On the very same night which was passed by Edith Prevost in the lodge
of the Black Eagle, some eight or ten wild-looking savages, if they
could be so called, assembled, apparently to deliberate upon a great
and important question. The place they took for their meeting lay
nearly twenty miles in a direct line from the Oneida Lake, and was,
even in the daylight, a scene of remarkable beauty and grandeur. At
the hour of their meeting, however, which was about forty minutes
after the sun went down, the surrounding objects were illuminated by a
different and more appropriate light. Their council fire had been
kindled on the top of a large, flat mass of stone, fallen from the
high rocks of a very narrow dell or pass separating a rugged and
forest-bearing mountain from a spur of the same range, which seemed to
have been riven off from the parent chain by some rude and terrible
convulsion of nature. Forty yards, at the widest part, was the expanse
of this fissure, and on either side were huge masses of rock tumbled
about in chaotic confusion, and blocking up the greater part of the
bottom of the dell.
About half way through the glen was the large, flat stone, a sort of
natural altar, on which the Indians had lighted their fire, and
strange and wild was the scene as those swarthy men, armed as if for
battle, but not painted, sat around in the broad glare, each with his
rifle resting on his arm, and each still and motionless as if a statue
hewn out from the brown rock. Up went the towering flame from the
great pile of dry wood, sending a flickering light over tree and
precipice; and yet no one stirred, no one spoke for several minutes.
Each eye was fixed upon the fire, not as if watching it as an object
of interest, but with the steady, thoughtful gaze which showed that
the mind was busy with other things; and there was something very
awful in that stone-cold silence.
At length the Black Eagle began to speak, without moving from his
seat, however, at least at first. His tone, too, was low and sad,
though every word, in the sharp guttural language of the Iroquois, was
clear and distinct:
"For more than fifty winters," he said, "I have hovered over the land
of the Oneidas, and my wing has not failed in its flight, my eyes have
not been dazzled by the blaze of the sun, nor dimmed by the light of
the moon. The dew has fallen upon me, and the summer's sun and the
winter's snow, and still are my feathers unruffled, and my flight as
strong as in my youth. I am not a woman, that I should spare, nor a
child, that I should weep. Who has seen a tear in my eye, or who has
seen the tomahawk uplifted not to strike? Have I asked anything of my
children but to be the first in the battle? Have I ever forgiven the
enemies of the children of the Stone? But we have made alliance with a
great nation; we have taken presents from them; we have promised them
to live with them as brothers in the time of peace, to go to battle
with them as brothers in the time of war. Our children are their
children, and their children are ours. Moreover, with some of this
nation our chiefs have entered into more strict bonds of friendship.
We have sat by their fires, we have smoked the pipe of peace together;
we are their brothers. One family came and built their lodge amongst
us, swept down the forest, and planted the cornfield. Their door was
always open to the redman, their food was always shared with him. They
said not, 'This is mine and that is thine,' but they opened their
arms, and they said, 'Thou art my brother.' The children of the Stone
loved them well. They were dear to the Black Eagle as his own eaglets.
The mat in the house of Prevost was a pleasant resting place to his
forehead when he was tired. His daughter was as my daughter, and his
son as of my blood and bone. A man came to his hearth whom we all
know, a good man, a friend to the redman. Should my brother Prevost
refuse to the Woodchuck room to burrow for one night? He went away,
and far from the house of our brother he met an Oneida of the totem of
the Tortoise, a man who had robbed him, and who had a lying tongue; a
snake, who hated him whom he had stung. The tomahawk was bare, and the
Oneida was killed; but the man took not his scalp, he sung no song of
triumph over the children of the Stone. He slew him not as an enemy,
but in self-defence, otherwise he would have twisted his finger in the
scalp-lock, and the Oneidas would have mourned over a disgrace. It is
right that there should be blood for blood, that the man who sheds the
blood of the redman should die for his act, and that if he or none of
his relatives could be found, some other man of his nation should be
made the sacrifice. But what have I done that the son of my brother
should be taken? Have I led you so often in the battle, have I covered
my war post with the scalps of your enemies, that the tree I planted
should be rooted up when the forest is full of worthless saplings? Was
there no other white man to be found in the land, that you must take
the child of him who loved and trusted us? Had a moon passed, had a
week, that you might know that there was none but the beloved of the
Black Eagle whom you might use for your sacrifice? Had you made sure,
even, that you could not catch the murderer himself, and take his
blood in requital of the blood he shed? Is the wisdom of our people
gone by is their cunning a thing of other days, that they could not
lure the man they sought into their power, that they could not hunt
any other game, that they not even try to find anyone but the one we
loved the best? Remember, my children, that you are not rash and
hasty, like the paleface, but that you are the children of the Stone;
and though, like it, immovable and strong, you should be calm and
still, likewise. I have said."
