CONTAINING SOME PARTICULARS OF THE HISTORY OF THE TWO DELAWARES AND OF BAPTISTE. THE LATTER RETURNS WITH REGINALD TO MOOSHANNE, THE RESIDENCE OF COLONEL BRANDON.

“I fear he will die!” said Reginald, in a tone of the deepest grief, as he stooped over the inanimate form of the wounded boy.

“Die!” said the War–Eagle, almost fiercely; “yes, he will die! but not by the bite of yonder serpent,” pointing to the body of the Wyandot: “He will die when the Great Spirit orders it; but before he dies, the murderers of his father shall hear his war–whoop! His tomahawk shall be red in their blood; their scalps shall hang at his belt! then Wingenund may go to his ancient people in the happy hunting fields!”

“My brother,” said Reginald, earnestly, and still supporting the insensible frame of Wingenund, “do not lead this youth to shed the white man’s blood! He cannot call back those who are gone! We have a book which the Great Spirit gave to our forefathers; it speaks His own words, and He tells us, ‘Vengeance is mine;’ and He also tells us that if we would please Him, we must forgive those who have injured us: His arrows are very sharp; His anger is fierce; His justice is sure. Leave Him to punish those bad men, and teach the ‘well–beloved’ to be the white man’s friend.”

For a minute the chief seemed buried in deep thought; then suddenly starting from his reverie, he spoke a few words in a low tone to one of his men, who instantly moved away, and disappeared in the forest.

War–Eagle then replied in a tone rather of melancholy than of reproof, “The Great Spirit never speaks to the red man in words: if He is angry, He thunders; if He is pleased, He sends rain and sunshine, to make the corn and fruits to grow, and sweet grass to fatten the deer. My brother says the Great Spirit has spoken plainly to the white man in words, and that those words are painted in a book. War–Eagle believes it because my brother’s tongue is not forked: but he would ask,—Did those white men, who came in the night like wolves to the couch of the fawn, who murdered the father, the kindred, the little sisters of Wingenund,—did those men hear the Great Spirit’s words?”

“My brother,” said Reginald, “there are among white men many wolves and serpents: men whose hands are bloody, and their tongue forked. The Great Spirit does not forbid to punish, or even to kill such men, in defence of ourselves, our wigwams, our children, or our friend. He is not angry with War–Eagle for striking down that Huron whose hand was raised to shed his brother’s blood; but when the grass of many seasons has grown over the graves of those who were injured, then the Great Spirit commands man to let his anger sleep, to bury his hatchet, and to forgive.”

“It may be so,” said War–Eagle, gravely; “the Good Father in the Western Hunting–ground has said the same; Olitipa, whose voice is like the mockingbird, and who speaks only truth, she has spoken the same; but it is very dark, War–Eagle cannot see it.”

“Who is the Prairie–bird?” inquired Reginald, whose curiosity had twice been excited by the mention of this extraordinary name.

Before the chief could reply, the Indian, whom he had sent, returned with a mess made from several leaves, herbs, and roots, which he had bruised and reduced to a kind of glutinous pulp. War–Eagle now took off the bandage from the youth’s arm: after examining it carefully, and applying some of the above mixture to both the orifices of the wound, he bound it again, more strongly and skilfully than before; then taking him in his arms, as if he had been a little child, he carried him down to the rivulet; and by dint of bathing his temples and rubbing forcibly his hands and feet, soon restored the suspended animation.

When he was recovered so far as to be able to speak, Reginald, sitting down by him, said a thousand kind things to him, such as were prompted by the gratitude of a generous heart.

While they were conversing, the guide drew near to the chief; and pointing to the body of the Wyandot, which still lay where he had fallen, said, “He is surely dead!”

“He is so,” replied the other, gravely; “when War–Eagle is angry he does not strike his enemy’s forehead twice.”

The guide now turned over the body; and seeing that the iron point of the war–club had entered just above the eyes, and had sunk deep into the brain, he knew that instant death must have ensued. The chief calling the two Indians, desired them to bury the body where it would be safe from wolves and buzzards. “But,” he added, sternly, “let not the spot be marked for his kindred: he died like a dog, and none should lament him.”

