Gustave Aimard
The Frontiersmen
CHAPTER XXI
"How would you be,
If He, who is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are? O, think on that!
And mercy then will breathe within your lips
Like man new made."
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
The now liberated party left the boat, and with mingled feelings of joyfulness for their delivery, and of sadness for the waste and desolation caused by the unmerciful savages, proceeded towards the spot where had once stood the dwelling of Barton. Scarcely a trace was left of the cottage, and nothing but a mass of half-consumed and charred and blackened timbers indicated that here had once been the habitation of a happy family. On the north, the trees had been stripped of their leaves, their trunks and boughs blackened and partially consumed, while the ground appeared to have been covered with a carpet of fire. The lawn about the cottage had been made desolate, and the shrubbery and flowers that had began to gladden the wilderness with new and unaccustomed beauties, had been trodden down and broken as with a wanton and malicious desire on the part of the Indians to destroy every vestige of civilization.
A portion of the friendly Oneidas and Tuscaroras had followed in pursuit of the Senecas, accompanied by Eagle's-Wing, who, on reaching the land, had rushed with frantic haste to join and lead the pursuers, over whom he was an acknowledged chief. Another portion, after going around the south shore of the pond, with feelings of curiosity, sought this scene of desolation, where they arrived a little before the party from the boat. The savages moved about the mass of smoking ruins with excited countenances and flashing eyes, and at every discovery of some blackened and despoiled article of domestic use, gave vent to ejaculations, either, of surprise or pleasure. As Barton, and the party from the boat approached, the Oneidas, with a courtesy and delicate appreciation of the feelings of Barton and his daughter, retired from the ruins towards the grove, where, gathered in knots, or lying lazily upon the ground, they gazed upon the pale-faces with mingled looks of curiosity and sympathy.
The cattle enclosure, which had stood by the side of the cottage, had also been mostly destroyed; that portion of it, however farthest from the dwelling, being least injured. The few cattle which had been shut up in it, had perished, and their bodies more or less consumed, were found among the ruins; but no traces were seen of the horses. The door of the enclosure seemed, from the fact that a portion of it was found on one side, unharmed, to have been broken open, and it was presumed, that the Indians had taken possession of them.
The barn, however, which was at a few rods distance, on the west, was wholly uninjured; and Ichabod and the negro, assisted by two or three of the Oneidas, began, at once, to put a portion of it in readiness for the temporary occupation of Barton and his daughter. It would, at least, afford a shelter; and however rude and uncomfortable it might be, it was a happy exchange for the mode of life to which they had been compelled on the previous night.
Tears came into the eyes of Ruth, as she surveyed the desolation by which she was surrounded. Scarcely a vestige could be found of those delicate and womanly labors by which she had adorned her dwelling; and it was with a feeling of momentary anguish that her eyes ran over the familiar places, and found nothing upon which to rest but the marks of violence and brutality. The whole party shared this feeling, and they surveyed the scene, for a few moments, with a melancholy silence. Ichabod was the first who gave voice to his feelings:
"Don't be cast down, Miss Ruth; and you, Squire, keep up a good courage. I've seen many an unfortunate speculation in my day; but somehow or other, there is always a kind of philosophy in these things. The first feeling is a hard one; it swells up the heart, and is apt to provoke rebellious and unnatural thoughts; but it comes round all right in the end. You'll yet be happy in another home, and then all these things will be forgotten, except that one lesson, that they teach, and that is, that all speculations are in the hand of Providence."
"You are right, Ichabod, you are right," said Barton. "In our own escape, the loss shall be forgotten. But the severest reflection is, that we must now leave this valley forever; but we shall carry away with us, the recollection of many happy days."
Ruth smiled with a look of joy, that momentarily lit up the melancholy of her countenance, at this feeling on the part of her father. It was for him that she felt the most deeply. Youth, with the prospect of many years, may rise renewed and hopeful from desolation; but, age, without the means of reparation, is apt to sink beneath the load of misfortune. Seeing, then, that her father bore his loss with resignation, and with a happy idea of conforming to his altered circumstances, she assumed a cheerfulness which she did not, perhaps, wholly feel.
