CHAPTER XII.
THE LONG HOUSE.
The council-house was a hundred paces or more in length. The frame wasof tall hickory saplings planted in the ground in two rows, with thetops bent over and lashed together in the form of an arch. Thebuilding was not more than fifteen yards wide. The lower part of theouter wall was of logs, the upper part and the roof of bark. Insteadof a chimney there was a narrow opening in the roof, extending thelength of the building.
A row of smouldering fires reached nearly from end to end of thehouse. The smoke struggled upward, but failing, for the greater part,to find the outlet overhead, remained inside to clog the air and dimthe eyes. The chiefs sat in a long ellipse in the central part of thehouse, some sitting erect with legs crossed, others half reclining,while a few lay sprawling, their chins resting on their hands. The BigThroat sat with the powerful chiefs of the nation at one end. Thelesser sachems, including the Long Arrow, sat each before his own bandof followers. The second circle was made up of the older andbetter-known warriors. Behind these, pressing close to catch everyword of the argument, were braves, youths, women, and children, mixedtogether indiscriminately. A low platform extended the length of thebuilding against the wall on each side, and this held anothercrowding, elbowing, whispering mass of redskins. Every chief andwarrior, as well as most of the women, held each a pipe between histeeth, and puffed out clouds of smoke into the thick air.
The maid's eyes smarted and blurred in the smoke. It reached herthroat, and she coughed.
"Lie down, Mademoiselle," said Menard. "Breathe close to the groundand it will not be so bad."
She hesitated, looking at the Big Throat, who sat with arms folded,proud and dignified. Then she smiled, and lay almost flat on theground, breathing in the current of less impure air that passedbeneath the smoke. They had been placed in the inner circle, next tothe chiefs of the nations, where Menard's words would have the weightthat, to the mind of the Big Throat, was due to a representative ofthe French Governor, even in time of war. Father Claude, sitting onthe left of the maid, was looking quietly into the fire. He hadcommitted the case into the hands of Providence, and he was certainthat the right words would be given to the Captain.
It was nearing the close of the afternoon. A beam of sunlight slippedin at one end of the roof-opening, and slanted downward, clearing ashining way through the smoke. A Cayuga chief was speaking.
"The corn is ripening in the fields about the Onondaga village. As Icame down the hills of the west to-day I saw the green tops waving inthe wind, and I was glad, for I knew that my brothers would feast inplenty, that their Manitous have been kind. The Cayugas, too, havegreat fields of corn, and the Senecas. Their women have workedfaithfully that the land might be plentiful.
"But a storm is breaking over the cornfields of the Senecas. It is agreat cloud that has come down from the north, with the flash of fireand the roar of thunder, and with hailstones of lead that will leaveno stalk standing. My brothers know the strength of the north wind.They have not forgotten other storms that would have laid waste thevillages of the Senecas and the Mohawks. And they have not forgottentheir Manitous, who have whispered to them when the clouds appeared inthe northern sky, 'Rise up, Mohawks and Oneidas and Onondagas andCayugas and Senecas, and stand firmly against this storm, and yourhomes and your fields shall not be destroyed.'"
The house was silent with interest. The maid raised her head andwatched the stolid faces of the chiefs in the inner circle. Not anexpression changed from beginning to end of the speech. Beyond, shecould see other, younger faces, some eager, some bitter, some defiant,some smiling, and all showing the flush of excitement,--but these grimold chiefs had long schooled their faces to hide their thoughts. Theyheld their blankets close, and puffed deliberately at their pipes withhardly a movement of the lips.
The Cayuga went on:--
"Messengers have come to the Cayugas from their brothers, the Senecas,telling of the storm that is rushing on them. The Cayugas know thehearts of the Five Nations. When the Mohawks have risen to defendtheir homes, the hearts of the Cayugas have been warm, and they havetaken up the hatchet with their brothers. When the Onondagas have goneon the war-path, Senecas and Cayugas have gone with them, and thetrouble of one has been the trouble of all."
"The good White Father is no longer the war chief of the white men.The Great Mountain, who knew the voice of the forest, who spokewith the tongue of the redman, has been called back to hisGreat-Chief-Across-the-Water. His word was the word of kindness, andwhen he spoke our hearts were warm. But another mountain is now thewar chief, a mountain that spits fire and lead, that speaks with adouble tongue. The Five Nations have never turned from a foe. Theenemy of the Senecas has been the enemy of the Mohawks. If the stormstrikes the fields of the Senecas, their brothers will not turnaway and stop their ears and say they do not hear the thunder, forthey remember the storms of other seasons, and they know that thehail that destroys one field will destroy other fields. And so this isthe word of the Cayugas:--Let all the warriors of the Five Nationstake up the hatchet; let them go on the war-path to tell thiswhite chief with the double tongue that the Five Nations are onenation; that they are bolder than thunder, swifter than fire,stronger than lead."
