“The life of Wingenund is like the breath of the mountain breeze,” answered the youth; “it is in the hands of the Great Spirit, to move and send it whither he pleases. Let Besha taste this black–water,” he added, drawing from his belt a small bottle; “it is very wonderful.”
The horse–dealer took the phial, which contained a strong, and not very palatable mixture, which had been borrowed by Wingenund from his sister’s chest of medicine; but he declined tasting it, shaking his head in a manner that gave the youth to understand that he suspected something of a hurtful or poisonous nature.
“Let not Besha be afraid,” said the youth scornfully; “the tomahawk and the rifle are the death–weapons of the Lenapé, they war not with bad waters!” and as he spoke he drank a portion of the dark and distasteful liquid.
It would not have been held, according to Indian custom, an act of unpardonable cowardice in Besha had he any longer hesitated to taste the pledge; and whatever doubts or scruples he might in secret have entertained, he concealed them, and drank off the remaining contents of the phial.
As soon as he had swallowed them, the youth, pointing up to the sky, said, with much solemnity, “Now Wingenund and Besha are before the Great Spirit, and they must beware what they do. This dark–water was given into their hands by the Medicine of the white tent: it is made up by Prairie–bird from a thousand unknown herbs; it is harmless to the good, but it is poison to the forked tongue! Has Besha ever heard of the sickness which makes the skin like a honeycomb; which spares neither woman, warrior, nor child; and in the course of half a moon turns a powerful tribe into a feeble and exhausted band?”
“He has heard of it,” replied the horse–dealer, trembling from head to foot at this allusion to that fell disease[80], which had already begun its fearful ravages among the Indian nations, and has since fulfilled to the very letter the description given of it by the Delaware youth. Its origin and causes were unknown, its cure beyond their skill; it is not therefore to be wondered at if they looked upon it with a mysterious dread.
“Yes,” continued Wingenund, “if truth is on the lips and in the heart of Besha, the medicine–water will be good for him and make him strong. If he thinks of falsehood, and lies spring up in his heart, but he overcomes the bad spirit within, and treads it under his foot, then will the medicine–water give him pain for a short time, but he will recover and be stronger than before; and if his lips and heart continue full of deceit, diseases and sores shall come so thick upon his skin that he shall die among these rocks, the hungry wolf and the turkey–buzzard shall refuse to come near the polluted carcase.”
Such, or nearly such, was the warning threat which the youth held forth in the bold and figurative language of his tribe; and although Besha could not with justice be called a coward, and was superior to many of the superstitions of the Indian nations, still he had heard such well–authenticated accounts of the miraculous power of the Great Medicine of the tent, that the words of Wingenund produced all, and more than all, the effect he had anticipated.
“It shall be done,” said Besha, in a subdued tone; “let Wingenund tell Olitipa that the lips and the heart of her friend will be true, and let him desire her to speak to the Great Spirit, that the medicine–water may not hurt him. Besha will be true; if the Crows discover and kill Wingenund, the hands of Besha shall be clear of his blood.”
“Let the words of Wingenund remain in Besha’s ears; let his tongue and his path be straight, and the hearts and hands of the Lenapé will be open to him. At two hours after nightfall[81] Wingenund will be here again.”