of her race, probably encouraged by the fond,
unbounded indulgence of the chief, her father--which seemed to breathe
of hope and success; and it was impossible to look into the eager and
kindling eyes, when the fancy that she could deliver her young lover
all alone took possession of her, without believing that if his
deliverance was within human power, she would accomplish it.
Edith felt that her duty, so far, was done toward him, and that her
next duty was toward her father, who, she well knew, would be
painfully anxious till she returned, however confident he might have
felt of her safety in the hands of the Indians so long as there seemed
no immediate chance of her being placed in such a situation. She
willingly, therefore, agreed to Otaitsa's suggestion to set out with
the first ray of light on the following morning, Otaitsa promising
that some Indian women should accompany her a day's journey on the
way, who by their better knowledge of the country and their skill in
the management of the canoe, would greatly facilitate her progress.
About an hour was spent in conversation, all turning upon one subject,
and then the two beautiful girls lay down to sleep in each other's
arms.