The maid found it hard, with her imperfect knowledge of the language,to follow his metaphors. She had partly risen, heedless of the smoke,and was leaning forward with her eyes fixed on the stern face of thespeaker. Menard bent down, and half smiled at her excitement.
"What is it?" she whispered. "He is for war?"
"Yes; he naturally would be." There was a stir about the house, as thespeech ended, and they could speak softly without drawing notice. "TheCayugas are nearer to the Senecas than the other nations, and theyfear that they too may suffer."
"Then you do not think they all feel with him?"
"No; the Oneidas and Mohawks, and even the Onondagas, are too far tothe east to feel in danger. They know how hard it would be for theGovernor to move far from his base in this country. It may be that theyounger warriors will be for fighting, but the older heads will thinkof the corn."
"Will the Big Throat speak?"
"Yes; but not like these others. He talks simply and forcibly. That isthe way when a chief's reputation is made. The Big Throat won hisname, as a younger brave, by his wonderful oratory."
"And you, M'sieu,--you will be heard?"
"Yes; I think so. We must not talk any more now. They will not likeit."
The Cayuga was followed by a wrinkled old chief of the Oneidas, calledthe Hundred Skins. He stepped forward and stood near the fire, hisblanket drawn close about his shoulders, where the red light couldplay on his face. A whisper ran around the outer circle, for it wasknown that he stood for peace.
"My Cayuga brother has spoken wisely," he began, in a low but distinctvoice. He looked slowly about the house to command attention. "TheOneidas have not forgotten the storms of other seasons; they have notforgotten the times of starving, when neither the Manitous of theredman nor the God of the white man came to help. The grain stoodbrown in the fields; the leaves hung dead from the trees; there was nowind to cool the fever that carried away old men and young men, squawsand children. And when the wind came, and the cold and snow of thewinter, there was no food in the lodges of the Five Nations. Mybrothers have heard that the corn is rising to a man's height--theyhave seen it to-day in the fields of the Onondagas. They know thatthis corn must be cared for like the children of their lodges, if theywish food to eat when the winter comes and the fields are dead. Theyknow what it will cost them to take the war-path.
"Twelve moons have not gone since the chiefs of the Senecas rose inthis house and called on the warriors of the Five Nations to take upthe hatchet against the white men of the north. The skins of thebeaver were talking in their ears. They saw great canoes on the whiteman's rivers loaded with skins, and their hands itched and theirhearts turned inward. Then the wise chiefs of the Oneidas and Cayugasand Onondagas and Mohawks spoke well. They were not on t
he war-path;the hatchet was deep in the ground, and young trees were growing overit. Then the Oneidas said that the White Chief would not forget if theSenecas heeded their itching hands and listened to the bad medicine ofthe beaver skins in their ears. But the Senecas were not wise, andthey took up the hatchet.
"This is the word of the Oneidas to the chiefs of the Long House:--TheSeneca has put his foot in the trap. Then shall the Oneida andOnondaga and Cayuga and Mohawk rush after, that they too may put intheir feet where they can get away only by gnawing off the bone? Shallthe wise chiefs of the Long House run into fight like the dogs oftheir village? The Oneidas say no! The Senecas took up the hatchet;let them bury it where they can. And when the winter comes, theOneidas will send them corn that they may not have another time ofstarving."
Menard was watching the Oneida with eyes that fairly snapped. The lowvoice stopped, and another murmur ran around the outer circles. TheHundred Skins had spoken boldly, and the Cayuga young men lookedstern. The chief stepped slowly back and resumed his seat, and then,not before, did Menard's face relax. He looked about cautiously to seeif he was observed, then settled back and gazed stolidly into thefire. The old Oneida had played directly into his hand; by lettingslip the motive for the Seneca raid of the winter before, he hadstrengthened the one weak point in the speech Menard meant to make.
The next speaker was one of the younger war chiefs of the Onondagas.He made an effort to speak with the calmness of the older men, butthere was now and then a flash in his eye and an ill-controlled vigourin his voice that told Menard and the priest how strong was the warparty of this village. The Onondaga plunged into his speech withoutthe customary deliberation.
