This plan succeeded. He separated the truth from the falsehood, and came to the conclusion that it would be folly to go and give himself up to certain death, so long as there was a chance of saving his young friend by other means; but that it was right to do so if other means failed; and that neither by delay nor by rash and uncertain efforts must he risk the chance of saving him, even by the ultimate sacrifice.
He accordingly made up his mind to re-enter the Indian territory in spite of every peril; to conceal himself as best he could; to watch the Indians as he would watch a wild beast; and to be ready for any opportunity, or for any decision.
Now that his resolution was finally taken, he lay down and slept profoundly.
[CHAPTER XXIII.]
And what was Edith's journey? Would the reader have me dwell upon the small particulars--speak of it as if she had been taking a morning's walk, and note every bird, and flower, and insect; each smooth valley or bluff rock? Or would he 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? Let us choose the latter plan, although it would be easy to extend the pages of this work by minute descriptions and passing panoramas, such as critics love.
But it is my object only to dwell upon events which affected the ultimate fate of the principal characters, and not to labour at length upon a mere detail of incidents. In this view of the case, I might say nothing more but that it began and ended--that she arrived safely at the place of her destination. Yet that journey was to her a matter of much interest; and when it was over, she looked back upon it as a picture full of beautiful and pleasant things.
Swiftly skimming in a bark canoe over the glassy bosoms of the 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 colouring 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, or the shrill scream of the wood-hawk; now beholding the Indian lodge, or castle, as the Iroquois sometimes called their dwellings; then the brown canopy of the autumn woods which covered her: such were the principal incidents of her journey.
Still under the skilful 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 quick and continued change of place and scene, 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 the renewal of hope from the conduct of the Indians towards 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 pale-face, 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: rocks and precipices rise up, threatening to our imagination; while the small paths by which they may be surmounted are unseen.
Day had yet an hour of life left 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 a completely savage state, which the principal residences of the Five Nations did not at all 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 close to it; for the Oneidas always affected near their dwelling some object significant of their favourite appellation, "The Children of the Stone."