CHAPTER XIX.
THE TALE OF EVALINE MORTIMER—BRIEF HISTORY OF THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE— THEIR PERSECUTION, MASSACRE, FLIGHT, PROSPERITY AND ADVERSITY—MORE MYSTERY— SPECULATIONS OF MADAME MORTIMER— EARLY IMPRESSIONS OF EVALINE— HER EDUCATION—ROVING LIFE, ETC.
It was about an hour after nightfall, that, everything having become quiet, we formed a pleasant circle before a bright fire, in the dwelling of Mrs. Huntly, to hear the tale of Evaline Mortimer. Throughout the day, all had been too busy in entertaining guests to attend to private affairs; but now the transient visiters had departed, and none were by to listen save those most deeply interested. Evaline, in the course of the day, had managed to steal away for an hour, during which she had opened her "treasure-box," as she termed it, wherein she had found a parchment in the hand-writing of Great Medicine, whose contents she had eagerly devoured, and the substance of which, together with what she knew of herself, she was now about to lay before us. "Come," said Madame Mortimer, after some trifling conversation had passed: "Come, dear Evaline, now for the romance of your life! We are all eager for the story." "And when I have told it," said Evaline in reply, smiling sweetly, "I shall have told a tale to which no mortal ear has ever before listened, and a portion of which has been unknown to myself till within the last few hours. I have examined the record of Great Medicine, and find much therein I did not know before; but still, with all the knowledge gained therefrom, I should have remained ignorant of the most important period of my history—important to me at least—but for this providential meeting with my dear mother and sister, the former of whom can perhaps put the connecting link between what I know and my birth. "As the scroll of Great Medicine is in a language to you unintelligible, and as the narration on the whole is rather disconnected, I will, with your permission, omit a translation, and tell the story in my own way," and thus in a more direct form bring to bear all the knowledge I have regarding myself and those with whom my fortune has been linked. "My earliest impressions are of Great Medicine, and the Indians with whom he was associated. Of his early history I could never learn anything authentic. It was current with the tribe, that he had come from afar, had formerly been a great chief, and was now the sole remnant of his race. Some twelve or fifteen years prior to the period I speak of—or say a little more than thirty years ago—he had appeared among the various tribes then located in one of the more eastern territories, and had brought with him three white missionaries of the Moravian school, who at once set to work to convert the savages to the Christian faith. The influence of the old man—for even then Great Medicine was well advanced in years— tended much to allay the vindictive feelings which the savages were disposed to manifest toward his white friends, and to which they were secretly urged on by British agents—this, as you will bear in mind, being the period of the commencement of hostilities between America and Great Britain. The result of the matter was, that several of the Indians became converts to the true faith, renounced the barbarisms of their ancestors, and threw down their war implements to take them up no more. These converts were of various tribes, and were subsequently by each tribe denounced as imposters and coward squaws, and persecuted in many cases even to the death—so that the survivors were obliged to abandon their homes and seek safety in flight. These fugitives, by an arrangement of Great Medicine, all gathered together, and in solemn conclave formed themselves into a tribe, of which he was appointed chief—or rather Great Medicine—for the title of chief was by them abolished. A mode of worship was then established, of which several songs, composed by the missionaries, formed a striking feature, and made the ceremonies more impressive than they might other wise have been." "And these songs," interrupted I, "were the same you once translated to me?" "The same," answered the sweet narrator, "with the exception of what they may have gained or lost by the peculiar dialect finally adopted by the new-formed tribe. The ceremonies of this tribe," she continued, "were not all established at once, and may now differ somewhat from those of the time in question, though the same I believe in the main features. "As the Indian, by nature and association, is peculiarly fitted to believe in the marvellous, it is not surprising that some portion of this reverence for the supernatural should have clung to those of the new faith; and in consequence of this, Great Medicine was supposed to be invested with powers beyond the mere mortal. Whether or no he believed this of himself, I am unable to say; but certain it is, he took care the rest should think so; and ever excluding himself from the