Papers from Overlook-House

by Frederic W. Beasley

So I sought him—and his eye was dim—he scarce knew the voices of those around him. I gave him the precious elixir which my mother alone on earth could draw from roots such as no eye of man has ever seen. The young men placed him on a litter and bore him to a far off river. There we made the raft, covered it with leaves, and we floated gently onward to my cave. Then I said leave him with me. In a few days he will have strength and shall go down these waters to his canoe. A new home shall he seek where there are no paths ever trodden by Mahanara. There he shall not look round as the breeze moves the bushes, as though she was near him. He shall not see flowers there which shall say, you gathered such for her in the warm days when the Indian village was full of hearts as bright as the sun shining down upon it. The woods everywhere has a place for the warrior. There are no mountains where the battle-cry cannot echo. There are no red men where the great man shall not be great. I then gave him strange food that a hunter from the spirit land once threw down at the tent of my mother when she had healed his little child that he left to the care of his tribe. I then compounded in the cup which was white and shining, as it had been on a high rock for ages to be bleached in the moonbeams, the draught that he was to drink that he might sleep for three years. I laid him gently in the clift in the rock above my cave. The warm spring ran winter and summer beneath the place of his rest. I covered him with light bruised roots that would add to his strength. I placed over him the cedar boughs, matted, so that the rain could reach him. Over these, folds of leaves well dried in the heat of the cavern. I laid the loose stones over all and scattered the dust there which the beasts flee from, waking the echo of the forest. There he slept until the great stillness come over the husband of Mahanara, and the great song had told of his wisdom, of his battles, as the warriors stood by his grave.

One day she sat by the side of the stream,—and not on the bank where she had often chanted the wild song to Awaha. Her hands were forming the beautiful wampum belt. I came to her, and as we spoke of past days, her eye rested on the chain of Awaha, that I wound and unwound as if I thought not of it, before her eyes that rested on it for a moment only to look away, and to look far down into the deep water.

I laid it secretly near her,—and left her, crossing on the white stones of the stream, and passing into the deep forest.

When the dark night came over all the village, I crept silently to her wigwam. There she sat by the fire and pressed the chain to her heart, and looked sadly on the flames that rose and fell, and gleamed on one who was near and unknown.

He must live. So I sought him when the red star was over the mountain. Three moons more could he have slept, and have yet been called from his sleep to see the bright sunbeams.

Oh how beautiful the warrior, when all the coverings were taken away, and I saw him again as on the day when he first fell into his slumber.

As I waked him, he said, "yesterday you said that I should live. I feel strange strength after the sleep of the night that is past."

When he fell asleep a great night had crept up to his eye,—and he saw not the hunting-ground,—the fierce battle,—the wigwam,—but darkness,—and beyond it darkness,—and beyond that the land of all spirits. Now his eye was sad,—but he looked as one who heard voices call him to go forth, and be not as the stone that lies on the hill-side.

I sought Mahanara, and told her that he would come back from far, and would seek her as the bride of a warrior. I sent him to her home, and he trod the forest paths as the sunshine sweeps from wave-crest to wave-crest in the brook that hurries on, leaving the sound of peace in its murmurs. So out of the years they met, as the breeze so sweet from over the wild-flowers and trees of the valley, and the wind that carried strength from the sides of the mountain.

"Can you marvel that they call me the great medicine man among the tribes? Thou art a great brother. Thy fire-water is good. The white men honor thee. Thou keepest the sod that is wet with tears from being turned over. They call thee the very great man of thy tribe." I will not tell you all that he said of me. Let others learn that of him, and speak of it. Then he said,—"Brother tell thou me more of thy wonderful powers. I will teach thee how to mingle the cup for the sleep of many years." "So he told me," said the doctor, "how to compound the mixture. And the secret no one shall hear from my lips. If you will, I will put you to sleep for as long a time as you can desire. Put your money out at interest. Go to sleep until all you have has been doubled. Then let me wake you, and you can enjoy it."