CHAPTER XI. (3)

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CONTAINING A TREATY BETWEEN THE CROWS AND DELAWARES, AND THE DEATH OF AN INDIAN CHIEF.

It is unnecessary to describe at length the occupations of the party during the remainder of this eventful day; how the reunited brother and sister called up a thousand long–stored, endearing remembrances; how they looked upon the childish relics preserved by the missionary, and how, after interchanging a rapid but interesting sketch of each other’s history, they turned again to share with him and with Reginald the melancholy and affecting duty of attending upon the dying chieftain. His sufferings were now less acute, but mortification had extended itself rapidly, and threatened hourly to terminate them altogether, by seizing upon the vitals. His mind seemed tranquil and collected as ever, only the watchful missionary, observing that he listened more attentively to the voice of Prairie–bird than to any other, he yielded his place beside the dying man to her, entreating her to spare no efforts that might lead him, by the appointed path, to the Fountain of Mercy.

Willingly did the maiden resume the task on which she had been employed during the greater part of the preceding night; and after praying fervently for a blessing on her labours, she proceeded to explain to him again, in his own language, some of the simplest and most affecting truths of the Gospel dispensation.

What an interesting spectacle for the contemplation of a Christian philosopher! A heathen warrior, whose youth had been nurtured with tales of fierce reprisal and revenge, whose path in life had been marked with blood, war being at once his pleasure and his pride, stretched now upon the ground, still in the prime of manhood, yet with shortening breath and ebbing strength listening with deep attention to the words of hope and consolation pronounced by the lips of her who had been, through life, the secretly treasured idol of his heart! Perhaps this earthly love, purified as it had long been from passion and ennobled by the sacrifice that he had made to friendship, was the channel through which the mysterious influences of the Divine Spirit were appointed to flow; for his eager ear lost not a word of what she uttered, and his heart was softened to receive from her lips, truths against which, if delivered by another, its early prejudices might have rebelled.

Partly by the religious creed of his race, and partly by former conversation with herself and the missionary, he was already impressed with a just view of the principal attributes of Deity,—His omnipotence, goodness, and eternity. The chief endeavour of Prairie–bird was now to convince him that the God of the Christians addressed the same word, the same promises and invitations to the Indians as to them, and that they also were included in the vast and mysterious scheme of redemption; for this purpose she translated for him, into the Delaware tongue, some of those magnificent passages in Isaiah wherein the Almighty, after declaring his unity and irresistible power, sends forth his gracious promises to the uttermost parts of the earth, to the isles, to the wilderness, to the inhabitants of the mountains, and those that dwell among the rocks, and concludes with the assurance, “I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known. I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight; these things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.”

War–Eagle listened attentively, and gave the whole strength of his mind to the consideration of the subject propounded! Some of these truths he had heard before, but they had taken no fixed root, and had rather been dismissed unheeded, than weighed and rejected. Now they presented themselves under a very different aspect; for they were pressed upon him with the most affectionate earnestness by the one whom he looked up to as the most gifted and the most guileless of human beings; and the Black Father also, for whom he entertained the highest esteem and regard, and told him repeatedly that every truth, every thing necessary for happiness after death, was written in that book from which she was now reading; that it was, in short, the written command of Him whom he had from his youth addressed as the Great Spirit.

Deeply moved by these reflections (aided as they may perhaps have been by the operations of a mightier influence), the chief propounded to his young instructress several inquiries, which it rejoiced her to hear, as they indicated a softened and teachable spirit. Neither were they difficult for her to answer, as she was familiar with almost every page of the volume before her, and thus knew where to seek at once a solution of every doubt and difficulty that occurred to her simple–minded and ingenuous patient.

While she was engaged in this interesting and truly Christian task, Reginald, Ethelston, and the missionary sate with Wingenund, and strove to soothe and tranquillise the agitation into which the late disaster had thrown him. Although somewhat weakened by loss of blood, he had recovered his faculties, both of body and mind; but all the well–meant endeavours of his friends to raise him from the deep depression of spirits into which he had fallen were exerted in vain. He replied gently, and without petulance, to various questions that they put to him, and then sank again into desponding gloom, musing over the fading fortunes of his family and of his tribe,—now about to lose him who was the pride, the support, and the glory of both.

After several unsuccessful attempts, Ethelston touched at length upon a topic which had in some degree the effect of arresting his attention and engaging the more active powers of his mind; for on reminding the youth that the Crows were to visit the camp on the morrow, to interchange presents and conclude the treaty of peace, Wingenund proposed to Reginald that he should summon Baptiste and Pierre, and concert, with their advice, the course that it might be advisable to pursue.

