The distracted girl had either thrown herself from the precipice, or accidentally fallen from it in her wanderings. Pakanke paused to drop the few tears of grief forced from his eyes; and then, over his sister’s body, bade the Great Spirit mark his vow, never to rest until the murderer of his sister had met the fate he deserved. The body of Narramattah was given to her friends to be placed in the cold grave near her father; and many were the tears shed for her unhappy fate, by the Delaware women.
Pakanke, alone, again sought the cabins of the Englishmen, and this time, he found the object of his search. Harold Dean, calculating the exact time of Pakanke’s visit on the day before, had gone with his friends on a hunting expedition far into the country, and had returned with them to the cabins just before Pakanke arrived. He calculated that the Indian would be satisfied with any trifling excuse invented for the occasion, and did not dream that the affair had reached a tragic crisis. Pakanke’s appearance in the cabin surprised him. The Indian was unusually calm and collected, and betrayed no sign of any but the most peaceable intentions. He said he came for Harold to fulfil his promise to accompany him to the wigwam; and finding there could be no further evasion, Harold consented to accompany him.
The two hunters left the cabins and proceeded through the woods, as Harold thought, towards the Delaware village, but as Pakanke knew, in a different direction. They spoke occasionally, concerning hunting and the game of the season; but the Indian was afraid to trust himself to many words, and Harold was meditating some plan of escape from the proposed marriage. At length they approached what seemed to be a deep ravine, and Harold’s eye wandered around for the best place for crossing. They were nearing the high over-hanging precipice, and Pakanke knew it. “This is the best crossing,” said he to Harold, as they approached the tree-covered edge of the rock from which Narramattah had thrown herself, or fallen. “This is rather a disagreeable path, I think,” said Harold, as he looked over to the opposite bank of the creek. “It leads to thy grave!” shrieked Pakanke, as, with an effort, made giant strong by passion, he snatched Harold’s rifle, stabbed him in the back, and hurled him from the rock. Then he leaned over its edge to look down. The rock was about one hundred feet high, and its top projected far beyond its base. Harold shrieked as he was thrown from the rock, but all was soon over. Pakanke saw, as he leaned over the edge, that his victim had been literally dashed to pieces; and a smile of gratified revenge appeared upon his lips as he turned away to descend to the spot, to secure the scalp. After this customary trophy from a conquered foe had been obtained, Pakanke returned to the Delaware village, and gladdened the ears of the chiefs and warriors with the circumstances of his exploit. He then sent information of it to Harold’s friends, accompanied with an assurance that if they were snakes they would be served in the same way, but if friends, they would not be disturbed.
The terrible death of Harold appalled the young Englishmen, and they were so mistrustful of the good intentions of the red men, that they unanimously resolved to quit the vicinity and return to the settlement at once. Accordingly, the most valuable of their skins and all their necessary articles of clothing, and their fire-arms, were packed up, the cabins set on fire, and they set out for the settlement. Two of them remained in Philadelphia, the others returned to England, and conveyed the news of the death of Harold Dean to his parents. They were not disconsolate, although they wept for him. He had always been a wild spirit and a bad son, and his treachery to poor Narramattah was but one additional item in a catalogue of such deeds, which had made his fame ignoble in England.
[Original]
