The witch, in Smithfield, shall be burned to ashes,
And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
—Shakespeare.
The Siouxes had awaited the issue of the foregoing dialogue with
commendable patience. Most of the band were restrained, by the secret
awe with which they regarded the mysterious character of Obed; while a
few of the more intelligent chiefs gladly profited by the opportunity,
to arrange their thoughts for the struggle that was plainly foreseen.
Mahtoree, influenced by neither of these feelings, was content to show
the trapper how much he conceded to his pleasure; and when the old man
discontinued the discourse, he received from the chief a glance, that
was intended to remind him of the patience, with which he had awaited
his movements. A profound and motionless silence succeeded the short
interruption. Then Mahtoree arose, evidently prepared to speak. First
placing himself in an attitude of dignity, he turned a steady and
severe look on the whole assembly. The expression of his eye, however,
changed as it glanced across the different countenances of his
supporters and of his opponents. To the former the look, though stern,
was not threatening, while it seemed to tell the latter all the hazards
they incurred, in daring to brave the resentment of one so powerful.
Still, in the midst of so much hauteur and confidence, the sagacity and
cunning of the Teton did not desert him. When he had thrown the
gauntlet, as it were, to the whole tribe, and sufficiently asserted his
claim to superiority, his mien became more affable and his eye less
angry. Then it was that he raised his voice, in the midst of a
death-like stillness, varying its tones to suit the changing character
of his images, and of his eloquence.
“What is a Sioux?” the chief sagaciously began; “he is ruler of the
prairies, and master of its beasts. The fishes in the ‘river of
troubled waters’ know him, and come at his call. He is a fox in
counsel; an eagle in sight; a grizzly bear in combat. A Dahcotah is a
man!” After waiting for the low murmur of approbation, which followed
this flattering portrait of his people, to subside, the Teton
continued—“What is a Pawnee? A thief, who only steals from women; a
Red-skin, who is not brave; a hunter, that begs for his venison. In
counsel he is a squirrel, hopping from place to place; he is an owl,
that goes on the prairies at night; in battle he is an elk, whose legs
are long. A Pawnee is a woman.” Another pause succeeded, during which a
yell of delight broke from several mouths, and a demand was made, that
the taunting words should be translated to the unconscious subject of
their biting contempt. The old man took his cue from the eyes of
Mahtoree, and complied. Hard-Heart listened gravely, and then, as if
apprized that his time to speak had not arrived, he once more bent his
look on the vacant air. The orator watched his countenance, with an
expression that manifested how inextinguishable was the hatred he felt
for the only chief, far and near, whose fame might advantageously be
compared with his own. Though disappointed in not having touched the
pride of one whom he regarded as a boy, he proceeded, what he
considered as far more important, to quicken the tempers of the men of
his own tribe, in order that they might be prepared to work his savage
purposes. “If the earth was covered with rats, which are good for
nothing,” he said, “there would be no room for buffaloes, which give
food and clothes to an Indian. If the prairies were covered with
Pawnees, there would be no room for the foot of a Dahcotah. A Loup is a
rat, a Sioux a heavy buffaloe; let the buffaloes tread upon the rats
and make room for themselves.
“My brothers, a little child has spoken to you. He tells you, his hair
is not grey, but frozen—that the grass will not grow where a Pale-face
has died. Does he know the colour of the blood of a Big-knife? No! I
know he does not; he has never seen it. What Dahcotah, besides
Mahtoree, has ever struck a Pale-face? Not one. But Mahtoree must be
silent. Every Teton will shut his ears when he speaks. The scalps over
his lodge were taken by the women. They were taken by Mahtoree, and he
is a woman. His mouth is shut; he waits for the feasts to sing among
the girls!”
Notwithstanding the exclamations of regret and resentment, which
followed so abasing a declaration, the chief took his seat, as if
determined to speak no more. But the murmurs grew louder and more
general, and there were threatening symptoms that the council would
dissolve itself in confusion; and he arose and resumed his speech, by
changing his manner to the fierce and hurried enunciation of a warrior
bent on revenge.
“Let my young men go look for Tetao!” he cried; “they will find his
scalp drying in Pawnee smoke. Where is the son of Bohrecheena? His
bones are whiter than the faces of his murderers. Is Mahhah asleep in
his lodge? You know it is many moons since he started for the blessed
prairies; would he were here, that he might say of what colour was the
hand that took his scalp!”
In this strain the artful chief continued for many minutes, calling
those warriors by name, who were known to have met their deaths in
battle with the Pawnees, or in some of those lawless frays which so
often occurred between the Sioux bands and a class of white men, who
were but little removed from them in the qualities of civilisation.
