4. IV.
It was with difficulty the hot-headed Onea was
persuaded to comply with the suggestions of prudence,
and nothing but a consideration for the
safety of the maiden had power to restrain his impetuosity.
But, assured that, in the unequal contest
of which she spoke, his own individual zeal
and valor would prove unavailing, he submitted,
though with evident ill grace, to her directions.
A like scene had, in the meanwhile, taken place
between Hillaby and Henamarsa, Anyta's lovely
companion, which was attended with pretty nearly
the same results. A mutual understanding had the
effect of providing for the two warriors in the same
manner. Entering once more the canoe in company
with, and under the guidance of their mistresses,
they took their way down the lake, until
they lost sight of the island on which they had
first met. They kept on, until, far away from the
main route to the habitations of the tribe, they
came to a beautiful knoll of green, thickly covered
with shrubbery and trees, and so wrapt from the
passing glance of the wayfarer, by the circuitous
bendings of the stream, as to afford them the safety
and secrecy they desired. The maidens informed
them that they alone were in possession of
the fact of its existence, having been cast upon it
by a summer tempest, while wandering over the
rippling waters in their birchen canoe. They
found it a pleasant dwelling-place. The wild
fruits and scented flowers seemed to have purposely
embellished it for the habitation of content and
love, and the singing birds were perpetually carroling
from the branches. The vines, thickly interwoven
above their heads, and covered with
leaves, afforded them the desired shelter; and
gladly did they appropriate, and sweetly did they
enjoy, its pleasures and its privacies. But the day
began to wane, and the approaching evening indicated
the return of the fierce warriors from the
chase. With many vows, and a tender and sweet
sorrow, the maidens took their departure for the
dwellings of their people, leaving the young
chiefs to contemplate their new ties, and the novel
situation in which they had placed themselves.
Nor did the maidens forget their pledges, or prove
false to their vows. Day after day did they take
their way in the birchen bark, and linger till
evening in the society of their beloved. The
hours passed fleetly in such enjoyments, and happy
months of felicity only taught them the beauty
of flowers and their scents, and the delights of an
attachment before utterly unknown. But the wing
of the halcyon ceased to rest on the blessed island.
Impatient of inactivity, the warrior Hillaby came
one day to the vine-covered cabin of Onea; his
looks were sullen, and his language desponding.
He spoke thus:
“It is not meet, Onea, that the hawk should be
clipped of his wings, and the young panther be
caged like a deer; let us go home to our people.
I am growing an old woman. I have no strength
in my sinews — my knees are weak.”
“I would go home to my people,” replied
Onea, “but cannot leave the young fawn who has
taken shelter under my protection. And will
Hillaby depart from Henamarsa?”
“Hillaby will depart from Henamarsa, but Hillaby
has the cunning of the serpent, and can burrow
like the hill-fox. He will no longer take the
dove to his heart, dreading an enemy. He will
go home to his people — he will gather the young
men of the nation, and do battle for Henamarsa.
Onea is a brave warrior — will he not fight for
Anyta?”
“Onea would die for Anyta, but he would not
that Anyta should perish too. Onea would not
destroy the people of his wife.”
“Would they not destroy Onea? They would
hang his scalp in the smoke of their wigwams —
they would shout and dance about the stake when
his death-song is singing. If Onea will not depart
with Hillaby, he will go alone. He will bring
the young warriors; and the dogs who would keep
Henamarsa from his wigwam — they shall perish
by his knife, and the wild boar shall grow fat upon
their carcasses.”
Thus spoke the elder of the two warriors, and
vain were the entreaties and arguments employed
by Onea to dissuade him from his purpose. The
Indian habit was too strong for love, and his sense
of national, not less than individual pride, together
with the supineness of his present life, contrasted
with that restless activity to which he had been
brought up and habituated, rendered all persuasion
fruitless, and destroyed the force of all arguments.
Deep, seemingly, was the anguish of
Henamarsa, when she learned the departure of
her lover. A settled fear, however, took possession
of the bosom of the gentle Anyta, and she
sobbed upon the breast of the brave Onea. She
felt that their happiness was at an end — that the
hope of her people was insecure — that the home
of her fathers was about to suffer violation. She
saw at once all the danger, and did not hesitate
to whisper it in the ear of Onea. All her hope
rested in the belief, that Hillaby would never succeed
in tracing his way back through the intricacies
of the swamp to his own people; or if he did,
that he would not succeed in guiding them to the
precise point in its recesses, in which her tribe had
found its abode. But Onea knew better the capacities
of a warrior among his people. He seized
his bow and equipments, and would have taken
the path after Hillaby, determined to quiet the
fears of his beloved, even by the death of his late
friend and companion; but the maiden restrained
him. She uttered a prayer to the great spirit, for
the safety of herself and people, and gave herself
up to the wonted happiness of that society for
which she was willing to sacrifice every thing.