While they were employed in considering and discussing deliberately the various plans proposed, Paul MÜller and Prairie–bird continued, sometimes together, and sometimes alternately, their attendance upon War–Eagle, whose strength was rapidly declining, although his intellect remained clear and unimpaired. Food he was unable to taste; but the grateful smile with which he received now and then a cup of water from the hand of Prairie–bird touched her sensibly; and there was a serene composure upon his countenance, which encouraged her to hope that his mind was in a peaceful frame, and that thoughts of war and strife were gradually giving place to better and holier meditations.

The sun went down, evening fell, and the darkening hours of night found the maiden still unwearied at her post, seizing, with instinctive tact, every opportunity offered by his inquiries or remarks for quoting to him from the Book of Life some appropriate and consoling truth; nor did she retire to rest until she felt assured that exhausted nature had extended the boon of slumber to her suffering patient.

Not even then did the faithful Lita quit the place that she had chosen at the feet of the warrior whom she had so long worshipped in secret; noticed or unnoticed, thanked or unthanked, whether hungry, or thirsty, or sleepless, all was the same to her. In life her love had been either unknown or despised; and now the last faint glimmerings of hope were to be extinguished, without even the wretched consolation of pity. During the watches of that night there were tears upon the pillow of Prairie–bird; the eyes of Wingenund were sleepless, and his heart loaded with sorrow. Sharp and frequent were the pangs and shooting–pains that broke the rest of the departing chief; yet was there, perhaps, none amongst them all whose sufferings were not light in comparison with the silent and hopeless anguish of the Comanche girl.

The morning dawned with all the fresh beauty of summer in that mountain region; and, agreeably to the resolution formed at the council held on the preceding evening, the whole party was summoned to parade with their best arms and accoutrements, so as to produce upon the Indians a due impression of their formidable strength; at the same time that various bales were unpacked, from which were selected the presents intended for the principal chiefs and braves.

No great change had taken place in the state of War–Eagle, but Wingenund had spent an hour with him alone; during which, among other subjects of greater importance, he had mentioned the expected visit of the Crows, and the conditions of the treaty which it was proposed to make with them. To these the chief had given his assent, and had deputed his young brother to act in his stead; after which he turned again with renewed eagerness and anxiety to the subjects suggested to him by Prairie–bird and the missionary.

The sun was not very high in the heaven, when the band of Crows were seen descending the hill towards the encampment. They were led by White–bull, accompanied by Besha, and were only twelve in number, all magnificently clad in dresses of deer–skin, ornamented with coloured feathers, stained quills, scalp–locks, and the other adjuncts of Crow chivalry. Besha apologised for the scantiness of the deputation, stating, that during the past night an attempt had been made by the Black–feet to rescue their prisoners; and although it had not been successful, the Crows could not venture, in the neighbourhood of such dangerous foes, to weaken the defence of their camp, by sending away a large body of its best warriors. To this a suitable and complimentary reply having been made, the business of the day commenced by presenting food to the Upsaroka guests.

A circle having been made, the white hunters were ranged on one side of it, and the Delawares on the other: the former, being all armed with rifles, and pistols, and hunting–knives, presented a very warlike appearance; while the sinewy and weather–beaten frames of the latter, armed as they were with rifle, war–club, and scalp–knife, inspired the observant leader of the Crows with no wish to bring his band into hostile collision with such a party. In the centre were seated Reginald Brandon, Wingenund, and Ethelston, Pierre having taken his place near the latter, and Baptiste occupying his usual station beside his young master, and leaning upon his enormous hatchet. If the intentions of White–bull were treacherous, he found no greater encouragement to his hopes from a survey of the leaders,—men of powerful form, and grave, determined aspect, with the exception of Wingenund, whose youth and slight figure might have led a stranger to fear him less as an opponent. He had, however, given such proof of his skill, courage, and activity in Indian warfare, that the Crows did not look upon him with less respect than upon the more experienced men by whom he was surrounded.

When the Upsaroka deputation had finished the portion of bison–meat set before them, Reginald gave them a treat, such as they had never before enjoyed, in the shape of a tin–cup full of coffee, sweetened with sugar, which they passed round, and tasted at first with some reluctance, owing to its dark colour, taking it for “Great Medicine.” After sipping it once or twice, however, they seemed to find it more palatable, and drank all that was offered to them, and then the pipe was lighted and smoked with due solemnity.

