Elkswatawa

by James Strange French

“She can do so,” replied the guard; “but death follows her steps if she goes without it.”

Miskwa made no answer, but leaving the cabin, went, apparently, towards the most crowded part of the town.

“Dost not our brother fear?” said Oloompa, addressing the guard, “she goes so far, his eyes cannot follow her.”

“Her mother is here;” was the answer. “Her love for her mother is a strong cord; it will draw her back. But if she escapes, the wrath of the Prophet would descend on our head. She must sure return;—will our brother watch her?” Oloompa answered that he would, and relieving himself from his rifle and hunting accoutrements, he deposited them at the cabin door, thinking, that in so doing, he would strengthen the confidence which seemed already to have sprung up between himself and the sentinel, and it would also give him an excuse for returning to the cabin in the event of his wishing it. He then hastened away to keep a watch upon Miskwa. Getting without sight of the guard, he approached her, a hurried recognition took place; then withdrawing beyond the reach of observation, they recounted to each other all that had happened since they parted, and dwelt upon their present painful situation. There was little time for regret, and they began to discuss what was best to be done. Miskwa told him that she had been permitted by the Prophet to venture abroad, under the belief on his part, that she was to be Tecumseh's bride; but denied, positively, that she had any such intention. For herself, being unrestrained, she now had no care, and all her alarm was for her mother and the captive maiden. What fate awaited them she knew not, yet her fears caused her to anticipate the worst. What was to be the result of the coming struggle, or what influence it might exert upon the conduct of the Prophet towards them, it was impossible to foretell. Oloompa hearing these things, suggested to her the possibility there was of her escaping with the pale face maiden. The hunters were without the town, awaiting their coming, and ready to defend both at the hazard of their lives. But with the discussion came proofs that it was impracticable. For, even were the sentinel despatched who guarded the cabin, the town was filled with warriors, passing in every direction; their flight would surely be observed, and a sudden death pay the penalty of their attempt. Could they succeed in getting without the walls, Netnokwa was old and decrepid, and would most certainly be overtaken. Oloompa then persuaded her to leave her mother, and endeavoured to convince her that a worse fate awaited her than she apprehended.

“No,” said the maiden, “when Miskwa was helpless, her mother nursed her. Miskwa will live or die with her mother.”

Oloompa was silent; and the maiden continued: “Miskwa loves the pale face, and her heart bleeds to see her in the Prophet's camp. Miskwa can leave her lodge whenever she pleases. She will make the pale face maiden look like Miskwa, then send her out. Oloompa can take her and carry her to the white man who waits for her. Their hearts will then be glad, and Miskwa will love Oloompa. When Oloompa serves Miskwa's friend, he serves Miskwa. Speak,—what says Oloompa?”

Oloompa was recalled to a sense of his promise, by the suggestion, and a feeling of pleasure lighted up his countenance when he reflected that it was practicable. “Oloompa will do it,” he answered; “he promised to bring the maiden to the hunters. He will serve them, and then he is free; but what becomes of Miskwa?”

In answer to this, Miskwa again reiterated her anxious desire that the captive maiden should be as soon as possible restored to the hunters, and that then, should it be practicable for herself and mother to escape, that they would seize the first opportunity to do so. She then added,—“Oloompa, now we part;—the pale face shall seem to be a red maiden; follow her steps when she leaves the lodge. Deliver her safe to her friends who seek her. Then let thy return to the camp be as swift as the flight of the eagle. Miskwa will prove to Oloompa she loves him.” Then, before he could reply, away she darted; and happy with what he had just heard, he followed on only close enough to see her re-enter the lodge, where were imprisoned her mother and friend.—Then, approaching the sentinel, he observed, “the maiden plays about like a deer in the moonlight; she came this way; has she entered?”

“She is safe within,” was the answer, and Oloompa, leaving for the purpose of again mingling with the crowd, promised that he would return, and tell if any tidings had come from the camp of the whites, or any change of plan had been agreed upon among the warriors.

It was now late in the night, and entering that part of the town in which the Indians were mostly crowded together, he found them still excited and dissatisfied:—all had their arms, and none seemed at all disposed to rest. Here he remained for some time, mingling promiscuously with the crowd, and learned that their present excitement was owing to an attempt on their part to have another council called, and the mode of attack which had been agreed upon in the early part of the evening, changed. They wished to substitute in its place a night attack. They were anxious for immediate battle;—they were now more clamorous than they had been before, and some even hinted, that as the whites were under the very walls of their town, they could not escape them, and that it would be wise to disobey the commands of the Prophet; because, in so doing, they could satiate at once their thirst for vengeance. Oloompa, fearing that some immediate steps would be taken, which would tend to operate against the escape of the captive, and, having been absent nearly long enough to allow her to assume her disguise, returned again to the cabin, and withdrew the attention of the sentinel from its inmates, by describing to him the feelings and wishes of the warriors he had left, and his belief that they would force the Prophet to change the plan which had been adopted, and lead them against the whites before the day dawned. While thus conversing, he walked to and fro before the door, and saw one who seemed an Indian maiden press the hand of Netnokwa, and then throw herself on the bosom of Miskwa. Oloompa was agitated,—he felt that the moment of trial was come, and he renewed his effort to interest the sentinel. As he again passed before the door, he discovered Miskwa pressing forward the captive, in order to make her leave the lodge. He stopped, and standing just before the warrior, directed his attention to the heavens, and asked him the hour of the night. A moment passed,—there was the rustling of a garment heard,—a maiden left the lodge, and looking carelessly about her, walked farther into the town.