tribe, except when his presence was absolutely necessary, he succeeded by his peculiarities, eccentricities, strange incantations and the like, in drawing around himself a vail of mystery which none ever presumed to penetrate. On the whole, he was a very strange being; and though all loved, all feared him; and none ever knew for a certainty who he was or whence he came. If one presumed to question him, it was only for once. The silent look he received from that small, dark eye, was enough. It thrilled and overawed him, and he turned away resolved never to question again. Even I, whom he ever treated with affectionate care— who was constantly admitted to his presence when all others were excluded—who had the advantage of being with him in his most meditative and communicative moods—even I, was never made wiser than my companions. As I have said once before, he ever remained an enigma without a solution. Like the rest, I loved and I feared him—with this difference, perhaps— that the former with me was the stronger of the two passions. But to return from this slight digression. "The tribe organized under the control of Great Medicine, for a time flourished well, and constantly increased by new converts from the neighboring tribes. But this nearly proved its overthrow. The savages at last became jealous, and declared if this state of things continued, their villages would become depopulated. They swore revenge, and took it, and most dire revenge it was. They made a descent upon their harmless friends, and with ruthless hands slew their own relatives, and took the missionaries captives, whom they afterward put to the tortures. It was a terrible massacre—a massacre without resistance on the part of the victims, whose peculiar tenets of religion forbade them to fight even in defense of their lives. At one fell swoop nearly all were cut off. None, upon whom the bloodthirsty assailants laid hands, were spared. Women and children—the infant at the breast—the promising youth and tender maiden—the man in the prime of life and the hoary-headed veteran: all were alike victims—all shared one common fate—all found a bloody grave." "What a terrible scene!" exclaimed Madame Mortimer, shuddering. "Terrible! terrible!" echoed Lilian and Eva. "And how many do you suppose perished?" asked Mrs. Huntly. "I cannot say," answered Evaline. "All I know is, that only a few escaped— some half a dozen I believe—among whom was Great Medicine. They fled fast and far, to another part of the wilderness, but still firm in that faith by which they had been so sorely tried. When hundreds of miles had been placed between them and their fierce enemies, they paused in their flight, and selecting a pleasant spot, erected a few huts, and continued their devotion as before. Here they were visited by other tribes, who, knowing nothing of their history, and struck with their peculiarities and mode of worship; treated them with great respect and reverence, and called them the Wahsochee—equivalent to the English word Mysterious—by which name and the title of their founder they have ever since been known. "Here Providence again favored them, and their numbers increased very rapidly. Their fame spread far and wide over the vast wilderness, and bold warriors from distant tribes came to see them, many of whom remained, converts to their faith In this manner the Wahsochee village again became populous; and the different tribes, though at deadly enmity with one another, all concurred in respecting and leaving them unmolested. As those who joined them were among the most intelligent of their race, and as these were from a great many nations, the language of each was gradually introduced, until, besides a dialect of their own, the tribe had the advantage of understanding that of almost every other of note. "Thus for several years all went on prosperous, and their number had augmented from six to an hundred and
fifty, when that fatal malady, the small-pox broke out and swept off four-fifths of the nation. From this awful blow they never fully recovered— at least, never to be what they were before—for many who were on the point of joining them, were deterred by what they declared to be the angry frown of the Great Spirit; and although other tribes were scourged in like manner, still the more superstitious contended that the Wahsochee religion could not be good, or the Great Spirit would not have been angry with them, even though he were with their neighbors. "This latter affliction occurred some two years prior to my being brought among them, of which mysterious event I shall now proceed to speak, as I find it recorded by Great Medicine himself." "Permit me a word, Evaline, before you proceed farther!" said I, interrupting her. "Since you have briefly given the history of the Mysterious Tribe, may I inquire why it was, on our first acquaintance, you so strongly insisted I should question you not concerning yourself or companions?" "In the first