"Oh, come and hear what cruel wrongs
Befell the Dark Ladye"--COLERIDGE.
The Mohawk girl was in high spirits at the coming of the wild-fowl to
the lake; she would clap her hands and laugh with almost childish glee
as she looked at them darkening the lake like clouds resting on its
surface. "If I had but my father's gun, his good old gun, now!" would
Hector say, as he eyed the timorous flocks as they rose and fell upon
the lake; "but these foolish birds are so shy they are away before an
arrow can reach them."
Indiana smiled in her quiet way; she was busy filling the canoe with
green boughs, which she arranged so as completely to transform the
little vessel into the semblance of a floating island of evergreen.
Within this bower she motioned Hector to crouch down, leaving a small
space for the free use of his bow; while concealed at the prow she
gently and noiselessly paddled the canoe from the shore among the
rice-beds, letting it remain stationary or merely rocking to and fro
with the undulatory motion of the waters.
The unsuspecting birds, deceived into full security, eagerly pursued
their pastime or their prey, and it was no difficult matter for the
hidden archer to hit many a black duck, or teal, or whistlewing, as it
floated securely on the placid water, or rose to shift its place a few
yards up or down the stream. Soon the lake around was strewed with the
feathered game, which Wolfe, cheered on by Louis who was stationed on
the shore, brought to land.
Indiana told Hector that this was the season when the Indians made
great gatherings on the lake for duck-shooting, which they pursued
much after the same fashion as that which has been described, only
instead of one, a dozen or more canoes would be thus disguised with
boughs, with others stationed at different parts of the lake, or under
the shelter of the island, to collect the birds. This sport generally
concluded with a great feast.
The Indians offered the first of the birds as an oblation to the Great
Spirit, as a grateful acknowledgment of his bounty in having allowed
them to gather food thus plentifully for their families. Sometimes
distant tribes with whom they were on terms of friendship were invited
to share the sport and partake of the spoils.
Indiana could not understand why Hector did not follow the custom of
her Indian fathers, and offer the first duck or the best fish to
propitiate the Great Spirit. Hector told her that the God he
worshipped desired no sacrifice; that his holy Son, when he came down
from heaven and gave himself as a sacrifice for the sin of the world,
had satisfied his Father, the Great Spirit, an hundredfold.
They feasted now continually upon the water-fowl, and Catharine
learned from Indiana how to skin them, and so preserve the feathers
for making tippets, and bonnets, and ornamental trimmings, which are
not only warm, but light and very becoming. They split open the birds
they did not require for present consumption, and dried them for
winter store, smoking some after the manner the Shetlanders and the
Orkney people smoke the solan geese. Their shanty displayed an
abundant store of provisions--fish, flesh, and fowl, besides baskets
of wild rice and bags of dried fruit.
One day Indiana came in from the brow of the hill, and told the boys
that the lake eastward was covered with canoes, she showed, by holding
up her two hands and then three fingers, that she had counted
thirteen. The tribes had met for the annual duck-feast and the
rice-harvest. She advised them to put out the fire, so that no smoke
might be seen to attract them, but said they would not leave the lake
for hunting over the plains just then, as the camp was lower down on
the point [Footnote: This point, commonly known as _Andersen's Point_,
now the seat of an Indian village, used in former times to be a great
place of rendezvous for the Indians, and was the scene of a murderous
carnage or massacre that took place about eighty years ago; the war
weapons and bones of the Indians are often turned up with the plough
at this day.] east of the mouth of a big river, which she called
"Otonabee."
Hector asked Indiana if she would go away and leave them in the event
of meeting with any of her own tribe. The girl cast her eyes on the
earth in silence; a dark cloud seemed to gather over her face.
"If they should prove to be any of your father's people, or a friendly
tribe, would you go away with them?" he again repeated; to which she
solemnly replied,--
"Indiana has no father, no tribe, no people; no blood of her father
warms the heart of any man, woman, or child, saving herself alone. But
Indiana is a brave, and the daughter of a brave, and will not shrink
from danger: her heart is warm; red blood flows warm here," and she
laid her hand on her heart. Then lifting up her hand, she said in slow
but impassioned tone, "They left not one drop of living blood to flow
in any veins but these." She raised her eyes, and stretched her arms
upwards toward heaven, as though calling down vengeance on the
murderers of her father's house.
"My father was a Mohawk, the son of a great chief, who owned these
hunting-grounds far as your eye can see to the rising and setting sun,
along the big waters of the big lakes; but the Ojebwas, a portion of
the Chippewa nation, by treachery cut off my father's people by
hundreds in cold blood, when they were defenceless and at rest. It was
a bloody day and a bloody deed."
