CHAPTER II
When Sir William left me in the school-room, he left a lad of sixteenpuffed up in a glow of pride. To be treated no longer as a fractiouschild--to be received at last as a man among men!
And what would Esk say? And Silver Heels, poor little mouse harnessedin the stocks below?
I had entered the school-room that morning a lazy, sullen, defiantlad, heavy-hearted, with chronic resentment against the discipline ofthose who had sent me into a hateful trap from the windows of which Icould see the young, thirsty year quaffing spring sunshine. Now I wasfree to leave the accursed trap forever, a man of discretion,responsible before men, exacting from other men the same courtesies,attentions, and considerations which I might render them.
What a change had come to me, all in one brief May morning! As I stoodthere, resting my bandaged hand in the palm of the other, lookingabout me to realize the fortune which set my veins tingling, a greattide of benevolent condescension for the others swept over me, aripple of pity and good-will for the hapless children whose bencheslay in a row before me.
I no longer detested Silver Heels. I walked on tiptoe to her bench.There lay her slate and slate-pen; upon it I read a portion of thelonger catechism. There, too, lay her quill and inky horn and afoolscap book sewed neatly and marked:
FELICITY WARREN 1774 HER BOOKE.
Poor child, doomed for years still to steep her little fingers inink-powder while, with the powder I should require hereafter, Iexpected to write fiercer tales on living hides with plummets cast inbullet-moulds!
Cramped with importance, I cast a contemptuous eye upon my poem whichembellished the great slate, and scoured it partly out with thebuckskin.
"My books," said I, to myself, "I will bestow upon Silver Heels andEsk;" and I carried out my philanthropic impulse, piling speller,reader, and arithmetic on Esk's bench; my Caesar, my pair of globes, mycompass, and my algebra I laid with Silver Heels's copy-book, firstwriting in the books, with some malice:
SILVER HEELS HER GIFT BOOKE FROM MICHAEL CARDIGAN BE DILIGENT AND OF GOOD THRIFT KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.
For fat Peter, because I allowed Vix to bite his tight breeches, Ileft a pile of jacks beside his horn-book, namely, a slate-pen, threemended quills, a birchen box of ink-powder, a screw to trade with, twotops and an alley, pumice, a rule, and some wax.
Peter, though duck-limbed and half Mohawk, wrote very well in theBoston style, and could even copy in the Lettre Frisee--a poor art insome repute, but smelling to my nose of French flummery and deceit.
Having bestowed these gifts with a light heart, I walked slowly aroundthe room, and I fear my walk was somewhat a strut.
I knew my small head was all swelled with vain imaginings; I sawmyself in a flapped coat and lace, fingering the hilt of a sword at myhip, saluted by the sentries and the militia; I saw myself riding withSir William as his deputy; I heard him say, "Mr. Cardigan, the enemyare upon us! We must fly!"--and I: "Sir William, fear nothing. The dayis our own!" And I saw a lad of sixteen, with sword pointing upwardand one hand twisted into Pontiac's scalp-lock, smile benignly uponSir William, who had cast himself upon my breast, protesting that Ihad saved the army, and that the King should hear of it.
Then, unbidden, the apparition of Mr. Butler rose into my vaindreaming, and, though I am no prophet, nor can I claim the gift ofseeing behind the veil, yet I swear that Walter Butler appeared to meall aflame and bloody with scalps bunched at his girdle--_and thescalps were not of the red men!_
Now my imagination smoking into fire, I saw myself dogging Mr. Butlerwith firelock a-trail and knife loosened, on! on! through fathomlessdepths of forest and by the still deeps of shadowy lakes, fording theroaring tumble of rivers, swimming silent pools as otters swim, buttracking him, ever tracking Captain Butler by the scent of his reekingscalps.
There was a dew on my eyebrows as I waked into sense. Yet again I fellstraightway to imagining the glories of my young future. Truly Ipainted life in cloying colours; and always, when I accomplishedgallant deeds, there stood Silver Heels to observe me, and to marvel,and to stamp her little moccasins in vexation that I, the pride andenvy of all men, applauded, courted, nay, worshipped--I, the playmateshe had in her silly ignorance flouted, now stood so far beyond herthat she dared not twitch the skirt of my coat nor whisper, "SirMichael, pray condescend to notice one who passes her entire life inadmiring your careless exploits."
