CHAPTER XXIX.
In the chain of low cliffs which ran at the distance of four or fivemiles from the Oneida village, and to which, probably, at one time thewaters of the lake had extended, was a deep cleft or fissure in thehard rock, fourteen or fifteen yards in width at its widest part, andnarrower at the mouth than in the interior. One of the rocks, at thetime I speak of, though large masses have fallen since, and a gooddeal altered the features of the scene, abutted considerably over itsbase, and projected so far as almost to touch the opposite crag,giving the mouth of the fissure somewhat the appearance of a cave. Oneither side, the walls of this gloomy dell were perpendicular--in someplaces even overhanging; and at the end, where it might have beenexpected to slope gradually away to the upland, the general characterof the scene was merely diversified by a break fifteen or sixteen feetfrom the ground, dividing the face of the crag nearly into two equalparts. Beneath this ledge was a hollow of four or five feet in depth,rendering ascent from that side impracticable.
It is probable that at some time in the long, unknown past of Americaa river poured here over the edge of the cliff, wearing away the solidrock by its continued action; and, as in the case of Niagara, carryingthe cataract further and further back with each succeeding year, butwithout diminishing the precipitancy of the fall. The stone was of aloose and friable nature, breaking, by all the various accidents ofthe seasons, into strange and uncouth forms; and altogether the place,rarely if ever visited by the sun, would have been one of the most dimand gloomy that can be conceived, had not some light feathery shrubsand trees perched themselves upon several prominent points, especiallywhere the ledge I have mentioned marked out the former site of thecascade.
Underneath that ledge, at the time referred to, had been hastilyconstructed a small hut or Indian lodge, formed of stakes driven intothe ground, and covered over skilfully enough with bark, branches, andother materials of the forest. A door had apparently been brought forit from some distance; for it was evidently old, and had strangefigures painted on it in red. Across this door was fixed a great bar,which would indeed have been very useless, had not the stakes formingthe walls of the hut been placed close together, rendering it inreality much stronger than an ordinary Indian lodge.
On the day after Otaitsa's expedition, mentioned in the precedingchapter, sixteen or eighteen Oneidas of different ages, but none ofthem far advanced in life, gathered round the mouth of the cleft, andconversed together for several minutes, in low tones, and with theirusual slow and deliberate manner. At the end of their conference, oneseated himself on a stone near the entrance, two advanced into thechasm, and the rest dispersed themselves in different directionsthrough the woods.
The two who advanced approached the hut, following each other soclosely that the foot of each trod in the step of the other; and whenthey reached the lodge, the foremost took down the bar and opened thedoor, suffering the light to enter the dark chamber within. Thespectacle which that light displayed was a very painful one.
There, seated on the ground, with his head almost bent down to hisknees, his brown hair falling wild and shaggy over his face, his dresssoiled, and in some parts torn, and his hands thin and sallow, satpoor Walter Prevost, the image of despair. All the bright energies ofhis eager, impetuous nature seemed quelled; the look of happy,youthful enjoyment was altogether gone; and with it the warm hopes andglowing aspirations, the dreams of future happiness or greatness, oflove, and joy, and tenderness. The sunshine had departed; the motes ofexistence no longer danced in the beam.
He lifted not his head when the Indians entered; still and impassibleas themselves, he sat without movement or word; the very senses seemeddead in the living tomb where they had confined him. But the sighttouched them with no pity.
Grazing at him with a curious, cunning, serpent-like look, Apukwaplaced before him a wallet which he carried, containing some drieddeer's-flesh and parched Indian corn; and, after having watched himfor a moment without a change of countenance, he said, in a coldtone--"There is food--take it and eat."
As if the sound of his hated voice had startled the youth from adeath-like sleep, Walter sprang suddenly to his feet, exclaiming,--
"Why should I eat, to prolong my misery? Slay me! Take thy tomahawkand dash my brains out! Put an end to this torment, the most terriblethat thy fiend-like race have ever devised!"
The two Indians laughed with a low, quiet, satisfied laugh.
"We cannot slay thee," said the brother of the Snake, "till we knowthat thy pale-face brother who killed our brother, cannot be found totake thy place."