Scarcely an hour had elapsed, after the flight of the Senecas, when a yell of exultation from beyond the grove, announced the return of the party who had gone in pursuit of them. Words were heard in the Iroquois tongue, which produced an unusual excitement in the savages, who were wandering about the ruined dwelling. Then could be seen the returning warriors advancing leisurely towards the ruins, while guarded among them, they led an Indian bound as a prisoner.
Eagle's-Wing came in advance, with a quiet look of triumph upon his countenance, but illy disguised beneath the usual immobility of face of the Indian. Mingled with this look, was a glow of satisfied revenge, and savage exultation. He came up to the party at the ruins, while the rest of the Indians remained in the grove.
"Well, Eagle's-Wing, what news from the Senecas?" asked Ralph.
"Ask Panther," answered the Tuscarora. "He yonder."
"Such is the fortune of war," said Ichabod: "now a victor – now a prisoner. But I am glad to see, Eagle's-Wing, that you're ra'ally improving under my instructions. It's a great step towards civilization, that you didn't take the fellow's scalp at once."
Wild and fiendish was the glance that shot from the dark eye of the Indian; but no words were given to its terrible significance. Turning leisurely about, he moved slowly towards the grove.
In the meantime, Barton and Ruth, together with Singing-Bird, took possession of the temporary dwelling that had been fitted up for them. Sambo, who had gone up through the clearing, towards the forest, soon was seen returning with the horses, which he was leading with the most frantic exclamations of joy. He had discovered the marks of their hoofs upon the ground, and had followed on their track, until he found them on the edge of the forest. It was with scarcely less joy than that which Sambo displayed, that Barton beheld them – the only remains of his little property. They had been abandoned by the Senecas in their sudden surprise, and thus the most serious difficulty in the removal of Barton and his family to the settlements, was obviated.
But we will follow Eagle's-Wing to the grove where the Indians were now collected. Panther had been securely confined to a tree, and the change which had come over him, under his reverse of fortune, was most wonderful and striking. When in command of his party, he had preserved a quiet dignity of demeanor – the natural consequence, to a manly mind, of the power of command. His face had worn an expression of solemn gravity, and there was, in all he said and did, an air of courtesy and sincerity, which had struck his prisoners as inconsistent with his reputation for cunning and cruelty. But now, deprived of his freedom, and in the power of his enemies, his whole manner was changed. With head erect – with flashing eyes, and nostrils that quivered with untameable ferocity, he glared upon the Indians by whom he was surrounded. As Eagle's-Wing approached, his glance fell upon him with a look of savage malice. The Tuscarora came up directly before him, and with folded arms, gazed into the eyes of his prisoner.
"Seneca," said he, "you are a lying chief of a lying nation. You must die. I have been told that the Senecas have the hearts of girls. I wish to see the tears in your eyes."
"The Tuscaroras are women," began the Seneca, in a quiet voice, and with a look of contempt. "They once dwelt in the land of the sun, where the snows of the winter never come, and their hearts became soft, and the pale-faces made them slaves. That was all they were fit for. They did not know how to fight their enemies, and the pale-faces took the hatchets and the bows from their hands, and made them work in the fields. Then the Iroquois took pity on them, and wrapped them in their blankets, as the squaws do the pappooses; and they brought them up into the land of braves, and gave them villages and hunting-grounds; but they could do nothing but sit shivering by the fire. They were afraid of the rifles of the Colony men, and they deserted the Iroquois. They are worse than women – they are dogs! They are little dogs, that run barking at our heels, and dare not bite! It is a shame for a warrior to fall into their hands. The death of the brave warrior, in the midst of his enemies, is the triumph of his glory. The Great Spirit smiles, as the warrior endures the torture, and lifts him up to the happy hunting-grounds with the hand of a father; while his name goes down in the traditions of his enemies, as a brave who died without fear! But I am ashamed. The Tuscaroras have no traditions! They are dogs! and however so brave I may be, my name will be forgotten, as though I died in the midst of dogs!