Instead of hiding herself, as Hector and Louis strongly advised the
young Mohawk to do, she preferred remaining, as a scout, she said,
under the cover of the bushes on the edge of the steep that overlooked
the lake, to watch the movements of the Indians. She told Hector to be
under no apprehension if they came to the hut; not to attempt to
conceal themselves, but offer them food to eat and water to drink. "If
they come to the house and find you away, they will take your stores
and burn your roof, suspecting that you are afraid to meet them
openly; but they will not harm you if you meet them with open hand and
fearless brow: if they eat of your bread, they will not harm you; me
they would kill by a cruel death--the war-knife is in their heart
against the daughter of the brave."
The boys thought Indiana's advice good, and they felt no fear for
themselves, only for Catharine, whom they counselled to remain in the
shanty with Wolfe.
The Indians, intent only on the sport which they had come to enjoy,
seemed in high glee, and apparently peaceably disposed; every night
they returned to the camp on the north side. The boys could see their
fires gleaming among the trees on the opposite shore; and now and
then, in the stillness of the evening, their wild shouts of revelry
would come faintly to their ears, borne by the breeze over the waters
of the lake.
The allusion that Indiana had made to her own history, though conveyed
in broken and hardly intelligible language, had awakened feelings of
deep interest for her in the breasts of her faithful friends. Many
months after this she related to her wondering auditors the fearful
story of the massacre of her kindred, which I will now relate, as I
have raised the curiosity of my youthful readers.
There had been for some time a jealous feeling existing between the
chiefs of two principal tribes of the Ojebwas and the Mohawks, which
like a smothered fire had burned in the heart of each without having
burst into a decided blaze; for each strove to compass his ends and
obtain the advantage over the other by covert means. The tribe of the
Mohawks of which I now speak claimed the southern shores of the Rice
Lake for their hunting-grounds, and certain islands and parts of the
lake for fishing, while that of the Ojebwas considered themselves
masters of the northern shores and certain rights of water besides.
[Footnote: The facts of this narrative were gathered from the lips of
the eldest son of a Rice Lake chief. I have preferred giving it in the
present form, rather than as the story of the Indian girl. Simple as
it is, it is matter of history.] Possibly it was about these rights
that the quarrel originated; but if so, it was not openly avowed
between the "Black Snake" (that was the totem borne by the Mohawk
chief) and the "Bald Eagle" (the totem of the Ojebwa).
These chiefs had each a son, and the Bald Eagle had also a daughter of
great and rare beauty, called by her people the "Beam of the Morning."
She was the admiration of Mohawks as well as Ojebwas, and many of the
young men of both the tribes had sought her hand, but hitherto in
vain. Among her numerous suitors, the son of the Black Snake seemed to
be the most enamoured of her beauty; and it was probably with some
intention of winning the favour of the young Ojebwa squaw for his son,
that the Black Snake accepted the formal invitation of the Bald Eagle
to come to his hunting-grounds during the rice-harvest, and shoot deer
and ducks on the lake, and to ratify a truce which had been for some
time set on foot between them. But while outwardly professing
friendship and a desire for peace, inwardly the fire of hatred burned
fiercely in the breast of the Black Snake against the Ojebwa chief and
his only son, a young man of great promise, renowned among his tribe
as a great hunter and warrior, but who had once offended the Mohawk
chief by declining a matrimonial alliance with one of the daughters of
a chief of inferior rank who was closely connected to him by marriage.
This affront rankled in the heart of the Black Snake, though outwardly
he affected to have forgiven and forgotten the slight that had been
put upon his relative.
The hunting had been carried on for some days very amicably, when one
day the Bald Eagle was requested, with all due attention to Indian
etiquette, to go to the wigwam of the Black Snake. On entering the
lodge, he perceived the Mohawk strangely disordered: he rose from his
mat, on which he had been sleeping, with a countenance fearfully
distorted, his eyes glaring hideously, his whole frame convulsed and
writhing as in fearful bodily anguish; and casting himself upon the
ground he rolled and grovelled on the earth, uttering frightful yells
and groans.
