CHAPTER XXIII.
And what was Edith's journey? Would the reader have me dwell upon thesmall particulars--speak of it as if she had been taking a morning'swalk, and note every bird, and flower, and insect; each smooth valleyor bluff rock? Or would he have me present it as a picture, as itappeared to her after it was over, massed together in itsextraordinary rapidity, and seen but from one point--at the end? Letus choose the latter plan, although it would be easy to extend thepages of this work by minute descriptions and passing panoramas, suchas critics love.
But it is my object only to dwell upon events which affected theultimate fate of the principal characters, and not to labour at lengthupon a mere detail of incidents. In this view of the case, I might saynothing more but that it began and ended--that she arrived safely atthe place of her destination. Yet that journey was to her a matter ofmuch interest; and when it was over, she looked back upon it as apicture full of beautiful and pleasant things.
Swiftly skimming in a bark canoe over the glassy bosoms of the lakes,which reflected every hue of herb, and tree, and sky, and mountain;darting along bright and sparkling streams, sometimes beneath theoverhanging canopy of boughs, sometimes under the pure blue eye ofheaven; often struggling with a rapid, often having to pass along theshore to turn a waterfall; at times walking along through the glowingwoods, burning with the intense colouring of autumn; at timessurrounded by a number of Indians, each rendering quiet, earnestservice to the adopted daughter of the great Oneida chief; at timeswandering on in the dim forest with no one but her two dark attendantsnear; now the fierce howl of the midnight wolf sounding in her ear;now the sharp, garrulous cry of the blue jay, or the shrill scream ofthe wood-hawk; now beholding the Indian lodge, or castle, as theIroquois sometimes called their dwellings; then the brown canopy ofthe autumn woods which covered her: such were the principal incidentsof her journey.
Still under the skilful guidance, and with the eager help, of the twonegroes, she went forward with extraordinary rapidity, leaving milesand miles behind her every hour. It seemed almost like a pleasantdream, or, at least, it would have seemed so, had the sad and fearfulmotives which led her on been ever banished from her mind. Even as itwas, the quick and continued change of place and scene, the variety ofthe objects, the constant succession of new matters of interest, theevents, small in themselves, but important to her, which occurred tofacilitate or impede her progress, were all a relief to herovercharged mind; and she reached the Oneida territory less depressedthan when she set out from her home.
One cause, perhaps, of the feeling of renewed strength which sheexperienced, was the renewal of hope from the conduct of the Indianstowards her, wherever she met them. She found that even amongst theMohawks she was recognized at once as the adopted daughter of thegreat Oneida chief; and it was evident that he had spread far andwide, as he returned to his own abode after the conference at JohnsonCastle, the fact of his having adopted the daughter of the pale-face,Prevost. There is always something, too, in the fact of an enterprisebeing actually commenced, which gives spirit to pursue it to the end.While we stand and gaze at it from a distance, hesitating whether weshall undertake it or not, the difficulties are magnified--thefacilities obscured: rocks and precipices rise up, threatening to ourimagination; while the small paths by which they may be surmounted areunseen.
Day had yet an hour of life left when Edith approached what we findcalled, in the history of the times, "The Castle of the Oneidas.""Wigwam" it is customary to name all the Indian villages, giving anidea of insignificance and meanness, and a completely savage state,which the principal residences of the Five Nations did not at allmerit. Most of them were very like that which Edith now approached. Itwas built upon a slight elevation near the lake, with a largeprotruding rock close to it; for the Oneidas always affected neartheir dwelling some object significant of their favourite appellation,"The Children of the Stone."
Around the "Castle" were high palisades, inclosing a considerablearea, within which the huts of the Indians were constructed. Risingconsiderably above the rest, were two wooden buildings, in theerection of which European workmanship was apparent. The one was alarge oblong building, regularly roofed and shingled like that of anyEnglish settler. It consisted of two stories, and in the upper oneregular framed windows were to be seen. In the lower story there werenone; light being admitted by the door. That lower story, however, wasfloored with plain pine-boards, and divided by a sort of curtain intotwo equal compartments.
The other building bore the appearance of a church in miniature, witha small cottage or hut attached, which was, in reality, the residenceof the missionary, Mr. Gore. Around the village, or Castle, were wide,well-cultivated fields, which had evidently lately borne maize, orsome other crops of grain; and let not the reader, acquainted with thehabits of Indians as they are at present, be surprised to find the artof husbandry practised at this period amongst the rude denizens of theforest; for, to the shame of civilized man be it spoken, the Indianshave assuredly lost much socially, and gained little religiously, bythe intercourse with the white invaders of their country. The crushingweight of despondency, a sort of morbid awe of the superiority of thewhite race, seems to have beaten down a spirit of enterprise whichformerly bid fair to regenerate the people, and to replace them in aposition which they probably at one time occupied.
