CHAPTER XX.
"Two hundred years! two hundred years! How much of human power and pride, What glorious hopes, what gloomy fears, Have sunk beneath their noiseless tide!"--PIERPONT.
It wanted about an hour to sunset--or sun-_down_, to use our commonAmericanism--when we all left the new quarters of our red brethren, inorder to visit the huts. As the moment approached, it was easy to tracein the Indians the evidence of strong interest; mingled, as we fancied,with a little awe. Several of the chiefs had improved the interveningtime, to retouch the wild conceits that they had previously painted ontheir visages, rendering their countenances still more appalling.Flintyheart, in particular, was conspicuous in his grim embellishments;though Prairiefire had not laid any veil between the eye and his naturalhue.
As the course of my narrative will now render it necessary to relateconversations that occurred in languages and dialects of which I knowliterally nothing, it may be well to say here, once for all, that I gotas close a translation of everything that passed, as it was possible toobtain, from Manytongues; and wrote it all down, either on the spot, orimmediately after returning to the Nest. This explanation may benecessary in order to prevent some of those who may read thismanuscript, from fancying that I am inventing.
The carriage of my grandmother had left the door, filled with itssmiling freight, several minutes before we took up our line of march.This last, however, was not done without a little ceremony, and someattention to order. As Indians rarely march except in what is called"Indian file," or singly, each man following in the footsteps of hisleader, such was the mode of advancing adopted on the present occasion.The Prairiefire led the line, as the oldest chief, and the one mostdistinguished in council. Flintyheart was second, while the others werearranged by some rule of precedency that was known to themselves. Assoon as the line had formed, it commenced its march; my uncle, theinterpreter, and myself walking at the side of Prairiefire, whileMiller, followed by half-a-dozen of the curious from the Nest House andthe farm, followed in the rear.
It will be remembered that John had been sent to the hut to announce theintended visit. His stay had been much longer than was anticipated; butwhen the procession had gone about half the distance it was to march, itwas met by this faithful domestic, on his return. The worthy fellowwheeled into line, on my flank, and communicated what he had to saywhile keeping up with the column.
"To own the truth, Mr. Hugh," he said, "the old man was more moved byhearing that about fifty Indians had come a long distance to seehim----"
"Seventeen--you should have said seventeen, John; that being the exactnumber."
"Is it, sir? Well, I declared that I thought there might be fifty--Ionce thought of calling 'em forty, sir, but it then occurred to me thatit might not be enough." All this time John was looking over hisshoulder to count the grave-looking warriors who followed in a line; andsatisfied of his mistake, one of the commonest in the world for men ofhis class, that of exaggeration, he resumed his report. "Well, sir, I_do_ believe you are right, and I have been a little hout. But old Suswas quite moved, sir, when I told him of the intended visit, and so Istayed to help the old gentleman to dress and paint; for that nigger,Yop, is of no more use now, you know, sir, than if he had never lived ina gentleman's family at all. It must have been hawful times, sir, whenthe gentry of York had nothing but niggers to serve 'em, sir."
"We did pretty well, John, notwithstanding," answered my uncle, who hada strong attachment to the old black race, that once so generally filledall the menial stations of the country, as is apt to be the case withall gentlemen of fifty; "we did pretty well, notwithstanding; Jaaf,however, never acted strictly as a body-servant, though he was mygrandfather's own man."
"Well, sir, if there had been nobody but Yop at the hut, Sus would neverhave been decently dressed and painted for this occasion. As it is, Ihope that you will be satisfied, sir, for the old gentleman looksremarkably well;--Indian fashion, you know, sir."
"Did the Onondago ask any questions?"
"Why, you know how it is with him in that particular, Mr. Hugh. He's avery silent person, is Susquesus; most remarkable so when he 'as any onehas can entertain him with conversation. _I_ talked most of the timemyself, sir, has I commonly does when I pays him a visit. Indians isremarkably silent, in general, I believe, sir."
"And whose idea was it to paint and dress--yours, or the Onondago's?"
"Why, sir, I supposes the hidear to be Indian, by origin, though in thiscase it was my suggestion. Yes, sir, I suggested the thought; though Iwill not take it on myself to say Sus had not some hinclination thatway, even before I 'inted my hopinion."