"The Oneidas are liars! They have forgotten how to be brave. They live with the dogs of the Tuscaroras, and think they are men. They smile in the faces of the red-men, and throw their hatchets at their backs. They sit down and listen to the medicine-men, (missionaries,) of the pale-faces, and learn new traditions. They forget that they are Indians, and try to worship the Great Spirit of the pale-faces. They are liars; and I am ashamed to die in the midst of liars and dogs!"
These contemptuous words excited the anger of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras to the highest degree; and with a shout of rage, tomahawks were brandished, and knives drawn from their belts, while three or four of them darted forward with the determination of at once terminating the life of the insulting Seneca; but at a gesture from Eagle's-Wing, they retired.
"Poor thief of a Seneca!" said Eagle's-Wing, "whose sharpest weapon is that of a woman; he can only hurt his enemies with his tongue. If we had him in our villages, we would put on him the dress of a squaw, that he might scold, while the warriors stood around and laughed! It is a pity that an Iroquois can only hurt his enemies with his tongue. I have killed a great many Senecas; they all die like women, and scream when they feel the knife on their scalps. I have got some of them here," throwing back his blanket, and displaying to the passionate eyes of the Seneca three or four gory scalps. "They are not fit for a warrior to wear; and I will not hang them in the council-room of my nation. I will give them to the pappooses to play with," and turning with a gesture of contempt he walked back into the crowd of Indians.
But while the preparations were being made for the torture of Panther, Barton and his friends had concluded their arrangements for their return on the next day to the settlements. But little preparation was necessary, and the possession of the horses had obviated the greatest difficulty in their removal. There was little or nothing to be transported, as the Senecas had destroyed nearly every valuable upon the premises.
Their arrangements were all made, and that peculiar and natural solemnity of feeling, which attends the abandonment of a cherished home, laid waste and desolate, prevented any continued conversation.
"The friendly Indians will accompany us a portion of the way, I suppose," said Barton; "but only for a few miles, as their path lies northward, while ours is more to the eastward. They will, doubtless, take their prisoner with them."
"That would be an useless trouble, I should think," said Ralph. "It would be better for them to let him go at once. But perhaps, as a matter of pride, they wish to display a Seneca chief in their villages, as a prisoner."
It was at this moment, that the shout was heard, which attended the ebullition of anger on the part of the Indians at the contemptuous language of Panther. Each individual of the party, excepting Ichabod and Singing-Bird, started; – it recalled, for a moment, with vivid distinctness, the memory of the perils from which they had just escaped.
"What is the meaning of that shout?" asked Barton.
"It is, perhaps, an attempt to terrify their prisoner," said Ralph, "or perhaps it may be," and he started at the sudden conjecture, rising hastily upon his feet, "that they are about to put him to torture."
"Oh! they will not do that!" exclaimed Ralph. "It cannot be, that Eagle's-Wing can imitate the cold-blooded cruelty of Panther. Say it is not so, Singing-Bird."
"Eagle's-Wing great chief," said the Indian, quietly, "he know how to punish enemy."
Ruth seemed astonished by this unlooked-for confirmation of her fears.
"Ralph! Ichabod!" said she, "prevent this murder, if possible. Do not let such a horrid act sully our last recollections of this place."
Ichabod bowed his head for a moment with a shudder, and then said:
"Miss Ruth, all people have their customs; an Englishman shuts up his prisoners in old hulks, where they die of foul air, and filthiness, and starvation; and the most civilized people, will punish their prisoners in some way; and an Injin can't be expected to be better than those that have some other light than the light of Natur' to walk by. It's their way, Miss Ruth – it's their way; and there's no use trying to prevent it."
