CHAPTER XIV
And what was Edith's journey? Would the reader have me present it as a picture--as it appeared to her after it was over--massed together in its extraordinary rapidity, and seen but from one point at the end?
Swiftly skimming in a bark canoe upon the glossy bosoms of the lovely lakes, which reflected every hue of herb and tree, and sky and mountain, darting along bright and sparkling streams, sometimes beneath the overhanging canopy of boughs, sometimes under the pure blue eye of heaven. Often struggling with a rapid, often having to pass along the shore to turn a waterfall; at times walking along through the glowing woods, burning with the intense coloring of autumn; at times surrounded by a number of Indians, each rendering quiet, earnest service to the adopted daughter of the great Oneida chief; at times wandering on in the dim forest, with no one but her two dark attendants near; now the fierce howl of the midnight wolf sounding in her ear; now the sharp, garrulous cry of the blue jay; now the shrill scream of the woodhaw. Now the Indian lodge or castle, as the Iroquois sometimes called their dwellings, now the brown canopy of the autumn wood covered her; but still, under the skillful guidance and with the eager help of the two negroes, she went forward with extraordinary rapidity, leaving miles and miles behind her every hour. It seemed almost like a pleasant dream, or at least it would have seemed so had the sad and fearful motives which led her on been ever banished from her mind. Even as it was, the variety of the objects, the constant succession of new matters of interest, the events, small in themselves, but important to her, which occurred to facilitate or impede her progress, were all a relief to her overcharged mind, and she reached the Oneida territory less depressed than when she set out from her home.
One cause, perhaps, of the feeling of renewed strength which she experienced was a renewal of hope from the conduct of the Indians toward her wherever she met them. She found that even amongst the Mohawks she was recognized at once as the adopted daughter of the great Oneida chief; and it was evident that he had spread far and wide, as he returned to his own abode after the conference at Johnson Castle, the fact of his having adopted the daughter of the paleface, Prevost. There is always something, too, in the fact of an enterprise being actually commenced, which gives spirit to pursue it to the end. While we stand and gaze at it from a distance, hesitating whether we shall undertake it or not, the difficulties are magnified, the facilities obscured; the rock and precipice rise up threateningly to our imagination, while the small paths by which they may be surmounted are unseen.
Day had yet an hour of life when Edith approached what we find called in the history of the times, "The Castle of the Oneidas." "Wigwam" it is customary to name all the Indian villages, giving an idea of insignificance and meanness, and completely savage state, which the principal residences of the Five Nations did not at that time merit. Most of them were very like that which Edith now approached. It was built upon a slight elevation near the lake, with a large protruding rock near it; for the Oneidas always affected near their dwelling some symbol significant of their favorite appellation, "The Children of the Stone." Around it were high palisades, enclosing a considerable area, within which the huts of the Indians were constructed. Rising considerably above the rest were two wooden buildings, in the erection of which European workmanship was apparent. The one was a large, oblong building, regularly roofed and shingled, like that of any English settler. It consisted of two stories, and in the upper one regular framed windows were to be seen. In the lower story there were none, light being admitted by the door. That lower story, however, was floored by plain pine boards, and divided by a sort of curtain into two equal compartments. The other building bore the appearance of a church in miniature, with a small cottage or hut attached, which was in reality the residence of the missionary, Mr. Gore.
Even Edith was surprised to see the home of Otaitsa so different from the ideas conveyed to her by the wandering traders, who even while carrying on commercial intercourse with the tribes, were in a state of semi-hostility toward the Indians, representing them as bloody savages, and cheating them whenever they could.
Slowly walking on between her two negro companions, for she was tired with a longer walk than usual, Edith approached the open gates of the Castle and met with no opposition in entering. A tall, handsome warrior passed out, fully clothed in Indian costume, and only marked out from any civilized man by the shaved head and the painfully significant scalp-lock. His step was stately and calm, and his air grave and reserved. Twice he turned his eyes upon Edith's face, with a look of evident wonder and admiration, but he took no farther notice, and passed on. He was the only man whom she saw on entering the village, till after passing through many huts, where women and children were to be seen busily employed, she came in sight of the door of the chief's house, and beheld there a figure seated on the ground, quietly engaged in the art of embroidery, after the fashion in which the Indian women so greatly excel.