"Did you think of the paint!" put in uncle Ro. "I do not remember tohave seen the Trackless in his paint these thirty years. I once askedhim to paint and dress on a Fourth of July; it was about the time youwere born, Hugh--and I remember the old fellow's answer as well as if itwere given yesterday. 'When the tree ceases to bear fruit,' was thesubstance of his reply, 'blossoms only remind the observer of itsuselessness.'"
"I have heard that Susquesus was once considered very eloquent, even foran Indian."
"I remember him to have had some such reputation, though I will notanswer for its justice. Occasionally, I have heard strong expressions inhis brief, clipping manner of speaking English--but in common, he hasbeen content to be simple and taciturn. I remember to have heard myfather say that when he first made the acquaintance of Susquesus, andthat must have been quite sixty years since, the old man had greatapprehension of being reduced to mortifying necessity of making basketsand brooms; but, his dread on that subject once removed, he had everafter seemed satisfied and without care."
"Without care is the condition of those who have least, I believe, sir.It would not be an easy matter for the government of New York to deviseways and means to deprive Sus of _his_ farms, either by institutingsuits for title, destroying quarter-sales, laying taxes, or resorting toany other of the ingenious expedients known to the Albany politics."
My uncle did not answer for quite a minute; when he did, it wasthoughtfully and with great deliberation of manner.
"Your term of 'Albany politics' has recalled to my mind," he said, "aconsideration that has often forced itself upon my reflections. There isdoubtless an advantage--nay, there may be a necessity for cutting up thelocal affairs of this country; by intrusting their management to so manylocal governments; but there is, out of all question, one great evilconsequent on it. When legislators have the great affairs of state ontheir hands, the making of war and peace, the maintaining of armies, andthe control of all those interests which connect one country withanother, the mind gets to be enlarged, and with it the character anddisposition of the man. But, bring men together, who _must_ act, orappear incapable of acting, and set them at work upon the smallerconcerns of legislation, and it's ten to one but they betray thenarrowness of their education by the narrowness of their views. This isthe reason of the vast difference that every intelligent man knows toexist between Albany and Washington."
"Do you then think our legislators so much inferior to those of Europe?"
"Only as they are provincial; which nine in ten necessarily are, sincenine Americans in ten, even among the educated classes, are decidedlyprovincial. This term 'provincial' covers quite one-half of thedistinctive sins of the country, though many laugh at a deficiency, ofwhich, in the nature of things, they can have no notion, as purely amatter of the imagination. The active communications of the Americanscertainly render them surprisingly little obnoxious to such a charge,for their age and geographical position. These last disadvantagesproduce effects, nevertheless, that are perhaps unavoidable. When youhave had an opportunity of seeing something of the society of the towns,for instance, after your intercourse with the world of Europe, you willunderstand what I mean, for it is a difference much more readily _felt_than _described_. Provincialism, however, may be defined as a generaltendency to the narrow views which mark a contracted association, and anignorance of the gre
at world--not in the sense of station solely, but inthe sense of liberality, intelligence, and a knowledge of all the variedinterests of life. But, here we are, at the hut."
There we were sure enough. The evening was delightful. Susquesus hadseated himself on a stool, on the green sward that extended for somedistance around the door of his habitation, and where he was a little inshade, protected from the strong rays of a setting, but June, sun. Atree cast its shadow over his person. Jaaf was posted on one side, as nodoubt, he himself thought best became his color and character. It isanother trait of human nature, that while the negro affects a greatcontempt and aversion for the red-man, the Indian feels his own mentalsuperiority to the domestic slave. I had never seen Susquesus in sogrand costume, as that in which he appeared this evening. Habitually hewore his Indian vestments; the leggings, moccason, breech-piece, blanketor calico shirt, according to the season; but I had never before seenhim in his ornaments and paint. The first consisted of two medals whichbore the images, the one of George III., the other of hisgrandfather--of two more, bestowed by the agents of the republic; oflarge rings in his ears, that dropped nearly to his shoulders, and ofbracelets formed of the teeth of some animal, that, at first, I wasafraid was a man. A tomahawk that was kept as bright as friction couldmake it, and a sheathed knife, were in his girdle, while his well-triedrifle stood leaning against a tree; weapons that were now exhibited asemblems of the past, since their owner could scarcely render either veryeffective. The old man had used the paint with unusual judgment for anIndian, merely tingeing his cheeks with a color that served to givebrightness to eyes that had once been keen as intense expression couldrender them, but which were now somewhat dimmed by age. In otherrespects, nothing was changed in the customary neat simplicity thatreigned in and around the cabin, though Jaaf had brought out, as if tosun, an old livery coat of his own, that he had formerly worn, and acocked hat, in which I have been told he was wont actually to exhibithimself of Sundays, and holidays; reminders of the superiority of a"nigger" over an "Injin."