"Our brothers, the Senecas, have sent to us for aid. We have beencalled to the Long House to hear the voice of the Senecas,--not fromthe lips of their chiefs, for they have fields and villages to guardagainst the white man, and they are not here to stand before thecouncil and ask what an Iroquois never refuses. The Cayuga has spokenwith the voice of the Seneca. Shall the chiefs and warriors of theLong House say to the Cayuga, 'Go back to your village and sendmessengers to the Senecas to tell them that their brothers of the LongHouse have corn and squaws and children that are more to them than thebattles of their brothers--tell the Senecas that the Oneidas must eatand cannot fight'? There is corn in the fields of the Oneidas. Butthere is food for all the Five Nations in the great house on theLake."
The speaker paused to let his words sink in. Menard whispered to themaid, in reply to an inquiring look. "He means the Governor's base ofsupplies at La Famine."
The Onondaga's voice began to rise.
"When the Oneida thinks of his corn, is he afraid to leave it to hissquaws? Does he hesitate because he thinks the white warriors arestrong enough to turn on him and drive him from his villages? This isnot the speech that young warriors are taught to expect from the LongHouse. When has the Long House been guided by fear? No. If the Oneidais hungry, let him eat from the stores of the white man, at the houseon the Lake. The Cayugas and Onondagas will draw their belts tighter,that the Oneida may be filled."
The young chief looked defiantly around. There was a murmur from theouter circle, but the chiefs were grave and silent. The Hundred Skinsgazed meditatively into the fire as if he had not heard, slowlypuffing at his pipe. The taunt of cowardice had sprung out in the heatof youth; his dignity demanded that he ignore it. The speech had itseffect on the Cayugas and the young men, but the older heads weresteady.
Other chiefs rose, talked, and resumed their places, giving all viewsof the situation and of the relations between the Iroquois and theFrench,--but still little expression showed on the inner circle offaces. The maid after a time grew more accustomed to the smoke, andsat up. She was puzzled by the conflicting arguments and the lack ofenthusiasm. Fully two hours had passed, and there was no sign of anagreement. The eager spectators, in the outer rows, gradually settleddown.
During a lull between two speeches, Menard spoke to the maid, who wasbeginning to show traces of weariness.
"It may be a long sitting, Mademoiselle. We must make the best ofit."
"Yes." She smiled. "I am a little tired. It has been a hard day."
"Too hard, poor child. But I hope to see you safe very soon now. I amrelying on the Big Throat. He, with a few of the older chiefs, seesfarther than these hot-heads. He knows that France must conquer in theend, and is wise enough to make terms whenever he can."
"But can he, M'sieu? Will they obey him?"
"Not obey, exactly; he will not command them. Indians have nodiscipline such as ours. The chiefs rely on their judgment andinfluence. But they have followed the guidance of the Big Throat fortoo many years to leave it now."
Another chief rose to speak. The sun had gone, and the long buildingwas growing dark rapidly. A number of squaws came through the circle,throwing wood on the fires. The new flames shot up, and threw aflickering light on the copper faces, many of which still wore thepaint of the morning. The smoke lay over them in wavering films, nowand again half hiding some sullen face until it seemed to fade awayinto the darkness.
At last the whole situation lay clear before the council. Somespeakers were for war, some for peace, others for aiding the Senecasas a matter of principle. The house was divided.
There was a silence, and the pipes glowed in the dusk; then the LongArrow rose. The listless spectators stirred and leaned forward. Themaid, too, was moved, feeling that at last the moment of decision wasnear. She was surprised to see that he had none of the savageexcitement of the morning. He was as quiet and tactful in speech asthe Big Throat himself.
Slowly the Long Arrow drew his blanket close about him and began tospeak. The house grew very still, for the whole tribe knew that hehad, in his anger of the morning, disputed the authority of the BigThroat. There had been hot words, and the great chief had rebuked himcontemptuously within the hearing of half a hundred warriors. Now hewas to stand before the council, and not a man in that wide circle butwondered how much he would dare to say.
He seemed not to observe the curious glances. Simply and quietly hebegan the narrative of the capture of the hunting party at FortFrontenac. At the first words Menard turned to Father Claude with ameaning look. The maid saw it, and her lips framed a question.
"It is better than I hoped," Menard whispered. "He is bringing it uphimself."
"Not two moons have waned," the Long Arrow was saying, "since fivescore brave young warriors left our village for the hunt. They leftthe hatchet buried under the trees. They took no war-paint. The GreatMountain had said that there was peace between the redman and thewhite man; he had asked the Onondagas to hunt on the banks of theGreat River; he had told them that his white sons at the Stone Housewould take them as brothers into their lodges. When the Great Mountainsaid this, through the mouths of the holy Fathers, he lied."
