 | CHAPTER XIII. The King of the Hurons |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
And there is not a hound, but falleth to the chase.”
—Drayton.
A little retrogression is necessary to explain the preceding chapter.
On the morning of the day in which the convaleseing Major Grover
tendered his valuable services to the government in obtaining a
hostage to be made of Baron Montaigne's heart-strings, Henrich
Huntington was reminded by the baying of hounds away over in
New Jersey that it was fine sporting weather, and that game of
some kind might be expected to be abroad. He had for a considerable
time been a stranger to the woodlands, and an unusual longing
for the chase came upon him, as he stood looking forestward, and
listening to the familiar sounds which came faintly, yet distinct,
through the still morning air.
But if he had been far more undecided he could never have
resisted the invitation which he presently received from his friend
Bounder, who running up and laying his sharp, cold nose in his
master's hand, by way of attracting attention, looked wistfully into
his face, and then towards the woods, wagging his tail meanwhile,
and occasionally uttering a sort of half-suppressed yelp.
Bounder said, as plainly as dog could say, that he wanted to go and
bury his teeth in the flank of a stag, and that he was in very good
wind for that purpose, and that the scent would lie finely, and he
would do his duty dogfully.
“Shall we go, Bounder—shall we go?” said the young man,
musingly; and his companion, after proving his right to his name
to effect a lodgment upon his master's shoulders, darted forward
about forty rods toward the woods, at his topmost speed, and was
back again in a twinkling, performing every variety of antics, and
answering the distant echoes with his voice.
Henrich entertained, of course, no suspicions of any impending
danger to Blanche, who, in the large household by which she was
now surrounded, had a sufficient guarantee against any repetition of
the lawless attack which she had so recently escaped. Still ignorant
of her true name and rank, he could have no conception of the new
danger to which she was soon to be exposed, and if it was not
altogether with a light heart that he went forth into the forest, it
was at least with no fear for the safety of his friend.
But if the day was a favorable one for hunting, it availed but little
to Henrich, whose vexed thoughts were themselves winding and
doubling in too many directions to admit of successfully following
up the track of the cunning fox, or the light-footed deer; and whose
repeated blunders in his sport were a matter of very apparent surprise,
and even of comment, in his way, to the disappointed Bounder.
He had spent several hours in ineffectual labors when he again met
the young Indian known by the name of Winny, of whom mention
has been made. Winny belonged to a small tribe of Indians, known
as the Wappenos, who may be considered the original Manhattanese,
but of whom few traces and no representatives have come down to
the present day. That they belonged to some subdivision of the
Five Nations, is probable rather from their locality, than from any
evidence that we have of their warlike character. They were on
terms of amity with the English, of whom they stood in no little
awe, and whose friendship they cultivated also with a view to a
traffic, trifling in amount, yet of much consideration to them. A
village, or collection of huts belonging to this tribe, was situated on
the western side of the island, several miles north of the city; but
there were also two or three isolated wigwams nearer the town, which
abandoned in winter for the advantage of contiguity and mutual
assistance.
Winny, who had come from this summer residence, and was going
in the direction of the Indian settlement when he encountered Henrich,
seemed in unusual haste, and manifested no degree of his
accustomed alacrity to converse or to give information about the
probable haunts of the game. This reserve was the more remarkable,
because at his last meeting with Huntington he had been
indebted to the latter for the privilege of drawing the bounty on the
slain wolf, which was a sum of great value to the savage. It was,
indeed, only a remembrance of this obligation that restrained him
from being still more unsocial, and from taking an abrupt leave of
his companion. Observing the Indian's reluctance to stop, Henrich
slightly changed his course and walked with quickened pace by his
side, still questioning him on matters pertaining to the chase, and
heedless that the other now gave still greater signs of dissatisfaction
than before.
“Winny saw deer,” he said at length, pointing towards the east
side of the island; “going that way—with horns like that!”
spreading the fingers of both hands.
“You saw a stag of ten, and did not follow him!” exclaimed
Henrich, with a look of incredulity.
The Indian saw that he was disbelieved, and scorning further
equivocation, he replied impatiently: “The Panther is going to the
council—he must go alone.”