There was a pause of several minutes before anyone answered, and then
a man of the middle age, not so tall as the Black Eagle by several
inches, but with a particularly cunning and serpent-like look about
his eyes, rose slowly from his seat, and, standing on the very point
of the rock where he was placed, said in a hard, cold tone:
"The Black Eagle has spoken well. We are allies of the white man. The
paleface calls us his brother. He takes our hunting grounds. He plants
corn and feeds oxen amongst us. Where our foot was free to go is ours
no longer; it is his. He has taken it from us and he is our brother.
The Black Eagle loves the paleface. He took a paleface for his wife,
and he loves all her race. He loves their religion. His daughter is of
the religion of the white man. He himself has faith in their God.
Their Great Spirit he adores, and he has made their medicine man his
son by adoption. Is the religion of the white man the same as the
religion of the children of the Stone? Is their Great Spirit our Great
Spirit? No; for I have heard His words spoken, and they are not the
words that we are taught. The white man's Spirit tells us that we
shall not do that which our Great Spirit tells us to do. It bids men
to spare their enemies and to forgive. Ours tells us to slay our
enemies and to avenge. Which is the true Spirit? Ours! For the
paleface does not believe in his own Spirit nor obey His commands. He
does not spare his enemies, he does not forgive, but he takes
vengeance as fiercely as the redman, and against his own law. Let us
then obey the voice of our own Great Spirit, and do according to our
own customs; for the white man knows his God to be false, or he would
obey His commandments. Now, what would the Black Eagle have? Would he
have us all turn Christians, or would he have us obey the voice of the
Manitou, and follow the customs of our fathers? Have we not done
according to our own laws? What do our traditions tell us? They say
that them shalt appease the spirit of thy brother who is slain, by
pouring out the blood of the slayer, If his blood cannot be had, then
that of one of his family or of his friends. If his family and his
friends are not, then that of one of his nation. So now, what is the
case, chiefs and warriors of the Oneidas? You have a brother slain.
His soul goes to the land of spirits, but his bow and his arrows hang
idle at his back. His heart is sad and desolate. He howls for food,
and finds none. He wanders round and round the happy hunting grounds,
and looks in in sorrow, for he must not enter till the blood of
atonement has been shed. He cries to you from the other side of the
grave with a great cry, 'Give me rest!' Shall his brothers give him
none? Shall they let him wander, cold and hungry, amidst frost and
snows, within sight of the blessed region, and prevent him from
entering, or shall we take the first man we find of the race of him
who slew him, and by his blood, poured out upon this very stone,
appease the spirit of our dead brother, and let him enter the happy
hunting grounds, where his soul may find repose? Ye men of the family
of the Snake, ye have done well to seize upon the paleface whom ye
first found, for ye have made sure of an atonement for the blood of
your brother; and how could ye know that ye could find it if ye
delayed your hand, or abandoned your prey? And now, let the chiefs and
the warriors consider whether they will still keep their brother who
is dead hungering and thirsting for months in the cold region, or
whether they will make the atonement this very day, and open the way
for him into the happy hunting grounds? I have said."