"I will go," she answered; "I will beg for his life; perhaps I may not plead in vain."
"Don't do so, Miss Ruth – it's no use. Their blood is up; and there is no power in this world strong enough to control them, but force, and that we haven't got."
"But there is a Power above us and them, which may touch their hearts. I will go."
Seeing that she was determined to venture among the savages, on this – as Ichabod, as well as the others also, thought – bootless errand, the whole party accompanied her, and they proceeded hastily towards the grove. As they reached the place where the Indians were gathered, they found them busy in their preparations. A large number of pine knots had been collected, and a pile of pointed splinters, the object of which was apparent to them all. The Seneca, fastened to the tree, was surveying the preparations with a look of indifference or contempt; but as Barton and his party came in sight, his eyes rolled over them with glances of uncontrollable hatred. Eagle's-Wing was quietly directing the preparations.
Barton approached the Tuscarora. "For Heaven's sake, Eagle's-Wing, what do all these arrangements mean? It cannot be that you will torture this Seneca. Let him go, Eagle's-Wing. You have done me many a friendly deed, lately – add this to the number."
"The hearts of the pale-faces are soft," said Eagle's-Wing. "Let my father and his friends go back to their dwelling. The Seneca must die."
Ralph, in turn, besought the Tuscarora to desist from his purpose. He used all the arguments which he could summon to his aid, growing out of the present condition of the Colonies, and their desire to keep on peaceful terms with the hostile Indians of the Six Nations; but to no purpose. Eagle's-Wing listened with courtesy, but declared that the Seneca must die.
"Old friend," said Ichabod, "you'll give me credit for understanding Injin natur' pretty well, and that I never make it a point to interfere in their lawful customs and amusements; but I can't help saying, now, that this is a risky speculation. I never meant to call on you for payment of any balance of account between us; but there's no disguising that you do owe a little to me on the score of having saved your scalp-lock, ere now; but give me that Seneca, and I will balance the books."
"I owe my brother my life, and it is his," said Eagle's-Wing. "Let my brother take it, if he will; it is just. But the Seneca shall go with me into the happy hunting-grounds of my nation. He shall go before me as my prisoner."
"Let us go back, Miss Ruth," said Ichabod. "These Injins are perfectly set in their way. I knowed it was of no use. They won't imitate white people in their conduct, any more than they will in their clothes."
At these repeated failures, it must be confessed that Ruth almost despaired of success. Yet she could not suffer the Seneca thus to be murdered, without making one appeal in his behalf. Tears filled her eyes as she approached the Tuscarora.
"Eagle's-Wing," said she, smiling through her tears, "you have refused Panther to my friends, that you might give him to me. Is it not so?"
This pertinacity on the part of the pale-faces seemed partially to irritate the Tuscarora; but he subdued the momentary flash of anger, and answered quietly:
"The hearts of the pale-face women are soft; they cannot look on the death of a warrior in the midst of his enemies. Let the pale-face girl go back with her friends."
"You cannot mean to do this, Eagle's-Wing – you, who have been so gentle and kind to us —cannot do this murder."
"The Seneca must die," was the answer.
"Is it right, Eagle's-Wing, to kill Panther thus, in cold blood? It is a great crime, both by the laws of men and of God."
"Our traditions have not told us so," answered the Tuscarora. "They tell us that we must do so, if we wish to please the Great Spirit."
"But have you never heard of any other tradition? Have you not heard the story of the life and death of the Redeemer of the world, and of the truths that he taught?"
The Indian seemed struck with a sort of consternation, for a moment. He evidently recollected the teaching of the pious missionary of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras, who had done so much to give the minds of the Indians of those nations a proper direction, just previous to the Revolutionary struggle. After a short pause, he answered:
"The good missionary from the pale-faces has told us the story; but it was a long while ago; it was before the war between the Colony men and the Yengeese. I have almost forgotten it. If I was a pale-face, I should love it very much. But an Indian must follow the traditions of his fathers."