“The council, Winny!” said Henrich, who perceived by his
companion's air, and by the use of his symbolical name, that he was
in earnest; “why this is the first I have heard of a council of the
Wappenos in a long time; you have not thirty warriors in your
tribe; why do you hold councils?”
“The Wappenos are few,” replied the Indian; “once they were
their camp.”
“What does this mean?” said Huntington, who began to anticipate
one of those scenes of cruelty which were occasionally enacted
among the more powerful tribes, but which were of rare occurrence
in the neighborhood of the city—“what does this mean, Winny?
tell me plainly—remember that I am your friend.”
“Henreek is the friend of Winny,” was the reply; “the Panther
has no friend among the whites.”
“Nonsense!” said Huntington, laughing; “I am your friend, I
tell you, and the friend of your whole tribe, panthers, bears, and all;
did I not send you corn, when the winter was long and cold, and
the snow too deep for hunting?”
“You did,” replied the savage, grasping the hand of the young
man; “it is written in our hearts—our children know it; listen,
Henreek, but be not like the mocking bird, to speak again—listen,
but bury my words in your breast.”
Winny proceeded in this metaphorical strain to tell at some
length what may be better repeated in simpler language. A Huron
Indian, in disguise as a Mohawk, had been found the day before
skulking on the island, and seeking to evade observation. Failing in
this, he had at first succeeded, by his dress and air, in passing himself
off for a Mohawk, and consequently a friend of the English, and
of the tribes in their alliance; but was soon detected by means of
some unutterable shibboleth in the language of his assumed tribe.
It was to decide the fate of this man that the council was called,
and as his sentence would probably be death by torture, the reason
of Winny's desire for secresy became apparent. The English
government had several times interposed to prevent similar deeds
of barbarity among the tribes on Long Island, and the savages had
become exceedingly jealous of an interference with what they considered
almost their only remaining act of sovereignty. But the Indian
having become thus far communicative, was easily prevailed on to
of the young man among the Wappenos, and his own influence as
a son of a chief, would protect the Panther from any severe censure,
and if it became necessary for Henrich to withdraw, the secret,
Winny believed, would still be safe.
They were not long in reaching the settlement, which was
situated in a partial opening of the forest, where the trees were large
and sparsely set, and the ground was free from bushes. The
lodges, some twenty in number, stood at the distance of a few rods
from each other, on the sides of a sort of hollow square, if that may
be called such, which was in reality neither square nor hollow.
Within this arena a commotion was already visible, indicative of
some important movement: women were assembled in knots at the
doors, talking and gesticulating, some sitting and some standing,
while half clad children were running around in glee, stopping
occasionally to peep through the chinks of a closed and guarded
shanty, and holding up small bundles of fagots to the view of its
inmate, by way of a foreshadowing of his fate.
The warriors were assembled in and about the principal lodge,
wearing, in general, an air of great gravity; yet some of the
younger braves were giving way to occasional turns of merriment or
exultation, without reproof. The Panther and Henrich went directly
to this council-hall, where the latter was at first eyed with much
suspicion, but was soon generally recognised and welcomed.
“He is our brother—he is welcome,” said the principal chief;
and the young men made room for him beside themselves on the
grass, while Bounder, after coursing the enclosure, and looking
curiously into several of the lodges, threw himself panting at his
side.
The council was soon opened within the wigwam, those entitled
to a voice in its proceedings ranging themselves decorously in order,
while those without awaited the result in silence. There was some
division of sentiment, and more than an hour elapsed before the
of a sanguinary spirit among the judges. The Huron was sentenced
to run the gantlet, and, if he escaped that ordeal, to subsequent
torture and death. He was at once brought out upon the square to
receive intelligence of his doom, which he heard in silence, and with
the affectation of indifference usual to his race on such occasions;
but a close observer could easily detect in the forced compression of
his lips, and in the slight flaring of his nostrils, the signs of mental
emotion. He was a tall, well formed man, of about thirty years,
with features which would have been far from ugly, separate from
their mask of paint, and with an eye, more especially, which would
have redeemed a still greater disfigurement of face from being
wholly loathsome. Its iris, bright, black, and large, rolled around
its little orbit with a rapid motion, seeming to drink in everything
within the scope of its vision; while not only the head, but the
muscles of the face, remained unmoved.
