While Nathan lay watching at the renegade's hut, there came a change over
the aspect of the night, little less favourable to his plans and hopes
than even the discovery of Edith's place of concealment, which he had so
fortunately made. The sky became suddenly overcast with clouds, and deep
darkness invested the Indian village; while gusts of wind, sweeping with
a moaning sound over the adjacent hills, and waking the forests from
their repose, came rushing over the village, whirring and fluttering
aloft like flights of the boding night-raven, or the more powerful bird
of prey that had given its name to the chieftain of the tribe.
In such darkness, and with the murmur of the blasts and the rustling of
boughs to drown the noise of his footsteps, Nathan no longer feared to
pursue his way; and rising boldly to his feet, drawing his blanket close
around him, and assuming, as before, the gait of a savage, he strode
forwards, and in less than a minute, was upon the public square,--if such
we may call it,--the vacant area in the centre of the village, where
stood the rude shed of bark and boughs, supported by a circular range of
posts, all open, except at top, to the weather, which custom had
dignified with the title of Council-house. The bounds of the square were
marked by clusters of cabins placed with happy contempt of order and
symmetry, and by trees and bushes that grew among and behind them,
particularly at the foot of the hill on one side, and, on the other,
along the borders of the river; which, in the pauses of the gusts, could
be heard sweeping hard by over a broken and pebbly channel. Patches of
bushes might even be seen growing in places on the square itself; and
here and there were a few tall trees, remnants of the old forest which
had once overshadowed the scene towering aloft, and sending forth on the
blast such spiritual murmurs, and wild oraculous whispers, as were wont,
in ancient days, to strike an awe through soothsayers and devotees in the
sacred groves of Dodona.
Through this square, looking solitude and desolation together, lay the
path of the spy; and he trode it without fear, although it offered an
obstruction that might well have daunted the zeal of one less crafty and
determined. In its centre, and near the Council-house, he discovered a
fire, now burning low, but still, as the breeze, time by time, fanned the
decaying embers into flame, sending forth light enough to reveal the
spectacle of at least a dozen savages stretched in slumber around it,
with as many ready rifles stacked round a post hard by. Their appearance,
without affrighting, greatly perplexed the man of peace; who, though at
first disposed to regard them as a kind of guard, to whom had been
committed the charge of the village and the peace of the community,
during the uproar and terrors of the debauch, found reason, upon more
mature inspection, to consider them a band from some neighbouring
village, perhaps an out-going war party, which, unluckily for himself,
had tarried at the village to share the hospitalities, and take part in
the revels, of its inhabitants. Thus, there was near the fire a huge heap
of dried corn-husks and prairie-grass, designed for a couch,--a kind of,
luxury which Nathan supposed the villagers would have scarce taken the
trouble to provide, unless for guests whose warlike pride and sense of
honour would not permit them to sleep under cover until they had struck
the enemy in his own country, and were returning victorious to their own;
and as a proof that they had shared as guests in all the excesses of
their hosts, but few of them were seen huddled together on the couch, the
majority lying about in such confusion and postures as could only have
been produced by the grossest indulgence.
Pausing awhile, but not deterred by the discovery of such undesirable
neighbours, Nathan easily avoided them by making the circuit of the
square; creeping along from tree to tree, and bush to bush, until he had
left the whole group on the rear, and arrived in the vicinity of a cabin,
which, from its appearance, might with propriety be supposed the dwelling
of the most distinguished demagogue of the tribe. It was a cottage of
logs very similar to those of the renegades, who had themselves, perhaps,
built it for the chief, whose favour it was so necessary to purchase by
every means in their power; but as it consisted of only a single room,
and that by no means spacious, the barbarian had seen fit to eke it out
by a brace of summer apartments, being tents of skins, which were pitched
at its ends like wings, and, perhaps, communicated directly with the
interior, though each had its own particular door of mats looking out
upon the square.
All these appearances Nathan could easily note, in occasional gleams from
the fire, which, falling upon the rude and misshapen lodge, revealed its
features obscurely to the eye. It bore an air of solitude that became the
dwelling of a chief. The soil around it, as if too sacred to be invaded
by the profane feet of the multitude, was left overgrown with weeds and
starveling bushes; and an ancient elm, rising among them, and flinging
its shadowy branches wide around, stood like a giant watchman, to repel
the gaze of the curious.
