The Black Eagle; or, Ticonderoga

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  An hour had passed after the conversation detailed in the lastchapter, and Woodchuck had steadily and sturdily refused to pursue anyfurther the subject of his fixed determination, although both Mr.Prevost and Edith, deeply touched, and, to say truth, much agitated,would fain have dwelt upon the topic longer. Edith felt, and Mr.Prevost argued in his own mind, that the poor man was performing agenerous and self-devoted act, which no moral obligation forced uponhim. They felt, too, that so noble a heart was not one which ought tobe sacrificed to the vengeful spirit of the Indians; and the naturalfeeling of joy and satisfaction which they experienced at the apparentcertainty of Walter's deliverance from death seemed to them almost acrime when it was to be purchased at so dear a price.

  Woodchuck's obstinacy, however, had conquered; the subject had beenchanged; and, as they now sat together in the little room, to which hehad led the way after speaking the last words cited, they continued,while the shades of evening gathered quickly round them, a broken sortof conversation upon topics connected with that which they hadquitted, though avoiding the point which was most painfully prominentin the mind of each. They rambled a good deal indeed, though evertaking a direction which faintly showed, like the waves in the treesmarking the course of a forest-path, what the mind was running onbeneath the mere words.

  Sometimes gazing into the embers of the fire with his feet upon thehearth, Woodchuck would talk, neither unphilosophically norunlearnedly in the best of all learning, upon a world to come, andlife immortal, and compensation beyond the grave; and, in hissimplicity, his words would reach almost to the sublime. Then, atother times, they would speak of the Indians, and their habits, andtheir good and bad qualities; and here many of the poor man'sprejudices were seen clinging to him strongly.

  "They are like vermin," he would say; "and the devil himself has ashare in them. I have heard people talk largely of their generosity,and all that; but I guess I've not seen much of it."

  Mr. Prevost was silent, for his feelings had suffered a natural changetowards the Indians; but Edith exclaimed warmly--

  "We cannot say that of dear Otaitsa, at all events, Woodchuck, for shesurely has a heart full of generosity and everything that is noble."

  "That's nat'ral, that's nat'ral," answered Woodchuck; "that comes ofthe blood that is in her. For that matter, Black Eagle has some finethings about him--he's the best of them I ever saw. We used to say,whole Ingian, half devil; but I think in his case it must have beenquarter devil, and that's saying a good deal for so fierce a man as hein battle. They say he has scalped more enemies than all his tribe puttogether; especially in that war down upon the Pennsylvania side somenineteen years ago, when some of our people foolishly took part withthe Mohaguns."

  Mr. Prevost started, and Woodchuck went on, saying,--"He has goodthings about him, for he always makes his people spare the women andchildren, which is what them Ingians seldom think of. A scalp's ascalp to them, whether it has got long hair on it or only ascalp-lock. But, as I was saying, the Blossom has got all that is goodin him, and all that was good in her mother, poor thing! and that wasa mighty great deal."

  "I have often wished," said Mr. Prevost, "that I could hear somethingof Otaitsa's history. Her mother, I believe, was a white woman, and Ihave more than once tried, when I found the Black Eagle in acommunicative mood, to lead him to speak upon the subject; but themoment it was touched upon, he would wrap his blanket round him, andstalk away."

  "Ay, he has never forgotten her," said Woodchuck. "He never tookanother wife, you know; and well he may remember her, for she was hisbetter angel, and ruled him completely, which was what no one elsecould. But I can tell you all about it if you like to know; for Iheard it all from an old squaw one time, and I saw the lady once toomyself, and talked to her."

  "I think," said Edith, thoughtfully, "that she must have been a lady;for, when I was in their lodge, I saw in Otaitsa's little chamber agreat number of things of European manufacture, and of high taste."

  "May not those have been procured for the dear girl by our good friendGore?" asked Mr. Prevost; "he is a man of much taste himself."

  "I think not," answered Edith; "they are evidently old, and seemed tohave belonged to one person. Besides, there are a number of drawings,all evidently done by one hand--not what any one would purchase, andapparently the production of an amateur, rather than of an artist."

  Mr. Prevost fell into a fit of thought, and leaned his head upon hishand; but Woodchuck said,--

  "Oh, they are her mother's; beyond doubt, they are her mother's. Shewas quite a lady every inch of her; you could hear it in the tone ofher voice; you could see it in her walk; her words too were all thoseof a lady, and her hand was so small and delicate, it could never haveseen work. Do you know, Miss Edith, she was wonderful like you--morelike you than Otaitsa; but I'll tell you all about it just as I heardit from the old squaw.