As they turned away to execute these orders, the guide observed to the chief “that Huron has not been long with the War–Eagle.”

“True,—but how does the Grande–HÂche know it?”

“His eye has been on him more than once; Grande–HÂche sees, but he can hold his tongue.”

“Grande–HÂche is a warrior,” replied the chief: “he has seen many things; he has talked with the wise men; does he know why yon Huron wished to kill the young white brave?”

“He does,” said Grande–HÂche; but as he did not of himself state what he knew, it would have been contrary to the usages of Indian courtesy to have questioned him further.

Baptiste now diverting the conversation to another topic, said, “It is singular that War–Eagle, on a war–path far from his village, should have only strangers with him excepting the youth who is wounded!”

“What means the Grande–HÂche?”

“He means,” replied the guide, “that the other two, now gone to bury the Huron, are Southern men[13]—they are not LenapÉ.”

“Grande–HÂche has ears and eyes open—how can he know that he speaks truth?” said the chief.

“Because he has eyes and ears;” replied the guide. “Does War–Eagle think that Grande–HÂche has hunted twenty years among the red nations, and knows not yet the mocassin and tongue of a Shawanon? I knew them at a glance,” added he, with shrewd smile, “as well as I knew the War–Eagle in the batteau, though both he and they have put on their faces the paint of the Mengwe.”[14]

“Grande–HÂche speaks truth,” replied the chief dryly, without showing the surprise and annoyance that he felt at the penetration of the guide. “The men are Shawanons, they hunt with the LenapÉ, beyond the great river—they are brothers.”

So saying, he broke off the conversation, and turning towards Wingenund, saw that he was talking as earnestly and freely with Reginald as if they had been long intimate; while he contemplated this friendly intercourse with a smile of satisfaction, the guide felt himself called upon to remind his companion that the sun was getting low, that they had yet some miles to walk, and that the Colonel would be anxious and impatient.

“True,” said Reginald, springing up, “I must take leave of my brother, and of my young preserver; but we shall meet again; we will hunt together, and be friends.”

“Let it be so,” said the lad, with an ardour which he cared not to conceal; “and Wingenund will tell Prairie–bird that the white warrior who drew War–Eagle from the deep water will come to see her, and she will thank him.”

While the boy was speaking, the chief turned away, and busied himself in fastening a thong halter firmly to the head of Nekimi, whom he again led to his new master.

Reginald now undid from his waist the silver buckled belt with the couteau–de–chasse which it supported, and buckling it round the youth, he said, “Wingenund must wear this, and must not forget his white friend.”

The boy’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, as he received this gift; but he was still too weak to stand, and he only murmured, in a low voice, “Wingenund will not forget.”

The chief now taking the guide aside said to him, in his own language, “How is my white brother called?”

“I call him ‘Master Reginald.’”[15]

After one or two ludicrous attempts at an imitation, War–Eagle shook his head, saying, “It is not good—may his LenapÉ friend call him ‘Netis?’”[16]

As soon as Reginald was informed of what had passed, and of the meaning of his new name, he accepted it with pleasure, and Wingenund repeated it again and again as our hero bid him farewell.

War–Eagle insisted upon accompanying him, and leading Nekimi through the forest, until they reached the broad wheel track which passed Colonel Brandon’s house, and thence led through other clearings to the village of Marietta. As they went along, Reginald desired Baptiste in a whisper to talk with the chief, and endeavour to draw from him what article of dress, ornament or use, he would most value, as he was anxious to make his Indian brother a present; and the guide, by skilfully manoeuvring his conversation, soon learnt that War–Eagle had, on this last excursion, lost his rifle, and that he was also short of ammunition. They now emerged from the forest upon the great road, if it might be so called, leading to Marietta; and the Indian putting the halter of Nekimi into Reginald’s hand, said that he would return to his camp. Our hero, taking him by the hand, said, “Netis wishes to see his brother at this spot to–morrow at noon.”

“War–Eagle will come,” was the brief reply; and shaking both the white men cordially by the hand, he turned and disappeared among the trees.