"He is far beyond your power," cried Walter vehemently; "he will neverbe within your grasp. I helped him to escape; I delivered him fromyou. Slay me, slay me, dogs of Indians! Your hearts are wolves'hearts; you are not men, you are women who dare not use a tomahawk.You are the scoff of your enemies. They laugh at the Oneidas; theyspit at them. They say they are children, who dare not kill an enemytill the old men say, 'Kill him.' They fear the rod of their chief.They are like hares and rabbits, that tremble at the sound of thewind."
It was in vain that he tried to provoke them. They only seemed toenjoy his agony, and the bitter words that it called forth.
"Eat and drink," said Apukwa coldly, as soon as Walter became silent;"for we are going to tie thee. We must hunt the deer, we must grindthe corn--we cannot watch thee every day, till the time of thesacrifice comes. Eat and drink, then; for here are the thongs."
Walter glared at him for a moment, and then snatched up a gourd filledwith water, which the brother of the Snake had brought, and drained itwith a long and eager draught. He then cast it from him, and stoodstill and stern before them, saying,--
"I will disappoint you. Henceforth I will eat no more. Tie me if youwill. I can fast as well as you Indians."
The two men looked in each other's faces, apparently puzzled how toact; for, if he kept his resolution, their object would, indeed, befrustrated. The death of their kinsman, according to theirsuperstition, required blood; and by starvation the prisoner wouldescape from their hands. Still, they dared not disobey the decision ofthe chiefs.
A slight sign seemed to pass between them; and, taking hold of thepoor lad somewhat roughly, they bound both his hands and feet, twiningthe stout thongs of deer-skin round and round, and through andthrough, in what seemed inextricable knots. He stood quite still andpassive; and, when they had done, cast himself down upon the groundagain, turning his face from them. The two men gazed at him for amoment or two, and then, leaving the hut in silence, replaced the bar.
For some time after they were gone, Walter lay just as he had fallen.The dead apathy of despair had taken possession of him; life, thought,feeling, were a burden. The many days which had passed in that dull,dark, silent abode were rapidly producing on his mind that effectwhich solitary confinement is said too often to occasion. Thetransition is easy from anxiety, grief, fear, through melancholy andgloom, to despair and madness. Oh, man, never shut out hope from thyfellow-creature! or, if it must be so--if crime requires relentlesspunishment--then, whatever a false philanthropy would say, give thoudeath when thou takest away this world's hope, for then thou openestthe gate of the grave to a brighter light than that which isextinguished. The All-seeing Eye beams with mercy as well as light.
He lay in that death-like stillness for several hours; and there camenot a sound of any kind during all that time, to relieve the blackmonotony of the day. His ear, by suffering, had been renderedpainfully acute; but the snow fell noiselessly; the wild animals werein their coverts or in their dens; the very wind had no breath.
Suddenly there was a sound. What was it? It seemed like a crackingbranch far up above his head. Then a stone rolled down and rattledover the bark roof, making the snow slip before it. Another crashingbranch, and then a silence, which seemed to him to last for hours.
"Some panther or catamount," he thought, "in the trees above." And helaid his half-raised head down again upon the ground.
No! There were fingers
on the bar. He heard it move. Had the Indianscome back to urge the food upon him? The touch upon the bar, however,seemed feeble, compared with theirs. It lifted the heavy log of woodslowly, and with difficulty. Walter's heart beat--visions came overhis mind--hope flickered up; and he raised himself as well as he couldinto a sitting posture. From the ground he could not rise, for hishands were tied.
Slowly and quietly the door opened; the light rushed in, and, in themidst of its blaze, stood the beautiful figure of the Blossom, withher head partly turned away, as if in the act of listening. Her longwavy hair, broken from its band, and spotted with the white snow, fellalmost to her feet. But little was the clothing that she wore: nomantle, no over-dress, nothing but the Indian woman's embroideredshirt, gathered round her by a belt, and leaving the arms and legsbare. Her hands were torn and bloody; her bright face and browscratched by the fangs of the bramble; but still to Walter Prevost, asshe stood listening there, it was the loveliest sight his eyes hadever rested on.