Perhaps I would smile at her--yes, I certainly should speak toher--not with familiarity. But I would be magnanimous; she shouldreceive gifts, spoils from wars, and I would select a suitable husbandfor her from the officers of my household who adored me! No, I wouldnot be hasty concerning a husband. That would be foolish, for SilverHeels must remain heart-whole and fancy-free to concentrate herenvious admiration upon me.
In a sort of ecstasy I paraded the school-room, the splendour of myvisions dulling eyes and ears, and it was not until he had called methrice that I observed Mr. Butler standing within the doorway.
The unwelcome sight cleared my brains like a dash of spring-water inthe face.
"It is one o'clock," said Mr. Butler, "and time for your carvinglesson. Did you not hear the bugles from the forts?"
"I heard nothing, sir," said I, giving him a surly look, which hereturned with that blank stare of the eyes, noticeable in hawks andkites and foul night birds surprised by light.
"Sir William dines early," he said, as I followed him through the dimhallway, past the nursery, and down stairs. "If he has to wait yourpleasure for his slice of roast, you will await his pleasure for theremainder of the day in the school-room."
"It is not true!" I said, stopping short in the lower hallway. "I amfree of that ratty pit forever! And of the old ferret, too," I added,insolently.
"By your favour," said Mr. Butler, "may I ask whether your eruditionis impairing your bodily health, that you leave school so early inlife, Master Cardigan?"
"If you were a real schoolmaster," said I, hotly, "I would answer youwith a kennel lash, but you are an officer and a gentleman." And in alow voice I bade him go to the devil at his convenience.
"One year more and I could call you out for this," he said, staring atme.
"You can do it now!" I retorted, angrily, raising myself a little onmy toes.
Suddenly all the hatred and contempt I had so long choked back burstout in language I now blush for. I called him a coward, a Huron, agentleman with the instincts of a pedagogue. I heaped abuse upon him;I dared him to meet me; nay, I challenged him to face me with rifle orsword, when and where he chose. And all the time he stood staring atme with that deathly laugh which never reached his eyes.
"Measure me!" I said, venomously; "I am as tall as you, lacking aninch. I am a man! This day Sir William freed me from that spider-webyou tenant, and now in Heaven's name let us settle that score whichevery hour has added to since I first beheld you!"
"And my honour?" he asked, coldly.
"What?" I stammered. "I ask you to maintain it with rifle or rapier!Blood scours tarnished names!"
"Not your blood," he said, with a stealthy glance at the dining-roomdoor; "not the blood of a boy. That would rust my honour. Wait, MasterCardigan, wait a bit. A year runs like a spotted fawn in cherry-time!"
"You will not meet me?" I blurted out, mortified.
"In a year, perhaps," he said, absently, scarcely looking at me as hespoke.
Then from within the dining-hall came Sir William's roar: "Body o' me!Am I to be kept here at twiddle-thumbs for lack of a carver!"
I stepped back in an instant, bowing to Mr. Butler.
"I will be patient for a year, sir," I said. And so opened the doorwhile he passed me, and into the dining-hall.
"I am sorry, sir," said I, but Sir William cut me short with:
"Damnation, sir! I am asking a blessing!"
So I buried my nose in my hollowed hand and stood up, very still.
Having given thanks in a temper, Sir William'
s frown relaxed and hesat down and tucked his finger-cloth under his neck with an injuredglance at me.
"Zounds!" he said, mildly; "hell hath no fury like a fisherman keptwaiting. Captain Butler, bear me out."
"I am no angler," said Mr. Butler, in his deadened voice.
"That is true," observed Sir William, as though condoling with Mr.Butler for a misfortune not his fault. "Perhaps some day the fever mayscorch you--like our young kinsman Micky--eh, lad?"
I said, "Perhaps, sir," with eyes on the smoking joint before me. Itwas Sir William's pleasure that I learn to carve; and, in truth, Ifound it easy, save for the carving of a goose or of those wild-duckswe shot on the great Vlaie.
