Reginald had confided to his friend all that had passed between himself and War–Eagle, not even omitting his unfortunate and long–cherished passion for Prairie–bird, so that Ethelston awaited his approach with no ordinary interest.
As the Delaware chieftain advanced with erect front, his expanded chest thrown slightly forward, and the fine symmetry of his form developed in every movement as he stepped lightly over the prairie, Ethelston felt that he had never seen, either in nature or in the works of art, a finer specimen of manhood; and when he witnessed the grave simplicity which mingled with his cordial greeting of Reginald Brandon, he could not deny that features, form, and bearing stamped the Delaware chieftain at once as one of the lords of the creation. Neither did the gentle gracefulness of the slighter figure by whom he was accompanied escape Ethelston’s notice, and he felt no difficulty in recognising, in the interesting features of the youth, that Wingenund of whose high and amiable qualities he had heard so much from Reginald.
“These are, indeed,” said Ethelston to himself, “worthy descendants of the Lenapé princes, whose sway in bygone days extended over many hundred leagues of fertile territory, from the Ohio to the Atlantic coast: whose broad lands are now tilled by the Saxon plough, on the site of whose ancient villages now stand the churches and the popular streets of Baltimore, and the city of Brotherly Love. With the loss of their dominion, most of these once–powerful tribes have lost the highest and best characteristics of their race; subdued by the rifle, corrupted by the silver, degraded by the ardent spirits of the white man, they present but too often a spectacle in which it is difficult to recognise any traces of the attributes with which the narratives of our early travellers and missionaries invest them. But these are, indeed, features which a Titian would not have scorned to delineate; these are forms which the pencil of Michael Angelo and the chisel of Praxiteles would have rejoiced to immortalise.”
While these thoughts were rapidly passing through the mind of Ethelston, the greeting between Reginald and War–Eagle was exchanged; and the former had given to his Indian brother a hasty sketch of the events which had occurred in his absence and of those which had led to the reinforcement brought by Ethelston. A gleam of joy shot athwart the features of the Delaware, as he learnt the vengeance which his warriors had taken of their enemies; and his quick eye glanced with gratified pride over the scalps which they displayed, and the magnificent bear–claw collar dependent from Attō’s neck. The Lenapé braves saw too that the tomahawk of their leader had not slept in its belt on his solitary war–path, for the scalps of the two unfortunate Osages whom he had slain hung close to its handle; and though there was no shout of triumph, an audible murmur of satisfaction ran through the whole band.
When Reginald presented Ethelston to War–Eagle as his earliest and most faithful friend from childhood, the chief, taking him by the hand, said, “The friend of Netis is the friend of War–Eagle,—their hearts are one; he is very welcome.” Reginald then presented Wingenund to his friend, as the gallant youth who had saved his life on the banks of the Muskingum.
“I feel as if I had long known him,” said Ethelston, shaking his hand cordially; “I have come lately from Mooshanne, where his name is not forgotten.”
“Is the Lily of Mooshanne well?” inquired the youth, fixing his dark and earnest eyes full upon the countenance of the person whom he was addressing. Ethelston had been prepared by his friend’s description of Wingenund for a demeanour and character highly interesting; but there was a melody, a pathos, a slight tremor in the tone in which he spoke those few words, there was also in his countenance a touching expression of melancholy, that thrilled to the heart of Ethelston. How quick is the jealous eye of love! Ethelston knew that Wingenund had passed only one day in the society of Lucy, yet he saw in an instant the deep impression which that day had left on the young Indian’s mind.
“The Lily of Mooshanne is well,” he replied. “If she had known that I should visit her brother, and his Lenapé friends, she would have bid me speak many kind words to them from her.”
Wingenund passed on, and War–Eagle related to the two friends the leading circumstances of his own expedition, omitting all mention of the fatigue, the hunger, the sleepless nights that he had undergone, before he discovered and reached the Osage camp.
As he described the scene of Wingenund being tied to the post, with the dried faggots at his feet, and the appearance of Prairie–bird when Mahéga called upon her to pronounce her own or her brother’s fate, both of his auditors held their breath with anxious suspense, which gave place to astonishment, as he proceeded to relate with undisguised awe the mystery of the solar eclipse, which led to the liberation of Wingenund.