Again a quiet silence took possession of the throng, and it lasted
long; but the eyes of the Black Eagle moved hither and thither round
the circle, watching every face, and when he gathered, by a sort of
kindling look in the eyes of one of the warriors, that he was about to
speak, he himself interposed, rising this time to his full height, and
saying:
"The medicine man has spoken, and he has explained the law; but he has
counseled with words contrary to the law. The medicine man has the law
in his heart, but his words are the words of foxes. He has not
unfolded the roll of the law into which the words of the Manitou were
whispered; but he says truly that we are to shed the blood of the
murderer of our brother, to appease his spirit. If we cannot find him,
we are to shed the blood of some one of his many kindred; if we cannot
find one of them, the blood of one of his nation; but have ye sought
for the murderer, ye brethren of the Snake? Can ye say that ye have
tried to catch him? Have ye had time? Will your brother who is gone be
contented with the blood of the first paleface ye can find, when ye
might find the real murderer? Will he lap, like the dog, at the first
pool in his way? Will he not rather say, 'Give us the sweet water that
only can allay our thirst? Would ye sing in our ears, and make us
believe music? This is not the blood of him who shed our blood. This
is not the blood of his kindred. The happy hunting grounds will not
open to us for this blood.' Oneidas, it is the medicine man beguiles
you from the customs of your fathers. They say, 'Wait till ye have
searched diligently. Make sure that ye offer the best atonement that
ye can. Do not kill the fox because the panther has mangled the game.
Do not shoot the oriole for the thing that the hawk has done. The son
of my brother Prevost is no kin of the Yengee who slew the brother of
the Snake. His blood will not atone if ye can find other blood more
friendly to the murderer. The eyes of the Manitou are over all; he
sees that ye have not sought as ye should seek."
Some moments after he had spoken, but with a less interval than had
hitherto occurred between any of the speeches, a fierce-looking young
warrior arose and exclaimed:
"Let him die! Why should we wait? The Woodchuck is safe in the land of
the Yengees. He has taken himself far from the arrow of the Oneida.
There is a cloud between us and him, and we cannot see through it. The
Woodchuck has no kindred. He has often declared so when he sat by the
fire and talked of the deeds he has done. He has boasted that he was a
man alone; that his father was hay and his mother grass, and the
hemlock and the oak his brothers and his sisters. Neither him can we
find, nor any of his kin; but we have taken what was nearest to
him--his friend, and the son of his friend. This is the blood that
will appease the spirit of our brother. Let him die, and die quickly.
Does the Black Eagle ask if this boy was his friend? The Black Eagle
knows he was; but moreover, it may be that he himself was the
companion of the murderer even when he killed our brother. They went
forth together to seek some prey. Was it not the redman that the
wolves hunted? They killed a panther and a man when they went forth
together. That we know, for there were eyes of redmen near. The blood
of our brother was licked up by the earth. The skin of the panther was
sent by this boy (our captive) to Otaitsa, the daughter of the Black
Eagle. I took it from the runner this very day. The man who brought it
is near at hand. The skin is here. I have said." And he threw the
panther's skin down before him, almost into the flame of the fire.
A buzzing murmur ran round the Indians, and the keen mind of the Black
Eagle soon perceived that the danger of poor Walter Prevost was
greatly heightened.
"Let the law be announced to us," he said. "The roll of the law is
here, but let it not be read by the tongue of a fox. Let the man of
ancient times read it. Let the warrior and the priest who kept it for
so many years now tell us what it ordains, according to the
interpretation of the old days, and not according to the rashness of
boys, who would be chiefs long before a scalp hangs at the door of
their lodge. I can see," he cried, in a loud voice, starting up from
his seat, and waving his arm, as if some strong emotion overpowered
his habitual calmness, "I can see the time coming when the
intemperance of youth and the want of respect for age and for renown
will bring low the power of the Oneidas, will crush the greatness of
the Five Nations into dust. So long as age and counsel were reverenced
they were a mighty people, and the scalps of their enemies were
brought from every battlefield. They were a wise people, for they
listened to the voice of experience, and they circumvented their
enemies. But now the voices of boys and striplings prevail. They take
presents, and they sell themselves for baubles. They drink the
firewater till they are no more men, till reason has departed, and
courage and strength are not in them. They use the lightning, and they
play with the thunder; but the tomahawk and the scalping knife are
green rushes in their hands. Let the law be announced, then; let it be
announced by the voice of age and wisdom; and let us abide by his
words, for they are good."