We were but four to dine that day: Sir William, Mr. Butler, SilverHeels, and myself. Mistress Molly remained in the nursery, where werealso Peter and Esk, inasmuch as they slobbered and fouled the cloth,and so fed in the play-room.
Colonel Guy Johnson remained at Detroit, Captain John Johnson was on amission to Albany, Thayendanegea in Quebec, and Colonel Claus, withhis lady, had gone to Castle Cumberland. There were no visitingofficers or Indians at Johnson Hall that week, and our small companyseemed lost in the great dining-hall.
Having carved the juicy joint, the gilly served Sir William, then Mr.Butler, then Silver Heels, whom I had scarcely noticed, so full was Iof my quarrel with Mr. Butler. Now, as Saunders laid her plate, I gaveher a look which meant, "I did not tell Sir William," whereupon shesmiled at her plate and clipped a spoonful from a dish of potatoes.
"Good appetite and good health, sir," said I, raising my wine-glass toSir William.
"Good health, my lad!" said Sir William, heartily.
Glasses were raised again and compliments said, though my face wassufficient to sour the Madeira in Mr. Butler's glass.
"Your good health, Michael," said Silver Heels, sweetly.
I pledged her with a patronizing amiability which made her hazel-grayeyes open wide.
Now, coxcomb that I was, I sat there, dizzied by my new dignity, yetcarefully watching Sir William to imitate him, thinking that, as I wasnow a man, I must observe the carriage, deportment, and tastes of men.
When Sir William declined a dish of jelly, I also waved it away,though God knew I loved jellies.
When Sir William drank the last of the winter's ale, I shoved aside mysmall-beer and sent for a mug.
"It will make a humming-top of your head," said Sir William. "Stick tosmall-beer, Micky."
Mortified, I tossed off my portion, and was very careful not to lookat Silver Heels, being hot in the face.
Mr. Butler and Sir William spoke gravely of the discontent now rampantin the town of Boston, and of Captain John Johnson's mission toAlbany. I listened greedily, sniffing for news of war, but understoodlittle of their discourse save what pertained to the Indians.
Some mention, indeed, was made of rangers, but, having alwaysassociated militia and rangers with war on the Indians, I thoughtlittle of what they discussed. I even forgot my new dignity, andsecretly pinched a bread crumb into the shape of a little pig which Ishowed to Silver Heels. She thereupon pinched out a dog with hound'sears for me to admire.
I was roused by Sir William's voice in solemn tones to Mr. Butler:"Now, God forbid I should live to see that, Captain Butler!" and Ipricked up my ears once more, but made nothing of what followed, savethat there were certain disloyal men in Massachusetts and New York whomight rise against our King and that our Governor Tryon meant to takesome measures concerning tea.
"Well, well," burst out Sir William at length; "in evil days let usthank God that the fish still swim! Eh, Micky? I wish the ice wereout."
"The anchor-ice is afloat, and the Kennyetto is free, sir," I said,quickly.
"How do you know?" asked Sir William, laughing.
I had, the day previous, run across to the Kennyetto to see, and Itold him so.
He was pleased to praise my zeal and to say I ran like a Mohawk, whichpraise sounded sweet until I saw Silver Heels's sly smile, and Iremembered the foot-race and the jack-knife.
But I was above foot-races now. Others might run to amuse me; I wouldlook on--perhaps distribute prizes.
"Some day, Sir William, will you not make me one of your deputies?" Iasked, eagerly.
"Hear the lad!" cried Sir William, pushing back his chair. "On mysoul, Captain Butler, it is time for old weather-worn Indiancommissioners like me to resign and make way for younger blood! Andhis Majesty might be worse served than by Micky here; eh, CaptainButler?"
"Perhaps," said Mr. Butler, in his dead voice.
Sir William rose and we all stood up. The Baronet, brushing SilverHeels on his way to the door, passed his arm around her and tilted herchin up.
"Now do you go to Mistress Mary and beg her to place you in the stocksfor an hour; and stay there in patience for your body's grace. Willyou promise me, Felicity?"
Silver Heels began to pout and tease, hooking her fingers in SirWilliam's belt, but the Baronet packed her off with his message toMistress Molly, and went out to the portico where one of his damnedScotch gillies attended with gaff, spear, and net-sack.
