NADJII
The first grey light of morning was creeping through the white curtains of
Loïs’ bedroom, where she was still sleeping, when suddenly, without any
apparent reason, she awoke and sat straight up.
“I am certain I heard something or some one,” she said to herself, and bent
forward to listen. For a few seconds there was silence, save for the twitter
of the awakening birds; then there came a slight rattling on the window-pane,
as if earth or dust had been thrown.
“I knew I was right,” said Loïs. She got out of bed, slipped on a wrapper,
and, bare-footed as she was, went softly across the room to the window; this
she opened noiselessly and bent forward. What a lovely autumn morning it was,
the air so fresh and full of vitality! The many-tinted leaves of the creepers
clambering up the house thrust themselves forward, kissing Loïs’ cheek as if
to wish her “good morrow.”
It was scarcely three o’clock. A soft white haze hung like a veil over the
land, precursor of a fine day; but this effectually prevented Loïs
distinguishing any distant object. A few of the great forest trees had been
left standing in the garden, and their thick foliage cast deep shadows, whilst
a hedge of oleanders screened the house from the high road leading down to the
village. On the other side was the dark forest, stretching out farther than
the eye could see.
Still Loïs strained both eyes and ears; some one was there, she felt sure. To
a certain extent she had been trained by Roger and Charles, when, in the days
of her early girlhood, she had accompanied them on their forest excursions;
her hearing was therefore keen and her sight penetrating, and she knew now
that she was being watched though she could distinguish no one. She bent
farther out of the casement window and showed herself. Then from beneath the
shrubs, which grew low down on the ground, she saw the dim outline of a human
face. It was dark, and the black, straight hair hung about it, whilst the eyes
shone forth like coals of fire. Loïs started, and raised her hand in token
that she was aware of the strange presence; instantly the dark face
disappeared, and Loïs closed the casement.
“What can she want? Has she brought a message from him? Her coming never bodes
good!” Even while uttering these words, she had been hastily dressing herself;
and throwing a dark shawl round her head and taking her shoes in her hand, she
cautiously opened her door and crept down the stairs. It was evidently not the
first time she had thus manœuvred. Passing out by the back door, she kept
close up against the house wall until she reached the corner; there she
waited. No one, unless accustomed to Indian ways, would have heard or seen
anything moving in that garden, and yet before many seconds had elapsed the
figure of a woman rose up beside her.
“Nadjii!” said Loïs.
The woman smiled, and, taking the hand Loïs held out to her, stroked it
gently, as if the softness and the whiteness pleased her.
“Is it bad news, Nadjii?” asked Loïs.
She nodded. Loïs sighed.
“Come this way,” she said; and skirting round the house, they came to a sort
of shed, used for putting away garden tools and general rubbish.
“We shall be quiet here for a time,” said Loïs; “but it is getting late; you
must be quick, Nadjii. Charles is surely not ill?”
The Indian shook her head.
“No, _you_ ill,” she said softly, in broken English; and then she continued,
speaking rapidly, “They will come; they will kill and burn. Run, run far
away.”
Every particle of colour left Loïs’ face. “Do you mean your people are coming
down to murder us? Where is Charles?” she said.
“Away with the white man on the great sea. Nadjii follow her own people, to
watch for you; he say ‘Go,’ and Nadjii went. My people angry because your
white brother kill them, and the great Onontio angry. He escape always, over
mountains, rivers; no Indian catch him.”
“Are you speaking of Roger?” said Loïs.
“Yes,” answered the Indian. “Just kill Indians in wood; Onontio angry,
revenge.”
“But Roger is not here; he is far away. If your people attack the settlement,
thinking to find him they will be disappointed. When are they coming? Does
Charles know of it?”
“No, no. They not dare come, if he knew,” said Nadjii. “I tell you, he with
the other white nation. My people revenge.”
“And when are they going to attack us?” said Loïs, trying to speak calmly.
“To-night,” answered Nadjii.
“My God!” said Loïs, burying her face in her hands.
“No hurt you,” said the Indian gently. “Nadjii watch over you.”
“What do I care for myself!” exclaimed Loïs passionately. “It is my poor
mother, the children, the whole settlement! Oh, how can Charles let them!” and
she wrung her hands.
“He not know,” said Nadjii. “Great chief sent for him to help, he go. Indians
promise no hurt you, but Roger kill; Ominipeg angry, they kill too.”