Such, however, as I have described, was the appearance of a largeIndian village, or Castle, in the year one thousand seven hundred andfifty-seven; and we find, from the statements of many an eye-witness,that the wild hunter of the woods, the fierce combatant in the battle,was, in his calmer moments, not at all insensible to many of theadvantages and comforts of civilized life. But we refused to lead themon the way; we used their blood and their energies for our service; weeven bought and profited by their fierce barbarity; and, instead ofgiving them, while it was possible, the arts of peace and the benefitsof cultivation, we furnished them with the "fire-water," wecontaminated them with our vices, and degraded them morally,physically, and intellectually. Great was our offence against ourfellow-man; great must be the sin in the eyes of a just God.
The forest had disappeared; all that could be seen appeared as ifrolling in grey masses along the distant country. The purple light ofevening, increasing in richness every moment as the day declined,spread over the whole scene, and was reflected from the bosom of thelake. Many a light canoe was skimming along over the water, many a onewas lying motionless while the Indian fisherman pursued his sport. Theblue smoke curled up high and straight in the calm air from the doorsof several huts within the inclosure; and, from the maize-fieldswithout, the pleasant musical sounds of children's voices were heard,as the young people of the village wandered here and there, gatheringup scattered ears of corn, which had fallen in the rude reaping of theharvest. In one place even a song was heard; and, in short, the wholescene, instead of being one of rude barbarism and fierce, activepassion, indicated calm domestic peace, such as is rarely pictured inthe common, but exaggerated, descriptions of Indian life. It mightserve my purpose better to describe it differently; but such I findit, and so it must remain.
Even Edith was surprised to find the home of Otaitsa so different fromthe ideas conveyed to her by the wandering traders, who, even whilecarrying on commercial intercourse with the tribes, were in a state ofsemihostility towards the Indians, representing them as bloodysavages, and cheating them wherever they could.
Slowly walking on between her two negro companions--for she was tiredwith a longer walk than usual--Edith approached the open gates of theCastle, and met with no opposition in entering. A tall, handsomewarrior passed out, fully clothed, in Indian costume, and onlydistinguished from civilized man by the shaved head and the painfullysignificant scalp-lock. His step was stately and calm; and his airgrave and reserved. Twice he turned his eyes upon Edith's face with alook of evident wonder and admiration; but he took no farther notice,and passed on.
He was the only individual whom she saw on entering the village; till,
after passing through many huts, where women and children were to beseen busily employed, she came in sight of the door of the chief'shouse, and beheld there a figure seated on the ground quietly engagedin the art of embroidery, after the fashion in which the Indian womenso greatly excel. It was a figure which she knew well; and thetranquil air and easy grace, as well as the quiet, peacefulemployment, showed Edith at once that she had not been mistaken insupposing that Otaitsa was altogether ignorant of the peril of onedear to them both.
As she came near, she heard that the Indian girl, in her happyignorance, was singing a sweet but somewhat plaintive song; and, thenext moment, Otaitsa, raising her eyes, beheld the three figures, andat once perceived that they were not of her people. For a moment, shedid not know Edith in her Indian garb; but when she did recognize her,the emotion produced was alarm rather than joy. She felt at once thatsome great and important event--some occurrence full of peril or ofsorrow--must have brought Edith thither. The beautiful lips partedwith a tremulous motion; the large, dark eye, Indian in its colour,but European in its form, became full of anxiety; the rosy hue of hercheek, which probably had obtained for her the name of the Blossom,faded away; and paleness spread over the clear brown skin.
Starting up, however, she cast the embroidery away from her, and,springing forward, threw her arms round Edith's neck. Then, as herhead rested on her fair companion's shoulder, she asked, in awhisper--
"What is it, my sister? There must be a storm in the sky--there mustbe lightning in the cloud! What tempest-wind has swept my sisterhither? What flood of sorrow has borne Edith to Otaitsa?"
"Hush!" ejaculated Edith, in a low tone, for there were some otherIndian women near. "I will tell my sister when no ears can hear buther own. There _is_ tempest in the sky. A pine-tree has fallen acrossthe threshold of my father's house; and we are sad for fear thehatchet of the woodman should lop all its green branches away. Can Ispeak with the Blossom speedily and in secret?"
"Instantly," answered Otaitsa. "The warriors have all gone forth tohunt, for three days, the bear and the moose. The Black Eagle is withthem. There are but three men of deeds in the Castle; and why they arewomen now, and go not forth to the hunting with the rest, I cannottell. But they are little within the palisade--daily they go forth,and remain absent long. Come in hither, my sister; for, though fewhere speak the tongue we speak, it were better not to let the windhear us."
"Can some of the women give food and lodging to these two negroes?"asked Edith, adding, "They have been well warned, and know that a lifedepends upon their silence."
Otaitsa called to an elderly Indian woman, who was cooking at the doorof a cabin near, and placed Chando and his companion under her charge.She then turned to Edith, saying,--
"Come, my sister."
But, before they entered the building, Edith inquired if Mr. Gore werethere, saying,--
"Perhaps he might give us counsel."
"My father sent him away some days ago," answered Otaitsa; "he willnot be back for a month--perhaps longer. I think he sent him to securehim from danger."
"Alas!" exclaimed Edith, "that the danger should have fallen onothers!"
"Alas, alas!" cried Otaitsa.
And Edith felt her hand tremble much as she led her into the building.