Three or four rude benches, which belonged to the establishment of thehut, were placed at a short distance in front of Susquesus, in a sort ofsemicircle, for the reception of his guests. Toward these benches, then,Prairiefire led the way, followed by all the chiefs. Although they soonranged themselves in the circle, not one took his seat for fully aminute. That time they all stood gazing intently, but reverently, towardthe aged man before them, who returned their look as steadily andintently as it was given. Then, at a signal from their leader, who onthis occasion was Prairiefire, every man seated himself. This change ofposition, however, did not cause the silence to be broken; but therethey all sat, for quite ten minutes, gazing at the Upright Onondago,who, in his turn, kept his look steadily fastened on his visitors. Itwas during this interval of silence that the carriage of my grandmotherdrove up, and stopped just without the circle of grave, attentiveIndians, not one of whom even turned his head to ascertain who or whatcaused the interruption. No one spoke; my dear grandmother being aprofoundly attentive observer of the scene, while all the bright facesaround her were so many eloquent pictures of curiosity, blended withsome gentler and better feelings, exhibited in the most pleasing form ofwhich humanity is susceptible.
At length Susquesus himself arose, which he did with great dignity ofmanner, and without any visible bodily effort, and spoke. His voice wasa little tremulous, I thought, though more through feeling than age;but, on the whole, he was calm, and surprisingly connected and clear,considering his great age. Of course, I was indebted to Manytongues forthe interpretation of all that passed.
"Brethren," commenced Susquesus, "you are welcome. You have travelled ona long, and crooked, and thorny path, to find an old chief, whose tribeought ninety summers ago to have looked upon him as among the departed.I am sorry no better sight will meet your eyes at the end of so long ajourney. I would make the path back toward the setting sun broader andstraighter if I knew how. But I do not know how. I am old. The pine inthe woods is scarce older; the villages of the pale-faces, through somany of which you have journeyed, are not half so old; I was born whenthe white race were like the moose on the hills; here and there one; nowthey are like the pigeons after they have hatched their young. When Iwas a boy my young legs could never run out of the woods into aclearing; now, my old legs cannot carry me into the woods, they are sofar off. Everything is changed in the land, but the red-man's heart._That_ is like the rock which never alters. My children, you arewelcome."
That speech, pronounced in the deep husky tones of extreme old age, yetrelieved by the fire of a spirit that was smothered rather than extinct,produced a profound impression. A low murmur of admiration passed amongthe guests, though neither rose to answer, until a sufficient time hadseemed to pass, in which the wisdom that they had just been listeners tomight make its proper impression. When this pause was thought to besufficiently long to have produced its effect, Prairiefire, a chief morecelebrated in council even than in the field, arose to answer. Hisspeech, freely translated, was in the following words.
"Father: your words are always wise--they are always true. The pathbetween your wigwam and our village _is_ a long one--it is a crookedpath, and many thorns and stones have been found on it. But alldifficulties may be overcome. Two moons ago we were at one end of it;now we are at the other end. We have come with two notches on oursticks. One notch told us to go to the great Council House of thepale-face, to see our great pale-face father--the other notch told us tocome here, to see our great red father. We have been to the greatCouncil House of the pale-faces; we have seen Uncle Sam. His arm is verylong; it reaches from the salt lake, the water of which we tried todrink, but it is too salt, to our own lakes, near the setting sun, ofwhich the water is sweet. We never tasted water that was salt before,and we do not find it pleasant. We shall never taste it again; it is notworth while to come so far to drink water that is salt.
"Uncle Sam is a wise chief. He has many counsellors. The council at hiscouncil-fire must be a great council--it has much to say. Its wordsought to have some good in them, they are so many. We thought of our redfather while listening to them, and wanted to come here. We _have_ comehere. We are glad to find our red father still alive and well. The GreatSpirit loves a just Indian, and takes care of him. A hundred winters, inhis eyes, are like a single winter. We are thankful to him for havingled us by the crooked and long path, at the end of which we have foundthe Trackless--the Upright of the Onondagoes. I have spoken."