Time was not given to reflect on the merits, or rather the demerits, of
most of the different individuals to whom he alluded, in consequence of
the rapid manner in which he ran over their names; but so cunningly did
he time his events, and so thrillingly did he make his appeals, aided
as they were by the power of his deep-toned and stirring voice, that
each of them struck an answering chord in the breast of some one of his
auditors.
It was in the midst of one of his highest flights of eloquence, that a
man, so aged as to walk with the greatest difficulty, entered the very
centre of the circle, and took his stand directly in front of the
speaker. An ear of great acuteness might possibly have detected that
the tones of the orator faltered a little, as his flashing look first
fell on this unexpected object, though the change was so trifling, that
none, but such as thoroughly knew the parties, would have suspected it.
The stranger had once been as distinguished for his beauty and
proportions, as had been his eagle eye for its irresistible and
terrible glance. But his skin was now wrinkled, and his features
furrowed with so many scars, as to have obtained for him, half a
century before, from the French of the Canadas, a title which has been
borne by so many of the heroes of France, and which had now been
adopted into the language of the wild horde of whom we are writing, as
the one most expressive of the deeds of their own brave. The murmur of
Le Balafré, that ran through the assembly when he appeared, announced
not only his name and the high estimation of his character, but how
extraordinary his visit was considered. As he neither spoke nor moved,
however, the sensation created by his appearance soon subsided, and
then every eye was again turned upon the speaker, and every ear once
more drunk in the intoxication of his maddening appeals.
It would have been easy to have traced the triumph of Mahtoree, in the
reflecting countenances of his auditors. It was not long before a look
of ferocity and of revenge was to be seen seated on the grim visages of
most of the warriors, and each new and crafty allusion to the policy of
extinguishing their enemies, was followed by fresh and less restrained
bursts of approbation. In the height of this success the Teton closed
his speech, by a rapid appeal to the pride and hardihood of his native
band, and suddenly took his seat.
In the midst of the murmurs of applause, which succeeded so remarkable
an effort of eloquence, a low, feeble and hollow voice was heard rising
on the ear, as if it rolled from the inmost cavities of the human
chest, and gathered strength and energy as it issued into the air. A
solemn stillness followed the sounds, and then the lips of the aged man
were first seen to move.
“The day of Le Balafré is near its end,” were the first words that were
distinctly audible. “He is like a buffaloe, on whom the hair will grow
no longer. He will soon be ready to leave his lodge, to go in search of
another, that is far from the villages of the Siouxes; therefore, what
he has to say concerns not him, but those he leaves behind him. His
words are like the fruit on the tree, ripe and fit to be given to
chiefs.
“Many snows have fallen since Le Balafré has been found on the
war-path. His blood has been very hot, but it has had time to cool. The
Wahcondah gives him dreams of war no longer; he sees that it is better
to live in peace.
“My brothers, one foot is turned to the happy hunting-grounds, the
other will soon follow, and then an old chief will be seen looking for
the prints of his father’s moccasins, that he may make no mistake, but
be sure to come before the Master of Life, by the same path, as so many
good Indians have already travelled. But who will follow? Le Balafré
has no son. His oldest has ridden too many Pawnee horses; the bones of
the youngest have been gnawed by Konza dogs! Le Balafré has come to
look for a young arm, on which he may lean, and to find a son, that
when he is gone his lodge may not be empty. Tachechana, the skipping
fawn of the Tetons, is too weak, to prop a warrior, who is old. She
looks before her and not backwards. Her mind is in the lodge of her
husband.”
The enunciation of the veteran warrior had been calm, but distinct, and
decided. His declaration was received in silence; and though several of
the chiefs, who were in the counsels of Mahtoree, turned their eyes on
their leader, none presumed to oppose so aged and so venerated a brave,
in a resolution that was strictly in conformity to the usages of the
nation. The Teton himself was content to await the result with seeming
composure, though the gleams of ferocity, that played about his eye,
occasionally betrayed the nature of those feelings, with which he
witnessed a procedure, that was likely to rob him of that one of all
his intended victims whom he most hated.
In the mean time Le Balafré moved with a slow and painful step towards
the captives. He stopped before the person of Hard-Heart, whose
faultless form, unchanging eye, and lofty mien, he contemplated long,
with high and evident satisfaction. Then making a gesture of authority,
he awaited, until his order had been obeyed, and the youth was released
from the post and his bonds, by the same blow of the knife. When the
young warrior was led nearer to his dimmed and failing sight, the
examination was renewed, with strictness of scrutiny, and that
admiration, which physical excellence is so apt to excite in the breast
of a savage.