place," she answered, "Great Medicine had expressly declared (and his word was law with us) that nothing of our history must be told to strangers, whose desire to know, as a general thing would proceed from idle curiosity, to gratify which would avail us nothing. In the second place, of my early history I was ignorant—at least of that which referred to my parentage—and to be questioned, ever caused me the most painful embarrassment; besides, of what I did know, I had promised the old man to reveal nothing. I knew I was not of the Indian race; but to admit this would lead to a thousand other inquiries, which could not be answered, and which I felt a stranger had no right to make. Are you answered?" "Fully and satisfactorily. Go on with your story!" "The location of the tribe, at the period of which I now speak," proceeded Evaline, "was near the Des Moines river, in the southern part of that territory since known as Iowa. While the tribe remained here, it was customary for Great Medicine to make a journey to St. Louis, as often as once a year, to trade his furs, skins, embroidered moccasins and the like, for powder, lead, beads, blankets, and whatever else he fancied the tribe might need. On his return from one of these excursions, (so he gives the story,) and when some ten miles above St. Louis, having fallen behind his party, he was overtaken by a fierce-looking horseman, who bore in his arms a little girl some two or three years of age, and who at once accosting him in a very gruff manner, demanded whither he was going. This horseman, he says, was a very villainouslooking white man, who wore a long flowing beard, had a black, fiery eye, was short in stature, and heavy set. "On hearing the reply of Great Medicine, the former drew a pistol and dismounted, ordering him to do the same. Once, he writes, he would have shot and scalped the bold intruder without a word; but now he had no such thoughts; and he obeyed him in silence, wondering what was to come next. "'Here is a brat,' said the stranger, pointing to the child now crouching at his feet, 'which I wish out of the way, and am too much of a coward to effect my desires. Take her, it is your calling, and here is gold.' "'You are mistaken in me,' replied Great Medicine, 'if you suppose I will aid your base ends. I would not kill that innocent little creature to own the world.' "'By—!' replied the other, making use of an oath; 'and you an Indian and say this! What in the name of—ails the child, that all fear to harm her? She must die though; and if you will not undertake the job, why, then there is no other alternative;' and he placed his pistol to her head. "'Stay!' cried the old man, beseechingly; 'I will not harm her myself; but if you wish to rid yourself of her, I will consent to place her far from civilization, and adopt her into my tribe.' "'But she is a child of consequence,' pursued the other, 'the daughter of one who is a great chief in his own country, and stands between me and fortune. Should she return—' "'There is no likelihood of that,' interrupted the other, 'as I shall take her some hundreds of miles into the wilderness.' "'But her father, who knows nothing of my design, and to whom I must report her lost or dead, may institute search. How do I know she may not be found?' "'That I think impossible,' rejoined the old man. "'But this will make all sure,' continued the dark stranger again pointing the pistol at her head. "'Nay, hold!' cried the other in alarm, 'If you dare to murder her, I will make her spirit haunt you forever!' "'You make her spirit haunt me! Umph! what are you but a deerepid old Indian? By heavens! I have a mind to murder you both. But I hate murder; for in fact one never feels safe afterward. Do you believe in a God, old man?—for you talk as one the world denominates Christian.' "'I do believe in a God,' answered Great Medicine; 'and if you dare to harm this child, His just retribution shall follow you even to the remotest bounds of earth and time.' "The other paused, reflected, and then added: "'I would not have her blood upon my soul, for I have sin enough there already. You think there is no danger of her being discovered?' "'Not the least.' "'And you say you believe in a God?' "'I do.' "'You hope for salvation, as men term it?' "'I do.' "'Then swear, by your hopes of salvation, to keep her among the Indians as long as you live—to adopt her into your tribe, and never to mortal ear to reveal a word concerning this interview, or how she came in your possession—that you will never attempt to trace out her parentage, nor make any inquiries concerning her—swear this, and she is yours. Refuse, and her death and yours is the penalty. ' "'I swear to all,' answered Great Medicine. "'Enough! take her and speed thee to the wilderness; while I will away and report her dead—murdered by the Indians,' he added, with a grim smile. Then leaping upon his horse, he muttered as he turned away: 'All is safe, I think, for we shall