Reginald and the guide were within a few miles of Colonel Brandon’s house; but they could not proceed very fast, owing to the evident reluctance shown by Nekimi to follow his new master; he neighed, snorted, jumped, and played all manner of pranks in his endeavour to get loose; but this War–Eagle had foreseen, and the tough halter of undressed hide was well enough secured to defy all his efforts at escape.

“This has been a strange day of adventures, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “it has been to me one of the pleasantest of my life!”

“Why, Master Reginald, it has been a day of events, such as they are; you have been twice at the outside edge of t’other world, with water and cold iron.”

“Oh, there was not much harm in the water,” said Reginald, laughing; “had it not been for the knock which one of the horses gave me on the head; but that villainous attempt of the Huron makes me shudder;—to offer a man food, and stab him while he is taking it! I thought such a thing was unknown in Indian history.”

“It is almost,” said the guide. “But a Huron—and a Dahcotah!” added he, bitterly—“would murder a brother to gratify revenge.”

“But I had never injured him, Baptiste.”

“His memory is better than yours, Master Reginald. He and his brother were two of the leading warriors in that unfortunate affair where St. Clair was beat by the Ingians, upon the north fork of the Miami. I was there, too, and the ‘Doctor’s’ pills did some service—but not much to signify, neither. Colonel Brandon did all that man could do, but at last he was forced back. Well, that TarhÉ and his brother, first in the pursuit, killed two of our poor fellows, and were scalping ‘em, when the Colonel called out to ‘em, and fired. He killed TarhÉ’s brother dead. I see’d it all; and I took a long squint with the Doctor at TarhÉ, which only lamed his arm a bit; for, you see, Master Reginald, I was a long ways off; and a chap don’t shoot quite so fine when he’s a retreatin’ double–quick, with a few hundred red–skins yellin’ in his rear. However, that TarhÉ has been more than once down at Marietta, and round the neighbours’ clearins; and he knowed you, Master Reginald, just as well as a Kentucky hog knows an acorn.”

“Now I understand it, so far, Baptiste. But if the fellow wanted to take my life, why did he not hide in the laurel–thicket, and shoot me as I passed? Why did he make the attempt where my death was sure to be revenged?”

“Now, Master Reginald, you are asking a poor ignorant crittur,—who knows nought but a little huntin’, and, may be, knows a beaver–skin from a buffalo–hide,—all the ins and outs of a red Ingian’s crooked mind! May be, he wanted to force War–Eagle into shedding white man’s blood. I saw that one of those Shawanons was up to his game; and if a general skrimmage had come, they’d have tried to do for me. Or, perhaps, when he found his knife so convenient to the back of your neck, he couldn’t lose the chance, for the bad spirit had got hold of him.”

“By heavens!” cried Reginald, “I never can sufficiently admire the quickness, and the heroic courage of that boy, Wingenund! Did you see, Baptiste, how he drew that great knife slowly out of his wounded arm; and how all the time he smiled upon War–Eagle, as if to show him that he despised the pain?”

“He is a brave youth,” said the guide. “I know the stock he comes from: if he were a coward, the grisly bear might breed sheep!”

“Pray tell me something of his parents, and of his story. Is he related to War–Eagle?”

“He is,” said the guide. “They are the children of two brothers. War–Eagle of the eldest; Wingenund of the youngest.”

“Are these two brothers alive, Baptiste?”

“No: both were murdered by the white men, in time of peace, without provocation. There was a third brother, who, happening to be absent from the village on a hunt, escaped. He has now gone to the far west, beyond the great river. Both the War–Eagle and the boy are called his sons; and the latter, as he told us to–day, lives in his lodge.”

“Then all these three brothers were the children of Wingenund?”

“Yes.”

“And who was he?”

“One of the old LenapÉ:—first in council, and foremost in the fight! I remember him well when I was a boy,” said the guide, warming with his subject. “He taught me to follow a trail, and to travel in the woods, with no other guide than the wind, the stars, and the bark of the trees; and before I was as old as that boy, his grandson, he lent me his rifle to shoot the first Dahcotah as ever I killed.”

“What was the party, Baptiste?” said Reginald (anxious to keep the guide from the subject of the Dahcotahs), “what party was it that committed the atrocious murder upon the Indians in time of peace?”

