CHAPTER XXIV.
A staircase, rude indeed, but still a staircase, led from the morebarn-like part of the building below to the upper floor; and in thisrespect appeared the first difference between this house--for itdeserved the name--and the lodge, or Castle, of King Hendrick theyounger, though both had been built by European workmen, and that ofKing Hendrick at the cost of the British government, which was not thecase with the dwelling of the Oneida chief. As soon, however, as youreached the upper floor, the differences became more frequent and moreremarkable. It was partitioned off into separate rooms, with regulardoors to them.
When Edith entered the chamber of Otaitsa, she saw at once hertendency to European habits. Of rude manufacture, but still verycorrect as imitations, and not without a certain degree of uncouthornament, were chairs, tables, writing materials, a bedstead and abed; and from wooden pegs driven into the partition depended a fewdrawings, some coloured, some in pencil, but all very different fromthe gaudy daubs which, at a later period, pedlars were accustomed totake into the Indian territory as articles of barter.
As Edith's eye glanced round the room, she gleaned a general notion ofall these things; but her mind was too full of deeper and sadderthoughts to suffer even curiosity to turn it from its course for amoment.
"There is no one in any other chamber here," said Otaitsa. "None comesup those stairs but myself and my father. Now, Edith, speak; forOtaitsa's heart is very heavy, and her mind misgives her sadly. Is ityour father they have taken?"
"No, oh no!" answered Edith; "but one as dear."
She then went on briefly to relate all that had occurred, endeavouringto soften and prepare the way for intelligence which she feared wouldaffect the Indian girl much. But Otaitsa darted at her ownconclusions, divining the whole truth almost as soon as the words werespoken. She was far more affected than Edith had anticipated. She castherself upon her fair companion's neck, and wept aloud.
"He was mine, Edith," she exclaimed, in the full confidence of sorrow."He was mine--my betrothed--my loved! And they have hidden it fromme--hidden it from all the Indian women here; for they knew that everyone in the tribe loved him--though not as well as I. Where was thepoor wanderer who passed your house with her infant on her back, whodid not receive kindness from Walter Prevost?--where was the Indiangirl who could say he did not treat her with as kindly gentleness asthe highest white woman in the land? He was the tree which had grownup to shelter the hut of the woodman, giving him cool shade andcomfort in the days of summer and of gladness, to be cut down andburnt for fire when the winter winds are singing in the bare branches.Oh, my brother--my brother! bad is the return they make thee, and hardthe measure that they deal! But shall Otaitsa suffer this?" she cried,rising vehemently, and casting her arms abroad. "Shall the Black Eaglelet the ravens pick out the eyes of his young in his own nest? No, mysister, no! they shall take Otaitsa's blood first--they shall shakethe Blossom from the old bough that is no longer able to bear it upagainst the winds of Heaven. If the Black Eagle can no longer protecteven his daughter's husband, let him cast away the tomahawk--let himlay down the rifle, and be a woman amongst the chiefs of his people!"
It was impossible, for some minutes, to stop Otaitsa's vehement burstof passionate sorrow; but at length Edith succeeded in somewhatcalming her, beseeching her to still her agitation and anger, and tobend her whole mind to the consideration of what means could best beused to discover whither Walter had been taken, and to rescue him fromthe peril in which he was placed.
As soon as Otaitsa could listen, however, or rather as soon as shecaught the sense of Edith's words, and appreciated their importance,it is wonderful how rapidly she became calm, stilled all the strongand struggling emotions in her heart, and directed every effort andenergy of her spirit to the one great object before her. Enough of theIndian blood flowed along her veins--enough of Indian characteristicshad been acquired in early youth--to give her a portion of thatstrong, stoical self-command which characterized the Indian warrior,rather than the woman of the race. The first burst of grief andindignation showed the woman, and perhaps, in some degree, not thepure Indian; but, the moment after, those who knew the character ofthe Five Nations best might have supposed her, not only a pure Indian,but a man, and a chief, so quietly did she reason upon, and ponder,the means of accomplishing her purpose. She remained at first, for twoor three minutes, in perfect silence, revolving all the circumstancesin her mind, and calculating every chance. Then she said,--
"The first thing, Edith, is for you to go back to your poorfather--not that you are in any danger here; but it were well, ifpossible, that no one knew you had been with me, at least till I havediscovered where they have hid our poor brother. The women here willall aid me, and never part their lips if I desire them not; for thoughthe men think they are very shrewd in hiding the secrets of the nationfrom their wives and daughters, the women, when they please, can be assecret and as resolute too. At all events, whether your coming beknown or not, it would be better you should go back before the chief'sreturn. They have gone forth to hunt, they say; but whether it be theblack bear, or the brown deer, or the white man, is in great doubt,dear Edith. At all events, they will not know the object of yourcoming. They may suspect, and probably will, that you came to inquirefor your brother; but knowing that I was ignorant of his capture, andam still ignorant where they keep him, they will think you have goneback disappointed and in sorrow, and leave me unwatched to act as Iwill."