"Oho," thought I, "so it's salmon in the Sacondaga!" And I fell toteasing that he might take me, too.
"No, Micky," he said, soberly; "it's less for sport than for quietreflection that I go. Don't sulk, lad. To-morrow, perhaps."
"Is it a promise, sir?" I cried.
"Perhaps," he laughed, "if the cards turn up right."
That meant he had some Indian affair on hand, and I fell back,satisfied that his rod was a ruse, and that he was really bound forone of the council fires at the upper castle.
So he went away, the sentry at the south block-house presenting hisfirelock, and I back into the hall, whistling, enchanted with my newliberty, yet somewhat concerned as to the disposal of so vast anamount of time, now all my own.
I had now been enfranchised nearly three hours, and had already usedthese first moments of liberty in picking a mortal quarrel with Mr.Butler. I had begun rashly; I admitted that; yet I could not regretthe defiance. Soon or late I felt that Mr. Butler and I would meet; Ihad believed it for years. Now that at last our tryst was in sight, itneither surprised nor disturbed me, nor, now that he was out of mysight, did I feel impatient to settle it, so accustomed had I becometo waiting for the inevitable hour.
I strolled through the hallway, hands in pockets, whistling"Amaryllis," a tune that smacked on my lips; and so came to the southcasement. Pressing my nose to the pane, I looked into the youngorchard where the robins ran in the new grass; and I found itdelicious to linger in-doors, knowing I was free to go out when Ichose, and none to cry, "Come back!"
In the first flush of surprise and pleasure, I have noticed that theliberated seldom venture instantly into that freedom so dearlydesired. Open the cage of a thrush that has sung all winter offreedom, and lo! the little thing, creeping out under the sky, runsback to the cage, fearing the sweet freedom of its heart's desire.
So I; and mounted the stairway, seeking my own little chamber. Here Ifound Esk and Peter at play, letting down a string from the openwindow, baited with corn, and the pullets jumping for it with greatoutcry and flapping of wings.
So I played with them for a while, then put them out, and bolted thedoor despite their cries and kicks.
Sitting there on my cot I surveyed my domain serenely, proud as thoughit had been a mansion and all mine.
There were my books, not much thumbed save _Roderick Random_ and theprints of Le Brun's _Battles of Alexander_. Still I cherished theothers because gifts of Sir William or relics of my honouredfather--the two volumes called _An Introduction to Sir Isaac Newton'sPhilosophy_; two volumes of _Chambers's Dictionary_; all the volumesof _The Gentleman's Magazine_ from 1748; Titan's _Loves of theGods_--an immodest print which I hated; my beloved "Amaryllis," called_A New Musical Design_, and well bound; and last a manuscript muchfaded and eaten by mice, yet readable, and it was a most lovely songcomposed long since by a Mr. Pepys, the name of which was "G
aze not onSwans!"
My chamber was small, yet pleasing. Upon the walls I had placed, byfavour of Sir William, pictures of the best running-horses atNewmarket, also four prints of a camp by Watteau, well executed,though French. Also, there hung above the door a fox's mask, my whip,my hunting-horn, my spurs, and two fish-rods made for me by JosephBrant, who is called Thayendanegea, chief of the Mohawk and of the SixNations, and brother to Aunt Molly, who is no kin of mine, though herchildren are Sir William's, and he is my kinsman.
In this room also I kept my black lead-pencil made by Faber, a ream ofpaper from England, and a lump of red sealing-wax.
I had written, in my life, but two letters: one three years since Iwrote to Sir Peter Warren to thank him for a sum of money sent for myuse; the other to a little girl named Marie Livingston, whom I knew inAlbany when Sir William took me for the probating of papers which I donot yet understand.