  "At the time I talk of," continued he, "that's a good many yearsago--eighteen or nineteen may be--Black Eagle was the handsomestyoung man that had ever been seen in the tribes, they say, and thefiercest warrior too. He was always ready to take part in any war; andwhenever fighting was going on, he was there. Well, the Delawares hadnot been quite brought under at that time by the Five Nations; and hewent down with his warriors, and the Mohawks, to fight against theMohaguns--they were Delawares too, you know; some were on theMonongahela river, just at the corner of Pennsylvania and Virginny.Our people had given some help to the Mohaguns, and they were at thattime just laying the foundations of a fort, which the French got holdof afterwards, and called Fort Du Quesne.

  "Well, there was an old general officer, who thought he would go upand see how the works were going on; and, as things were quiet enoughjust then--though it was but a calm before a storm--he took hisdaughter with him, and journeyed away pleasantly enough through thewoods, I dare say, though it must have been slow work; for, as heintended to stay all the summer, the old man took a world of baggagewith him; but, the third or fourth night after leaving the civilizedparts, they lodged in an Ingian village; when, all in a minute, justas they were going to bed, down comes Black Eagle upon them, with hiswarriors. There was a dreadful fight in the village; nothing butscreams, and war-whoops, and rifle-shots; and the Mohaguns, poordevils! were almost put out that night, for they were taken unawares,and they do say, not a man escaped alive out of the wigwam.

  "At the first fire, out runs the old general from the hut, and at thesame minute a rifle ball, perhaps from a friend, perhaps from anenemy, no one can tell, goes right through his heart. Black Eagle wascollecting scalps all this time; but when he turned round, or cameback, or however it might be, there he found this poor young lady, theofficer's daughter, crying over her father. Well, he wouldn't sufferthem to hurt her; but he took her away to the Oneida country with him,and gathered up all her goods and chattels, and her father's, andcarried them off too, but all for her; for it seems that he fell inlove with her at first sight. What, they say, made her first like him,was, that he wouldn't let his savages scalp the old man, telling themthat the English were allies, and declaring that the ball that killedhim had not come from an Oneida rifle.

  "However that may be, the poor girl had no choice but to marry BlackEagle, though his mother said that, being a great chief's daughter,she made him promise never to have another wife; and, if ever aChristian priest came there, to be married to her according to her ownfashion."

  While he spoke, Mr. Prevost remained apparently buried in deep andvery gloomy thought. But he had heard every word; and his mind hadmore than once wandered wide away, as was its wont, to collateralthings, not only in the present, but in the past. It was a strangehabit of his--a sort of discrepancy in his character--thus to sufferhis thoughts to be turned aside by any accidental circumstance even inmatters of deep interest; for, in times of action--when it wasnecessary to decide and do--no intellect was ever more prompt anddecisive than his own, going straight forward to its object with greatand startling rapidity. Where t
here was nothing to be done, however,where it was all a matter of mere thought, this rambling mood almostalways prevailed: but still, like a stream flowing through a levelcountry, and turning aside at every little obstacle, though pursuingits onward course towards the sea and reaching it at length, his mind,sooner or later, got back into the course from which it had deviated.When Woodchuck stopped, he raised his head and gazed at him for amoment in the face, with a look of earnest and melancholy inquiry.

  "Did you ever hear her name?" he asked. "Can you tell me her father'sname?"

  "No," replied Woodchuck. "I had the history almost all from the oldsquaw, and if she had tried to give me an English name she would havemanufactured something such as never found its way into an Englishmouth. All she told me was that the father was a great chief among theEnglish, by which I made out that she meant a general."

  "Probably it was her father's portrait that I saw at the Indiancastle," said Edith. "There was hanging up in Otaitsa's room a picturethat struck me more than any of the others, except, indeed, theportrait of a lady. It was that of a man in a military dress ofantique cut. His hand was stretched out with his drawn sword in it,and he was looking round with a commanding air, as if telling hissoldiers to follow. I marked it particularly at first, because the sunwas shining on it, and because the frame was covered with the mostbeautiful Indian beadwork I ever saw. That of the lady too wassimilarly ornamented; but there was another which interested memuch--a small pencil drawing of a young man's head, so like Walter,that, at first, I almost fancied dear Otaitsa had been trying to takehis portrait from memory."