“And you say they will attack us to-night?” said Loïs.
“Ugh,”[2] said Nadjii. “I walk all night to tell you, brothers other end of
forest.”
[Footnote 2: Indian for _yes_.]
“But if they miss you they will guess you have come to warn us, and be angry,”
said Loïs.
Nadjii shook her head; then, looking at Loïs, she said, “Run, run quickly. My
brothers will not come while the sun shines; they wait till the
_gushkewau_.”[3]
[Footnote 3: Indian for _darkness_.]
“I will get you some milk and bread,” said Loïs, ever thoughtful of others
even in her sore trouble. “Where have you left the child?” she added, in a low
voice.
Nadjii smiled and pointed to the forest.
“Are you not afraid to leave him so long?” said Loïs.
“_Æava-yea_,” said Nadjii softly, meaning thereby “lullaby, he is sleeping.”
Loïs left her and went back into the house, reappearing with bread and fruit
and a can of milk. She gave them to the Indian, saying,--
“You are sure they will not come till night?”
“Kaween, gushkewau,”[4] answered Nadjii. “Watch!” and once more she pointed to
the forest.
[Footnote 4: _No indeed, darkness._]
“You will be there?” asked Loïs.
“Ugh,” said the Indian.
“Are they many?” asked Loïs.
Nadjii stooped, picked up a handful of loose gravel, and let it run slowly
through her fingers. If it were possible, Loïs’ face grew a shade paler.
“Go now,” she said; “the men on the farm are beginning to stir; they must not
see you. You are faithful at least, and I thank you;” and stooping, she kissed
the Indian woman.
A flood of light came into the dark face, the glow of a great love surging up
in this savage nature.
“The Great Spirit tell Nadjii die for you and him!” she said, in a low voice;
and before Loïs could answer she had wrapped the otter skin she wore round
her, and darted away, disappearing behind the trees and bushes with an
incredible swiftness.
For one second Loïs stood still; then she roused herself. “There is no time to
lose. Shall I rouse Marcus or Father Nat?” She came forth out of the shed,
and, as she did so, found herself face to face with Marcus.
“Loïs, has anything happened?” he asked, looking anxiously at her pale face.
“Nadjii has been here,” she answered. “The Indians are going to attack us
to-night.”
The fear was so constantly present with them all, that the statement did not
elicit even an exclamation of surprise from Marcus; he only said,--
“I knew it must come sooner or later. I only wish you women had accepted
William Parkmann’s offer, and were safe at Boston.”
“Neither mother nor I would have gone. You know it, Marcus. More than ever are
we bound to stay by our people.”
“Well, you must go now; it won’t do for you to be caught by the redskins.
We’ve kept the cattle pretty close. The best of the herds can be got in
easily, and then we must defend the old place as best we can; but the first
thing to be done is to get the women and children out of the place. I’ll go
and call Father Nat.”
The inhabitants of the settlement were beginning to show signs of life. Cocks
crowing, dogs barking, and the soft lowing of the cattle came gently up from
the valley above which the two homesteads stood.
Without further speech the brother and sister parted, Marcus crossing over to
Father Nat, whom he met on the threshold of his house.
“Well, lad, what’s brought you over so early?” asked Nathaniel, taking his
pipe from his mouth. “We’re going to have a fine day. This sort of weather is
good for the land; we shall have a splendid autumn.”
“I doubt if there’ll be much left to rejoice over by this time to-morrow,”
answered Marcus. “They’re coming at last, Father Nat!”
“Who? The Indians?” exclaimed Nathaniel.
“Who else should I mean?” said Marcus. “Loïs has seen Nadjii, Charles’ squaw,
and she says they will be down upon the settlement to-night.”
There was a moment’s silence; then Nat said, “We must lose no time; the
waggons must be got out, and the women and children sent off. They’ll be safe
before nightfall at Zanisville. Quick! send one of the men to John Cleveland,
and do you go down to the village, and give the alarm; but above all things,
there must be no noise--the red men have their spies about, you may be sure.
The women must be got out of the village quietly, through the valley on the
other side,” and he turned away.
Loïs had already spoken to her mother, and Father Nat found Martha standing in
the kitchen with the two younger girls, Marie and Susan, clinging to her.
“The waggons will be ready in half an hour,” he said, “but you must go off on
foot to avoid observation. They will meet you on the other side of the valley
and take you to Zanisville, where you will be in safety. Quick! make up your
bundles and go. The Indians are coming through the woods; happily, they be
still a good way off.”