She wrote me a letter, which was delivered by chance, the expresshaving been scalped below Fonda's Bush, and signed "your cozzenMarie," Mr. Livingston being kin to Sir William. I had not yet writtenagain to her, though I had meant to do so these twelve months past.She had yellow hair which was pleasing, and she did not resembleSilver Heels in complexion or manner, having never flouted me. Herfather gave me two peaches, some Salem sweets called Black Jacks, anda Delaware basket to take home with me, heaped with macaroons, crispalmonds, rock-candy, caraways, and suckets. These I prudently finishedbefore coming again to Johnson Hall, and I remember I forgot to save asucket for Silver Heels; and her anger when I gave her the Delawarebasket all sticky inside; and how Peter licked it and blubbered whilestill a-licking.
Thus, as I sat there on my cot, scenes of my life came jostling melike long-absent comrades, softening my mood until I fell to thinkingof those honoured parents I had never seen save in the gray dreamswhich mazed my sleep. For the day that brought life to me had robbedmy honoured mother of her life; and my father, Captain Cardigan, lyingwith Wolfe before Quebec, sent a runner to Sir William enjoining himto care for me should the chance of battle leave me orphaned.
So my father, with Wolfe's own song on his lips:
"Why, soldiers, why Should we be melancholy boys? Why, soldiers, why? Whose business 'tis to die--"
fell into Colonel Burton's arms at the head of Webb's regiment, andhis dying eyes saw the grenadiers wipe out the disgrace of Montmorencywith dripping bayonets. So he died, with a smile, bidding Webb'sregiment God-speed, and sending word to the dying Wolfe that he wouldmeet him a minute hence at Peter's gate in heaven.
Thus came I naturally by my hatred for the French, nor was there inall France sufficient wampum to wipe away the feud or cover the dearphantom that stood in my path as I passed through life my way.
Now, as I sat a-thinking by the window, below me the robins in all thetrees had begun their wild-wood vespers--hymns of the true thrush,though not rounded with a thrush's elegance.
The tree-shadows, too, had grown in length, and the afternoon sun worea deeper blazonry through the hill haze in the west.
Fain to taste of the freedom which was now mine, I went out and downthe stairs, passing my lady Silver Heels strapped to a back-board andin a temper with her sampler.
"Oh, Micky," she said, "my bones ache, and Mistress Molly is with thebaby, and the key is there on that brass nail."
"It would be wrong if I released you," said I, piously, meaning to doit, nevertheless.
"Oh, Micky," she said, with a kind of pitiful sweetness which at timesshe used to obtain advantages from me.
So I took the key and unlocked the stocks, giving her feet a pinch tolet her know I was not truly as soft-hearted as she might deem me, nortoo easily won by woman's beseeching.
And now, mark! No sooner was she free than she gave me a slap for thepinch and away she flew like a tree-lynx with the pack in cry.
"This," thought I, "is a woman's gratitude," and I locked the stocksagain, wishing Silver Heels's feet were in them.
"Best have it out at once with Mistress Molly," thought I, and went tothe nursery. But before I could knock on the door, Mistress Mollyheard me with her ears of a Mohawk, and came to the door with onefinger on her lips.
Truly the sister of Thayendanegea was a stately and comely lady, and abeauty, too, being little darker than some French ladies I have seen,and of gracious and noble presence.
Bearing and mien were proud, yet winning; and, clothed always asbefitted the lady of Sir William Johnson, none who came into herpresence could think less of her because of her Mohawk blood or therelation she bore to Sir William--an honest one as she understood it.
She ruled the Hall with dignity and with an authority that nonedreamed of opposing. At table she was silent, yet gracious; in thenursery she reigned a beloved and devoted mother; and if ever a man'swife remained his sweetheart to the end, Molly Brant was Sir William'strue-love while his life endured.
"Why did you release Felicity from the stocks, Michael?" said she, ina whisper.
So her quick Indian ear had heard the click of that lock!
"I had come to tell you of it, Aunt Mary," said I.
She looked at me keenly, then smiled.
"A sin confessed is half redressed. I had meant to release Felicitysome time since, but the baby had fretted herself to sleep in my armsand I feared to put her down. But, Michael, remember in future to askpermission when you desire to play with Felicity."
"Play with Felicity!" I said, scornfully. "I am past the playing age,Aunt Molly, and I only released her because I thought her back ached."
Mistress Molly looked at me again, long and keenly.
"Little savage," she said, gently, "mock at my people no more. Ishould chide you for misusing Peter, but--I will say nothing. You makemy heart heavy sometimes."
