CHAPTER XIX
In the chain of low cliffs which run at the distance of some four orfive miles from the Oneida village, and to which, probably, at onetime, the waters of the lake had extended, was a deep cleft or fissurein the hard rock, some fourteen or fifteen yards in width at itswidest part, and narrower at the mouth than in the interior. One ofthe rocks, at the time I speak of--though large masses have fallensince, and a good deal altered the features of the scene--one of therocks near the entrance at the time I speak of beetled considerablyover its base, and projected so far as almost to touch the oppositecrag, giving the mouth of the fissure somewhat the appearance of acave. On either side the walls of this gloomy dell were perpendicular,in some places even overhanging; and at the end, where it might havebeen expected to slope gradually away to the upland, the generalcharacter of the scene was merely diversified by a break, or step,some fifteen or sixteen feet from the ground, dividing the face of thecrag into two nearly equal parts. Beneath this ledge was a hollow ofsome four or five feet in depth, rendering ascent from that sideimpracticable.
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 some strangefigures painted on it in red; and across this door was fixed a greatbar, which would, indeed, have been very useless, had not the stakesforming the walls of the hut been placed close together, rendering itin reality much stronger than an ordinary Indian lodge.
On the day after Otaitsa's expedition, mentioned in the precedingchapter, some sixteen or eighteen Oneidas of different ages, but noneof them far advanced in life, gathered round the mouth of the cliffand conversed together for several minutes in low tones, and withtheir usual slow and deliberate manner. At the end of their conferenceone seated 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, followingeach other so close that the foot of each trod in the step of theother; and when they reached it the foremost took down the bar andopened the door, suffering the light to enter the dark chamber within.The sight which that light displayed was a very painful one.
There, seated on the ground, with his head almost bent down to hisknees, his beautiful brown hair falling wild and shaggy over his face,his dress soiled and in some parts torn, and his hands thin andsallow, sat poor Walter Prevost, the image of despair. All the brightenergies of his eager, impetuous nature seemed quelled; the look ofyouthful, happy enjoyment was altogether gone, and with it the warmhopes and glowing aspirations, the dreams of future happiness orgreatness, of love, and joy, and tenderness. The sunshine haddeparted; the motes of existence no longer danced in the beam.
He lifted not his head when the Indians entered; still and impassiveas 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.
Gazing at him with a curious, cunning, serpent-like look, Apukwaplaced before him the 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, said in a cold tone:"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 on his feet, exclaiming: "Whyshould I eat to prolong my misery? Slay me! Take thy tomahawk and dashmy brains out! Put an end to this torment, the most terrible that thyfiend-like race have ever devised."
The two Indians laughed with a low, quiet, satisfied laugh. "We cannotslay thee," said the brother of the Snake, "till we know that thypaleface brother who killed our brother cannot be found to take thyplace."
"He is far beyond your power," cried Walter, vehemently. "He willnever be within your grasp. I helped him to escape. I delivered himfrom you! 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. Theyare like hares and rabbits, that fear the sound of the wind!"
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 he 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, draining 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 you will. I can fast as wellas you Indians."
"My brother--my husband," she said. "Otaitsa has foundthee at length." Page 216. --_Ticonderoga_.]
The two men looked in each other's face, 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 holdof the poor lad somewhat roughly, they bound both his hands and feet,twining the strong thongs of deerskin round and round, and through andthrough, in what seemed inextricable knots. He stood quite still andimpassive, 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 had gone, Walter lay just as he had fallen.The dead apathy of despair had taken, possession of him. Life,thought, feeling, was a burden. The many days which had passed in thatdull, dark, silent abode was rapidly producing on his mind that effectwhich solitary confinement is said to occasion but too often.
He lay in that deathlike stillness for several hours; nor came there asound of any kind during all that time to relieve the black monotonyof the day. His ear, by suffering, had been rendered painfully acute,but the snow fell noiselessly, the wild animals were in their covertsor in their dens, the very wind had no breath.
Suddenly there was a sound. What was it? It seemed a cracking branch,far up above his head. Then a stone rolled down and rattled over theroof, making the snow slip before it. Another crashing branch, andthen a silence which seemed to him to last for hours. "Some panther orcatamount," he thought, "in the trees above," and he laid hishalf-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 bar of woodslowly and with difficulty. Walter's heart beat--visions came beforehis 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 the blaze stood the beautiful figure of the Blossom, with herhead partly turned away, as if in the act of listening. Her curly,long, wavy hair, broken from its band, and spotted with the whitesnow, fell almost to her feet. But little was the clothing that shewore. No mantle, no overdress, nothing but the Indian woman'sembroidered skirt, gathered round her by a belt, and leaving the armsand legs bare. Her hands were torn and bloody, her bright face andbrow scratched by the fangs of the bramble, but still to WalterPrevost, as she stood listening there, it was the loveliest sight hiseyes had ever rested on.
But for a moment she listened, then gazed into the hut, sprangforward, cast h
er arms around his neck, and wept as she had never weptbefore.
"My brother--my husband," she said, 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 cruelwolves 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 to his wrists, and while he held her to his heart 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!" answered 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, by thatway 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 anyone to reach me, so stern 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 woods 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 shrubsand crevices, in search of fruit; and I laid my plan against theirs. Itook two 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 your 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, gripping 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 feet, 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 feet,with 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 withme, 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 has 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 costs 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 Ward 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 up and drew a knife from the belt around her 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 mighty chief, a mighty warrior, reverenced byhis people; but our prisoner we keep, and though thou hast loosenedhis hands 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 struggleif 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, and for the chances of whatsome other day might bring; for the love and self-devotion of thatbeautiful creature made existence seem too valuable to cast away theslightest chance of its preservation.
He suffered them to bind him then, while Otaitsa turned away her headand struggled against the tears that sought to rise. It cost her agreat effort, but resolution triumphed, and with a lofty air, verydifferent from the tenderness of her demeanor a few moments before,she waved her hand for the Indians to make way, saying: "UnworthyOneidas, I go to carry my own tale to my father's feet, to tell himthat with his own blood warm in my heart I came thither to save mybrother, my lover, my husband, and to warn him that the tomahawk whichfalls on that beloved head severs the chain of Otaitsa's life. Butfear not, Walter," she continued, turning toward him; "fear not, mybeloved. Live, and laugh thine enemies to scorn. Thou shalt bedelivered yet, let these men do what they will. It is written on highthat thou shalt not perish by their hands," and thus saying, she leftthe hut, and followed closely by two of the Oneidas, pursued her wayback toward the Castle.
When she reached the gate of the palisade she at once perceived a gooddeal 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 warpath,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 throughout which none could see, that the Black Eaglehad gone against our brethren, the Mohawks and Onondagas. It was saidthey had unburied the hatchet, and cut down the tree of peace beforethe door of the Oneidas."
Otaitsa clasped her hands together, bent her head, and took s
ome stepstoward the door of the lodge, and 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, when no eye could see her, gave way in tears to all the sad andbitter feelings of her heart.