No sooner was it known that he had returned, than the council-fire was lighted, the pipe passed round in token of good, for the calumet was as indicative of loyalty and secrecy in the eye of the savage, as was the rose to the classical world.
The young scout told his story in a few brief, frank words, to which the sagamore listened in silence. He had been confident of learning something of the fate of Hope Vines, through this return of Acashee to her people, and now he seemed doomed to disappointment. He had, in spite of himself, dwelt upon the words of the wizard, “Go to the east,” and he felt that there he should learn of the fate of Hope Vines. When the scout at length told of the mysterious disappearance of the woman at the foot of the falls, and the no less mysterious appearance of the old man, his interest revived. He waited the conclusion of the recital, and looked around for the comments of the older chiefs.
All eyes were fixed upon War-ra-was-ky—a chief who had numbered nearly a hundred years, and who was scarred by many a hard-contested battle, renowned also for his great wisdom. Rising slowly to his feet, and resting heavily upon his war-club, the old Nestor thus spoke.
“The words of the young brave awaken a memory that has long slept in the caves of the past. Listen, my brothers!
“The Great Spirit, mindful of his children, has filled their hunting-grounds with secret places, where they may hide themselves when the black cloud descends, and the air is ringing with hurtling clubs and lightning arrow-heads.
“Listen! In my youth, ere the moss of a century had converted the sapling into a gnarled and withered tree, our tribes held power over the Androscoggins. We demanded tribute of them, which they refused to pay. We burned their wigwams, slew their braves in battle, and chased them from their old hunting-grounds. At length they made alliance with the Kennebecs and Penobscots, and we in turn showed the sole of the foot in place of the white of the eye.”
The war-club of the warrior smote the ground, and his arm shook with rage as he recalled this hour of defeat.
“Listen! We rallied again; we burned the village of the Androscoggins, at the top of the Pejipscot, where the great waters pour themselves in one continuous flood, as the young brave has described. The women sprung with their children into the boiling waters beneath. The warriors, few in number, stood on the rocks below.
“Listen! One by one the warriors were gone. We shot our arrows into their midst, but the rocks above impeded their flight, and there stood the band beneath in one solid mass, and yet their numbers became less, till all were gone but a youth, who had all the while stood in front amidst the spray.
“Listen! He stood there and sung the song of the warrior; he spread his arms, as if he embraced the waters, and we saw his body dashed from, rock to rock, till it was lost in the gulf below.”