It was a figure which she knew well; and the tranquil air and easy grace, as well as the quiet, peaceful employment, showed Edith at once that she had not been mistaken in supposing that Otaitsa was altogether ignorant of the peril of one dear to them both. As she came near, she heard the Indian girl, in her happy ignorance, singing a sweet but somewhat plaintive song; and the next moment, Otaitsa, raising her eyes, beheld the three figures, and at once perceived that they were not of her people.
For an instant she did not recognize Edith in her Indian garb; but when she did recognize her, the emotion produced was alarm rather than joy. She felt at once that some great and important event--some occurrence full of peril or of sorrow--must have brought Edith thither. The beautiful lips parted with a tremulous motion; the large dark eye, Indian in its color, but European in its form, became full of anxiety; the rosy color of her cheek, which probably had obtained for her the name of the Blossom, faded away, and paleness spread over the clear brown skin. Starting up, however, she cast the embroidery away from her, and springing forward, threw her arms around Edith's neck. Then, as her hand rested on her fair companion's shoulder, she asked in a whisper: "What is it, my sister? There must be a storm in the sky--there must be lightning in the cloud! What tempest wind has swept my sister hither? What flood of sorrow has borne Edith to Otaitsa?"
"Hush!" said Edith, in a low tone, for there were some other Indian women near. "I will tell my sister when no ears can hear but her own. There is tempest in the sky. A pine tree has fallen across the threshold of my father's house, and we are sad for fear the hatchet of the woodman should lop all its green branches away. Can I speak with the Blossom speedily, and in secret?"
"Instantly," answered Otaitsa. "The warriors have all gone forth to hunt for three days the bear and the moose. The Black Eagle is with them. There are but three men of deeds in the Castle, now, and why they are women now and go not forth to the hunting with the rest, I cannot tell. But they are little within the palisade--daily they go forth, and remain absent long. Come in hither, my sister, for though few here speak the tongue we speak, it were better not to let the wind hear us."
"Can some of the women give food and lodging to these two negroes?" asked Edith, adding: "They have been well warned, and know that a life depends upon their silence."
Otaitsa called to an elderly Indian woman who was cooking at the door of a cabin near, and placed Chaudo and his companion under her charge. She then turned to Edith, saying: "Come, my sister;" but before they entered the building, Edith inquired if Mr. Gore was there, saying: "Perhaps he might give us counsel."
"My father sent him away some days ago," answered Otaitsa. "He will not be back for a month, perhaps longer. I think he has sent him to secure him from danger."
"Alas," said Edith, "that the danger should have fallen upon others!"
"Alas! alas!" said Otaitsa, and Edith felt her hand tremble much as she led her into the building.
A staircase, rude indeed, but still a staircase, led from the more barnlike part of the building below to the upper floor, and in this respect appeared the first difference between this house--for it deserved the name--and the lodge, or castle, of King Hendrick the younger, though both had been built by European workmen, and that of King Hendrick at the cost of the British government, which was not the case with the dwelling of the Oneida chief. As soon, however, as you reached the upper floor, the differences became more frequent and more remarkable. It was partitioned off into rooms, with regular doors between them; and when Edith entered the chamber of Otaitsa she saw at once how she acquired European habits. Of rude manufacture, but still very correct as imitations, and not without a certain degree of uncouth ornament, were chairs, tables, and writing materials, a bedstead and a bed; and from wooden pegs, driven into the partition, depended some sketches--some colored, some in pencil, but all very different from the gaudy daubs which, at a later period, peddlers were accustomed to take into the Indian territory as articles of barter.
As Edith's eye glanced around, it gleaned a general notion of all these things, but her mind was too full of deeper and sadder thoughts to suffer even curiosity to turn it from its course for a moment.
"There is no one in any other chamber here," said Otaitsa, "None comes up these stairs but myself and my father. Now, Edith, speak, for Otaitsa's heart is very heavy and her mind misgives her sadly. Is it your father they have taken?"
"No; oh no!" answered Edith, "but one as dear;" and she went on briefly to relate all that had occurred, endeavoring to soften and prepare the way for intelligence which she feared would affect the Indian girl much. But Otaitsa darted at her own conclusions, divining the whole truth almost as soon as the words were spoken. She was far more affected than Edith had anticipated. She cast herself upon her fair companion's neck and wept aloud.