The Bald Eagle was moved at the distressing state in which he found
his guest, and asked the cause of his disorder, but this the other
refused to tell. After some hours the fit appeared to subside, but the
chief remained moody and silent. The following day the same scene was
repeated; and on the third, when the fit seemed to have increased in
bodily agony, with great apparent reluctance, wrung seemingly from him
by the importunity of his host, he consented to reveal the cause,
which was, that the Bad Spirit had told him that these bodily tortures
could not cease till the only son of his friend, the Ojebwa chief, had
been sacrificed to appease his anger, neither could peace long
continue between the two nations until this deed had been done; and
not only must the chief's son be slain, but his flesh must be served
up at a feast at which the father must preside. The Black Snake
affected the utmost horror and aversion at so bloody and unnatural a
deed being committed to save his life and the happiness of his tribe,
but the peace was to be ratified for ever if the sacrifice were
made,--if not, war to the knife was to be ever between the Mohawks and
Ojebwas.
The Bald Eagle, seeing that his treacherous guest would make this an
occasion of renewing a deadly warfare, for which possibly he was not
at the time well prepared, assumed a stoical calmness, and replied,--
"Be it so; great is the power of the Bad Spirit to cause evil to the
tribes of the chiefs that rebel against his will. My son shall be
sacrificed by my hand, that the evil one may be appeased, and that the
Black Snake's body may have ease, and his people rest beside the fires
of their lodges in peace."
"The Bald Eagle has spoken like a chief with a large heart," was the
specious response of the wily Mohawk, "moreover, the Good Spirit also
appeared, and said, 'Let the Black Snake's son and the Bald Eagle's
daughter become man and wife, that peace may be found to dwell among
the lodges, and the war-hatchet be buried for ever.'"
"The Beam of the Morning shall become the wife of the Young Pine," was
the courteous answer; but stern revenge lay deep hidden beneath the
unmoved brow and passionless lip.
The fatal day arrived. The Bald Eagle, with unflinching hand and eye
that dropped no human tear of sorrow for the son of his love, saw his
son bound to the fatal post and pierced by the arrows of his own
tribe. The fearful feast of human flesh was prepared, and the old
chief, pale but unmoved, presided over the ceremonies. The war-dance
was danced round the sacrifice, and all went off well, as if no such
horrible rite had been enacted, but a fearful retribution was at hand.
The Young Pine sought the tent of the Bald Eagle's daughter that
evening, and was received with all due deference, as a son of so great
a chief as the Black Snake merited. He was regarded now as a
successful suitor; and, intoxicated with the beauty of the Beam of the
Morning, he pressed her to allow the marriage to take place in a few
days. The bride consented, and a day was named for the wedding feast
to be celebrated; and, that due honour might be given to so great an
event, invitations were sent out to the principal families of the
Mohawk tribe, and these amounted to several hundreds of souls; while
the young Ojebwa hunters were despatched up the river and to different
parts of the country, avowedly to collect venison, beaver, and other
delicacies, to regale their guests, but in reality to summon, by means
of trusty scouts, a large war-party from the small lakes, to be in
readiness to take part in the deadly revenge that was preparing for
their enemies.
Meantime the squaws had pitched the nuptial tent and prepared the
bridal ornaments. A large wigwam, capable of containing all the
expected guests, was then constructed, adorned with the thick branches
of evergreens, so artfully contrived as to be capable of concealing
the armed Ojebwas and their allies, who in due time were introduced
beneath this leafy screen, armed with the murderous tomahawk and
scalping-knife, with which to spring upon their defenceless and
unsuspecting guests. According to the etiquette always observed upon
such occasions, all deadly weapons were left outside the tent. The
bridegroom had been conducted with songs and dancing to the tent of
the bride. The guests, to the number of several hundred naked and
painted warriors, were assembled. The feast was declared to be ready.
A great iron pot or kettle occupied the centre of the tent. According
to the custom of the Indians, the father of the bridegroom was invited
to lift the most important dish from the pot, whilst the warriors
commenced their war-dance around him. This dish was usually a bear's
head, which was fastened to a string left for the purpose of raising
it from the pot.
"Let the Black Snake, the great chief of the Mohawks, draw up the head
and set it on the table, that his people may eat and make merry, and
that his wise heart may be glad," were the scornful words of the Bald
Eagle.
A yell of horror burst from the lips of the horror-stricken father as
he lifted to view the fresh gory head of his only son, the _happy_
bridegroom the lovely daughter of the Ojebwa chief.
"Ha!" shouted the Bald Eagle, "is the great chief of the Mohawks a
squaw, that his blood grows white and his heart trembles at the sight
of his son, the bridegroom of the Beam of the Morning? The Bald Eagle
gave neither sigh nor groan when he saw the arrows pierce the heart of
his child. Come, brother, take the knife; taste the flesh and drink
the blood of thy son. The Bald Eagle shrank not when you bade him
partake of the feast that was prepared from his young warrior's body."