Thus, for a moment, she listened; then gazed into the hut, sprangforward, cast her arms around his neck, and wept as she had never weptbefore.
"My brother--my husband!" she exclaimed, leaning her forehead on hisshoulder, "Otaitsa has found thee at length!"
He would fain have cast his arms around her; he would fain havepressed her to his heart; he would fain have told her that he couldbear death, or even life, or any fate, for such love as hers. But hishands were tied, and his tongue was powerless with emotion.
A few moments passed in silence; and then Otaitsa said,--
"The cruel wolves have tied thee; but Otaitsa will give thee freedom."
In an instant, her small, delicate fingers were busy with the thongs;and with the rapidity of thought they were all untied, and hands andfeet were both loose; but, as she worked, the blood dropped from herfingers on his wrists, and while he held her to his heart with--oh,how fond, how warm an embrace! he said,--
"Thou bleedest, my Blossom. Oh! Otaitsa, what hast thou risked, whathast thou encountered for Walter's sake?"
"But little, my beloved," she answered; "would it were ten times more,to prove my love. What! they have put meat within thy sight, and tiedthy hands to make thee die of famine, with food before thee! Out onthe cruel monsters!"
"No, no, my Otaitsa," returned Walter, "I would not eat. I wished todie. I knew not that an angel would come to cheer and help me."
"And to deliver thee too, my Walter," answered Otaitsa, with a brightsmile. "I trust it is certain, my beloved. By the way _I_ came, bythat way _you_ can go."
"How came you?" asked Walter, seating her beside him, and pressing hercloser with his arm to the bosom on which she leaned. "I thought itwas impossible for any one to reach me, so hidden is this place, soclose the watch they kept. It must have been very perilous for thee,my Blossom. Art thou not hurt?"
"Oh, no," she answered; "nor was the peril really great. God gave mewings to fly to thee. Love bore me up. But let me tell thee how Icame. I have a friend, the wife of one of thine enemies, a young brideto whom his heart is open as the lake. From her I heard of all theirplans; how they have filled the wood below the rocks with watchers;how they have set guards on every trail. They never dreamed that fromthe morning-side a way could be found down over the rock into thisdell. I pondered over the tidings, and remembered that, when I was alittle happy child, I clambered some way down by the aid of shrubs andcrevices in search of fruit; and I laid my plan against theirs. I tooktwo ropes, which I had woven long ago, of the tough bark of themoose-plant; and, making a wide circle round, I reached the uplandabove the cliffs. My only trouble was to find the exact spot from thatside; for I knew that there was a cloud between me and thy enemies,and that I walked unseen. At length, however, I found the rockoverlooking the chasm. I cast off all burdens, all that the bramblesor branches might snatch at; and, with the ropes wound round me, camedown as far as I could find safe footing. There was a tree, a smalltree, on the pinnacle; and I tried it before I trusted it. One branchbroke; but the root and stump stood firm, griping the rock fast. Tothem I fixed the end of one rope, and easily swung down to a pointbelow where there was a larger, stronger tree. A stone, however,slipped from under my foot, and fell rattling down. Round the strongtree I twisted the rope again, and thus reached the very ledgeoverhead; but there, as there had been noise and some crashing of thebranches, I stood for a while hidden behind the bushes, to make surethat I was not discovered. At length, however, I was satisfied; andnow the other rope was a friend to give me help. I fastened it to thefirst, knotted it into tight loops, and thus, aiding hands and feetwith sometimes the aid of a projecting stone, and sometimes a smallshrub, came slowly down. By the same way I shall return, my love; andby it, too, my Walter must go back this night to his own people."
"Why not with you now?" asked Walter eagerly. "Let Otaitsa go with me,and, whenever we reach my father's house, become my wife indeed. Oh,how gladly will he fold her to his heart! how fondly will Edith callher sister!"
