University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.

With a mind deeply taken up with the concerns of
state, Sanutee threw himself upon the bearskin which
formed a sort of carpet in the middle of the lodge, and
failed utterly to remark the discomposure of Matiwan,
which, otherwise, to the keen glance of the Indian,
would not have remained very long concealed. She
took her seat at his head, and croned low and musingly
some familiar chant of forest song, unobtrusively, yet
meant to sooth his ear. He heard—for this had long
been a practice with her and a domestic indulgence
with him—he heard, but did not seem to listen. His
mind was away—busied in the events of the wild
storm it had invoked, and the period of which was
rapidly approaching. But there were other matters
less important, that called for present attention; and
turning at length to his wife, and pointing at the same
time to the pile of skins that lay confusedly huddled
up over the crouching form of Occonestoga, he gently
remarked upon their loose and disordered appearance.
The well-bred housewife of a city might have discovered
something of rebuke to her domestic management
in what he said on this subject; but the mind of
Matiwan lost all sight of the reproach, in the apprehensions
which such a reference had excited. He
saw not her disorder, however, but proceeded to enumerate
to himself their numbers, sorts, and qualities,
with a simple air of business; until, suddenly labouring,
as it appeared, under some deficiency of memory,
he instructed her to go and ascertain the number of
bearskins in the collection.

“The Spanish trader will buy from Sanutee with
the next sun. Go, Matiwan.”

To hear was to obey; and half dead with fear, yet
rejoiced that he had not gone himself, she proceeded
to tumble about the skins, with ready compliance, and
an air of industry, the most praiseworthy in an Indian
woman. Her labour was lengthened, so Sanutee
seemed to think, somewhat beyond the time necessary
to enumerate a lot of skins not exceeding fifteen or
twenty in number, and with some little sternness at
last he demanded of her the cause of the delay.
Apprehensive that he would yet rise, and seek for
himself a solution of the difficulty, she determined,
as she had not yet ascertained, to guess at the fact,
and immediately replied in a representation which did
not at all accord with the calculation of the chief's
own memory on the subject. The impatience of
Occonestoga, in the meantime, was not less than that
of Sanutee. He worried his mother not a little in his
restlessness while she moved about him; and once as
she bent over him, removing this, and replacing that, he
seized upon her hand, and would have spoken, but that
so dangerous an experiment she would not permit. But
she saw by his glance, and the settled firmness with
which he grasped his hatchet, that his thought was
that of defiance to his father and a desire to throw
aside his restraining cover and assert his manhood.
She drew away from him rapidly, with a finger
uplifted as if in entreaty, while with one hand she
threw over him a huge bearskin, which nearly suffocated
him, and which he immediately, in part, threw
aside. Sanutee in the meantime seemed very imperfectly
satisfied with the representation which she
had made, and manifesting some doubt as to the correctness
of her estimate, he was about to rise and look
for himself into the matter. But, in some trepidation,
the wary Matiwan prevented him.

“Wherefore should the chief toil at the task of a
woman? Battle for the chief—wisdom in council
for the chief; and the seat under the big tree, at the

head of the lodge, when the great chiefs come to eat
meat from his hands. Sit, well-beloved—wherefore
should not Matiwan look for thee? The toil of the
lodge is for Matiwan.”

“Sanutee will look, Matiwan—the bearskin is
heavy on thy hands,” was the considerate reply.

“Go not, look not—” impatiently, rather too impatiently
earnest, was the response of the woman; sufficiently
so to awaken surprise, if not suspicion, in the
mind of the old chief. She saw her error in the next
instant, and, proceeding to correct it, without at the
same time yielding up the point, she said:

“Thou art weary, chief—all day long thou hast
been upon the track of toil, and thy feet need rest.
Rest thee.—Matiwan is here—why shouldst thou not
repose? Will she not look to the skins? She goes.”

“Thou art good, Matiwan, but Sanutee will look
with the eye that is true. He is not weary as thou
say'st. Cha!” he exclaimed, as she still endeavoured
to prevent him—“Cha!—Cha!” impatiently putting
her aside with the exclamation, and turning to the very
spot of Occonestoga's concealment. Hopeless of
escape, Matiwan clasped her hands together, and the
beatings of her heart grew more frequent and painful.
Already his hands were upon the skins,—already had
Occonestoga determined upon throwing aside his covering
and grappling with his fate like a warrior, when
a sudden yell of many voices, and the exciting bloodcry
of Yemassee battle, “Sangarrah-me, Sangarrah-me,”—rung
through the little apartment. Lights flared
all around the lodge, and a confused, wild, and approaching
clamour, as of many voices, from without,
drew the attention of all within, and diverted Sanutee
from a further search at that time, which must have
resulted in a denouement severely trying if not dangerous
to all parties.

“Sangarrah-me—he is here—the slave of Opitchi-Manneyto
is here.”