soon be over the water;' and the next moment both horse and rider were lost in the forest. "'This child,' writes Great Medicine, 'behold in yourself, Prairie Flower! and this is all I know of your early history! "Strange!" said Madam Mortimer, musingly. "Here is more mystery—I do not understand it. Who could have been this horseman? and what the meaning of his words? As you were stolen away on the night succeeding my desertion by your father, I had ever supposed—or hoped, rather—you had been taken away by him, and with him, wherever he went; and this hope proved my only comfort in affliction. But now I do not know what to think. This horseman could not have been your father, for the description is not at all like him. The latter was tall—dark complexioned, it is true—but with fine features and handsome person. And then he referred to your father, as knowing nothing of this dark transaction, and termed him a great chief in his country, and said you were standing between him and fortune. What could he have meant by this last? Your father had no fortune to my knowledge, and mine was so fixed he could not get it. Ha! a thought strikes me. He was an exile from his native land—though for what he would never tell me—would never speak of his early history. It is possible he may have been a personage of consequence, banished for some state intrigue, and again restored. It may be he had news of this when he came to declare his intention of leaving me. And now I remember, he once intimated that he would some day be independent of me, though I did not know what was meant. This must be it!" she continued, as if soliloquizing; "this must be it! and this stranger, some fiend in human form, plotting to succeed him in wealth and station. Oh! the wickedness of all mankind! But I forget, my friends, you do not know of what I speak, as I have never told you my history." "Nay, madam," returned I, "we know more than you think." "Indeed! and how?" Lilian blushed, and I became embarrassed— for I felt I had, in my heedlessness, said a word too much. "Pardon me!" I returned, "and do not blame my informant! I must own I have heard the tale before. But you will not regret it, perhaps, when I say, that to this very knowledge, you are partially, if not entirely, indebted for the presence of your long lost daughter." "I blame no one," she answered solemnly; "for all, in the hands of God, has worked for my good. I understand it all," she added, glancing at Lil ian and Eva. "These tell-tale blushes reveal the truth. Eva told Lilian in confidence, and love wrung from her the secret. I am glad it is so. You are all my friends, and the tale by rights belongs to you. I might never have told it myself, unless on an occasion like this—for I do not care to have the cold, idle world speculating and jesting on the secrets of what has long been an unhappy, if not wretched heart. In my younger days, I was he
adstrong and rash, and did many a wrong, as I have since felt to my cost—and might have done more, perhaps, but for my dear daughter Eva's sake. Ay! for her, I may say, I lived; for had she been taken from me, the grave ere this had covered a broken heart." Her last words were said in a trembling voice and with deep emotion. "God bless you, mother!" exclaimed Eva, in a tone which brought tears to the eyes of all present. "He has blessed me, my child—blessed me beyond my deserts. Had I been what I should have been, perchance your father had never left me, my daughters. But enough of this. 'Tis past now—gone beyond recall—and the result is before us. But go on, dear Evaline—go on with your story!" "Were I to tell the whole," resumed the latter, "it would take me hours—nay, days—but that I shall not attempt to-night, only so far as relates to my earliest years and earliest impressions. In future I will give you more, little by little, until you get the whole. "As I have said previously, my earliest recollections are of Great Medicine and his tribe. I remember his dark, keen eye, and of his gazing upon me for hours, when none were by, and he thought I did not notice him. But I was older in thought than he was aware of; and I used to wonder at this singularity, when he believed I wondered at nothing. I remember many and many a time of kneeling down to a spring of clear water, gazing at my features, and wondering why I was so different from my companions. I saw, even then, that my features were fairer and of an entirely different cast; and this, to my young fancy, seemed most strange, as I believed myself of the same race as those around me. Great Medicine I then thought my father—for so he bade me call him, and so I did. As I grew older, this contrast— this difference in person—struck me more and more, and at last I made bold to interrogate the old man concerning it. "Never shall I forget his look, as I, in childish simplicity, asked the question. He started, as if stung by a serpent, and his small black eyes fastened upon mine as though