We-har-ka alone spoke gently and kindly to him. She knew that his heart, like hers, vibrated beneath a load of care; she found too a strange interest in his stories,—the woman's love of the marvellous was roused; the miracles of the saints delighted her as did the feats of the gods.
But only so far was she a Christian; though she wore a gift from the Jesuit, the consecrated sign. Perhaps in the after accounts of his converts she was reckoned among them. We are told by one of the Jesuit fathers of the true conversion and Christian death of a Canada Indian. "While I related to him," said he, "the scene of the crucifixion, 'Oh! that I had been there,' exclaimed the Indian, 'I would have brought away the scalps of those Jews.'"
The war-chief was arrayed in his choicest clothing; and, but for the silence in the wigwam, and the desolate appearance of the young person who was alone with her dead, one would have supposed that he slept as usual. The charms were still to be left about his person for protection. The body was wrapped in skins: they were as yet laid but loosely about him, ready for their final arrangement, when, with the face towards the rising sun, the warrior should be laid upon the scaffolding, to enjoy undisturbed repose.
But a few hours had elapsed since he sat and talked among them; but now each of the group had returned to his usual occupation. Even his daughter sat with her face drooping over her hands, forgetting for the moment her grief at his loss, and endeavouring to anticipate her own fate. The twilight had not yet given way to night, but the sudden death that had occurred had hushed all their usual noisy amusements. Nothing was heard but the subdued voices of the warriors as they dwelt on the exploits of Eagle Eye, or speculated on the employments that engaged him, now that their tie with him was sundered. Sometimes the subject was changed for another of more exciting interest. A party that had gone in search of the Chippeways,[10] who had been hovering near their village, was expected to return, and there was some little anxiety occasioned by their prolonged stay. Among the most noted of the party was the brother of We-har-ka and a young brave called the Beaver. These two young men, aspirants for glory and the preference which, among the Indians, is awarded to bravery, cunning, and the virtues, so considered among them, belonged to different clans. The rivalry and hatred between these clans raged high, more so at this time than for some years previous.
The Indian lives only for revenge; he has neither arts nor learning to occupy his mind, and his religion encourages rather than condemns this passion.
The daring showed by the Chippeways had only stimulated them to greater acts of bravery; they were determined that the tree of peace, now torn up by the roots, should never be planted again on the boundaries of the two countries.
We-har-ka had arisen from her recumbent attitude, and stood by the side of her dead relative. She had not time to reflect on the loneliness of her position.
She had only laid her hand on the cold forehead where Death had so recently set his seal, when the well-known triumphant voice of her brother echoed through the village.
Hardly had she turned towards the door when another yell of triumph, sounding even louder than the first, was heard. She knew that voice too, for the colour mounted to her cheeks, and her breath came short and quickly.
A chorus of yells now rent the air, answered by the Indians who had joyfully started up to meet the party. How every eye shone with delight, every feature working with convulsive excitement; all the fierce passions of their nature were aroused. Those prolonged and triumphant shouts had prepared them for what was to come. Already they longed to see the blood-dyed scalps, and, it might be, the face of some prisoner in whose sufferings they were to revel.