Henrich had resolved to make an effort to prevent the threatened
tragedy, but he knew that the savages were jealous of their prerogative,
and that if he could succeed at all, it would be only by the
utmost tact. To interfere with the deliberations of the council would
give the greatest offence, and diminish the chance of his subsequent
influence. He even resolved not to object to the execution of the
first part of the sentence which was more formidable in sound than
in reality, and which never resulted fatally, to a man of the least
courage; it was intended, indeed, rather as an intimidation than a
punishment, although it often resulted in severe and sometimes in
mortal wounds. A view of the athletic, compact, sinewy frame of
the Huron convinced him that the latter would come off nearly
unscathed from the ordeal, and the very fact of his being also
doomed to the stake would prevent a desire on the part of his captors
to terminate his life in the first instance. It was of course with
great reluctance that Huntington resolved to behold the approaching
spectacle, but believing that the best interests of the prisoner required
events.
The scene which ensued may be briefly described. The Wappenos,
men and women, and many of the larger children, armed
with knives, clubs, and sticks, of various kinds, ranged themselves in
two parallel rows, terminating at one end in front of a lodge, the
door of which stood open, and leaving between the lines a space of
about ten or twelve feet in width. All who chose were at liberty to
take a place in the ranks, and but few of the adults, excepting those
who were physically incapacitated, refused to avail themselves of the
privilege. There were indeed several squaws, who stood aloof, mingling,
as spectators, with the children, and the principal chief also
remained inactive, occupying a convenient post of observation at one
end of the line. Henrich was offered a club, and invited to take
part in the performance, and but for the irrepressible signs of abhorrence
with which he declined, would doubtless have been importuned
to comply.
When everything was ready, the Huron was brought forward and
unbound, his eye, meanwhile, running rapidly over the ranks, as if
estimating the danger and discovering the most perilous localities.
The task before him was to run through this alley, between these living
walls, in such manner and with such speed as he chose, but through
he must go, and while all his foes were privileged to inflict upon him
such blows as they could deal while he was passing, none was
permitted to stir out of his place in pursuit. No dexterity or feint
of the prisoner, and no manœuvre, in the way of dodging or
doubling, were exceptionable; his only task was to reach the opposite
end of the line with as much impunity as possible.
The signal was given and the Huron started like an arrow from
the string. The first dozen of his foes struck only the empty air in
his path, and the clubs of the next whizzed idly above his head. He
was now stooping to the earth, and now bounding in the air, at one
breath on one side of the line, and the next on the other, twisting,
eye, much more the hasty and ill-directed blows of his eager
enemies. About half way down the lane the ranks were chiefly
occupied by boys of from twelve to fifteen years, and having reached
this point with but little injury he paused a moment to take breath,
bearing meanwhile with little regard, the furious pummelling of the
children. In the interval beyond, were some of the most vigorous
and expert of his enemies, including the vigilant Panther; and
although, discerning their position at a glance, he started forward with
increased wariness and skill, it was not with a success equal to that
which had hitherto attended him. He received several severe contusions,
was once nearly stricken to the earth, and when he at length
reached the refuge lodge, was bleeding from a number of superficial
wounds.
A little noisy discussion next ensued among the Wappenos on
the subject of their respective successes and failures in their recent
pastime, which seemed to be regarded somewhat in the light in
which a game at cricket is viewed by the young men of civilized
life, after which active preparations were at once commenced for the
closing tragedy. Henrich drew curiously near to the Huron,
about whom the leaders of the savages had assembled, and
for the first time caught the eye of the prisoner, which, as it rested
for a moment upon his own, and then glanced hastily at the growing
pyre without, had a mournful and appealing expression, sufficient
to counterbalance a thousand proofs of stoicism. The Indian clung
to life, he shrank from the awful change; he quailed before the
instruments of torture. Young, active, and vigorous, he was but
yesterday free as the mountain air, free to traverse the boundless
forests, and glide over lake and river, with his light canoe, with
half a century's lease of life stretching in bright perspective before
him—and now, he was a captive in his enemy's camp, listening to
the sound of whetted weapons, preparing for his own immolation,
his tribe.