"It cannot be, beloved," she answered. "I came to save him I love--tosave him who is the husband of my heart, but not to abandon my fathertill he gives me to you; and, besides, there would be none to help us.This night you must climb by the ropes and boughs up to the top of thecliff, when, as near as you can reckon, there have been six hours ofdarkness. At the top you will find people waiting. They are but women,yet they all love you, and me likewise; and they have sworn by theirGreat Spirit, that if it cost their lives they will set you free. Eachwill help you in some way. One has a canoe upon the creek--anotherknows the deepest woods on the Mohawk side, and can guide you well.Others will lead you down Wood Creek to Sir William Johnson's Castle,where you are safe. Eat now, my beloved; for you must have strength,and Otaitsa must leave you soon. Before she goes, she must tie yourhands again, lest your enemies come ere the night; but she will tiethem in such a sort, that with your teeth you can undraw the knot; andshe will loosen the fastening of the bar, so that even a weak hand canpush it out."
She had hardly uttered the words, when a low, mocking laugh came upontheir ears, and two or three dark forms shadowed the doorway. Otaitsainstantly started to her feet, and drew a knife from the belt aroundher waist.
"Stand back," she cried aloud, in the Iroquois tongue, as the menglided in. "I am your great chief's daughter; and the blood of theBlack Eagle will not bear a touch."
"We touch thee not, Blossom," answered Apukwa. "Thou shalt go free;for the Black Eagle is a great chief, a mighty warrior, reverenced byhis people. But our prisoner we keep; and though thou hast loosenedhis bands, we can fasten them again. Put thy tomahawk in thy belt,brother of the Snake. It must taste no blood here, though it ishungry, I know well. He shall die; but not now."
As he spoke, he thrust his arm between the younger Indian and Walter,who had cast himself before Otaitsa as if for one desperate struggle,if he saw any violence offered to her. The words of the medicine-man,however, quieted him on that score; and it was but too plain that allresistance on his part would be in vain. A few hours before, he hadsought death as a boon; but the coming of the Blossom had changed allhis thoughts and feelings, had relighted hope, and restored firmnessand constancy. He was willing to live on for the chances of what someother day might bring; the love and self-devotion of that beautifulcreature made existence seem too valuable to cast away the slightestchance of its preservation. He suffered them to bind him then, whileOtaitsa turned away her head, and struggled against the tears thatsought to rise. It cost her a great effort; but resolution triumphed;and, with a lofty air very different from the tenderness of herdemeanour a few moments before, she waved her hand for the Indians tomake way, saying--
"Unworthy Oneidas! I go to carry my own tale to my father's feet; totell him that, with his own blood warm in my heart, I came hither tosave my brother, my lover, my husband; and to warn him that thetomahawk which falls on that beloved head severs the chain ofOtaitsa's life. But fear not, Walter," she continued, turning towardshim, "fear not, my beloved. Li
ve, and laugh thine enemies to scorn.Thou shalt be delivered yet, let these men do what they will. It iswritten on high, that thou shalt not perish by their hands."
Thus saying, she left the hut; and, followed closely by two of theOneidas, pursued her way back towards the Castle.
When she reached the gate of the palisade, she at once perceived agood deal of commotion and activity within, though none but women,youths, and children were to be seen.
"Where is the Black Eagle?" she asked of the first woman whom she met."Has he returned to the lodge?"
"He returned with forty warriors," replied the other, in a grave tone;"painted himself for battle, and has gone forth upon the war-path,taking with him every warrior he could find."
"Against whom?" asked Otaitsa in as calm a tone as she could assume,but with her heart beating fast.
"We do not know," replied the woman sadly; "but a tale spread, comingout of darkness through which none could see, that the Black Eagle hadgone against our brethren the Mohawks and Onondagas. It was said theyhad unburied the hatchet, and cut down the tree of peace, before thedoor of the Oneidas."
Otaitsa clasped her hands together, bent her head, and took some stepstowards the door of the lodge. Then, turning to the two men who hadfollowed her, she said, bitterly--"And ye were absent when the BlackEagle called for warriors? Ye were right; for ye are women, and haveonly courage to torment a captive."
Thus saying, she passed on with a quiet step into the lodge; andthere, where no eye could see her, gave way in tears to all the sadand bitter feelings of her heart.