"I do honour and love you, Aunt Molly!" I said; "it was not that Imocked at Peter, but his breeches were so tight that I wondered if Vixcould bite him. I shall now go to the garden and allow Peter to kickmy shins. Anyway, I gave him all my quills and a plummet and a screw."
She laughed silently, bidding me renounce my intention regardingPeter, and so dismissed me, with her finger on her lips conjuringsilence.
So I pursued my interrupted way to the garden where the robinscarolled in every young fruit-tree, and the blue shadows wove patternson the grass.
Peter and Esk were on the ground playing at marbles, with Silver Heelsto judge between them.
Esk, perceiving me, cried out: "Knuckle down at taws, Micky! Come on!Alleys up and fen dubs!"
"Fen dubs your granny!" I replied, scornfully, clean forgetting my newdignity. "Dubs all, and bull's-eyes up is what I play, unless you wantto put in agates?" I added, covetously.
Esk shook his head in alarm, muttering that his agates were forshooters; but fat Peter, sprawling belly down at the ring, offered toput up an agate against four bull's-eyes, two agates, and twelvemiggs, and play dubs and span in a round fat.
The proposition was impudent, unfair, and thoroughly Indian. I wasabout to spurn it when Silver Heels chirped up, "Micky doesn't dare."
"Put up your agate, Peter," said I, coolly, ignoring Silver Heels; andI fished the required marbles from my pocket and placed them in thering.
"My shot," announced Peter, hurriedly, crowding down on the line,another outrage which, considering the presence of Silver Heels, Ipassed unnoticed.
Peter shot and clipped a migg out of the ring. He shot again andgrazed an agate, shouting "Dubs!" to the derision of us all.
Then I squatted down and sent two bull's-eyes flying, but, forestalledby Peter's hysterical "Fen dubs!" was obliged to replace one. However,I shot again and it was dubs all, and I pocketed both of my agates andPeter's also.
This brought on a wrangle, which Silver Heels settled in my favour.Then I sat down and, with deadly accuracy, "spun," from whichcomfortable position, and without spanning, I skinned the ring,leaving Peter grief-stricken, with one migg in his grimy fist.
"You may have them," said
I, condescendingly, dropping my spoils intoSilver Heels's lap.
She coloured with surprise and pleasure, scarcely finding tongue tosay, "Thank you, Micky."
Peter, being half Indian, demanded more play. But I was satiated and,already remembering my dignity, regretted the lapse into children'spastimes. I quieted Peter by giving him the remainder of my marbles,explaining that I had renounced such games for manlier sport, whichstatement, coupled with my lavish generosity, impressed Peter and Esk,if it had not effect upon Silver Heels.
I sat down on the stone bench near the bee-hives and drew from mypocket the jack-knife given me by Silver Heels as a bribe to silence.
"Come over here, Silver Heels," I said, with patronizing kindness.
"What for?" she demanded.
"Oh, don't come then," I retorted, whereat she rose from the grasswith her skirt full of marbles and came over to the stone bench.
After a moment she seated herself, eying the knife askance. I hadopened the blade. Lord, how I hated to give it back!
"Take it," said I, closing the blade, but not offering it to her.
"Truly?" she stammered, not reaching out her hand, for fear I shoulddraw it away again to plague her.
I dropped the knife into her lap among the marbles, thrilling at thespectacle of my own generosity.
She seized it, repeating:
"King, King, double King! Can't take back a given thing!"
"You needn't say 'King, King, double King,'" said I, offended; "for Iwas not going to take it back, silly!"
"Truly, Michael?" she asked, looking up at me. Then she added,sweetly, "I am sorry I bit you."
"Ho!" said I, "do you think you hurt me?"
She said nothing, playing with the marbles in her lap.
I sat and watched the bees fly to and fro like bullets; in the quieteven the hills, cloaked in purple mantles, smoked with the steam ofhidden snow-drifts still lingering in ravines where arbutus scents theforest twilight.
The robins had already begun their rippling curfew call; cricketscreaked from the planked walk. Behind me the voices of Peter and Eskrose in childish dispute or excited warning to "Knuckle down hard!"Already the delicate spring twilight stained the east with primroseand tints of green. A calm star rose in the south.