The wretched father dashed himself upon the earth, while his cries and
howlings rent the air. These cries were answered by the war-whoop of
the ambushed Ojebwas, as they sprang to their feet and with deafening
yells attacked the guests, who, panic-stricken, naked and defenceless,
fell an easy prey to their infuriated enemies. Not one living foe
escaped to tell the tale of that fearful marriage feast. A second
Judith had the chief's daughter proved. It was her plighted hand that
had severed the head of her unsuspecting bridegroom, to complete the
fearful vengeance that had been devised in return for the merciless
and horrible murder of her brother.
Nor was the sacrifice yet finished; for with fearful cries the Indians
seized upon the canoes of their enemies, and with the utmost speed,
urged by unsatisfied revenge, hurried down the lake to an island where
the women and children and such of the aged or young men as were not
included among the wedding guests were encamped in unsuspecting
security. Panic-stricken, the Mohawks offered no resistance, but fell
like sheep appointed for the slaughter. The Ojebwas slew there the
gray-head with the infant of days. But while the youths and old men
tamely yielded to their enemies, there was one who, her spirit roused
to fury by the murder of her father, armed herself with the war-club
and knife, and boldly withstood the successful warriors. At the door
of the tent of the slaughtered chief the Amazon defended her children.
While the war lightning kindled in her dark eyes, she called aloud in
scornful tones to her people to hide themselves in the tents of their
women, who alone were braves, and would fight their battles. Fiercely
she taunted the men; but they shrank from the unequal contest, and she
alone was found to deal the death-blow upon the foe, till, overpowered
with numbers, and pierced with frightful wounds, she fell singing her
own death-song and raising the wail for the dead who lay around her.
Night closed in, but the work of blood still continued. Lower down
they found another encampment, and there also they slew all the
inhabitants of the lodges. They then returned to the island, to gather
together their dead and to collect the spoils of the tents. They were
weary with the fatigue of the slaughter of that fearful day. The
retribution had satisfied even their love of blood. And when they
found, on returning to the spot where the heroine had stood at bay, a
young solitary female sitting beside the corpse of that dauntless
woman, her mother, they led her away, and did all that their savage
nature could suggest to soften her anguish and dry her tears. They
brought her to the tents of their women, clothed and fed her, and bade
her be comforted; but her young heart burned within her, and she
refused consolation. She could not forget the wrongs of her people:
she was the only living creature left of the Mohawks on that island.
The young girl was Indiana--the same whom Hector Maxwell had found,
wounded and bound, and ready to perish with hunger and thirst, on Bare
Hill.
Brooding with revenge in her heart, the young girl told them that she
had stolen into the tent of the Bald Eagle, and aimed a knife at his
throat; but the fatal blow was arrested by one of the young men, who
had watched her enter the old chief's tent. A council was called, and
she was taken to Bare Hill, bound, and left in the sad state already
described.
It was with feelings of horror and terror that the Christian children
listened to this fearful tale, and Indiana read in their averted eyes
and pale faces the feelings with which the recital of the tale of
blood had inspired them. And then it was, as they sat beneath the
shade of the trees, in the soft, misty light of an Indian summer moon,
that Catharine, with simple earnestness, taught her young disciple
those heavenly lessons of mercy and forgiveness which her Redeemer had
set forth by his life, his doctrines, and his death--telling her that
if she, would see that Saviour's face in heaven, and dwell with him in
joy and peace for ever, she must learn to pray for those dreadful men
who had made her fatherless and motherless and her home a desolation;
and that the fire of revenge must be quenched within her heart, and
replaced by the spirit of love, or she could not become a child of God
and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven. How hard were these
conditions to the young heathen! how contrary to her nature, to all
that she had been taught in the tents of her fathers, where revenge
was virtue, and to take the scalp of an enemy a glorious thing!
Yet when she contrasted the gentle, kind, and dove-like characters of
her Christian friends with the fierce, bloody people of her tribe and
of her Ojebwa enemies, she could not but own they were more worthy of
love and admiration. Had they not found her a poor, miserable,
trembling captive, unbound her, fed and cherished her, pouring the
balm of consolation into her wounded heart, drawing her in bands of
tenderest love to forsake those wild and fearful passions that warred
in her soul, and bringing her to the feet of the Saviour, to become
his meek and holy child--a lamb of his "extended fold"? [Footnote: The
Indian who related this narrative to the author was a son of a Rice
Lake chief, Mosang Pondash by name. He vouched for its truth as a
historic fact remembered by his father, whose grandsire had been one
of the actors in the massacre.]