to read my very soul. Never had I feared him till then. There was a wild fascination in that gaze, which thrilled and overawed me, and made my own seek the ground. Never shall I forget his words, as he advanced and took my hand. It was not so much what he said, as his impressive manner of saying it. "'Child,' he replied, 'you seek to know too much, and the knowledge you seek would render you in future years the most unhappy of mortals. Something I feel you must now know—and this it is: You are not of my race; you are a pale-face; I am your guardian. Seek to know no more, for all is dark beyond. Be one of us, and be happy in ignorance. Breathe this I have told you to no mortal ear! and never, never question me again. You promise, girl?" he added. "'I do.' "'Enough! Go!' "I left his presence a changed being, though he knew it not; for his strange language and manner had roused that eternal thirst for knowledge, which he had thought and sought to allay. I questioned him no more; but his singular words I pondered in secret. "'There is mystery here,' I would repeat to myself; but I took care to repeat it to no other human being. "To detail my strange conjectures from that time forth, would be to lay bare the secret workings of an ever active spirit. I shall not attempt it, but leave it to your imagination. "About this period, a few missionaries set up a temporary station near our locality, for the double purpose of making converts to their faith and imparting knowledge to the unenlightened Indians, by teaching them to read and write. At the request of Great Medicine, three of their number came and took up their abode with us, for the latter purpose. I was at once placed under their instruction, as were all the younger members of the village. On my first appearance before them, they seemed surprised, and questioned me regarding my name and parentage—at the same time expressing their belief I was not an Indian—or, at the most, only a half-breed. I replied, that as to myself they might conjecture what they pleased, but that I was not then at liberty to answer any questions, and there the subject dropped. "A year's tuition and close application made quite a scholar, and I could now read and write the English language quite fluently, as could several of the more intelligent of my companions. At the close of the period mentioned, our teachers, after presenting each of their pupils with a Bible, and distributing among us several other religious books, departed to another section of country. Soon after this, Great Medicine proposed that we should adopt a more roving life, as in this manner he thought greater good might be effected. Accordingly we began moving from one quarter to another, trying to subdue the wild passions of the Indians of the different tribes we met. In this of course we were not in general successful—though our exemplary model of life ever appeared to make a favorable impression on their savage hearts, and win their respect. In course of time we became personally known in every section of the broad West, and were allowed to come and depart as we saw proper. Whenever we heard of a battle about to be fought between two nations, we would generally follow one party or the other, that we might be on the ground to succor the wounded. If we gained tidings of a strong party about to assault a weaker, we would manage, if possible, to warn the latter. Or, in the event of the forces being equal, if we knew of a surprise one tribe had planned for another, it was ever our design to warn the unwary. Whites as well as Indians received from us the same warnings— though how our information was obtained, generally remained a mystery to those not in the secret. And moreover, great caution was required by the informant in these cases, to avoid exposing himself to the aggressors, who, in the heat of passion, would be likely to seek revenge. On many of these errands of mercy—for I think I may so term them—have I been sent, when I knew a single error would cost me my life. But I believed I was doing my duty, put my trust in a Power above, and faltered not in my purpose. I was never detected but once to my knowledge; and in this instance, fortunately for me, I had rendered the tribe aggrieved the same service as that for which they brought me to trial before their council. This being proved, it was finally decided the obligation on their part canceled the aggression on mine, and I was allowed to go free, with a very significant intimation, however, that if caught in the second offence, my sentence would be death. "But as I do not intend to enter into detail to-night, and as I already feel somewhat fatigued, I will drop my narrative here, and, as I said before, give you from time to time the most striking incidents of my life, as they occur to my recollection. I have briefly told you all I know of my early history, and by your leave will so end the story."
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