“I saw her married myself, on the steps of this very mansion, where she stood like a priestess between two races—for the hall was crowded with whites, of which my father, Sir William, was the head; while on the lawn, in the thickets, and all around, belting the forest, three thousand warriors were gathered. The whole Six Nations were represented by their bravest chiefs. It was a sight to remember one’s lifetime. The red sunset streamed through the forest trees, only a little more gorgeous than the savage groups that camped under them. The windows of the Hall blazed with gold; the whole interior was illuminated. In the flower-beds and thickets the Indians grouped themselves like flocks of orioles, flamingos, and restless ravens. It was the most picturesque sight I ever beheld.”
“But Caroline—Catharine Montour—what of her?” exclaimed the commissioner, losing his self-control; “was all this savage pomp assembled to witness the sacrifice of that noble creature?”
“Yes; in the midst of it all she stood, white as death and firm as stone, her hand in that of the chief—a fine, noble-looking fellow he was, too, with just enough of white blood in his veins to save the whole thing from being repulsive. Indeed, in my whole life, I have seldom seen a man of nobler presence. On the mother’s side, you are already informed, he was nearly white; from her he had learned many of the gentler graces, both of manner and costume, which made his appearance rather picturesque than savage. Instead of a blanket or skin robe he wore a hunting-shirt of some rich color, heavy with fringes and embroidery; his hair was long to the shoulders, black and glossy as a crow’s wing. After all, a woman of good taste might have been excused for admiring the fellow for his own sake.”
The commissioner writhed in silence under this description; his eyes burned with deep fire; his very fingers quivered with suppressed excitement.
“And she was married thus?” he questioned, in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes, it was done bravely before the whites assembled in my father’s hall; before the Six Nation, swarming upon the grounds. Her lips were white as snow when the vow passed them; her eyes burned like a she-eagle’s when her young is threatened; she clenched the chief’s hand till even he must have felt the pain. Yes, it was bravely done; she had promised, and no entreaty could move her to reconsider the matter. Sir William, who was not much given to sentiment, besought her with tears in his eyes to desist; the women who crowded the hall wept like children; but she stood firm; I can almost hear her deep, ringing voice now, as she answered the priest.”
“Then it was a marriage by the priest!” almost shouted Butler, dashing the handle of his knife down on the table, till the plate rang again.
“She had pledged herself to become the chief’s wife, and was a Christian—how could she keep her vow, except by Christian rites. He had honorably fulfilled her conditions—she as honorably redeemed her promise.”
“What were those conditions?” inquired the commissioner, and his voice became lower and hoarser each moment.
“The redemption of three white prisoners from torture.”