There were many things besides her hatred of the French urging her on in this matter, though that was the dark foundation upon which all her plans were laid, and other desires were faint and poor beside the craving for vengeance which filled her soul against her father’s people. She felt certain that the English would aid her in her schemes if she would turn the tribes over to them—they would do their utmost to increase among the Indians a belief in her supernatural gifts, they would lavish upon her rich presents and plentiful sums of money which would make her still more powerful and more firmly settled in her sway.
All these things she was confident an alliance with the English would afford her, and she determined to enter upon her work at once. Difficulties had, for a long time, been frequent between the French and British, and she saw clearly that, ere long, they must ripen into war. It was for that she wished to be prepared.
She wanted so to work upon the minds of the leaders of the tribes that they would be ready to fall into her plans when the moment arrived; she wished the rupture to be sudden; she would deceive the French up to the last moment and then turn unexpectedly against them in some battle, and overwhelm them by this sudden onset of the savages whom they had treated as allies and friends.
Her thoughts rushed forward to the time when she might actually rush into Quebec with her train of bloodthirsty Indians, carrying desolation and death into the city of her birth. She recalled the streets and houses familiar to her girlish years; in fancy she saw them in flames and heard the death-shrieks from scores of voices that had been familiar in the past and had known only accents of friendship and affection for her. But she only remembered, with added hatred, all who had shown her kindness. Every proof of affection had stung her like a wrong. They had dared to pity her for the Indian blood which darkened her veins, and their kindness had sprung out of the commiseration they felt for her condition.
The day would come when they should be repaid with interest—when she would give back dagger-thrusts for every tender smile, and laugh at the death-agonies of those who had sought to brighten her first youth by their sympathy.
Gi-en-gwa-tah was sitting in their lodge during the early part of the day which had crowned her bloodily as queen, when she said, abruptly:
“Mahaska had strange visions last night.”
He turned toward her with a face full of curiosity and interest.
“What did the voices say to Mahaska?” he asked.
“They spoke vaguely,” she replied—“for Mahaska’s ear alone.”