A gleam of happiness shot into the swarthy lineaments of Susquesus, ashe heard, in his own language, a well-merited appellation that had notgreeted his ears for a period as long as the ordinary life of man. Itwas a title, a cognomen that told the story of his connection with histribe; and neither years, nor distance, nor new scenes, nor new ties,nor wars, nor strifes had caused him to forget the smallest incidentconnected with that tale. I gazed at the old man with awe, as hiscountenance became illuminated by the flood of recollections that wasrushing into it, through the channel of his memory, and the expressiveglance my uncle threw at me, said how much he was impressed also. One ofthe faculties of Manytongues was to be able to interpret _pari passu_with the speaker; and, standing between us and the carriage, he kept up,sentence by sentence, a low accompaniment of each speech, so that noneof us lost a syllable of what was said.
As soon as Prairiefire resumed his seat, another silence succeeded. Itlasted several minutes, during which the only audible sounds werevarious discontented grunts, accompanied by suppressed mutterings on thepart of old Jaaf, who never could tolerate any Indian but his companion.That the negro was dissatisfied with this extraordinary visit wassufficiently apparent to us, but not one of all the red-men took heed ofhis deportment. Sus, who was nearest to him, must have heard his lowgrumbling, but it did not induce him to change his look from thecountenances of those in his front for a single moment. On the otherhand, the visitors themselves seemed totally unconscious of the negro'spresence, though in fact they were not, as subs
equently appeared. In aword, the Upright Onondago was the centre of attraction for them, allother things being apparently forgotten for the time.
At length there was a slight movement among the redskins, and anotherarose. This man was positively the least well-looking of the wholeparty. His stature was lower than that of the rest of the Indians; hisform was meagre and ungraceful--the last at least, while his mind was ina state of rest; and his appearance, generally, was wanting in thatnobleness of exterior which so singularly marked that of every one ofhis companions. As I afterward learned, the name of this Indian wasEaglesflight, being so called from the soaring character of theeloquence in which he had been known to indulge. On the presentoccasion, though his manner was serious and his countenance interested,the spirit within was not heaving with any of its extraordinary throes.Still, such a man could not rise to speak and avoid creating some slightsensation among his expectant auditors. Guarded as are the red-men ingeneral on the subject of betraying their emotions, we could detectsomething like a suppressed movement among his friends when Eaglesflightstood erect. The orator commenced in a low, but solemn manner, his toneschanging from the deep, impressive guttural to the gentle and pathetic,in a way to constitute eloquence of itself. As I listened, I fanciedthat never before did the human voice seem to possess so much winningpower. The utterance was slow and impressive, as is usually the casewith true orators.
"The Great Spirit makes men differently," commenced Eaglesflight. "Someare like willows, that bend with the breeze, and are broken in thestorm. Some are pines, with slender trunks, few branches, and a softwood. Now and then there is an oak among them, which grows on theprairie, stretching its branches a great way, and making a pleasantshade. This wood is hard; it lasts a long time. Why has the Great Spiritmade this difference in trees?--why does the Great Spirit make thisdifference in men? There is a reason for it. _He_ knows it, though wemay not. What he does is always right!
"I have heard orators at our council-fires complain that things shouldbe as they are. They say that the land, and the lakes, and the rivers,and the hunting-grounds, belong to the red-man only, and that no othercolor ought ever to be seen there. The Great Spirit has thoughtotherwise, and what he thinks happens. Men are of many colors. Some arered, which is the color of my father. Some are pale, which is the colorof my friends. Some are black, which is the color of my father's friend.He is black, though old age is changing his skin. All this is right; itcomes from the Great Spirit, and we must not complain.
"My father says he is very old--that the pine in the woods is scarceolder. We know it. That is one reason why we have come so far to seehim, though there is another reason. My father knows what that otherreason is; so do we. For a hundred winters and summers, that reason hasnot gone out of our minds. The old men have told it to the young men;and the young men, when they have grown older, have told it to theirsons. In this way it has reached our ears. How may bad Indians havelived in that time, have died, and are forgotten! It is the good Indianthat lives longest in our memories. We wish to forget that the wickedever were in our tribes. We never forget the good.