And a general howl, with a direct appeal to Sanutee,
brought the old chief to the door of the lodge. Before

he could propose an inquiry into their business and
desire, they poured that information upon him which
shook and startled him. The indiscretion of Occonestoga
when speaking in the ear of the Indian maiden
Hiwassee, had brought about its legitimate consequences.
In her surprise, and accounting for the shriek
she gave, she had revealed the circumstance to her
lover, and it was not long before he had again related
it to another. The story flew, the crowd increased,
and, gathering excitement from numbers, they rushed
forward to the lodge of Matiwan, where, from his known
love to his mother, they thought it probable he would be
found, to claim the doomed slave of Opitchi-Manneyto.
The old chief heard them with a stern and motionless
calm of countenance; then, without an instant of reflection,
throwing open the door of the lodge, he bade
them enter upon the search for their victim.

The clamour and its occasion, in the meantime, had
been made sufficiently and fearfully intelligible to those
within. Matiwan sunk down hopelessly and sad in
a corner of the apartment, while Occonestoga, with
a rapid recovery of all his energies, throwing aside
his covering of skins, and rising from his place of
concealment, stood once again an upright and fearless
Indian warrior. He freed the knife from its sheath,
tightened the belt about his waist, grasped the tomahawk
in his right hand, and placing himself conspicuously
in the centre of the apartment, prepared manfully
for the worst.

Such was his position, when, leading the way for the
pursuers of the fugitive, Sanutee re-entered the cabin.
A moment's glance sufficed to show him the truth of
the statement made him, and at the same time accounted
for the uneasiness of Matiwan, and her desire
to prevent his examination of the skins. He darted a
severe look upon her where she lay in the corner, and
as the glance met her own, she crept silently towards
him and would have clasped his knees; but the ire of
Sanutee was too deeply awakened, and regarding his
profligate son, not merely in that character, but as the

chief enemy and betrayer of his country to the English,
he threw her aside, then approached and stretched
forth his arm as if to secure him. But Occonestoga
stood on the defensive, and with a skill and power,
which, at one time, had procured for him a high
reputation for warrior-like conduct, in a field where
the competitors were numerous, he hurled backward
the old chief upon the crowd that followed him. Doubly
incensed with the resistance thus offered, Sanutee re-advanced
with a degree of anger which excluded the
cautious consideration of the true warrior,—and as the
approach was narrow, he re-advanced unsupported.
The recollection of the terrible doom impending over
his head—the knowledge of Sanutee's own share in
its decree—the stern denunciations of his father in his
own ears,—the fierce feeling of degraded pride consequent
upon his recent and present mode of life, and
the desperate mood induced by his complete isolation
from all the sympathies of his people, evinced by their
vindictive pursuit of him,—all conspired to make him
the wreckless wretch who would rather seek than shrink
from the contemplated parricide. His determination
was thick in the glance of his eye; and while he threw
back the tomahawk, so that the sharp pick on the
opposite end rested upon his right shoulder, and its
edge lay alongside his cheek, he muttered between
his firmly set teeth, fragments of the fearful scalp-song
which he had sung in his mother's ear before.

This did not discourage the old chief, though the
son, with a desperate strength, while singing the fierce
anthem, grappled his father by his throat, and cried
aloud to him, as he shook the hatchet in his eyes—

“I hear thee groan—I see thee gasp—I tear thy
throat—I drink thy blood; for I know thee as mine
enemy. Thou art not Sanutee—thou art not the
father of Occonestoga—but a black dog, sent on his

path to tear. Die, thou dog—thou black dog—die—
thus I slay thee—thus I slay thee, thou enemy of Occonestoga.”

And handling the old man with a strength beyond
his power to contend with, he aimed the deadly stroke
directly at the eyes of his father. But the song and
the speech had aroused the yet conscious but suffering
Matiwan, and starting up from the ground where she
had been lying, almost between the feet of the combatants,
with uplifted hands she interposed, just as the
fell direction had been given to the weapon of her
son. The piercing shriek of that fondly cherishing
mother went to the very bones of the young warrior.
Her interposition had the effect of a spell upon him, particularly
as, at the moment—so timely for Sanutee
had been her interposition—he who gave the blow
could with difficulty arrest the impulse with which it
had been given, and which must have made it a blow
fatal to her. The narrow escape which she had made,
sent through the youth an unnerving chill and shudder.
The deadly instrument fell from his hand, and now
rushing upon him, the crowd drew him to the ground,
and taking from him every other weapon, pinioned his
arms closely behind him. He turned away with
something of horrow in his countenance as he met the
second gaze of his father, and his eyes rested with a
painful solicitude upon the wo-begone visage of
Matiwan, who had, after her late effort, again sunk
down at the feet of Sanutee. He looked fondly, but
sadly upon her, and with a single sentence addressed
to her, he offered no obstacle while his captors led
him away.

“Matiwan—” said he,—“thou hast bound Occonestoga
for his enemies. Thou hast given him to Opitchi-Manneyto.”

The woman heard no more, but as they bore him
off, she sunk down in momentary insensibility upon
the spot where she had lain through the greater part
of the recent controversy. Sanutee, meanwhile, with
much of the character of ancient Roman patriotism,

went forth with the rest, on their way to the council;
one of the judges—indeed, the chief arbiter upon
the destinies of his son.