“It is good,” the wary veteran murmured, when he found that all his
skill in the requisites of a brave could detect no blemish; “this is a
leaping panther! Does my son speak with the tongue of a Teton?”
The intelligence, which lighted the eyes of the captive, betrayed how
well he understood the question, but still he was far too haughty to
communicate his ideas through the medium of a language that belonged to
a hostile people. Some of the surrounding warriors explained to the old
chief, that the captive was a Pawnee-Loup.
“My son opened his eyes on the ‘waters of the wolves,’” said Le
Balafré, in the language of that nation, “but he will shut them in the
bend of the ‘river with a troubled stream.’ He was born a Pawnee, but
he will die a Dahcotah. Look at me. I am a sycamore, that once covered
many with my shadow. The leaves are fallen, and the branches begin to
drop. But a single sucker is springing from my roots; it is a little
vine, and it winds itself about a tree that is green. I have long
looked for one fit to grow by my side. Now have I found him. Le Balafré
is no longer without a son; his name will not be forgotten when he is
gone! Men of the Tetons, I take this youth into my lodge.”
No one was bold enough to dispute a right, that had so often been
exercised by warriors far inferior to the present speaker, and the
adoption was listened to, in grave and respectful silence. Le Balafré
took his intended son by the arm, and leading him into the very centre
of the circle, he stepped aside with an air of triumph, in order that
the spectators might approve of his choice. Mahtoree betrayed no
evidence of his intentions, but rather seemed to await a moment better
suited to the crafty policy of his character. The more experienced and
sagacious chiefs distinctly foresaw the utter impossibility of two
partisans so renowned, so hostile, and who had so long been rivals in
fame, as their prisoner and their native leader, existing amicably in
the same tribe. Still the character of Le Balafré was so imposing, and
the custom to which he had resorted so sacred, that none dared to lift
a voice in opposition to the measure. They watched the result with
increasing interest, but with a coldness of demeanour that concealed
the nature of their inquietude. From this state of embarrassment, and
as it might readily have proved of disorganisation, the tribe was
unexpectedly relieved by the decision of the one most interested in the
success of the aged chief’s designs.
During the whole of the foregoing scene, it would have been difficult
to have traced a single distinct emotion in the lineaments of the
captive. He had heard his release proclaimed, with the same
indifference as the order to bind him to the stake. But now, that the
moment had arrived when it became necessary to make his election, he
spoke in a way to prove that the fortitude, which had bought him so
distinguished a name, had in no degree deserted him.
“My father is very old, but he has not yet looked upon every thing,”
said Hard-Heart, in a voice so clear as to be heard by all in presence.
“He has never seen a buffaloe change to a bat. He will never see a
Pawnee become a Sioux!”
There was a suddenness, and yet a calmness in the manner of delivering
this decision, which assured most of the auditors that it was
unalterable. The heart of Le Balafré, however, was yearning towards the
youth, and the fondness of age was not so readily repulsed. Reproving
the burst of admiration and triumph, to which the boldness of the
declaration, and the freshened hopes of revenge had given rise, by
turning his gleaming eye around the band, the veteran again addressed
his adopted child, as if his purpose was not to be denied.
“It is well,” he said; “such are the words a brave should use, that the
warriors may see his heart. The day has been when the voice of Le
Balafré was loudest among the lodges of the Konzas. But the root of a
white hair is wisdom. My child will show the Tetons that he is brave,
by striking their enemies. Men of the Dahcotahs, this is my son!”
The Pawnee hesitated a moment, and then stepping in front of the chief,
he took his hard and wrinkled hand, and laid it with reverence on his
head, as if to acknowledge the extent of his obligation. Then recoiling
a step, he raised his person to its greatest elevation, and looked upon
the hostile band, by whom he was environed, with an air of loftiness
and disdain, as he spoke aloud, in the language of the Siouxes—
“Hard-Heart has looked at himself, within and without. He has thought
of all he has done in the hunts and in the wars. Every where he is the
same. There is no change. He is in all things a Pawnee. He has struck
so many Tetons that he could never eat in their lodges. His arrows
would fly backwards; the point of his lance would be on the wrong end;
their friends would weep at every whoop he gave; their enemies would
laugh. Do the Tetons know a Loup? Let them look at him again. His head
is painted; his arm is flesh; his heart is rock. When the Tetons see
the sun come from the Rocky Mountains, and move towards the land of the
Pale-faces, the mind of Hard-Heart will soften, and his spirit will
become Sioux. Until that day, he will live and die a Pawnee.”