Presently Silver Heels pinched me, and I felt around to pinch back.
"Hush," she whispered, jogging my elbow a little, "there is a strangeIndian between us and the block-house. He has a gun, but no blanket!"
For a moment a cold, tight feeling stopped my breath, not because astrange Indian stood between me and the block-house, but because ofthat instinct which stirs the fur on wild things when taken unawares,even by friends.
My roughened skin had not smoothed again before I was on my feet andadvancing.
Instantly, too, I perceived that the Indian was a stranger to ourcountry. Although an Iroquois, and possibly of the Cayuga tribe, yethe differed from our own Cayugas. He was stark naked save for thebreech-clout. But his moccasins were foreign, so also was the pouchwhich swung like a Highlander's sporran from his braided clout-string,for it was made of the scarlet feathers of a bird which never flew inour country, and no osprey ever furnished the fine snow-white fringewhich hung from it, falling half-way between knee and ankle.
Observing him at closer range, I saw he was in a plight: his fleshdusty and striped with dry blood where thorns had brushed him; hiseyes burning with privation, and sunk deep behind the cheek-bones.
As I halted, he dropped the rifle into the hollow of his left arm andraised his right hand, palm towards me.
I raised my right hand, but remained motionless, bidding him lay hisrifle at his feet.
He replied in the Cayuga language, yet with a foreign intonation, thatthe dew was heavy and would dampen the priming of his rifle; that hehad no blanket on which to lay his arms, and further, that thesentinels at the block-houses were watching him with loaded muskets.
This was true. However, I permitted him to advance no closer until Ihailed a soldier, who came clumping out of the stables, and whoinstantly cocked and primed his musket.
Then I asked the strange Cayuga what he wanted.
"Peace," he said, again raising his hand, palm out; and again I raisedmy hand, saying, "Peace!"
From the scarlet pouch he drew a little stick, six inches long, andpainted red.
"Look out," said I to the soldier, "that is a war-stick! If he shiftshis rifle, aim at his heart."
But the runner had now brought to light from his pouch other sticks,some blood-red, some black ringed with white. These he gravelysorted, dropping the red ones back into his pouch, and naivelydisplaying the black and white rods in a bunch.
"War-ragh-i-ya-gey!" he said, gently, adding, "I bear belts!"
It was the title given by our Mohawks to Sir William, and signified,"One who unites two peoples together."
"You wish to see Chief Warragh," I repeated, "and you come with yourpouch full of little red sticks?"
He darted a keen glance at me, then, with a dignified gesture, laidhis rifle down in the dew.
A little ashamed, I turned and dismissed the soldier, then advancedand gave the silent runner my hand, telling him that although hismoccasins and pouch were strange, nevertheless the kin of the Cayugaswere welcome to Johnson Hall. I pointed at his rifle, bidding himresume it. He raised it in silence.
"He is a belt-bearer," I thought to myself; "but his message is not ofpeace."
I said, pleasantly:
"By the belts you bear, follow me!"
The dull fire that fever kindles flickered behind his shadowy eyes. Ispoke to him kindly and conducted him to the north block-house.
"Bearer of belts," said I, passing the sentry, and so through theguard-room, with the soldiers all rising at attention, and into SirWilliam's Indian guest-room.
My Cayuga must have seen that he was fast in a trap, yet neither byword nor glance did he appear to observe it.
The sun had set. A chill from the west sent the shivers creeping up mylegs as I called a soldier and bade him kindle a fire for us. Then onmy own responsibility I went into the store-room and rummaged aboutuntil I discovered a thick red blanket. I knew I was taking what wasnot mine; I knew also I was transgressing Sir William's orders. Yetsome instinct told me to act on my own discretion, and that SirWilliam would have done the same had he been here.
A noise at the guard door brought me running out of the store-room tofind my Cayuga making to force his way out, and the soldiers shovinghim into the guest-room again.
"Fall back!" I cried, my wits working like shuttles; and quickly addedin the Cayuga tongue: "Cayugas are free people; free to stay, free togo. Open the door for my brother who fears his brother's fireside!"
