It may well be imagined what a gloom was cast over the whole party by the death of the Delaware leader; not only among those who, like Reginald, Wingenund, and Prairie–bird, mourned for him as for a departed brother, but even among the rough hunters and woodsmen, to whom he had endeared himself no less by his dauntless courage than by a thousand acts of kindness and generosity. As for his own trusty Lenapé warriors their spirit seemed entirely broken; too proud to weep or lament, they walked to and fro by the spot where his remains still rested, casting upon the dark cloth by which they were covered desponding and melancholy looks; and when Baptiste, whom they esteemed as the long–tried friend of their late chief, tried to offer a few words of consolation, hinting also at the virtues and qualities of the surviving brother, they shook their heads and returned to cherish their grief, like the wife of Phinehas, who when she heard that her husband and her father–in–law were dead, and the Ark captured, regarded not the consolation of her new–born child, but called it Ichabod, saying “The glory is departed from Israel.”
“Ethelston,” said Reginald to his friends, “methinks the sooner we strike our camp, and move from this sad spot, the better: it is necessary, from the progress that mortification has made in the frame of our lamented friend, that he should be buried immediately. Let us speak to Wingenund, and see whether he wishes it performed according to our customs, or according to those of his own people; for in this we ought not to dictate to him.”
Having joined the youth, whom they found standing in an attitude of dejection at no great distance, Reginald, after a few words of kindly sympathy, proposed to him the subject under discussion. To the surprise of both, they found him quite prepared for it. “Yes,” he said; “War–Eagle said to Wingenund what he wished, and it shall be done this day. First let us obey his commands about the Washashee; let them be called before the tent, and let the hunters and the Lenapé be summoned too.”
This was soon done; and the party being assembled, the Osages were once more brought forward, their limbs having been freed from the thongs by which they had been bound; and the general stock of meat, fresh as well as dried, was also, by desire of Wingenund, placed before the tent. These preliminaries being completed, the young chief addressed them as follows: “Washashee, it is known to you that War–Eagle, forgiving your bad deeds, gave you your lives—the Lenapé respect the wishes of their great chief, and will not send you away with empty hands.” He then desired that a fair proportion of meat, a rifle, with a reasonable supply of ammunition, a knife, and a small package of Indian presents should be given to each of the Osages. These orders having been punctually, though reluctantly, obeyed by one of the Delaware warriors, Wingenund continued: “if the Washashee fear to enter upon the long home–path with so few men, they may camp under the shelter of the Lenapé fires—they cannot be called brothers, but no harm shall be done to them.”
“The Washashee,” replied the powerful Indian who has before been mentioned as the spokesman of the Osages, and who now grasped his restored rifle with an air of fierce exultation—“the Washashee have no fear—they will go upon the path alone—they will not dwell a night by the fires of the Lenapé camp. Wingenund is a young chief, and the Lenapé need not be ashamed when they speak his name; his words and his years are few, but his deeds will be told where the council of warriors meet. His hand is open—but it is red with the blood of their great chief: the Washashee thank him, but they cannot call the Lenapé brothers. The Washashee have no more to say; before the night falls, their feet will be far on the homeward path.”
So saying, the grim warrior stalked away with his three companions, the assembled party looking after them in silence, until their forms were lost behind a rock that projected into the valley.
“Proud and thankless scoundrels,” muttered Baptiste, half aloud to the hunter who stood nearest to him. “Had my opinion been taken, they should have been flogged with cow–hides out of the camp, and they might have found their way as they could to their cut–throat friends the Dahcotahs! ‘Twas always so with War–Eagle, and will be the same with Wingenund! When the skrimmage was over, and his blood was cool, there was no more cruelty in his natur’ than there is in that of a Philadelphy Quaker.”
Wingenund having spoken for a few minutes with the missionary, a party of half a dozen men were desired by the latter to dig a grave for the deceased chief under a scathed and picturesque pine that stood alone on a small natural mound near the river. It was a spot that seemed to have been framed by the hand of the Creator for a sepulchre, rising as it did in the centre of a wild and unfrequented vale, surrounded on all sides by precipitous rocks, beyond which rose in the distance the snow–clad summits of the gigantic mountain–range—the fittest natural emblem of Eternity; while round the base of the mound flowed the bubbling stream, a memento, no less apt, of the changeful and fleeting nature of all the things belonging to this earthly scene.
The descending sun was just beginning to gild the peaks of the Western Andes when the party assembled to pay the last tribute of affectionate regard to the mortal remains of their late leader. Prairie–bird and her faithful Lita attended, both having their faces veiled by a shawl, and the former supported by her newly restored brother; nor was there one of the party absent from the mournful ceremony, which was commenced (as soon as the body, still enveloped and bound in dark cloth, was placed near the grave,) by a brief address from Wingenund, in which he said:
“My brothers know that War–Eagle was a great chief; that the blood of many warriors ran in his veins. The enemies of the Lenapé were his enemies, and their friends his friends. When their warriors went forth to battle, he was not the last; and when they returned, his war–club could tell a tale.” A deep murmur of assent was uttered by the Delawares, and Wingenund continued:—“War–Eagle loved the Lenapé from his childhood; and in his last moments he prayed to the Great Spirit for their happiness. He also told Wingenund that Olitipa and the Black Father had read to him many wonderful things from the Great Spirit’s Book; that he had thought much of them, and found them very good, and very true: they had made his heart so glad, that he wished Wingenund and his Lenapé brothers to hear them, that they might learn how to please the Great Spirit, and to obey His will. Wingenund promised War–Eagle, that when the Black Father told them the commands of the Great Spirit written in the book, the ears of the Lenapé should be open to listen to the words of his wisdom, and to let his counsel guide their feet. My brothers, such were the wishes of War–Eagle, great chief of the Unâmi band of the Ancient People. Wingenund has told them truly, and he intends to obey them himself: his years are yet too few, that he should advise others; let each of my brothers think of these things wisely, and act as the Great Spirit shall incline his heart.”