“And you?” said Martha.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” answered Nathaniel. “We shall not be attacked in
the daytime; we are well prepared. I hope we may teach these savages a lesson.
It would have been different if they had surprised us. You need not go farther
than Zanisville. We shall be sending for you as soon as it is safe to do so.”
“I thought it was decided we were to remain,” said Loïs.
“As long as it was safe to keep you,” said Nathaniel. “Now the care and
thought for you would be a hindrance to us men. I mean to give these savages a
peppering which they shall remember, and you’re best out of the way. We’ve
settled it long ago. We’re not taken unawares. The women and children will be
escorted by some thirty of our men over the hills; the waggons will go round
to meet you, and take you the rest of the way: there’ll be no danger then;
they’ll be too busy with us. Don’t make any trouble; it’s got to be as I say,
Loïs.”
In view of an attack of the Indians, the elders had arranged that a certain
number of men should be told off to protect the women and screen their
retreat. They had now the advantage of not being surprised, and having time
before them. Some of the women were very unwilling to go, not believing the
rumour--there had been so many false alarms--but the men insisted, and soon
little groups were seen crossing the valley and directing their steps through
the mountain gorges towards the spot where the waggons were to be in waiting.
So numerous were the outlets to the valley, the roads were so zigzag, and the
country was so thickly wooded, that it was easy for the fugitives to pass out
unperceived; besides, the Indians were still at a great distance, separated
from the settlement by a dense forest.
By noon the women and children were far on their way; some had joined company,
and on the whole they were not as depressed as they might have been. In two or
three days they hoped to be recalled. The settlement they were going to was
comparatively at a short distance, though better protected than the Marshes,
which lay quite on the borderland.
Nathaniel Boscowen and the men generally were in good spirits; they had plenty
of ammunition and were prepared. The great danger of these night attacks was
in being surprised, and, thanks to Nadjii, this had been avoided. Very quietly
and without any display they took their precautions. To all outward appearance
the usual daily life went on: the men drove the cattle into the meadows, they
worked in the fields, some even fished in the river, and towards evening they
returned to the village, and apparently rested from their labours, standing
smoking and talking outside their houses, and a few gathered in groups on the
square in front of the church; but a close observer might have noticed that
there was a strained look on most of the men’s faces, as if they were
listening for some distant sound, and their eyes seemed to turn instinctively
towards the dark forest. In the kitchen of Omega Marsh sat Father Nat, Marcus,
the minister, and half a dozen of the principal men of the settlement. At
Alpha Marsh lights were lit when night fell, and for some time figures moved
to and fro in the rooms, so that its uninhabited condition should not be
perceptible from outside.
The clock had struck nine, when suddenly the kitchen door opened, and some one
entered. There was no mistaking who it was. Father Nat and Marcus both rose.
“Loïs!” they exclaimed together, in a tone of reproach.
She went straight up to the elder man, and, laying her hands on his shoulder,
said,--
“Dear Father Nat, my place is surely beside you and Marcus. I am the eldest of
my race. That my mother should seek safety in flight for the sake of Marie and
Susie was right. I knew she would not go without me, so I went; but when we
got into the waggons and she was safely off, I slipped out and came home. She
will probably not miss me for some hours, so she will be spared all anxiety.”
“I am sorry you have done this thing, Loïs,” said Father Nat anxiously.
“I am not,” said Loïs; “and now give me some supper. I have had nothing since
morning, and it has been a long tramp.”
“It has indeed,” said the men present, looking at her with affectionate pride.
They had all known her from her birth, and loved her almost as well as their
own children, and somehow they were glad to have her back amongst them.
“Are you ready?” asked Loïs.
“Yes, we are quite ready,” answered Father Nat. Loïs ate the supper they
hastened to place before her, and then told them something of the day’s
journey.
“We saw no one on the road,” she said; “it seems difficult to imagine such
danger is threatening us.”
“Nevertheless, I have heard sounds in the forest which tell me plainly the
Indians are not far off,” said Nathaniel.
“Now,” said Loïs, rising, “I will lie down and sleep for an hour; there is yet
time.”
“Do,” said Father Nat, and Loïs went to her own room and knelt beside her
white bed and prayed, as she had done all the years of her life, from
childhood to womanhood. Then, throwing herself on her bed, she slept.