But Anna was not long in discovering that a change was on her young companion. Weetano was not now the glad, sunny-hearted creature she had known in the year gone by. Her wild, musical laugh no longer awoke the mountain echo, and her step had lost its fleetness—for, the delicate white girl could now outstrip the forest-maiden who so lately outstripped the deer. She would sometimes sit silent and motionless in her canoe, gazing down into the deep waters with an intensity that both surprised and alarmed her companion, and once, when questioned by her, she replied—“She was listening for whisperings of the Great Spirit.”
“Will the Lily teach Weetano to read the Great Book of the white man?” inquired the Indian girl one morning, as they were sitting alone in Anna’s little room. “She has a new brother in her father’s lodge; he is a Book man, and will not take up the bow and tomahawk! He sings the songs of the spirit-land, but no war-song; and when Weetano was sick and dying, he pointed her to the blue home of the weary! Weetano has looked on the face of her pale brother, and the image of her Brave has faded from her heart! The Huron’s spirit no longer comes to me in dreams! Owanaw should take a warrior maiden to his wigwam, and leave the daughter of the Mohawk to dwell in peace! Teach me the Book then, but tell it not to Oliwibatuc.”
It has been already stated that the Mohawk chief and his party had returned from their last campaign victorious. The hair of many a scalp was braided with serpent-skins around their necks, and twelve young captives had been brought home to suffer in the presence of the whole tribe. As they drew near their principal city, the captors sent up a savage yell, and prolonged it until the hills sent back the sound; but the aged warriors and the braves who remained at home echoed it not. Wherefore came they not forth as was their custom, to greet their triumphant brethren? The silence boded no good, and Oliwibatuc led on his band with a sullen, down-cast eye. He approached his lodge with the prisoners and their guard, and entered it in silence; but within, all was noise and distraction. Hideous outcries, mingled with strange incantations saluted his ears, and there on a low couch lay the prostrate form of the chief’s daughter. The low moaning of the poor maiden was a sad welcome for the old warrior, for Weetano had been the song-bird of his lodge, and the sunlight of her face had once been the sunlight of her mother’s. He stood by her couch with stern composure, and thrice uttered “Weetano,” but the ear of his daughter was dull to the voice of affection, and the haughty warrior uttered a deep groan, and bowed his head, for his pride was low.
There was one among the prisoners of Oliwibatuc who looked not unmoved on the mournful spectacle—one, whose faith taught “Love to enemies,” and whose mission on earth was that of his Master—to do good. It was a youthful “soldier of the Cross,” that stood a captive in the lodge of the Mohawk chief. Torture and death he was expecting soon to receive from the hands of his merciless captors, but the light of his faith was clear and bright, and his last deed should be one of mercy. He saw that the disease had formed a crisis, and the poor sufferer seemed rapidly sinking with exhaustion; but there was still life, and a shadow of hope, and he approached the stricken chief, and laying his hand gently on his arm, said—
“The Great Spirit has given the Pale Face the art of healing; if it be not too late, I will restore thy daughter; but the tumult must first be hushed!”
There was gratitude in the old chief’s eye: for a tone of sympathy falls never unheeded, no matter how barren the heart; and with a motion of his hand the savage din was hushed.
“Yes, save her, and ye shall live, young Pale Face!” murmured the chief. “She is my only child—the last of the eagle’s nest! Save her, and ye shall be as Olo, the son of Oliwibatuc, who fell by the great Lakes in battle!”
The captive knew that a flask of brandy was in possession of one of the prisoners. The Indians had not then learned its use, though something of its abuse they had found out in their intercourse with the traders. He obtained this immediately, and diluting a little with water, put it to the lips of the poor girl, who lay unconscious of all around her. She swallowed with great difficulty, and he perceived an unearthly chill in the perspiration that damped her forehead.
“Blankets and fire, chief,” said the young man, with a trembling voice. “Soon, or it will be too late! Set these prisoners to work,” added he, on looking round and perceiving the lodge deserted save by the chief and his captives. “Hot blankets must be had immediately!” And he set himself to work, chafing the cold hands of the poor moaning sufferer, with an activity that manifested the earnestness of his purpose.
Oliwibatuc went to the door of his wigwam, and sent up a cry, that immediately brought a dozen of his tribe at his feet.