Stimulated by the silent appeal of the Huron, Huntington at once
began the work of intercession; but it was only to meet with frigid
looks, and with answers of surprise and displeasure. The response,
indeed, was unanimous against clemency, and the Indians even manifested
impatience at an interruption, which delayed their anticipated
sport; for, as Henrich became importunate, the wondering savages
had crowded around him, until, the work of preparation being temporarily
abandoned, even the women and children had mingled with
the curious throng.
“The words are said!” exclaimed the senior chief, alluding to the
voice of the council; “they are gone into the air, and cannot be
found again—the Huron must die!”
A general murmur of approval followed this decision, in which,
as Henrich observed with foreboding, even his friend, the Panther,
joined. He next tried to effect a ransom; and although able to give
but little which could gratify the cupidity of so many, he was careful
to offer such things as would appeal most to their peculiar wants:
his rifle, a dozen canisters of powder and half as many kegs of the
enticing fire-water were offered, and, strange to say, were all refused.
Henrich knew nothing more that he could do. The dialect of the
Wappenos, in which he had spoken, possessed sufficient resemblance
to the language of the Hurons to be intelligible to the prisoner, as
was proved by the look of gratitude which the latter bestowed upon
his young friend; but there was at the same time an expression of
hopelessness in his features, which showed that he understood better
than his advocate the character of the enemies with whom he had
to deal.
Among those who had pressed to the front of the throng, sifted,
as it were, through the interstices, were some half-clad children,
among whom, at this juncture, a sudden quarrel ensued, for the
possession of something which had been found on the arena
general attention. As it passed from hand to hand among the
Indians, it soon took shape, to the eyes of the astonished Henrich, as
a sealed letter, bearing a superscription; but how was his amazement
increased, when at length obtaining possession of it in his turn,
he read the endorsement: “To Father Ledra, or the Misses Roselle,
in the city and province of New York.” He remained gazing long
and steadfastly at the writing, marvelling what new and unrevealed
mystery, in regard to Blanche, was about to be evolved; and on
again looking up he saw that the prisoner's eyes were fixed upon
him with an intelligent and steady gaze.
“Does it speak to you?” asked the senior chief, who with his
companions had closely observed Henrich's surprised air; “does it
talk to our brother, and what are its words?”
“It speaks!” replied Huntington, solemnly, “and its words are
many; it says that the Huron was not upon the war-path when he
came into the camp of his enemy; that he did not come looking for
the scalps of the Wappenos.”
“Huh!” exclaimed the chief, who, in common with his race,
entertained no conception of the art of conveying ideas by writing,
and looked upon written language, of which he had heard something
among the whites, as a production of magic; “huh!” he exclaimed,
sarcastically; “ask it why then the Huron has come, if not for
scalps; is there no game in the forests of the north?”
“It says,” replied Henrich, “that far away by the bright lakes,
an old man weeps for his daughters, who are captives of your English
father in New York; and that he will listen long for the feet of
the swift runner, and for his voice to tell him that his children are
yet alive.”
“He will listen long,” replied the unmoved chieftain, “if he waits
for the false Maqua, who came to Manahatta, with the face of a
Mohock, and the heart of a Huron—does it say anything else?”
“It says nothing more,” replied Henrich, sadly, yet earnestly; “but
and forbids this horrible sacrifice—which says, `Shed not innocent
blood:' which says that the happy hunting fields will be closed to
the cruel and revengeful man.”
“I do not hear it!” answered the chief, looking upward for a
moment, and then turning slowly away; “the words of our white
brother are too many: wise men speak but once.”
Henrich was about to make a final appeal by largely increasing
his offered ransom, when he felt himself pulled suddenly by the
sleeve, and on looking down he saw a pair of glowing eyes fixed
intently upon him, and slowly receding at the same time into the
depths of the crowd. As he gazed, he gradually recognized the
features of an Indian, known as the Weasel, whom he had frequently
met in the city, and who now evidently desired to make some private
communication to him. He was celebrated among his brethren as
an orator; but was, in reality, a wordy, windy, sham patriot, exceedingly
fond of intoxicating drinks, and indulging in his favorite
propensity to a shameless extent, whenever a favorable opportunity
occurred. As the general attention became at once engaged in the
renewed preparations for the Huron's death, Henrich found no
difficulty in following the Weasel and obtaining an interview with
him.