A yell of delight, in which admiration and ferocity were strangely
mingled, interrupted the speaker, and but too clearly announced the
character of his fate. The captive awaited a moment, for the commotion
to subside, and then turning again to Le Balafré, he continued, in
tones conciliating and kind, as if he felt the propriety of softening
his refusal, in a manner not to wound the pride of one who would so
gladly be his benefactor—
“Let my father lean heavier on the fawn of the Dahcotahs,” he said:
“she is weak now, but as her lodge fills with young, she will be
stronger. See,” he added, directing the eyes of the other to the
earnest countenance of the attentive trapper; “Hard-Heart is not
without a grey-head to show him the path to the blessed prairies. If he
ever has another father, it shall be that just warrior.”
Le Balafré turned away in disappointment from the youth, and approached
the stranger, who had thus anticipated his design. The examination
between these two aged men was long, mutual, and curious. It was not
easy to detect the real character of the trapper, through the mask
which the hardships of so many years had laid upon his features,
especially when aided by his wild and peculiar attire. Some moments
elapsed before the Teton spoke, and then it was in doubt whether he
addressed one like himself, or some wanderer of that race who, he had
heard, were spreading themselves, like hungry locusts, throughout the
land.
“The head of my brother is very white,” he said; “but the eye of Le
Balafré is no longer like the eagle’s. Of what colour is his skin?”
“The Wahcondah made me like these you see waiting for a Dahcotah
judgment; but fair and foul has coloured me darker than the skin of a
fox. What of that! Though the bark is ragged and riven, the heart of
the tree is sound.”
“My brother is a Big-knife! Let him turn his face towards the setting
sun, and open his eyes. Does he see the salt lake beyond the
mountains?”
“The time has been, Teton, when few could see the white on the eagle’s
head farther than I; but the glare of fourscore and seven winters has
dimmed my eyes, and but little can I boast of sight in my latter days.
Does the Sioux think a Pale-face is a god, that he can look through
hills?”
“Then let my brother look at me. I am nigh him, and he can see that I
am a foolish Red-man. Why cannot his people see every thing, since they
crave all?”
“I understand you, chief; nor will I gainsay the justice of your words,
seeing that they are too much founded in truth. But though born of the
race you love so little, my worst enemy, not even a lying Mingo, would
dare to say that I ever laid hands on the goods of another, except such
as were taken in manful warfare; or that I ever coveted more ground
than the Lord has intended each man to fill.”
“And yet my brother has come among the Red-skins to find a son?”
The trapper laid a finger on the naked shoulder of Le Balafré, and
looked into his scarred countenance with a wistful and confidential
expression, as he answered—
“Ay; but it was only that I might do good to the boy. If you think,
Dahcotah, that I adopted the youth in order to prop my age, you do as
much injustice to my goodwill, as you seem to know little of the
merciless intentions of your own people. I have made him my son, that
he may know that one is left behind him. Peace, Hector, peace! Is this
decent, pup, when greyheads are counselling together, to break in upon
their discourse with the whinings of a hound! The dog is old, Teton;
and though well taught in respect of behaviour, he is getting, like
ourselves, I fancy, something forgetful of the fashions of his youth.”
Further discourse, between these veterans, was interrupted by a
discordant yell, which burst at that moment from the lips of the dozen
withered crones, who have already been mentioned as having forced
themselves into a conspicuous part of the circle. The outcry was
excited by a sudden change in the air of Hard-Heart. When the old men
turned towards the youth, they saw him standing in the very centre of
the ring, with his head erect, his eye fixed on vacancy, one leg
advanced and an arm a little raised, as if all his faculties were
absorbed in the act of listening. A smile lighted his countenance, for
a single moment, and then the whole man sunk again into his former look
of dignity and coldness, suddenly recalled to self-possession. The
movement had been construed into contempt, and even the tempers of the
chiefs began to be excited. Unable to restrain their fury, the women
broke into the circle in a body, and commenced their attack by loading
the captive with the most bitter revilings. They boasted of the various
exploits, which their sons had achieved at the expense of the different
tribes of the Pawnees. They undervalued his own reputation, and told
him to look at Mahtoree, if he had never yet seen a warrior. They
accused him of having been suckled by a doe, and of having drunk in
cowardice with his mother’s milk. In short, they lavished upon their
unmoved captive a torrent of that vindictive abuse, in which the women
of the savages are so well known to excel, but which has been too often
described to need a repetition here.
The effect of this outbreaking was inevitable. Le Balafré turned away
disappointed, and hid himself in the crowd, while the trapper, whose
honest features were working with inward emotion, pressed nigher to his
young friend, as those who are linked to the criminal, by ties so
strong as to brave the opinions of men, are often seen to stand about
the place of execution to support his dying moments. The excitement
soon spread among the inferior warriors, though the chiefs still
forbore to make the signal, which committed the victim to their mercy.