"He was mine, Edith," she said, in the full confidence of sorrow. "He was mine, my betrothed, my loved; and they have hidden it from me--hidden it from all the Indian women here, for they knew that everyone in the tribe loved him, though not so well as I. Where was the poor wanderer who passed your house with her infant on her back who did not receive kindness from Walter Prevost? Where was the Indian girl who could say he did not treat her with as kindly gentleness as the highest white woman in the land? He was the tree which had grown up to shelter the hut of the woodman, giving him cool shade and comfort in the days of summer and of gladness, to be cut down and burnt for fire when the winter winds are singing in the bare branches. Oh, my brother, my brother, bad is the return they make thee, and hard the measure that they deal. But shall Otaitsa suffer this?" she cried, rising vehemently, and casting her arms abroad. "Shall the Black Eagle let the ravens pick out the eyes of his young in his own nest? No! my sister, no! They shall take Otaitsa's blood first. They shall shake the Blossom from the old bough that is no longer able to bear it up against the winds of heaven. If the Black Eagle can no longer protect even his daughter's husband, let him cast away the tomahawk, let him lay down the rifle, and be a woman amongst the chiefs of his people!"
It was impossible for some minutes to stop her vehement burst of passionate sorrow; but at length Edith succeeded in somewhat calming her, beseeching her to still her agitation and her anger, and to bend her whole mind to the consideration of what means could best be used to discover whither Walter had been taken, and to rescue him from the peril in which he was placed.
As soon as Otaitsa could listen, however, or rather as soon as she caught the sense of Edith's words, and appreciated their importance, it was wonderful how rapidly she became calm, how soon she stilled all the strong and struggling emotions in her heart, and directed every effort and energy of her spirit to the one great object before her. Enough of the Indian blood flowed along her veins, enough of Indian characteristics had been acquired in early youth, to give her a portion of that strong, stoical self-command which characterized the Indian warrior rather than the woman of the race. The first burst of grief showed the woman, and, perhaps, in some degree, not the pure Indian; but the moment after, those who knew the character of the Five Nations best, might have supposed her not only a pure Indian, but a man and a chief, so quietly did she reason upon and ponder the means of accomplishing her purpose. She remained, at first, for two or three minutes in perfect silence, revolving all the circumstances in her mind, and calculating every chance. But then she said: "The first thing, Edith, is for you to go back to your poor father; not that you are in any danger, but it were well, if possible, that no one knew you had been with me, at least till I have discovered where they have hid our poor brother. The women here will all aid me, and never part their lips, if I desire them not; for though the men think they are very shrewd in hiding the secrets of the nation from their wives and daughters, the women, when they please, can be as secret and as resolute, too. At all events, whether your coming be known or not, it would be better you should go back before the chiefs return. They have gone forth to hunt, they say; but whether it be the black bear, or the brown deer, or the white man, is in great doubt, dear Edith. At all events, they will not know the object of your coming. They may suspect, and probably will, that you came to inquire for your brother; but knowing that I was ignorant of his capture, and am still ignorant of where they keep him, they will think you have gone back disappointed and in sorrow, and leave me unwatched, to act as I will."
"But can I do nothing to aid?" asked Edith. "Remember, dearest Blossom, what it is to remain inactive and ignorant while the fate of one so near and so dear hangs in the balance."
"You shall not remain in ignorance, dear Edith," replied Otaitsa. "With every possible opportunity (and I will find many) my sister shall know what the Blossom does; and if there be any way by which you could give help, you shall have instant tidings. At present I know not what is to be done to save our Walter from the power of the Snake. I know not, even, what they have decided themselves, or whether they have taken any decision; and I have much to think of, much to do. I must seek out those in whom I can place confidence; I must employ many, probably, to obtain me information; I must try some, consult with others, and judge what is to be done. You can rest here, my Edith, for this day, but to-morrow you must speed home again. But be sure of one thing--if Walter dies, Otaitsa is dead, too!"
"That is no consolation," said Edith, throwing her arms round Otaitsa's neck, with tears in her eyes. "Oh, do not do anything rash, dear Blossom! Remember, you are a Christian; and many things are forbidden to Christians as sins which are regarded as virtues by pagan nations."
"Nothing can be rash, nothing can be a sin," answered Otaitsa, "which can save a life innocent, and good, and noble. I would not willingly offend my sister, but my heart is open to God, and He will judge me in mercy, seeing my motives. And now, dear sister, sit you here, and I will send you food, such as we poor Indians eat. I myself may be away for a time, for there must be no delay; but I will return as soon as possible, and you shall know all that is done before you go. Do these blacks who are with you understand the Indian tongue?"
"One of them certainly does," replied Edith; "that is to say, the language of the Mohawks."