This solitude, these bushes through which he could crawl unobserved, and
the shadows of the tree, offering a concealment equally effectual and
inviting, were all circumstances in Nathan's favour; and giving one
backward glance to the fire on the square, and then fixing his eye on one
of the tents, in which, as the mat at the door shook in the breeze, he
could detect the glimmering of a light, and fancied he could even faintly
hear the murmur of voices, he crawled among the bushes, scarcely doubting
that he was now within but a few feet of the unhappy maid in whose
service he had toiled so long and so well.
But the path to the wigwam was not yet free from obstructions. He had
scarce pushed aside the first bush in his way, opening a vista into the
den of leaves, where he looked to find his best concealment, before a
flash of light from the fire, darting through the gap, and falling upon a
dark grim visage almost within reach of his hand, showed him that he
had stumbled unawares upon a sleeping savage,--a man that had evidently
staggered there in his drunkenness, and falling among the bushes, had
straightway given himself up to sottish repose.
For the first time, a thrill smote through the bosom of the spy; but it
was not wholly a thrill of dismay. There was little indeed in the
appearance of the wretched sleeper, at that moment, to inspire terror;
for apart from the condition of helpless impotence, to which his
ungovernable appetites had reduced him, he seemed to be entirely
unarmed,--at least Nathan could see neither knife nor tomahawk about him.
But there was that in the grim visage, withered with age, and seamed with
many a scar,--in the mutilated, but bony and still nervous hand lying on
the broad naked chest,--and in the recollections of the past they
recalled to Nathan's brain, which awoke a feeling not less exciting, if
less unworthy, than fear. In the first impulse of surprise, it is true,
he started backwards, and grovelled flat upon his face, as if to beat an
instant retreat in the only posture which could conceal him, if the
sleeper should have been disturbed by his approach. But the savage slept
on, drugged to stupefaction by many a deep and potent draught; and
Nathan, preserving his snake-like position only for a moment, rose slowly
upon his hands, and peered over again upon the unconscious barbarian.
But the bushes had closed again around him, and the glimmer of the dying
fire no longer fell upon the barbarian. With an audacity of daring that
marked the eagerness and intensity of his curiosity, Nathan with his
hands pushed the bushes aside, so as again to bring a gleam upon the
swarthy countenance; which he perused with such feelings as left him for
a time unconscious of the object of his enterprise, unconscious of
everything save the spectacle before him, the embodied representation of
features which events of former years had painted in indelible hues on
his remembrance. The face was that of a warrior, worn with years, and
covered with such scars as could be boasted only by one of the most
distinguished men of the tribe. Deep seams also marked the naked chest of
the sleeper; and there was something in the appearance of his garments of
dressed hides, which, though squalid enough, were garnished with
multitudes of silver brooches and tufts of human hair, with here and
there a broad Spanish dollar looped ostentatiously to the skin, to prove
he was anything but a common brave. To each ear was attached a string of
silver coins, strung together in regular gradation from the largest to
the smallest,--a profusion of wealth which could appertain only to a
chief. To prove, indeed, that he was no less, there was visible upon his
head, secured to the tiara, or _glory_, as it might be called (for such
is its figure) of badgers' hairs, which is so often found woven around
the scalp-lock of a North-western Indian, an ornament consisting of the
beaks and claws of a buzzard, and some dozen or more of its sable
feathers. These, as Nathan had previously told the soldier, were the
distinguishing badges of Wenonga, or the Black-Vulture (for so the name
is translated); and it was no less a man than Wenonga himself, the
oldest, most famous, and, at one time, the most powerful chief of his
tribe, who thus lay, a wretched, squalid sot, before the doors of his own
wigwam, which he had been unable to reach. Such was Wenonga; such were
many of the bravest and most distinguished of his truly unfortunate race,
who exchanged their lands, their fathers' graves, and the lives of their
people, for the doubtful celebrity which the white man is so easily
disposed to allow them.