When these preliminaries were concluded, the business of the day was entered upon, and was conducted with equal caution and distrust on both sides; Besha being, of course, the interpreter, and moulding the respective communications in the manner most likely, according to his views, to ensure the continuance of the truce agreed upon; because he had been most distinctly warned by Wingenund, that he would receive no present until all the terms of the treaty were duly fulfilled, and that then he might expect one liberal enough to adorn the wigwam of a chief. The crafty horse–dealer had, at the same time, contrived to persuade the Crows that the white men were secretly disinclined to the treaty, and that they could only be induced to observe it by his own cunning and contrivance.

This being the relative position of the parties, it may well be imagined that the diplomatic arrangements were neither very long nor difficult, and it was finally agreed that the Crows should, when called upon, supply the party with a trusty guide, who should lead them eastward by the route on which they would find the easiest travelling and the best supply of bison; that an alliance for mutual defence should exist between the parties so long as they were within the boundaries of the Crow country, but that they should never encamp nearer to each other than at a distance of twice the longflight of an arrow; that so soon as they should emerge from the defiles of the mountains, the Crows should supply their allies with twenty horses, some of those which they had brought from the settlements being travel–worn and exhausted; and that Besha was to have free leave to come and go from one encampment to the other at all hours of the day or night, in the event of any communication being necessary.

The allied band agreed, in consideration of the above conditions, to present the Crows with a certain number of bales of cloth, a score of blankets, and an ample supply of beads, paint, and knives; one–third of the amount to be paid on the delivery of the horses, and the remainder when the parties separated on the Great Prairie, at the eastern boundary of the Upsaroka country.

These terms having been written down by Reginald, he read them slowly one after the other, Wingenund repeating them to Besha, and he again translating them to White–bull, who nodded his approbation as they were successively recapitulated; after which Reginald and Ethelston, having signed their names in pencil, desired Besha and White–bull to affix their mark.

The former did so without hesitation; but the latter made all kinds of excuses, and looked extremely puzzled, whispering his doubts and fears to his interpreter, who, being a reckless fellow, and having seen more of the world, could scarce forbear laughing in his face.

In truth, the Crow chief, though brave and daring in the field, was not above the superstitions current in his tribe, and he entertained a kind of vague notion that, by putting his mark upon the paper, he brought himself under the power of the white man’s medicine.

Nevertheless, he was at length persuaded, and drew upon the paper, with a hand not unskilful, the broad forehead and projecting horns of a bison’s head, which design represented his consent to the treaty.

No sooner was the business concluded than the presents were brought forth, and distributed according to the terms prescribed, Reginald adding for the chief a hair–brush, in the back of which a small mirror was set. Never had such a curiosity been seen in the Crow country, and White–bull turned it over and over in his hand, contemplating it and himself in it with undisguised satisfaction, while Pierre whispered to Baptiste, “If Madame Bending–willow is in favour, she will have it before to–morrow.”

The Crows now took their leave, amid many protestations of friendship on both sides, and returned with all speed towards their own encampment, White–bull’s mind being divided between delight at the possession of his brush, and dread at the mysterious dangers he might have incurred by putting his mark upon the white man’s paper.

The departure of their wild allies left the party at the camp leisure to return to their ordinary avocations, and to the sad recollection of their chief’s condition; indeed, a very short time elapsed before he sent a message by Paul MÜller, desiring that they would all come to him without delay.

The tone of deep yet composed sadness in which it was delivered, announced to most of those who heard it that War–Eagle was drawing near to his end; and Reginald, passing his arm within that of Wingenund, whispered to him, as he went, such words of sympathy as he thought most like to soothe and console him.

“Dear Netis,” replied the youth, in a tone of the deepest melancholy, “you are very good, but there is no happiness more for Wingenund!”

“Say not so, my young brother; you are still in the early spring of life, and I hope, when these present sorrows are past, you will yet enjoy a long and happy day of summer.”

“Wingenund’s spring and summer are both gone! but he does not complain: it is the will of the Great Spirit, and Wingenund knows that what He does is right.”

As he said these words they reached the tent, and the day being extremely fine, the poles of that compartment were taken up, and the canvass folded back, at the request of the chief, that he might once more look upon the sun, and feel the fresh mountain breeze upon his cheek.