"I have seen many changes. I am but a child, compared with my father;but I feel the cold of sixty winters in my bones. During all that time,the red-men have been travelling toward the setting sun. I sometimesthink I shall live to reach it! It must be a great way off, but the manwho never stops goes far. Let us go there, pale-faces will follow. Whyall this is, I do not know. My father is wiser than his son, and he maybe able to tell us. I sit down to hear his answer."
Although Eaglesflight had spoken so quietly, and concluded in a mannerso different from what I had expected, there was a deep interest in whatwas now going on. The particular reason why these red-men had come sofar out of their way to visit Susquesus had not yet been revealed, as weall hoped would be the case; but the profound reverence that thesestrangers, from the wilds of the far west, manifested for our agedfriend, gave every assurance that when we did learn it, there would beno reason for disappointment. As usual, a pause succeeded the briefaddress of the last speaker; after which, Susquesus once more arose andspoke.
"My children," he said, "I am very old. Fifty autumns ago, when theleaves fell, I thought it was time for me to pass on to the happyhunting-grounds of my people, and be a redskin again. But my name wasnot called. I have been left alone here, in the midst of the pale-facefields, and houses, and villages, without a single being of my own colorand race to speak to. My head was almost grown white. Still, as yearscame on my head, the spirit turned more toward my youth. I began toforget the battles, and hunts, and journeys of middle life, and to thinkof the things seen when a young chief among the Onondagoes. My day isnow a dream, in which I dream of the past. Why is the eye of Susquesusso far-seeing, after a hundred winters and more? Can any one tell? Ithink not. We do not understand the Great Spirit, and we do notunderstand his doings. Here I am, where I have been for half my days.That big wigwam is the wigwam of my best friends. Though their faces arepale, and mine is red, our hearts have the same color. I never forget_them_--no, not one of them. I see them all, from the oldest to theyoungest. They seem to be of my blood. This comes from friendship, andmany kindnesses. These are all the pale-faces I now see. Red-men standbefore my eyes in all other places. My mind is with them.
"My children, you are young. Seventy winters are a great many for one ofyou. It is not so with me. Why I have been left standing alone here nearthe hunting-grounds of our fathers, is more than I can say. So it is,and it is right. A withered hemlock is sometimes seen standing by itselfin the fields of the pale-faces. I am such a tree. It is not cut down,because the wood is of no use, and even the squaws do not like it tocook by. When the winds blow, they seem to blow around it. It is tiredof standing there alone, but it cannot fall. That tree wishes for theaxe, but no man puts the axe to its root. Its time has not come. So itis with me--my time has not come.
"Children, my days now are dreams of my tribe. I see the wigwam of myfather. It was the best in the village. He was a chief, and venison wasnever scarce in his lodge. I see him come off the war-path with manyscalps on his pole. He had plenty of wampum, and wore many medals. Thescalps on his pole were sometimes from red-men, sometimes frompale-faces. He took them all himself. I see my mother, too. She loved meas the she-bear loves her cubs. I had brothers and sisters, and I seethem, too. They laugh and play, and seem happy. There is the springwhere we dipped up water in our gourds, and here is the hill where welay waiting for the warriors to come in from the war-paths and the hunt.Everything looks pleasant to me. That was a village of the Onondagoes,my own people, and I loved them a hundred and twenty winters ago. I lovethem now, as if the time were but one winter and one summer. The minddoes not feel time. For fifty seasons I thought but little of my ownpeople. My thoughts were on the hunt and the war-path, and on thequarrels of the pale-faces, with whom I lived. Now, I say again, I thinkmost of the past, and of my young days. It is a great mystery why we cansee things that are so far off so plainly, and cannot see things thatare so near by. Still, it is so.
"Children, you ask why the red-men keep moving toward the setting sun,and why the pale-faces follow? You ask if the place where the sun setswill ever be reached, and if pale-men will go there to plough and tobuild, and to cut down the trees. He that has seen what _has_ happened,ought to know what _will_ happen again. I am very old, but I see nothingnew. One day is like another. The same fruits come each summer, and thewinters are alike. The bird builds in the same tree many times.