“Why, Master Reginald, though you were but a youngster, don’t you remember hearing that twelve or fourteen years ago a party of white men, led by Williamson, Harvey, and some other rough chaps from the Kentucky side, fell upon a village of friendly Indians on the banks of Tuscarawas river, and murdered all they found—man, woman, and child? Some of these poor red–skins had been made Christians, and were called Moravians; and their village as was destroyed was called by some outlandish name, too long by half for me to speak or to remember.[17] They had given over their own nat’ral life of smoking, hunting, and fighting, and did nothing but plant, and sow, and pray! And, after all, that’s the way they was served, Master Reginald!”

“Horrible and disgraceful cruelty!” said the young man: and rather thinking aloud, than addressing his companion, he added, “It is no wonder that the Indians should receive so unwillingly Christian precepts, when they have such examples of Christian practice. I am not surprised that War–Eagle should find it hard to forgive such injuries.”

“And yet you are surprised, Master Reginald,” said the guide, in a deep voice, almost hoarse from repressed emotion, “that I do not forgive the Dahcotah? Did he not burn the log–hut where I was born and raised? Did he not murder those who gave me birth? Did he not drive me out, a child, into the woods, to live by berries, or wild fruits, or what I could find or kill? Is not my father’s scalp (not half revenged!) now hanging before a Dahcotah lodge! Oh! let me come but within rifle range of the throat–cutter,[18] and if he comes off with a whole skin, I will forgive him!”

Our hero, seeing that further discussion would only increase an excitement which already mastered his companion’s self–control, said to him kindly, “Well, Baptiste, it must be owned that you have received from these people deep, irreparable wrong! You are a man, and would not pay them in their own base coin, by killing one of their squaws or children: but if it is ever your fortune to meet them in a fair stand–up fight, when I am with you, then you shall see that I can stand by a friend, and share in his just feelings of resentment.”

“I know it—I know it, Master Reginald,” said the guide, grasping the hand extended to him; and having now recovered an equanimity which nothing but the Dahcotah subject ever disturbed, he added,

“If you and I were to take a summer–hunt towards the mountains, with that light–limbed War–Eagle, who has the eyes, and ears, and the spring of a painter[19], we might p’raps bring in a handsome load o’ skins, and may be, pay off the throat–cutters an old debt or two.”

“It is more likely than you imagine, Baptiste, that we should make an excursion to the West this spring; for my father told me the other day—but see, there he is, with Lucy on his arm, and Aunt Mary, and Wolf by her side!”

As he said this, the young man bounded forward, and in a moment was in the midst of them, kissing his sister, shaking his father and Aunt Mary affectionately by the hand, and patting Wolf’s great shaggy head.

“Dear Reginald! what has kept you so long?” said Lucy, reproachfully; “where can you have been? Why, your clothes are all soiled; and see, papa,” she added, turning deadly pale; “there is blood upon his hunting–shirt and upon his cheek!”

“What a little coward art thou,” said Reginald, “to be the daughter of a soldier! Why, Lucy, the few drops of blood upon my clothes must surely have come from your cheeks, which are as pale as a magnolia flower! Harkee, Lucy, I must do something to drive the rosy current back to its proper channel; come here, girl:” and bending her head aside, he whispered something in her ear.

Never was the effect of magic more rapid, or more potent; for in an instant the obedient blood rushed to the fair girl’s cheek, suffusing at the same time her neck and temples with the same glowing hue: casting upon her brother a look at once playful and appealing, she pinched his ear between her tiny fingers till he fairly begged pardon, and promised not to do so again.

As it was now evident that Reginald was not much hurt, Lucy turned her eyes towards the hunter, who approached, leading Nekimi still snorting, prancing, and curvetting at the full length of his laryette. “Baptiste,” said the Colonel, “where have you found that wild, untamed animal?”

“He belongs,” said the hunter, “to Master Reginald.”

The Colonel looked to his son for an explanation, who giving an arm to his sister, while the Colonel escorted Aunt Mary, turned homewards, and narrated, as they went, the events described in this and the foregoing chapter.