Mahtoree, who had awaited such a movement among his fellows, with the
wary design of concealing his own jealous hatred, soon grew weary of
delay, and, by a glance of his eye, encouraged the tormentors to
proceed.
Weucha, who, eager for this sanction, had long stood watching the
countenance of the chief, bounded forward at the signal like a
blood-hound loosened from the leash. Forcing his way into the centre of
the hags, who were already proceeding from abuse to violence, he
reproved their impatience, and bade them wait, until a warrior had
begun to torment, and then they should see their victim shed tears like
a woman.
The heartless savage commenced his efforts, by flourishing his tomahawk
about the head of the captive, in such a manner as to give reason to
suppose, that each blow would bury the weapon in the flesh, while it
was so governed as not to touch the skin. To this customary expedient
Hard-Heart was perfectly insensible. His eye kept the same steady,
riveted look on the air, though the glittering axe described, in its
evolutions, a bright circle of light before his countenance. Frustrated
in this attempt, the callous Sioux laid the cold edge on the naked head
of his victim, and began to describe the different manners, in which a
prisoner might be flayed. The women kept time to his cruelties with
their taunts, and endeavoured to force some expression of the
lingerings of nature from the insensible features of the Pawnee. But he
evidently reserved himself for the chiefs, and for those moments of
extreme anguish, when the loftiness of his spirit might evince itself
in a manner better becoming his high and untarnished reputation.
The eyes of the trapper, followed every movement of the tomahawk, with
the interest of a real father, until at length, unable to command his
indignation, he exclaimed—
“My son has forgotten his cunning. This is a low-minded Indian, and one
easily hurried into folly. I cannot do the thing myself, for my
traditions forbid a dying warrior to revile his persecutors, but the
gifts of a Red-skin are different. Let the Pawnee say the bitter words
and purchase an easy death. I will answer for his success, provided he
speaks before the grave men set their wisdom to back the folly of this
fool.”
The savage Sioux, who heard his words without comprehending their
meaning, turned to the speaker and menaced him with death, for his
temerity.
“Ay, work your will,” said the unflinching old man; “I am as ready now
as I shall be to-morrow. Though it would be a death that an honest man
might not wish to die. Look at that noble Pawnee, Teton, and see what a
Red-skin may become, who fears the Master of Life, and follows his
laws. How many of your people has he sent to the distant prairies?” he
continued in a sort of pious fraud, thinking, that while the danger
menaced himself, there could surely be no sin in extolling the merits
of another; “how many howling Siouxes has he struck, like a warrior in
open combat, while arrows were sailing in the air plentier than flakes
of falling snow! Go! will Weucha speak the name of one enemy he has
ever struck?”
“Hard-Heart!” shouted the Sioux, turning in his fury, and aiming a
deadly blow at the head of his victim. His arm fell into the hollow of
the captive’s hand. For a single moment the two stood, as if entranced
in that attitude, the one paralysed by so unexpected a resistance, and
the other bending his head, not to meet his death, but in the act of
the most intense attention. The women screamed with triumph, for they
thought the nerves of the captive had at length failed him. The trapper
trembled for the honour of his friend; and Hector, as if conscious of
what was passing, raised his nose into the air, and uttered a piteous
howl.
But the Pawnee hesitated, only for that moment. Raising the other hand,
like lightning, the tomahawk flashed in the air, and Weucha sunk to his
feet, brained to the eye. Then cutting a way with the bloody weapon, he
darted through the opening, left by the frightened women, and seemed to
descend the declivity at a single bound.
Had a bolt from Heaven fallen in the midst of the Teton band it would
not have occasioned greater consternation, than this act of desperate
hardihood. A shrill plaintive cry burst from the lips of all the women,
and there was a moment, that even the oldest warriors appeared to have
lost their faculties. This stupor endured only for the instant. It was
succeeded by a yell of revenge, that burst from a hundred throats,
while as many warriors started forward at the cry, bent on the most
bloody retribution. But a powerful and authoritative call from Mahtoree
arrested every foot. The chief, in whose countenance disappointment and
rage were struggling with the affected composure of his station,
extended an arm towards the river, and the whole mystery was explained.
Hard-Heart had already crossed half the bottom, which lay between the
acclivity and the water. At this precise moment a band of armed and
mounted Pawnees turned a swell, and galloped to the margin of the
stream, into which the plunge of the fugitive was distinctly heard. A
few minutes sufficed for his vigorous arm to conquer the passage, and
then the shout from the opposite shore told the humbled Tetons the
whole extent of the triumph of their adversaries.