"My children, I have lived long among the pale-faces. Still, my heart isof the same color as my face. I have never forgotten that I am ared-man; never forgotten the Onondagoes. When I was young, beautifulwoods covered these fields. Far and near the buck and the moose leapedamong the trees. Nothing but the hunter stopped them. It is all changed!The plough has frightened away the deer. The moose will not stay nearthe sound of the church-bell. He does not know what it means. The deergoes first. The red-man keeps on his trail, and the pale-face is neve
rfar behind. So it has been since the big canoes of the stranger firstcame into our waters; so it will be until another salt lake is reachedbeneath the setting sun. When that other lake is seen, the red-man muststop, and die in the open fields, where rum, and tobacco, and bread areplenty, or march on into the great salt lake of the west and be drowned._Why_ this is so, I cannot tell. That it has been so, I know; that it_will_ be so, I believe. There is a reason for it; none can tell whatthat reason is but the Great Spirit."
Susquesus had spoken calmly and clearly, and Manytongues translated ashe proceeded, sentence by sentence. So profound was the attention of thesavage listeners that I heard their suppressed breathings. We white menare so occupied with ourselves, and our own passing concerns, look onall other races of human beings as so much our inferiors, that it isseldom we have time or inclination to reflect on the consequences of ourown acts. Like the wheel that rolls along the highway, however, many isthe inferior creature that we heedlessly crush in our path. Thus has itbeen with the red-man, and, as the Trackless had said, thus will itcontinue to be. He will be driven to the salt lake of the far west,where he must plunge in and be drowned, or turn and die in the midst ofabundance.
My uncle Ro knew more of the Indians, and of their habits, than any oneelse of our party, unless it might be my grandmother. She, indeed, hadseen a good deal of them in early life; and when quite a young girl,dwelling with that uncle of her own who went by the _sobriquet_ of the"Chainbearer," she had even dwelt in the woods, near the tribe ofSusquesus, and had often heard him named there as an Indian in highrepute, although he was even at that distant day an exile from hispeople. When our old friend resumed his seat, she beckoned her son andmyself to the side of the carriage, and spoke to us on the subject ofwhat had just been been uttered, the translation of Manytongues havingbeen loud enough to let the whole party hear what he said.
"This is not a visit of business, but one of ceremony only," she said."To-morrow, probably, the real object of the strangers will be madeknown. All that has passed, as yet, has been complimentary, mixed with alittle desire to hear the wisdom of the sage. The red-man is never in ahurry, impatience being a failing that he is apt to impute to us women.Well, though we are females, we can wait. In the meantime, some of uscan weep, as you see is particularly the case with Miss Mary Warren."
This was true enough; the fine eyes of all four of the girls glisteningwith tears, while the cheeks of the person named were quite wet withthose that had streamed down them. At this allusion to such an excess ofsympathy, the young lady dried her eyes, and the color heightened somuch in her face, that I thought it best to avert my looks. While thisby-play was going on, Prairiefire arose again, and concluded theproceedings of that preliminary visit, by making another short speech:
"Father," he said, "we thank you. What we have heard will not beforgotten. All red-men are afraid of that great salt lake, under thesetting sun, and in which some say it dips every night. What you havetold us, will make us think more of it. We have come a great distance,and are tired. We will now go to our wigwam, and eat, and sleep.To-morrow, when the sun is up here," pointing to a part of the heavensthat would indicate something like nine o'clock, "we will come again,and open our ears. The Great Spirit who has spared you so long, willspare you until then, and we shall not forget to come. It is toopleasant to us to be near you, for us to forget. Farewell."
The Indians now rose in a body, and stood regarding Susquesus fully aminute, in profound silence, when they filed off at a quick pace, andfollowed their leader toward their quarters for the night. As the trainnoiselessly wound its way from before him, a shade passed athwart thedark countenance of the Trackless, and he smiled no more that day.
All this time the negro, the contemporary of the Indian, kept mutteringhis discontent at seeing so many redskins in his presence, unheeded andindeed unheard by his friend.
"What you do wid dem Injin," he growled, as the party disappeared. "Nogood ebber come of sich as dem. How many time dey work debbletry in awood, and you and I not werry far off, Sus. How ole you got, redskin;and forgetful! Nobody can hold out wid color' man. Gosh! I do b'lieve Ilib for ebber, sometime! It won'erful to think of, how long I stay ondis werry 'arth!"
Such exclamations were not uncommon with the aged Jaaf, and no one notedthem. He did not seem to expect any answer himself, nor did any oneappear to deem it at all necessary to make one. As for the Trackless, hearose with a saddened countenance, and moved into his hut like one whowished to be left alone with his thoughts. My grandmother ordered thecarriage to move on, and the rest of us returned to the house on foot.