The spy looked upon the face of the Indian; but there was none at hand
to gaze upon his own, to mark the hideous frown of hate, and the more
hideous grin of delight, that mingled on, and distorted his visage, as
he gloated, snake-like, over that of the chief. As he looked, he drew
from its sheath in his girdle his well-worn, but still bright and keen
knife,--which he poised in one hand, while feeling, with what seemed
extraordinary fearlessness or confidence of his prey, with the other
along the sleeper's naked breast, as if regardless how soon he might
wake. But Wenonga still slept on, though the hand of the white man lay
upon his ribs, and rose and fell with the throbs of his warlike heart.
The knife took the place of the hand, and one thrust would have driven it
through the organ that had never beaten with pity or remorse; and that
thrust Nathan, quivering through every fibre with nameless joy and
exultation, and forgetful of everything but his prey, was about to make.
He nerved his hand for the blow; but it trembled with eagerness. He
paused an instant, and before he could make a second effort, a voice from
the wigwam struck upon his ear, and the strength departed from his arm.
He staggered back, and awoke to consciousness; the sound was repeated; it
was the wail, of a female voice, and its mournful accents, coming to his
ear in an interval of the gust, struck a new feeling into his bosom. He
remembered the captive, and his errand of charity and mercy. He drew a
deep and painful breath, and muttering, but within the silent recesses of
his breast, "Thee shall not call to me in vain!" buried the knife softly
in its sheath. Then crawling silently away, and leaving the chief to his
slumbers, he crept through the bushes until he had reached the tent from
which the mourning voice proceeded. Still lying upon his face, he dragged
himself to the door, and looking under the corner of the mat that waved
before it in the wind, he saw at a glance that he had reached the goal of
his journey.
The tent was of an oval figure, and of no great extent; but being
lighted only by a fire burning dimly in the centre of its earthen floor,
and its frail walls darkened by smoke, the eye could scarcely penetrate
to its dusky extremity. It consisted, as has been said, of skins, which
were supported upon poles, wattled together like the framework of a
crate or basket; the poles of the opposite sides being kept asunder by
cross-pieces, which, at the common centre of intersection or radiation,
were themselves upheld by a stout wooden pillar. Upon this pillar, and on
the slender rafters, were laid or suspended sundry Indian utensils of the
kitchen and the field, wooden bowls, earthen pans and Irazen pots, guns,
hatchets, and fish-spears, with ears of corn, dried roots, smoked meats,
blankets and skins, and many articles that had perhaps been plundered
from the Long-knives, such as halters and bridles, hats, coats shawls,
and aprons, and other such gear; among which was conspicuous a bundle of
scalps, some of them with long female tresses, the proofs of the prowess
of a great warrior, who, like the other fighting-men of his race,
accounted the golden ringlets of a girl as noble a trophy of valour as
the grizzled locks of a veteran soldier.
On the floor of the tent, piled against its sides and farthest extremity,
was the raised platform of skins, with rude partitions and curtains of
mats, which formed the sleeping-couch, or, perhaps we might say, the
sleeping-apartments, of the lodge. But these were in a great measure
hidden under heaps of blankets, skins, and other trumpery articles, that
seemed to have been snatched in some sudden hurry from the floor, which
they had previously cumbered. In fact, there was every appearance that
the tent had been for a long time used as a kind of store-room, the
receptacle of a bandit's omnium-gatherum, and had been hastily prepared
for unexpected inmates. But these particulars, which he might have noted
at a glance, Nathan did not pause to survey. There were objects of
greater attractions for his eyes in a group of three female figures: in
one of whom, standing near the fire, and grasping the hands and garments
of a second, as if imploring pity or protection, her hair dishevelled,
her visage bloodless, her eyes wild with grief and terror, he beheld the
object of his perilous enterprise, the lovely and unhappy Edith
Forrester. Struggling in her grasp, as if to escape, yet weeping, and
uttering hurried expressions that were meant to soothe the agitation of
the captive, was the renegade's daughter, Telie, who seemed herself
little less terrified than the prisoner. The third person of the group
was an Indian beldam, old, withered, and witch-like, who sat crouching
over the fire, warming her skinny hands, and only intermitting her
employment occasionally to eye the more youthful pair with looks of
malignant hatred and suspicion.
The gale was still freshening, and the elm-boughs rustled loudly in the
wind; but Nathan could overhear every word of the captive, as, still
grasping Telie by the hand, she besought her, in the language of
desperation, "not to leave her, not to desert her, at such a moment;"
while Telie, shedding tears, which seemed to be equally those of shame
and sorrow, entreated her to fear nothing, and permit her to depart.
