University of Virginia Library

5. V.

A new trial awaited Onea. One day Anyta
came not. The canoe was paddled by Henamarsa
alone. She sought him in his wigwam.
She sought to take the place of his beloved in his
affections, and would have loaded him with caresses.

“Where is Anyta?” asked the young warrior.

“She is no longer the bride of Onea,” was the
reply. “She has gone into the wigwam of a warrior
of her tribe — Henamarsa will love Onea, in
the place of Anyta.”

“Onea will love none but Anyta,” was the
reply.

“But she is now the wife of Echotee, the young
chief. She can no longer be yours. You will
never see her more.”

“I will tear her from the cabin of the dog — I
will drive my hatchet into his skull,” — said the
infuriated warrior. He rejected all the blandishments
of Henamarsa, and taunted her with her infidelity
to Hillaby. She departed in anger from
his presence, and he lay troubled with his meditations
as to the course he should pursue with regard
to Anyta. His determination was adopted, and
at midnight, in a birchen canoe prepared through
the day, he took his way over the broad lake to
the island. It lay, but not in quiet, stretched out
beautifully under the twinkling stars that shone
down sweetly upon it. These, however, were not
its only lights. Countless blazes illuminated the
shores in every direction — and the sound of lively
music came upon his ear, with an influence that
chafed still more fiercely the raging spirit in his

heart. There were shouts and songs of merriment
— and the whirling tread of the impetuous
dancers bespoke a feast and a frolic, such as are
due, among the Indians, to occasions only of the
highest festivity.

Drawing his bark quietly upon the shore, without
interruption, he went among the revellers.
No one seemed to observe — no one questioned
him. Dressed in habiliments the most fantastic
and irregular, his warlike semblance did not
strike the minds of the spectators as at all inconsistent
with the sports they were pursuing, and he
passed without impediment or check to the great
hall, from whence the sounds of most extravagant
merriment proceeded. He entered with the throng,
in time to witness a solemn ceremonial. There
came, at one side, a gallant chief, youthful, handsome,
and gracefully erect. He came at the head
of a chosen band of youth of his own age, attired
in rich furs taken from native animals. Each of
them bore a white wand, the symbol of marriage.

On the other side came a like party of
maidens, dressed in robes of the whitest cotton,
and bearing wands like the men. What bright
creature is it that leads this beautiful array? Why
does the young Muscoghee start — wherefore the

red spot on the brow of Onea? The maiden who
leads the procession, is his own, the gentle Anyta.
Grief was in her face; her eyes were dewy and
sad, and her limbs so trembled that those around
gathered to her support. The first impulse of
Onea was to rush forward and challenge the array
— to seize upon the maiden in the presence of the
assembly; and, by the strength of his arm, and
the sharp stroke of his hatchet, to assert his claims
to the bride in the teeth of every competitor. But
the warrior was not less wise than daring. He
saw that the maiden was sick at heart, and a fond
hope sprung into his own. He determined to witness
the progress of the ceremony, trusting something
to events. They dragged her forward to
the rite, passive rather than unresisting. The
white wands of the two processions, males and females,
were linked above the heads of Echotee and
Anyta — the bridal dance was performed around
them in circles, and, agreeable to the ritual of the
tribe to which they belonged, the marriage was
declared complete. And now came on the banqueting.
The repast, fruitful of animation, proceeded,
and the warriors gathered around the
board, disposed alternately among the maidens,
Echotee and Anyta presiding. Onea stood apart.

“Who is he who despises our festival — why

does the young man stand away from the board?
The brave man may fight and rejoice — he wears
not always the war paint — he cries not for ever
the war-whoop — he will come where the singing
birds gather, and join in the merriment of the
feast.”

Thus cried a strong voice from the company,
and all eyes were turned upon Onea. The youth
did not shrink from reply —

“The warrior says what is true. It is not for
the brave man to scorn the festival — he rejoices
at the feast. But the stranger comes of a far tribe,
and she who carries the wand must bid him welcome,
or he sits not at the board with the warriors.”

Anyta slowly rose to perform the duty imposed
upon her. She had already recognised the form
of her lover, and her step was tremulous and her
advances slow. She waved the wand which she
held in her hands, and he approached, unhesitatingly,
to her side. The Indians manifested little
curiosity — such a feature of character being inconsistent,
in their notion, with the manliness indispensable
to the warrior. Still there was something
marked in the habit worn by Onea, which taught
them to believe him a stranger. At such a time,
however, the young men, intriguing with their dusky

loves, rendered disguises and deceptions so frequent,
less notice ensued than might otherwise have
been the case, and the repast proceeded without farther
interruption. Then followed the bridal procession
to the future dwelling of the couple. The
whole assembly sallied forth, to the sound of discordant
music, each with a flaming torch within
his hand. They frolicked with wild halloos in the
train of the bridal pair, waving their flaming
torches in every direction. A small stream, consecrated
by a thousand such occurrences, rippled
along their pathway, upon approaching which,
they hurled the lights into its hissing waters, leaving
the entire procession in darkness. This was
one part of the wonted and well known frolic.
The transition from unaccustoned light to solemn
darkness, producing the profoundest confusion,
the merriment grew immense. One party stumbled
over the other, and all were playing at contraries
and cross purposes. Shouts of laughter in
every direction, broke the gloom which occasioned
it, and proved the perfect success of the jest.

But, on a sudden, a cry arose that the bride was
missing. This, perhaps, contributed more than
any thing beside to the good humor of all but the
one immediately concerned, and the complaint and
clamor of the poor bridegroom met with no sympathy.

His appeals were unheeded — his asseverations
received with laughter and shouts of the
most deafening description. All mirth, however,
must have its end; and the joke grew serious.
The bride was really missing, and every thing
was in earnest and unmitigated confusion. Vainly
did the warriors search — vainly did the
maidens call upon the name of Anyta. She
was far beyond the reach of their voices, hurrying
down the quiet lake with Onea, to the green
island of their early loves and unqualified affections.

There was one who readily guessed the mystery
of Anyta's abduction. The heart of Henamarsa
had long yearned for that of Onea. The rejection
of her suit by the scrupulous warrior had
changed its temper into bitterness; and a more
vindictive feeling took possession of her breast.
She determined to be revenged.

The warrior lay at sunset in the quiet bower,
and he slept with sweet visions in his eyes. But
why shrieks the young maiden, and wherefore is the
strong hand upon him? Who are they that bind
with thongs the free limbs of the warrior? Vainly
does he struggle for his release. Many are the
foes around him, and deadly the vengeance which
they threaten. He looks about for Anyta — she

too is bound with thongs. Above him stood the
form of Henamarsa, and he well knew who had betrayed
him, yet he uttered no reproach. She looked
upon him with an eye of mingled love and triumph,
but he gave her no look in return. He knew her not.

They took him back to the island, and added
to his bonds. They taunted him with words of
scorn, and inflicted ignominious blows upon his
limbs. They brought him food and bade him eat
for the sacrifice; for that, at the close of the moon,
just begun, he should be subjected, with the gentle
Anyta, to the torture of fire and the stake. “A
Creek warrior will teach you how to die,” said
Onea. “You are yet children; you know nothing,”
— and he shook his chains in their faces,
and spat on them with contempt.