The words came out in the same low, even tone in which he had begunspeaking, but they sank deep. The house was hushed; even the stirringof the children on the benches died away.
"The Great Mountain has lied to his children,"--Menard's keen earscaught the bitter, if covered, sarcasm in the last two words; theyhad been Governor Frontenac's favourite term in addressing theIroquois--"and his children know his voice no longer. There is cornin the fields? Let it grow or rot. There are squaws and childrenin our lodges? Let them live or die. It is not the Senecas who askour aid; it is the voice of a hundred sons and brothers and youthsand squaws calling from far beyond the great water,--calling fromchains, calling from fever, calling from the Happy Hunting Ground,where they have gone without guns or corn or blankets, where theylie with nothing to comfort them." The Long Arrow stood erect, withhead thrown back and eyes fixed on the opposite wall. "Our sons andbrothers went like children to the Stone House of the white man.Their hands were stretched before them, their muskets hung emptyfrom their shoulders, their bowstrings were loosened; the calumet wasin their hands. But the sons of Onontio lied as their fathers hadtaught them. They took the calumet; they called
the Onondagas intotheir great lodge; and in the sleep of the white man's fire-waterthey chained them. Five score Onondagas have gone to be slaves tothe Great-Chief-Across-the-Water, who loves his children and is kindto them, and would take them all under his arm where no storm canharm them. My brothers of the Long House have heard the promises ofOnontio, and they have seen the fork in his tongue. And so theychoose this time to speak of corn and squaws and children." Thekeen, closely set eyes slowly lowered and swept around the circle."Is this the time to speak of corn? Our Manitou has sent thisGreat Mountain into our country. He has placed him in our hands sothat we may strike, so that we may tell the white man with ourmuskets that our Manitou is stern and just, and that no Iroquoiswill listen to the idle words of a double tongue."
He paused, readjusted his blanket, and then stood motionless, that allmight digest his words. Then, after a long wait, he went on:--
"There are children to-day in our lodges who can remember the BigBuffalo, who can remember our adopted son who shared our fires andfood, who shared our hunts, who lived with us as freely as anOnondaga. We saw him every day, and we forgot that his heart was aswhite as his skin, for his tongue was the tongue of an Onondaga. Weforgot that the white man has two tongues. It has not been long, mybrothers,--not long enough for an Onondaga to forget. But the BigBuffalo is a mangy dog. He forgot the brothers of his lodge. He it waswho took the Onondaga hunters and carried them away to be slaves. Butthe Manitou did not forget. He has put this Big Buffalo into ourhands, that we may give him what should be given to the dog whoforgets his master."
Again the Long Arrow paused.
"No; this is not the time to speak of corn. It is not the Senecas whocall us, it is our brothers and their squaws and children. TheIroquois have been the greatest warriors of the world. They havedriven the Hurons to the far northern forests; the Illinois to theFather of Waters, two moons' travel to the west; the Delawares to thewaters of the south. They have told the white man to stay within hisboundaries, and he has stayed. They have been kind to the white man;they have welcomed the holy Fathers into their villages. But now theGreat Mountain makes slaves of the Onondagas. He brings his warriorsacross the Great Lake to punish the Senecas and destroy their lodges.Shall the Long House of the Five Nations turn a white face to thisGreat Mountain? Shall the Long House call out in a shaking voice,'See, Onontio, there are no heads on our arrows, no flints in ourmuskets! our hatchets are dull, our knives nicked and rusted! come,Onontio, and strike us, that we may know you are our master and ourfather'?"
The Long Arrow's voice had risen only slightly, but now it dropped; hewent on, in a tone that was keen as a knife, but so low that those atthe farther end of the house leaned forward and sat motionless.
"It has been said to-day to the Long House that we shall close ourears to the thunder of the Great Mountain, that we should think of ourcorn and our squaws, and leave the Senecas to fight their own battles.But the Long House will not do this. The Long House will not give upthe liberty that has been the pride of the Iroquois since first therivers ran to the lake, and the moss grew on the trees, and the windwaved the tops of the long grass. The Great Mountain has come to takethis liberty. He shall not have it. No; he shall lose his own--we willleave his bones to dry where the Seneca dogs run loose. The BigBuffalo shall die to tell the white man that the Iroquois neverforgets; the Great Mountain shall die to tell the white man that theIroquois is free."
The Road to Frontenac Page 12
