 | CHAPTER II. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
“Night, in the meanwhile, came on; and the long howl of
the wolf, as he looked down from the crag, and waited for the
thick darkness in which to descend the valley, came freezingly
to the ear of Nagoochie. `Surely,' he said to himself, `the girl
of Occony will come back. She has too sweet a voice not to
keep her word. She will certainly come back.' While he
doubted, he believed. Indeed, though still a very young maiden,
the eyes of Jocassée had in them a great deal that was good for
little beside, than to persuade and force conviction; and the belief
in them was pretty extensive in the circle of her rustic acquaintance.
All people love to believe in fine eyes, and nothing
is more natural than for lovers to swear by them. Nagoochie did
not swear by those of Jocassée, but he did most religiously believe
in them; and though the night gathered fast, and the long
howl of the wolf came close from his crag, down into the valley,
the young hunter of the green bird did not despair of the return
of the maiden.
“She did return, and the warrior was insensible. But the
motion stirred him; the lights gleamed upon him from many
torches; he opened his eyes, and when they rested upon Jocassée,
they forgot to close again. She had brought aid enough, for her
voice was powerful as well as musical; and, taking due care
that the totem of the green bird should be carefully concealed by
the bearskin, with which her own hands covered his bosom, she
had him lifted upon a litter, constructed of several young saplings,
which, interlaced with withes, binding it closely together,
and strewn thickly with leaves, made a couch as soft as the
wounded man could desire. In a few hours, and the form of
Nagoochie rested beneath the roof of Attakulla, the sire of Jocassée.
She sat beside the young hunter, and it was her hand
that placed the fever balm upon his lips, and poured into his
pharmacy.
“Never was nurse more careful of her charge. Day and
night she watched by him, and few were the hours which she
then required for her own pleasure or repose. Yet why was Jocassée
so devoted to the stranger? She never asked herself so
unnecessary a question; but as she was never so well satisfied,
seemingly, as when near him, the probability is she found pleasure
in her tendance. It was fortunate for him and for her, that
her father was not rancorous towards the people of the Green
Bird, like the rest of the Occonies. It might have fared hard
with Nagoochie otherwise. But Attakulla was a wise old man,
and a good; and when they brought the wounded stranger to his
lodge, he freely yielded him shelter, and went forth himself to
Chinabee, the wise medicine of the Occonies. The eyes of Nagoochie
were turned upon the old chief, and when he heard his
name, and began to consider where he was, he was unwilling to
task the hospitality of one who might be disposed to regard him,
when known, in an unfavourable or hostile light. Throwing
aside, therefore, the habit of circumspection, which usually distinguishes
the Indian warrior, he uncovered his bosom, and bade
the old man look upon the totem of his people, precisely as he had
done when his eye first met that of Jocassée.
“`Thy name? What do the people of the Green Bird call
the young hunter?' asked Attakulla.
“`They name Nagoochie among the braves of the Estato:
they will call him a chief of the Cherokee, like Toxaway,' was
the proud reply.
“This reference was to a sore subject with the Occonies, and
perhaps it was quite as imprudent as it certainly was in improper
taste for him to make it. But, knowing where he was, excited by
fever, and having—to say much in little—but an unfavourable
opinion of Occony magnanimity, he was more rash than reasonable.
At that moment, too, Jocassée had made her appearance,
and the spirit of the young warrior, desiring to look big in her
eyes, had prompted him to a fierce speech not altogether necessary.
He knew not the generous nature of Attakulla; and when
the old man took him by the hand, spoke well of the Green Bird,
humbled, while his heart grew gentler than ever. His `son!'—
that was the pleasant part; and as the thoughts grew more and
more active in his fevered brain, he looked to Jocassée with such
a passionate admiration that she sunk back with a happy smile
from the flame-glance which he set upon her. And, day after
day she tended him until the fever passed off, and the broken
limb was set and had reknitted, and the bruises were all healed
upon him. Yet he lingered. He did not think himself quite
well, and she always agreed with him in opinion. Once and
again did he set off, determined not to return, but his limb pained
him, and he felt the fever come back whenever he thought of
Jocassée; and so the evening found him again at the lodge, while
the fever-balm, carefully bruised in milk, was in as great demand
as ever for the invalid. But the spirit of the warrior at length
grew ashamed of these weaknesses; and, with a desperate effort,
for which he gave himself no little credit, he completed his determination
to depart with the coming of the new moon. But even
this decision was only effected by compromise. Love settled the
affair with conscience, after his own fashion; and, under his direction,
following the dusky maiden into the little grove that stood
beside the cottage, Nagoochie claimed her to fill the lodge of a
young warrior of the Green Bird. She broke the wand which
he presented her, and seizing upon the torch which she carried,
he buried it in the bosom of a neighbouring brook; and thus, after
their simple forest ceremonial, Jocassée became the betrothed of
Nagoochie.
| CHAPTER II. The wigwam and the cabin | |