  "Would you remember the old man's face, my child, if you saw itagain?" asked Mr. Prevost, gazing earnestly at his daughter.

  "I think so," answered Edith, a little confused by her father'seagerness. "I am quite sure I should."

  "Wait then a moment," said Mr. Prevost, "and call for lights, mychild."

  As he spoke, he rose and quitted the room; but he was several minutesgone, and lights were burning in the chamber when he returned. He wasburdened with several pictures of small size, which he spread out uponthe table, while Edith and Woodchuck both rose to gaze at them.

  "There, there!" cried Edith, putting her finger upon one, "there isthe head of the old officer, though the attitude is different, andthere is the lady too; but I do not see the portrait of the youngman."

  "Edith," said her father, laying his hand affectionately upon hers,and shaking his head, sadly, "he is no longer young, but he standsbeside you, my child. That is the picture of my father, that of mymother. Otaitsa must be your cousin. Poor Jessie! we have alwaysthought her dead, although her body was not found with that of herfather. Better had she been dead, probably."

  "No, no, Prevost," said Woodchuck, "not a bit of it. Black Eagle madeher as kind a husband as ever was seen. You might have looked allEurope and America through, and not found so good a one. Then think ofall she did, too, in the place where she was. God sent her there tomake better people than she found. From the time she went, to the timeshe died, poor thing! there was no more war and bloodshed, or verylittle of it. Then she got a Christian minister amongst them--atleast, he never would have been suffered to set his foot there if shehad not been Black Eagle's wife. It is a hard thing to tell what isreally good, and what is really evil, in this world. For my part, Ithink, if everything is not exactly good, which few of us would liketo say it is, yet good comes out of it like a flower growing out of adunghill; and there's no telling what good to the end of time thislady's going there may produce. Bad enough it was for her, I dare say,at first, but she got reconciled to it; so you mustn't say, it wouldhave been better if she had died."

  "It is strange, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, "what turns human fate willtake! That she--brought up in the midst of luxury, educated with theutmost refinement, sought and admired by all who knew her--shouldreject two of the most distinguished men in Europe, to go to this wildland, and marry an Indian savage! Men talk of Fate and Destiny; andthere are certainly strange turns of fortune so beyond all humancalculation and regulation, that one would almost believe that thedoctrine of the Fatalists is true."

  "Do you not think, my dear father," said Edith, waking up from aprofound reverie, "that this strange discovery might be turned to somegreat advantage? that Walter, perhaps, might be saved without thenecessity of our poor friend here sacrificing his own life to deliverhim?"

  "That's like a kind, dear girl," interposed Woodchuck; "but I can tellyou it's no use."

  "Still," urged Edith, "Otaitsa ought to know; for Black Eaglecertainly would never slay the nephew of a wife so dear to him."

  "It's no use," repeated Woodchuck, almost impatiently. "Don't youknow, Miss Edith, that Walter and the Blossom are in love with eachother? and that's worth all the blood relationship in the world--

  'Sometimes it doesn't last as long, But, while it does, 'tis twice as strong.'

  Then as to Black Eagle, he'd kill his own son, if the customs of hispeople required it. I guess it would only make him tomahawk poorWalter the sooner, just to show that he would not let any humanfeeling stand in the way of their devilish practices. No, no; muchbetter keep it quiet. It might do harm, for aught we can tell; it canand will do no good. Let that thing rest, my dear child. It is settledand decreed. I am ready now, and I shall never be so ready again. Letme take one more look at my mountains, and my lakes, and my rivers,and my woods, and I have done with this life. Then, God in His mercyreceive me into another! Amen.--Hark! there is some one coming up at agood gallop. That noble young lord, I dare say."

  It was as Woodchuck supposed; and, the moment after, LordH---- entered the room with a beaming look of joy and satisfaction inhis countenance. He held a packet of considerable size in his hand,and advanced at once to Mr. Prevost, saying--

  "My dear sir, I am rejoiced to present you with this letter, not alonebecause it will give you some satisfaction, but because it removes thestain of ingratitude from the government of the country. His Majesty'spresent ministers are sensible that you have not received justice;that your long services to the country in various ways--all that youhave done, in short, to benefit and ameliorate your race, and toadvocate all that is good and noble--have been treated with longneglect, which amounts to an offence; and they now offer you, as someatonement, a position which may lead to wealth and distinction, which,I trust, is but the step to more."

