The Black Eagle; or, Ticonderoga

by G. P. R. James

"Nay," answered the Grey Dove, with a kindly look, "it is not to-night. Be comforted, my child. Not until to-morrow, at the hour of twilight, will the six moons have passed; and the Black Eagle speaks no word in vain. He will not lift the tomahawk a moment before the hour; but to-morrow will be the time, after the sun has set. The pale-faces have taken the war-path against each other; and the allies of the Black Eagle have called upon him to take wing, and help them. They have bade him paint himself for the battle, and come forth with his warriors. He has waited but for this; and now we know the day and the hour, for he will not tarry."

Otaitsa still trembled; but her mind was much relieved for the moment. She knew her father well, and she saw the truth of what the Grey Dove said.

"How shall we stay him?" she inquired. "The Black Eagle bends not in his way like a serpent; he goes straight upon his path like a bird in the air. He hears not the voice of entreaty; his ears are stopped against the words of prayer. You may turn the torrent as it rushes down after the melting of the snow, or the rock as it falls from the precipice; but you cannot arrest the course of the Black Eagle, or turn him from his way."

"Be firm and constant," said the Grey Dove. "We are in the hands of the Great Spirit. Watch your father closely, Otaitsa, all to-morrow, from the mid-day till the setting sun--from the setting sun till the dawn, if it be needful. The moment he goes forth, come thou to me at the lodge of the Lynx, by the western gate of the palisade; there shalt thou find me with others. I know that thy young heart is strong, and that it will not quail. Watch carefully, but watch secretly. See if he take the tomahawk in his belt, and if his face be gay or gloomy. Mark every sign, and bring the news to me."

"They may go by the other gate, and steal round," said one of the women in the inner circle. "I will set my daughter, now waiting without, to watch that gate, and bring us tidings. She is still and secret as the air of night, and has the foot of the wind."

"It is good," said the Grey Dove, rising. "Let us all be prepared, for the boy must not die."

No more was said; for the old prophetess fell into one of those deep and solemn reveries, from which all present knew she could not easily be wakened, and which probably had acquired for her the reputation of conversing with the spirit-world.

One by one, slowly and silently, the women stole out of the lodge, dispersing in various directions the moment they quitted the door. Otaitsa remained till the last, in the hope that the Grey Dove would speak again, and afford her some further information of her plans; but the old woman remained silently gazing on the fire, with her tall figure erect and stiff, and probably perfectly unconscious of the departure of the others, till at length the Blossom followed the rest, and returned quietly to the great lodge.

The following day became dark and stormy about three o'clock in the afternoon. A sharp, cold wind succeeded to the mild breath of spring; and the Indians generally remained assembled round their fires, leaving the wide place within the palisade very nearly deserted.

Shortly before sunset, one Indian woman crept quietly forth, and took her way towards a hut near the eastern entrance of their village. Another followed very speedily; and before twilight had ended, and night begun, no less than twelve stood beneath the roof, with the Grey Dove in the midst of them. It was too dark for any one to see the face of another; for the night had fallen heavily and thick, and a blanket was stretched across the entrance. But the Grey Dove felt them one after another with her hands, asking a question of each, to which she seemed to receive a satisfactory answer.