"I know who you mean, Eagle's-Wing. It was Kirtland who taught you that story. I am sorry that you should so soon have forgotten it. He was a good man and told you the truth. He told you that you must not persecute your enemies; but that you must forgive them, and that the Great Spirit will like you better for it."
"How know that?" asked Eagle's-Wing abruptly, and with a kind of superstitious feeling, that Ruth should be able to repeat the instructions which, in his ignorance, he supposed she could not have understood, without having listened to the missionary, herself. "How know that! That was great many years ago, when the pale-face girl was a child."
"I know that he told you so," replied Ruth, "because he must have told you what the new tradition was. He told you that the Redeemer came down from Heaven, and how he died because he loved all the nations and people of the world; and how he told them that they must all love one another like brothers. Would it not be better, Eagle's-Wing, if all the pale-faces and all the Indians thought so?"
The Tuscarora cast down his eyes, while he answered: "It would be better, if they would think so; but they do not. If the pale-faces do not, how can the Indians think so?"
"It is only the bad men among the pale-faces who think otherwise. There are a great many good men who always act upon this truth. If it would be better for everybody to follow this teaching, it is a good thing for those who do, even if a great many do not. Is it not so, Eagle's-Wing?"
Eagle's-Wing turned away – his savage heart evidently touched by this re-awakening of old recollections; but in the act of doing so, his eyes fell upon the Seneca, who was surveying him and Ruth, with a look of curious interest. The bitter taunt of Panther occurred to him, and those cruel instincts which had been nearly overcome, were kindled again with renewed force. Turning towards Ruth, he coldly answered:
"It is a good tradition. I will not deny it; but it is a pale-face tradition. The Great-Teacher was not a red man; he was a pale-face. The pale-face girl must go back with her friends. The Seneca shall die."
The color fled from the face of Ruth, and for a moment she looked as if she would have fallen to the ground. Ralph was springing forward to assist her, when a new and more heroic strength seemed to sustain and inspire her. Advancing towards Eagle's-Wing, she laid her hand upon his arm and exclaimed —
"You shall not do this murder, Eagle's-Wing. Your own heart tells you that it is wrong. The Seneca is a bloody, guilty man; but God – the same God who looks down on the pale-face and the Indian – shall punish you. You shall not do it. I will keep this great crime from your soul, and you will thank me for it, some day. See here, you shall see what I will do;" and she ran to the tree where Panther was confined. The Indians hastened forward, yet seemingly without the intent to resist her purpose. The daring energy which inspired her, and the lofty look of innocent boldness, awed them into silence. With a rapidity she could not have equalled at another time, she unfastened the withes with which the Seneca was bound, and as rapidly returned to the side of Eagle's-Wing. "See," she said, "he is free!" Again she laid her hand upon the arm of the Tuscarora, while all eyes were watching the motions of Panther, who seemed stupefied with the curious scene. As the withes fell at his feet, he straightened his form, and glared slowly around on the assembled warriors. For a moment his eyes fell upon Ruth, with a look of awe, such as a debased human creature might be supposed to cast upon a more exalted being: then slowly, and as if he expected his attempt to be resisted, he moved from the tree, yet with his eyes firmly fastened upon the face of Eagle's-Wing. The latter stood erect, his nostrils dilated, and his eyes flashing, as if about to spring upon the escaping prisoner, yet restrained by the gentle hand upon his arm, which, without the exertion of physical strength, seemed to bind him to the ground. Creeping as stealthily as the animal from which he derived his name, the Seneca still moved away, but with his face partially turned towards the group which he was leaving. A few moments, and he had disappeared in the forest.
A spasmodic shudder passed over the frame of the Tuscarora chief; then he turned towards Ruth, with a smile upon his face and a tear in his eye, as he said. "It is well – let the Seneca go."