"But can I do nothing to aid?" asked Edith. "Remember, dearestBlossom, what it is to remain inactive and ignorant, while the fate ofone so near and so dear hangs in the balance."
"You shall not remain in ignorance, dear Edith," replied Otaitsa."With every possible opportunity (and I will find many) my sistershall know what the Blossom does, and if there be any way in which youcould give help, you shall have instant tidings. At present I know notwhat is to be done to save our Walter from the power of the Snake. Iknow not even what they have decided themselves, or whether they havetaken any decision; and I have much to think of, much to do. I mustseek out those in whom I can place confidence; I must employ many toobtain me information; I must buy some, consult with others, and thenjudge what is to be done. You can rest here, my Edith, for this day;but to-morrow you must speed home again. But be sure of one thing; mytribe shall know that if Walter dies, Otaitsa will die too."
"That is no consolation," cried Edith, throwing her arms round herneck, with tears in her eyes; "oh, do not threaten anything rash, dearBlossom! Remember you are a Christian; and many things are forbiddento Christians, as a sin, which are regarded as virtues by pagannations."
"No threat can be rash, no threat can be a sin," answered Otaitsa,"which may save a life, innocent, and good, and noble. I would notwillingly offend, my sister; but my heart is open to God; and he willjudge me in mercy, seeing my motives. And now, dear sister, sit youhere, and I will send you food, such as we poor Indians eat. I myselfmay be away for a time, for there must be no delay; but I will returnas soon as possible, and you shall know all that is done before yougo. Do these blacks who are with you understand the Indian tongue?"
"One of them certainly does," replied Edith; "that is to say, thelanguage of the Mohawks."
"'Tis the same," returned Otaitsa, "or nearly the same. We may havealtered a little; but, amongst the Five Nations, he who speaks onetongue understands all. Is it the man or the woman? and can we trust?"
"It is the man," answered Edith; "and I do believe he can be trusted."
"Then I go," resumed Otaitsa.
And, leaving Edith, she descended to the room below, and then issuedforth amongst the Indian huts, gliding from one to another, andstopping generally for a few moments at those lodges before which wasto be seen a high pole, bearing the ghastly trophies with which theIndians signalized the death of an enemy.
Strange, that with one so gentle and so kind, with one taughtChristianity from her youth, and imbued with many notions differentfrom those of the rest of the people, th
e horrid sight of humanscalps, parched by the sun and dangling in the wind produced noappearance of horror and disgust. In truth, she hardly saw them, andlooked upon the pole and its cruel trophies merely as an indicationthat there dwelt a famous warrior of the tribe.
Edith in the meanwhile remained for some time in sad meditation.During her rapid journey from the neighbourhood of the Hudson, notmore than thirty miles from Lake Horicon, to the Oneida Lake, she hadhad little leisure for thought. It had passed almost as a dream, fullof confused objects and feelings, but with little like reflection init.
The sun was by this time disappearing beyond the western extremity ofthe lake, but still sufficiently above the gently sloping ground topour a long stream of glorious light over the placid waters; andEdith, seated near the window, gazed over the calm and beautifulscene with that solemn feeling--that echo of the voice from anotherworld--which seems to rise in every sensitive heart at the death ofeach new day. Something gone! something gone to eternity! another dayon its twelve golden wings taking flight to the infinite and theirrevocable, bearing with it to the dark treasury of late an infinitemass and multitude of deeds, and thoughts, and feelings, crimes,offences, virtuous acts, and little kindnesses, human charities, andhuman passions, wishes, hopes, joys, sorrows, disappointments, andregrets: the smiles and tears of a whole world, gone with thedeparting day. Sad and solemn is that feeling. It is standing by thedeath-bed of a friend, and seeing the faint eyes closed for ever.
For ever! No, not for ever! There is a morning for all, when anotherday shall dawn; and well were it for some, if the deeds of the deadday could be forgotten.
Still, although we know that another day will rise--as surely as weknow that another life will come--there is a sort of hopelessness,though that is too strong a word, in seeing the sinking sun take hisparting look of the world. Perhaps it is not hopelessness; but it is asomething which transfuses a portion of the twilight gloom into thechambers of the heart, and dims the light of hope, though notextinguishes it.