"They won't hurt you,--no, my father promised that," she said: "it is the
chief's house, and nobody will come nigh to hurt you. You are safe, lady;
but, oh! my father will kill me, if he finds me here."
"It was your father that caused it all!" cried Edith, with a vehement
change of feeling; "it was _he_ that betrayed us, _he_ that killed, oh!
killed my Roland! Go!--I hate you! Heaven will punish you for what you
have done; Heaven will never forgive the treachery and the murder--Go,
go! they will kill me, and then all will be well,--yes, all will be
well!"
But Telie, thus released, no longer sought to fly. She strove to obtain
and kiss the hand that repelled her, sobbing bitterly, and reiterating
her assurances that no harm was designed the maiden.
"No,--no harm! Do I not know it all?" exclaimed Edith, again giving
way to her fears, and grasping Telie's arm. "_You_ are not like your
father; if you betrayed me once, you will not betray me again. Stay with
me,--yes, stay with me, and I'll forgive you,--forgive you all. That
man--that dreadful man! I know him well: he will come--he has murdered my
cousin, and he is,--oh Heaven, how black a villain! Stay with me, Telie,
to protect me from that man; stay with me, and I'll forgive all you have
done."
It was with such wild entreaties Edith, agitated by an excitement that
seemed almost to have unsettled her brain, still urged Telie not to
abandon her; while Telie, repeating again and again her protestations
that no injury was designed or could happen, and that the old woman at
the fire was specially deputed to protect her, and would do so, begged to
be permitted to go, insisting, with every appearance of sincere alarm,
that her father would kill her if she remained,--that he had forbidden
her to come near the prisoner, which, nevertheless, she had secretly
done, and would do again, if she could this time avoid discovery.
But her protestations were of little avail in moving Edith to her
purpose; and it was only when the latter, worn out by suffering and
agitation, and sinking helpless on the couch at her feet, had no longer
the power to oppose her, that Telie hurriedly, yet with evident grief and
reluctance, tore herself away. She pressed the captive's hand to her
lips, bathed it in her tears, and then, with many a backward glance of
sorrow, stole from the lodge. Nathan crawled aside as she passed out, and
watching a moment until she had fled across the square, returned to his
place of observation. He looked again into the tent, and his heart smote
him with pity as he beheld the wretched Edith sitting in a stupor of
despair, her head sunk upon her breast, her hands clasped, her ashy lips
quivering, but uttering no articulate sound. "Thee prays Heaven to help
thee, poor maid!" he muttered to himself: "Heaven denied the prayer of
them that was as good and as lovely; but thee is not yet forsaken!"
He took his knife from its sheath, and turned his eyes upon the old hag,
who sat at the fire with her back partly towards him, but her eyes
fastened upon the captive, over whom they wandered with the fierce and
unappeasable malice, that was in those days seen rankling in the breast
of many an Indian mother, and expended upon prisoners at the stake with
a savage, nay, a demoniacal zeal that might have put warriors to shame.
In truth, the unlucky captive had always more to apprehend from the
squaws of a tribe than from its warriors; and _their_ cries for vengeance
often gave to the torture wretches whom even their cruel husbands were
inclined to spare.
With knife in hand, and murderous thoughts in his heart, Nathan raised a
corner of the mat, and glared for a moment upon the beldam. But the
feelings of the white-man prevailed; he hesitated, faltered, and dropping
the mat in its place, retreated silently from the door. Then restoring
his knife for a second time to its sheath, listening awhile to hear if
the drunken Wenonga yet stirred in his lair, and taking a survey of the
sleepers at the nearly extinguished fire, he crept away, retraced his
steps through the village, to the place where he had left the captain of
horse-thieves, whom,--to the shame of that worthy be it spoken,--he found
fast locked in the arms of Morpheus, and breathing such a melody from his
upturned nostrils as might have roused the whole village from its repose,
had not that been at least twice as sound and deep as his own.