The Indian had a proposition to make, which, divested of its
parade of words, amounted to this; that his own heart was touched
by the condition of the unfortunate captive, that he remembered
with gratitude the former services of Henrich to his tribe in the
time of famine, and that he would undertake to bring about the
release of the Huron for the ransom which had been offered, and
for one additional keg of rum for his private benefit. Henrich
caught with avidity at this offer, improbable as it seemed of fulfilment.
“But how,” he said, “can you do this? did you not give your
voice for the prisoner's death, and advocate it with a speech?”
“I did,” answered the Indian; “but my mind has turned over,”
turning his hand, by way of illustrating his meaning; “I will turn
my brothers' too.”
The orator entered at once upon his task. He took his position
upon a slight eminence near the centre of the square, and commencing
an energetic address, at once drew around him the gratified
savages, who, knowing what had been his views and vote in council,
anticipated only an inflammatory exhortation to persevere in their
design, and, perhaps, a suggestion of some new and ingenious
varieties of torture. The Weasel knew well the disappointment
which he was about to create; and he approached his subject carefully,
and from a remote position. Only gradually unfolding his
design, he fortified his premises by earnest and impressive appeals,
while his hearers were yet uncertain of the conclusion to which they
tended. He spoke of the famine from which they had suffered, and
described by word and gesture the hollow cheeks and shrivelled
limbs of themselves and their children; he told of their inability to
procure food, of their unwillingness to beg in the great city, of an
old warrior who had sung his death-song in his empty cabin—and
finally “brought down the house” by a suddenly drawn picture of
the good Henrich appearing in their midst, with a sleigh-load of
yellow maize.
“Look around you,” he said, “and you will see the tracks of his
horses, just where he stood but now, when you stopped your ears
to his prayers.”
The mortified Wappenos showed that they felt the indirect taunt
of the orator, who still refrained from any avowal of his design:
when, at length, however, he declared it, he saved himself from the
charge of inconsistency by professing not to have known at the time
of giving his voice against the captive, that their benefactor desired
his release. He dwelt briefly upon the peculiar mission of the Huron,
as one which entitled him to clemency, and did not fail to dilate
temptingly upon the ransom which Henrich stood ready to give;
exception of his own promised counsel-fee, and on that subject, he
maintained a discreet silence. He closed his remarks with a forcible
and effective peroration, reminding his brethren that the council
doors were still open, and that they should be glad that the opportunity
yet remained to retrace their steps, and wipe out the stain of
ingratitude from their character.
Henrich watched with much anxiety the countenances of the
auditors, and was rejoiced to see the signs of general relenting.
The judges, at the instigation of the Weasel, returned formally to
the lodge where they had sentenced the prisoner, and after a little
deliberation, revoked their former decision, with but a few dissenting
voices. Henrich received the tidings with the greatest exultation,
which he manifested by shaking hands with the whole court, and,
finally, with the Huron, to whom he had the pleasure of bringing
the first news of his freedom.
It was difficult to convince the captive that he was really discharged;
and it was not until in company with Huntington he
had left the camp of his enemies, that he could believe himself at
liberty. His delight was evidently extreme, although it was
manifested less in language than in looks and manner. He
resigned himself implicitly to Henrich's guidance, who returned to
him his lost packet, and undertook to conduct him at once to
the persons to whom it was addressed. It would have been an
easy matter at that moment to win from the confiding Huron the
whole secret of his errand, and its author, and thus to solve to some
extent, the mystery which enveloped Blanche; but Henrich was
incapable of taking such an advantage of his position. To induce
the savage to violate his trust, or to penetrate by any means a
secret which his friend was desirous to conceal, was an act repulsive
to his sense of duty; and although an unbounded curiosity pervaded
his mind to know the origin and tendency of the Indian's
mission, he conducted him, unquestioned, to his own home. There
them his companion, as one who was seeking their presence, and
having learned that although much amazed, they were not afraid to
be left alone with the messenger, withdrew, and left the Huron to
tell his own story.
His forbearance and delicacy were rewarded by a speedy summons
to return to the ladies, and aid them with his counsel in a new and
important emergency.
| CHAPTER XIII. The King of the Hurons | |