Lita had retired into the inner tent, and Prairie–bird was seated at his side, a cup of water being the only source of relief to which she from time to time had recourse to cool his lips and recruit his ebbing strength.

The whole party being gathered round him, Wingenund, Reginald, and Ethelston somewhat in advance of the rest, he addressed the former in a low but distinct voice, saying, “War–Eagle is going on the dark path, from which he will not return; Wingenund will be chief of the LenapÉ band; has he any thing to say while War–Eagle is yet chief?”

“He has,” replied the youth, in a voice tremulous from emotion; “a treaty has been made with the Upsaroka, does War–Eagle think it good?” He then proceeded to enumerate its several terms and conditions.

“It is good,” said the chief, after a few moments’ reflection: “only let Netis and Wingenund remember that the Upsaroka are double–tongued; they hate the Black–feet, and will be glad to spend my brother’s powder and blood in destroying their enemies. Let my brothers keep near the home–path, and not wander from it to please the Upsaroka. Is there more that my brother wishes to say?”

“There is more, my brother. Here are the four Osage captives taken among the Upsaroka. Their deeds of blood are known to War–Eagle. Let him say what shall be done with them.”

“Let them stand forward,” said the chief, raising himself with difficulty from the blanket–cushion against which he had been reclining.

They were accordingly brought to the front of the circle, and stood awaiting their doom with the fierce determined air of warriors who knew and feared it not. The eldest among them was a fine powerful man, who bore about him the marks of many a fray, and had been one of the leading braves who followed the fortunes of MahÉga. He it was who acted as spokesman in the dialogue that ensued.

War–Eagle. “Have the Washashee any thing to say that their lives should not be given to the slow fire?”

Osage. “The warriors of the Washashee talk with their hands, when their hands are not tied; they are not famous for their tongues.”

W. “Yet with their tongues they spoke smooth words to the LenapÉ: they called them brother; they ate, hunted, fought, and smoked with them, and then joined the Dahcotahs, to kill the women and children of their friends. If the tongues of the Washashee are not famous, they are forked.”

O. “MahÉga was the war–chief of his tribe; when he went upon the war–path, the Washashee followed. He is gone to the hunting–fields of the braves, and they are not afraid to follow him. When War–Eagle took his rifle and his club, and went out upon the war–path by night, his warriors followed in silence. Who among them said, ‘Where does War–Eagle go?’”

W. “War–Eagle never raised his rifle at a friend; he never called out his braves to burn the wigwam of his brother; there was never a scalp of woman or child taken by his hand. When he struck it was at an open foe, or to save or avenge a friend.” He added in a subdued tone, “And yet there is too much blood on the hands of War–Eagle; the Great Spirit is angry with him for it.”

The Osage made no reply. The missionary interchanged a whispered word with Prairie–bird, and the chief continued, addressing chiefly the Delawares in their own language; “My brothers, we often pray to the Great Spirit to forgive what we have done that is wrong. The Black Father and Olitipa have told War–Eagle the answer that he gives; it is written in the great book in which there are no lies: ‘The Great Spirit will forgive us, if we forgive our brother; if we refuse to forgive our brother, the Great Spirit will refuse to forgive us.’ War–Eagle has done many things wrong; he hopes the Great Spirit will forgive him. Shall he now kill the Washashee?” He then turned to the prisoners, and said, “Let their bands be cut, and let them return to their own people to tell them, that the LenapÉ hurt not women nor children, nor men whose hands are tied. Olitipa has read from the book that such is the will of the Great Spirit, whom the white men call by the name of God, and the heart of War–Eagle tells him that it is true.”

It is doubtful whether this speech caused greater surprise among his own followers, or among the Osages, whom it restored to life and liberty. Both, however, heard it with that absence of outward emotion which characterises the red–skin race in North America; so that Ethelston, who did not understand a word of the Delaware tongue, was perfectly unconscious of anything having been said that might materially affect the fortunes of the prisoners; and he was in momentary expectation of seeing them led away to suffer, according to the laws of Indian retribution, the deserved penalty of their cruelty and treachery.

While Pierre was informing him of what had occurred, the Osage spokesman resolved apparently to try the patience of the expiring chief to the uttermost, and said to him, with a sneer, “War–Eagle is very good to the Washashee; he knows that they have neither food nor arms; there is not one knife among the four: they are among the mountains, a whole moon’s journey from their village, surrounded by war–parties of the Upsaroka and Black–feet, and on their return path must pass the hunting–grounds of the Shiennes, the KiowÁs, the PÂnis, and the Mahas. War–Eagle would rather that they were starved, and their bones gnawed by the wolves, than see them die like warriors, and laugh at the LenapÉ in their death.”