  "What is it, George, what is it?" asked Edith, eagerly.

  "It is, I am told," replied Lord H----, "in a letter which accompaniedthe packet, a commission as commissary-general of the army here, andan offer of the rank of baronet."

  "Thank God!" exclaimed Edith; and then, seeing a look of surprise ather earnestness come upon her noble lover's face, a bright smileplayed round her lips for a moment, and she added--"I say, thank God,George--not that I am glad my father should have such things, for Ihope he will decline them both; but because the very offer will healan old wound, by showing him that zealous exertions and the exerciseof high and noble qualities are not always to be treated with neglect,forgetfulness, and contempt. He will be glad of it, I am sure,whatever his decision may be."

  "Now I understand you, my own love," answered Lord H----. "With regardto the baronetcy, he shall do as he will; but I must press himearnestly to accept the office tendered to him. To decline it mightshow some resentment. By accepting it, he incurs no peril, and heserves his country; for, from his knowledge of the people here, of thephysical features of the land and its resources, and of the habits andfeelings of all classes, I believe no man could be found, with one ortwo exceptions, so well fitted for the task as himself. Ah, my goodfriend, Captain Brooks, how do you do? I have much wished to see youlately, and to hear of your plans."

  "I am as well as may be, my lord," replied Woodchuck, wringing in hisheavy grasp the hand which Lord H---- extended to him. "As for myplans, they are the same as ever--you did not doubt me, I am sure."

  "I did not," returned Lord H----, gravely; and, lo
oking down, he fellinto a fit of thought. At length, looking up, he added, "And yet, mygood friend, I am glad you have had time for reflection; for since welast met I have somewhat reproached myself for, at least, tacitencouragement of an act in the approval of which so many personalmotives mingle that one may well doubt oneself. Forgive me,Edith--forgive me, Mr. Prevost,--if I ask our friend here if he haswell considered and weighed in his mind, calmly and reasonably,without bias--nay, without enthusiasm--whether there be any moralobligation on him to perform an act which I suppose he has told you hecontemplates."

  "There is no forgiveness needed, my lord," replied Mr. Prevost. "Iwould have put the same question to him, if he would have let me.Nay, more; I would have told him--whatever I might suffer by theresult--that, in my judgment, there was no moral obligation. Becausehe did a justifiable act, these Indians commit one that isunjustifiable upon an innocent man. That can be no reason why heshould sacrifice his life to save the other. God forbid that, even forthe love of my own child, I should deal in such a matter unjustly. Iam no Roman, father--I pretend not to be such. If my own death willsatisfy them, let them take the old tree withered at the root, andspare the sapling full of strength and promise. But let me notdoom--let me not advise--a noble and honest man to sacrifice himselffrom a too generous impulse."

  "I don't know much of moral obligations," replied Woodchuck, gravely;"but I guess I have thought over the thing as much as e'er a one ofyou. I have made up my mind just upon one principle, and there let itrest, in God's name. I say to myself: 'Woodchuck, it's not right, isit, that any one should suffer for what you ha' done?' 'No, it's not.''Well, is there any use talking of whether they've a right to make himsuffer for your act or not? They'll do it.' 'No; there's no use o'talking; because they'll do it. It's only shuffling off theconsequences of what you did upon another man's shoulders. You neverdid that, Woodchuck; don't do it now. Man might say, "It's all fair;"God might pardon it; but your own heart would never forgive it.'"

  Edith sprang forward, and took both his hands, with the tears rollingover her cheeks.

  "God will prevent it," she said, earnestly. "I have faith in Him. Hewill deliver us in our utmost need. He provided the Patriarch with anoffering, and spared his son. He will find us a means of escape if webut trust in Him."

  "Miss Edith," replied Woodchuck solemnly, "He may, or He may not,according to His good pleasure; but of this I am certain, that, thoughChrist died for our transgressions, we have no right to see any oneelse suffer for our doings. I have read my Bible a great deal up thereon the hill-side lately--more than I ever did before, since I was alittle boy--and I'm quite certain of what I'm about. It has been acomfort and a strength to me. It's all so clear--so very clear. Otherbooks one may not understand--one can't misunderstand _that_--unlessone tries very hard. And now, pray let us have an end o't here. Mymind is quite made up. There is no use in saying a word more."

  All the rest were silent, and Edith left the room, with: the largetears falling down her face.