"Tarnal death to me!" said he, rubbing his eyes when Nathan shook
him from his slumbers, "I war nigh gone in a dead snooze!--being as
how I ar'n't had a true reggelar mouthful of snortin' this h'yar
no-time,--considering I always took it with my hoptical peepers right
open. But, I say, Nathan, what's the last news from the abbregynes and
anngelliferous madam?"
"Give me one of thee halters," said Nathan, "and do thee observe now what
I have to say to thee."
"A halter!" cried Ralph, in dudgeon; "you ar'n't for doing all, and the
hoss-stealing too?"
"Friend," said Nathan, "with this halter I must bind one that sits in
watch over the maiden; and, truly, it is better it should be so, seeing
that these hands of mine have never been stained with the blood of
woman."
"And you have found my mistress?" said Ralph, in a rapture. "Jist call
the Captain, and let's be a doing!"
"He is a brave youth, and a youth of a mighty heart," said Nathan; "but
this is no work for them that has never seen the ways of an Injun
village. Now, friend, does thee hear me? The town is alive with
fighting-men, and there is a war-party of fourteen painted Wyandotts
sleeping on the Council-square. But don't thee be dismayed thereupon;
for, truly, these assassin creatures is all besotted with drink; and were
there with us but ten stout young men of Kentucky, I do truly believe we
could knock every murdering dog of an on the head, and nobody the wiser.
Does thee hear, friend? Do but thee own part in this endeavour well, and
we will save the young and tender maid thee calls madam. Take theeself to
the pound, which thee may do safely, by following the hill: pick out four
good horses, fleet and strong, and carry them safely away, going up the
valley,--mind, friend, thee must go _up_, as if thee was speeding thee
way to the Big Lake, instead of to Kentucky: then, when thee has ridden a
mile, thee may cross the brook, and follow the hills, till thee has
reached the hiding-place that we did spy from out upon this village. Thee
hears, friend? There thee will find the fair maid, Edith; which I will
straightway fetch out of her bondage. And, truly, it may be, I have
learned _that_, this night, which will make both her and the young man
thee calls Captain, which is a brave young man, both rich and happy. And
now, friend, thee has heard me; and thee must do thee duty."
"If I don't fetch her the beautifullest hoss that war ever seed in the
woods," said Ralph, "thar's no reason, except because the Injuns ar'n't
had good luck this year in grabbing! And I'll fetch him round up the
holler, jist as you say too, and round about till I strike the snuggery,
jist the same way; for thar's the way you show judgematical, and I'm
cl'ar of your way of thinking. And so now, h'yar's my fo'-paw, in token
thar's no two ways about me, Ralph Stackpole, a hoss to my friends, and a
niggur to them that sarves me!"
With these words, the two associates, equally zealous in the cause in
which they had embarked, parted, each to achieve his own particular share
of the adventure, in which they had left so little to be done by the
young Virginian.
But, as it happened, neither Roland's inclination nor fate was favourable
to his playing so insignificant a part in the undertaking. He had
remained in the place of concealment assigned him, tortured with
suspense, and racked by self-reproach, for more than an hour: until, his
impatience getting the better of his judgment, he resolved to creep
nigher the village, to ascertain, if possible, the state of affairs. He
had arrived within earshot of the pair, and without overhearing all, had
gathered enough of their conversation to convince him that Edith was at
last found, and that the blow was now to be struck for her deliverance.
His two associates separated before he could reach them; Ralph plunging
among the bushes that covered the hill, while Nathan, as before, stalked
boldly into the village. He called softly after the latter, to attract
his notice; but his voice was lost in the gusts sweeping along the hill;
and Nathan proceeded onwards, without heeding him. He hesitated a moment
whether to follow, or return to his station, where little Peter, more
obedient, or more prudent than himself, still lay, having resolutely
refused to stir at the soldier's invitation to accompany him; until
finally, surrendering his discretion to his anxiety, he resolved to
pursue after Nathan,--a measure of imprudence, if not of folly, which, at
a less exciting moment, no one would have been more ready to condemn than
himself. But the image of Edith in captivity, and perhaps of Braxley
standing by, the master of her fate, was impressed upon his heart, as if
pricked into it with daggers; and to remain longer at a distance, and in
inaction, was impossible. Imitating Nathan's mode of advance as well as
he could, guided by his dusky figure, and hoping soon to overtake him, he
pushed forward and was soon in the dreaded village.