Thus saying, he stepped across the little chasm which lay between him
and the second speaker on this occasion, and took up a heavy roll
which lay beside the priest or medicine man. It consisted of
innumerable strings of shells sawn into long strips, like the pendants
of an earring, and stained of three separate colors--black, red, and
white. These were disposed in various curious groups, forming no
regular pattern, but yet not without order; and so many were there in
this roll that, though each was very small, the weight of the whole
could not have been less than twenty or thirty pounds. Thus loaded,
and bearing this burden with the appearance of great reverence, Black
Eagle carried the roll half way round the circle and laid it upon the
knees of a man evidently far advanced in life, although his shorn head
and long white scalp-lock showed to an Indian eye, at least, that he
still judged himself fit to accompany the warriors of the tribe to
battle.
The chief then slowly resumed his seat, and once more profound silence
spread over the assembly. The eyes of all were, it is true, directed
toward the old man whose exposition of their laws and customs was to
be final; but not a limb stirred, and even the very eagerness of their
gaze was subdued into a look of tranquil attention, except in the case
of the young man who had spoken so vehemently, and whose relationship
as a brother of the slain Indian excused, in the sight of the tribe, a
good deal of unwonted agitation.
For some two minutes after receiving the roll the old priest remained
motionless, with his eyes raised toward the flame that still towered
up before him, licking and scorching the branches of a hemlock tree
above. But at length his fingers began to move amongst the carved
shells, and, unloosing rapidly some thongs by which the roll was
bound, he spread out the seemingly tangled mass in fair order. Then,
bending down his head, he seemed to listen, as if for a voice.
"The law of the Oneidas cannot change," he said, at length. "It is the
will of Hawaneyoh, the Great Spirit. A white man must die for the
blood spilt by a white man; but the spiller of the blood must be
sought for, or our brother will still be shut out from the happy
hunting grounds. Listen not to the song of singing birds against the
young man, thou brother of the Snake. Neither do thou make trouble in
the Five Nations because the blossom of the Black Eagle's tree cannot
be reached by thy hand."
The open allusion to that which he thought was one of the deep secrets
of his bosom, was too much for even the Indian stoicism of the brother
of the Snake, and he drew his blanket or mantle over his chest as if
to hide what was within. Black Eagle, however, though probably taken
as much by surprise as anyone by the old man's words, remained
perfectly unmoved, not a change of expression even appearing upon his
rigid features, though the speaker paused for a whole minute, as if to
let what he had said produce its full effect.
"Remember," continued the priest, "the prophecy of the child of the
sky, Tohganawetah, when our fathers, under his counsels, joined
themselves together in a perpetual league, a lifetime before a
paleface was seen in the land. He said, 'When the white throats shall
come, if ye suffer dissensions among yourselves, ye shall pull down
the Long House of the Five Nations, cut down the tree of peace, and
extinguish the council fire forever.' And wilt thou, brother of the
Snake, bring this cloud upon thy people? Thou shalt search for him who
spilt thy brother's blood till the moon have changed, and waxed and
waned again, and then thou shalt come before the sachems of the eight
totems and make manifest that thou hast not been able to find him or
any of his kindred. Then shall the sachems choose a paleface for the
sacrifice, and let him die the death of a warrior by the stroke of the
tomahawk; but they shall make no delay, for thy brother must not be
shut out from the hunters gone before, more than two moons. Hiro! I
have spoken."
"Houé, houé! It is well!" said all the Indians present but one, and,
rising from their seats, they raised the roll of their law reverently,
and one by one glided down the path which led to the opening of the
dell.