“I reckon the Prophet's hands were too full for any thing of that sort,” answered Earth.
Thus conversing, they entered the Indian town. It bore marks of having been deserted in great haste, for large quantities of corn and other provisions were left, together with all their household utensils. Some guns, which had not as yet been divested of the coverings in which they were imported, with a small quantity of the best double glazed rifle powder, were also found, affording convincing proof, if proof were wanting, that the Indians were aided and abetted by the English, before hostilities were declared between them and the Americans.
While the soldiers, in pursuance of orders, were burning the town, Rolfe and Earth continued their search, with the hope of finding some trace by which they might satisfy themselves of the safety of those in whose fate they were interested. They discovered in the town several warriors, who, brought from the scene of battle, had there died of their wounds; but they could recognise in neither the ill-fated Oloompa. Proceeding on, and searching cabin after cabin, they reached the one in which had been confined Netnokwa and her daughter.—Upon entering it, Rolfe started back, and cried out, “Oh! God! Earth, look!”—
Would that we could, in the due course of our narrative, draw a veil over that which follows:—Netnokwa and her lovely daughter had fallen victims to the Prophet's cruelty. Irritated by the failure in his attempt upon the American camp, he had, upon his return, discovered the escape of the white maiden, which he could account for only through their agency, and attributing to it his defeat, he harked on against them, his infuriated followers.—The ‘old oak of the forest’ was laid low, and the ‘loveliest flower which ever had its birth on the prairie,’ was cut down in its bloom! They lay in death as they had lived in life,—together.
A crowd soon collected to view the spectacle.—Rolfe told their story, and dwelt upon the kindness they had shown to the maiden now in the American camp, and their agency in her escape. Their characters won the respect, and their fate excited the sympathy of all. There now only remained the sad duty of interring their remains. Rolfe told Earth, that it was better not to tell Gay, until the last offices were over;—that she was now worn down with fatigue, and to witness them would only add to her distress, without imparting any consolation. Earth accorded with him in opinion, and making such preparations as circumstances permitted, they, assisted by a few friends, bore them away to a quiet part of the town, and deeply deploring their sad fate, consigned them in silence to the grave. The ceremony was sadly contrasted with the scene around it. Rolfe saw the soldiers setting fire to the houses, and eagerly bent on destroying what remained of Indian property. He thought of the fortune which had made him acquainted with several members of that ill-starred race; he reflected upon the many fruitless attempts they had so often made to stay the advance of the whites;—then passed before him the conduct of those who had so nobly served him, and leaving Earth to mingle with the crowd, he returned to the American camp, and seeking her for whose sake he had encountered so many dangers, he said:—“Gay, my love! I must still add another pang to your misfortunes.”
“Oh! what! what!” she cried, “does danger threaten you?”
“No;—Netnokwa and her daughter”——
“Are killed?”
“Yes,” said Rolfe.
“Oh! Richard!”—and covering her face, she was silent for a few moments,—“what have I done! all who love me, seem fated to death! Oh! Miskwa; Miskwa! could not all thy virtues save thee!”