There was a silence; the soldiers stood back respectfully; a sergeantopened the outer door. But the Indian, turning his hot eyes on me,swung on his heel and re-entered the guest-room, drawing the flintfrom his rifle as he walked.
I followed and laid the thick red blanket on his dusty shoulders.
"Sergeant," I called, "send McCloud for meat and drink, and notify SirWilliam as soon as he arrives that his brothers of the Cayuga wouldspeak to him with belts!"
I was not sure of the etiquette required of me after this, not knowingwhether to leave the Cayuga alone or bear him company. Tribes differ,so do nations in their observance of these forms. One thing morepuzzled me: here was a belt-bearer with messages from some distant andstrange branch of the Cayuga tribe, yet the etiquette of their allies,our Mohawks, decreed that belts should be delivered by sachems orchiefs, well escorted, and through the smoke of council fires nevertheoretically extinguished between allies and kindred people.
One thing I of course knew: that a guest, once admitted, should neverbe questioned until he had eaten and slept.
But whether or not I was committing a breach of etiquette by squattingthere by the fire with my Cayuga, I did not know.
However, considering the circumstances, I called out for
a soldier tobring two pipes and tobacco; and when they were fetched to me, Ifilled one and passed it to the Cayuga, then filled the other, pickeda splinter from the fire, lighted mine, and passed the blazingsplinter to my guest.
If his ideas on etiquette were disturbed, he did not show it. Hepuffed at his pipe and drew his blanket close about his naked body,staring into the fire with the grave, absent air of a cat on a wintrynight.
Now, stealing a glance at his scalp-lock, I saw by the fire-light thestumps of two quills, with a few feather-fronds still clinging tothem, fastened in the knot on his crown. The next covert glance toldme that they were the ragged stubs of the white-headed eagle'sfeathers, and that my guest was a chief. This set me in a quandary.What was a strange Cayuga chief doing here without escort, withoutblanket, yet bearing belts? Etiquette absolutely forbade a singlequestion. Was I, in my inexperience, treating him properly? Would myignorance of what was due him bring trouble and difficulty to SirWilliam when he returned?
Suddenly resolved to clear Sir William of any suspicion ofawkwardness, and at the risk of my being considered garrulous, I roseand said:
"My brother is a man and a chief; he will understand that in theabsence of my honoured kinsman, Sir William Johnson, and in theabsence of officers in authority, the hospitality of Johnson Hallfalls upon me.
"Ignorant of my brother's customs, I bid him welcome, because he isnaked, tired, and hungry. I kindle his fire; I bring him pipe andfood; and now I bid him sleep in peace behind doors that open at hiswill."
Then the Cayuga rose to his full noble height, bending his burningeyes on mine. There was a silence; and so, angry or grateful, I knewnot which, he resumed his seat by the fire, and I went out through theguard-room into the still, starry night.
But I did not tarry to sniff at the stars nor search the dewy herbagefor those pale blossoms which open only on such a night, hidingelf-pearls in their fairy petals. Straightway I sought Mistress Mollyin the nursery, and told her what I had done. She listened gravely andwithout comment or word of blame or praise, which was like allIndians. But she questioned me, and I described the strangebelt-bearer from his scalp-lock to the sole of his moccasin.
"Cayuga," she said, softly; "what make was his rifle?"
"Not English, not French," I said. "The barrel near the breech borefigures like those on Sir William's duelling pistols."
"Spanish," she said, dreamily. "In his language did he pronounce _agh_like _ahh_?"
"Yes, Aunt Molly."
She remained silent a moment, thoughtful eyes on mine. Then shesmiled and dismissed me, but I begged her to tell me from whence myCayuga came.
"I will tell you this," she said. "He comes from very, very far away,and he follows some customs of the Tuscaroras, which they in turnborrow from a tribe which lives so far away that I should go to sleepin counting the miles for you."
With that she shut the nursery door, and I, no wiser than before, andunderstanding that Mistress Molly did not mean I should be wiser, satdown on the stairs to think and to wait for Sir William.
A moment later a man on horseback rode out of our stables at a gallopand clattered away down the hill. I listened for a moment, thenthought of other things.