Edith was sad--very, very sad; and she felt that gazing on that scenemade her still more so. It gave her a sensation of solitariness, ofhelpless homelessness in a new, wild world, the tendency of which wasto depress and enervate; and, saying to herself--"I will hope still; Iwill not despond; I will think of nothing but action and endeavour,"she rose and looked about the room for something to occupy the mindand drive away impressions that seemed to crush her energies.
There were many things around which might have answered the purpose,only strange from being found in that place: several books; a smallneedle-book, of ancient pattern, but evidently European, and whatseemed to be an old sketch-book, with a lock and clasp upon it. Itevidently dated from many years before; was somewhat soiled; and onone of the sides were two or three dark spots. They were not of ink,for, through the blackness, there was a red.
Passing by these objects, Edith's eyes turned towards the sketcheshanging round the room. On one in particular the reflected light fromthe surface of the lake streamed as it passed from the window; andEdith, going near, examined it attentively. It represented the head ofa young man, apparently from seven-and-twenty to thirty years of age,and was done well, though not exactly in a masterly manner. It wasmerely in pencil, but highly finished; and there seemed something init very familiar to Edith's eye. The features were generally likethose of her brother Walter--so like, that, at first, she imaginedthat the drawing must be intended to represent his head; but thenearer view showed that it was that of a much older person; and thedress was one long gone out of fashion.
She was still gazing and puzzling herself with the questions of whencethese drawings could come, and whether they could be Otaitsa's ownproductions, when some Indian women entered, with their noiselesstread, and placed several carved bowls, filled with different kinds offood, before her. It was all very simple; but she was much exhausted,for she had tasted nothing from an early hour of the day, and therefreshment was grateful to her. The women spoke to her, too, in theIroquois tongue; and their sweet, low-toned voices, murmuring in thesort of sing-song of the tribes, was pleasant to her ear. It spoke ofcompanionship.
Their words, too, were kind and friendly; and she gathered from themthat Otaitsa, in order to veil the real object of her coming, had beenmaking inquiries as to whether any one had seen Walter Prevost. Theyassured Edith that they had not seen him--that he could not have comeinto the Oneida country, or some one in the Castle must have heard ofhim. A pale-face amongst them was very rare, they said; but the comingof Walter Prevost, whom so many knew and loved much, would have beennoised abroad immediately. They said that his absence from his homewas certainly strange, but added, laughing, that young warriors wouldwander, as Edith would discover when she was old enough.
Thus they sat and talked with her, lighting a lamp in a bowl, tillOtaitsa returned; and then they left the two friends alone together.
Otaitsa was agitated evidently, though she tried hard to hide, if notto suppress, her emotions under Indian calmness; but her agitation wasevidently joyful. She laid her small hand upon Edith's, and pressed itwarmly.
"I have found friends," she said; "those who will work for me, andwith me: my father's sister, who knew and loved my mother, and who issupposed by some to have a charm from the Great Spirit to make menlove and reverence her--the wife of the Sachem of the Bear--the youngbride of the Running Deer--the wife of the Grey Wolf--the wife ofLynxfoot--and many others. All these have vowed to help me, whateverit may cost. They all know Walter: they all have called him brother;and they all are resolute that their brother shall not die. But I mustfirst work for him myself, dear Edith," she continued. Then,clasping her hands together with a burst of joy at the hope lightedup in her young, warm heart, she exclaimed--"Oh, that I could save himall by myself!--that I might buy him from his bonds by my own actsalone--ay, or even by my own blood! Huagh! Huagh! that were joyfulindeed!"
Edith could hardly raise her mind to the same pitch of hope; still,she felt more satisfied--her object was accomplished. Otaitsa wasinformed of Walter's danger; and the bright, enthusiastic girl wasalready actively engaged in the effort to deliver him. There wassomething, too, in the young Indian--an eagerness, an energy, unusualin the depressed women of her race, and probably encouraged by thefond, unbounded indulgence of the chief her father--which seemed tobreathe of hope and success; and it was impossible to look into hereager and kindling eyes, when the fancy that she could deliver heryoung lover all alone took possession of her, without believing that,if his deliverance was within human power, she would accomplish it.
Edith felt that her duty so far was done, and that her next duty wastowards her father, who she well knew would be painfully anxious tillshe returned, however confident he might have felt of her safety inthe hands of the Indians, so long as there seemed no immediate chanceof her being placed in such a situation. She willingly, therefore,agreed to Otaitsa's suggestion, to set out with the first ray of lighton the following morning, Otaitsa promising that some Indian womenshould accompany her a day's journey on the way, who, by their betterknowledge of the country, and their skill in the management of thecanoe, would greatly facilitate her progress.
About an hour was spent in conversation, all turning upon one subject,and then the two girls lay down to sleep in each other's arms.
The Black Eagle; or, Ticonderoga Page 24