"'Tis the same," answered Otaitsa, "or nearly the same. We may have altered a little, but amongst the Five Nations, he who speaks one tongue understands all. Is it the man or woman--and can we trust?"
"It is the man," answered Edith, "and I do believe he can be trusted."
"Then I go," answered Otaitsa, and leaving Edith, she descended to the room below, and then issued forth amongst the Indian huts, gliding from one to another, and stopping generally for a few moments at those lodges before which was to be seen a high pole bearing the ghastly trophies with which the Indians signalized the death of an enemy.
Edith, in the meanwhile, remained for some time in sad meditation, until her eyes turned toward the sketches hanging round the room. On one in particular the reflected light from the surface of the lake streamed as it passed from the window, and Edith, going near, examined it attentively. It represented the head of a young man, apparently from seven and twenty to thirty years of age, and was done well, though not exactly in a masterly manner. It was merely in pencil, but highly finished, and there seemed something in it very familiar to Edith's eye. The features were generally like those of her brother Walter, so like that at first she imagined the drawing must be intended to represent his head; but the nearer view showed that it was that of a much older man, and the dress was one long gone out of fashion.
She was still gazing, and puzzling herself with the questions of whence these drawings could come, and whether they could be Otaitsa's own productions, when several Indian women entered, with their silent and noiseless tread, and placed some carved bowls, filled with different kinds of food, before her. It was all very simple, but she was much exhausted, for she had tasted nothing from an early hour of the day, and the refreshment was grateful to her. The women spoke to her, too, in the Iroquois tongue, and their sweet, low-toned voices, murmuring in the sort of sing-song of the tribes, was pleasant to her ear. It spoke of companionship. Their words, too, were kind and friendly, and she gathered from them that Otaitsa, in order to veil the real object of her coming, had been making inquiries as to whether anyone had seen Walter Prevost. They assured Edith that they had not seen him, that he could not have come into the Oneida country, or someone in the Castle must have heard of him. A paleface amongst them was very rare, they said, but the coming of Walter Prevost, whom so many knew and loved much, must have been noised abroad immediately. They said that his absence from his home was certainly strange, but added, laughing, that young warriors would wander, as Edith would discover when she was old enough.
Thus they sat and talked with her, lighting a lamp in a bowl, till Otaitsa returned, and then they left the two friends alone together.
Otaitsa was agitated, evidently, though she tried hard to hide, if not to suppress her emotions under Indian calmness; but her agitation was evidently joyful. She laid her lovely small hand upon Edith's and pressed it warmly.
"I have found friends," she said, "and those who will work for me and with me. My father's sister, who knew and loved my mother, and who is supposed by some to have a charm from the Great Spirit, to make men love and reverence her; the wife of the sachem of the Bear; the young bride of the Running Deer; and the wife of the Gray Wolf, as well as the wife of Lynx Foot, and many others; all these have vowed to help me, whatever it may cost. They all know him, my sister; they all have called him brother; and they are all resolute that their brother shall not die. But I must first work for him myself, dear Edith," she continued; and then, clasping her hands together, with a burst of joy at the hope lighted up in her young, warm heart, she exclaimed: "Oh, that I could save him all by myself--that I might buy him from his bonds by my own acts alone--aye, or even by my own blood! Huah! huah! That were joyful indeed!"
Edith could hardly raise her mind to the same pitch of hope, but still she felt more satisfied. Her object was accomplished. Otaitsa was informed of Walter's danger, and the bright, enthusiastic girl was already actively engaged in the effort to deliver him. There was something, too, in the young Indian--an eagerness, an energy unusual in the depressed women of her race, probably encouraged by the fond, unbounded indulgence of the chief, her father--which seemed to breathe of hope and success; and it was impossible to look into the eager and kindling eyes, when the fancy that she could deliver her young lover all alone took possession of her, without believing that if his deliverance was within human power, she would accomplish it.
Edith felt that her duty, so far, was done toward him, and that her next duty was toward her father, who, she well knew, would be painfully anxious till she returned, however confident he might have felt of her safety in the hands of the Indians so long as there seemed no immediate chance of her being placed in such a situation. She willingly, therefore, agreed to Otaitsa's suggestion to set out with the first ray of light on the following morning, Otaitsa promising that some Indian women should accompany her a day's journey on the way, who by their better knowledge of the country and their skill in the management of the canoe, would greatly facilitate her progress. About an hour was spent in conversation, all turning upon one subject, and then the two beautiful girls lay down to sleep in each other's arms.