Paul MÜller looked anxiously at the chief to mark what effect would be produced by this ungrateful and intemperate speech; and his apprehensions were much relieved when he heard War–Eagle reply, in a calm and unmoved tone: “There is no wonder that the Washashee think others are like themselves, false–hearted and double–tongued. Had the LenapÉ intended that the Washashee should be killed, they would have spared the Upsaroka and the wolves the task. War–Eagle intends that they should live to be ashamed of their bad deeds. Wingenund will see that they enter safely on the home–path. Now let them go; their words are bitter, and they can neither speak nor believe the truth. War–Eagle has no more time to waste with them.”

As he uttered this reproof, in a contemptuous rather an angry tone, the chief fell back much exhausted upon his cushion, and the leading Osage was about to make some violent reply, when Pierre, taking him by the arm, hurried him and his companions to the outer edge of the circle, saying to him, as he went, “Peace, fool! Is thy thick head so fond of tasting a LenapÉ tomahawk, that thou canst not hold thy tongue, when thy saucy wagging of it might cost thy life? Peace, I say, or in spite of the chief’s pardon, I will have thee and thy comrades tied down again like fresh–caught colts.”

Having spoken words to this effect to the reckless and grumbling Osage, Pierre re–entered the circle gathered round the chief, and found, on his return, that a general silence prevailed. Wingenund was sitting upon the ground, close to his brother, listening with the deepest attention to the injunctions and counsel which the latter was delivering, in a voice that became every moment more feeble and indistinct. None present could overhear what passed; but at the conclusion the two brothers sat for a few seconds in silence, each pressing his clenched hand upon the heart of the other, after which Wingenund retired a few paces back, while the chief, collecting his remaining strength, said aloud to his devoted followers: “War–Eagle is going to the land where his fathers dwell; he is sorry to leave his brothers, but it is the will of the Great Spirit, who is the Master of Life;[91] and when he speaks the LenapÉ are silent, and obey. When War–Eagle is gone, it is his wish that Wingenund should be chief of the band: the blood of Tamenund warms his heart; and though he has not seen many summers, his eyes have not been shut, nor have his ears been closed against the counsel of wise men. My brothers, you have the care of a great treasure, the care of Olitipa, the beloved daughter of Tamenund, the sister who has cleared away the cloud that hid the sun from War–Eagle, and the thorns that beset his path in the dark valley. My brothers, let not one of you leave her until she is safe at the white man’s boundary; and if you love War–Eagle, you will also love and obey Wingenund, and Netis his adopted brother.”

A deep suppressed murmur was the only reply made by the gloomy warriors around; but War–Eagle knew its import, and read its confirmation on the determined countenances of those who had so often followed him to strife and victory.

The mortal agony was at hand, and the chief, feeling its approach, looked suddenly round as if he missed some one who should be there: his utterance was scarcely articulate, but Prairie–bird caught the intended sound of Lita’s name, and flying into the tent, speedily returned, bringing with her the weeping girl. Again he contrived to make Prairie–bird understand his wish, that an armlet of beads that he wore should be taken off and hung round Lita’s neck; the chief smiled and said, “Lita has been faithful to Olitipa, and very good to War–Eagle; the Great Spirit will reward her.”

The destroyer was now rapidly tightening his fell coils round the vital organs, but the chief still retained sufficient strength to press the hand of each of his sorrowing friends in succession against that generous heart which must so soon cease to beat. Wingenund was the last; and as he stooped over his brother, whispered to him a word that reached the ear of Prairie–bird; and while it richly rewarded her pious and affectionate toil, lighted up at the same time the countenance of the dying man with a smile of triumph that bid defiance to the pangs of the grisly king of terrors. From the time that he received his fatal wounds, not a groan nor a murmur of complaint had escaped him; and when he resigned his parting breath, it was with the peaceful tranquillity of childhood falling asleep.

“My children,” said the missionary, solemnly, “War–Eagle, the son of Tamenund, is no more! In life none walked more uprightly than he, according to the light that was given to him! He gave up his life to save that of another, and after enduring grievous pains with the heroism of an Indian warrior, he died with a full hope and trust in the redeeming mercy of his God. Peace be with his soul; and may we all rejoin him hereafter in the land where separation and sorrow will be unknown!”


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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