University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
THE INDIAN VILLAGE AND A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER.

The village of the Wepecoolahs was very pleasantly
situated on a level strip of open land, which at this point
divided the base of one hill from that of the other by a
distance of more than a hundred yards. What appeared
rather singular, was the fact, that this level, open piece of
ground—the very bottom of the valley, and which was a
hundred yards in breadth by some three miles in length—
should be entirely free from stones, and stumps, and covered
with a smooth, thick green sward—while all around
it either was, or had very recently been, a howling wilderness,
untouched by a husbandry implement. It could not
be the work of the present tribe, for every thing else indicated
that the Wepecoolahs had been located here but a
very short time. No, it was either one of nature's singular
freaks, or else this spot had been cultivated many, many
years agone, perhaps by a race anterior to the red man of
our day. And I was further led to this latter conclusion,
from perceiving, at a subsequent period, a steep conical
mound, in the rear of the village—covered, like the flat,
with a thick, smooth green sward—reminding me of the
descriptions I had seen of similar ancient relics in some of
the Western States.

The huts of our captors were constructed of sticks, bark,
earth, and skins; and were arranged in a semi-circular
form—the central are touching the base of the opposite
hill, (which rose steep and craggy a thousand feet above

the village) and the two arms extending across the valley,
to the stream before mentioned, which ran purling along at
the foot of the eminence we were descending. By this
geometrical arrangement, a fine area was formed, which
was common property, and upon which all the huts fronted.
Here fires were built, in the open air, for cooking or other
purposes, the huts being constructed without chimneys.
Here the children played in harmony, and the elders met
in social intercourse.

Near the centre of this area was the lodge of the chief,
differing from the others only in size and position; and
just in the rear of this was a circular building, of still
larger dimensions, with a straight pole running up through
the centre, not unlike a circus tent. This was the Council
House of the tribe, where the chief and warriors were wont
to meet to discuss and decide any matter of general interest.

In the appearance of the village, taken as a whole, there
was a certain air of savage refinement, which I had not
expected to find—and I was, in consequence, agreeably
disappointed.

As we rode down the hill, the whole village poured out
its inhabitants upon the common—men, women and children—the
pappoose and veteran—and, stimulated by
curiosity, all crowded down to the creek to get a near view
of us. There might have been, taken collectively, a hundred
and fifty souls—mostly women and their offspring—
for the main body of the warriors were away on a daring
expedition, as the reader already knows.

At first, when I saw them assembling in such a formidable
manner, I had some apprehension that we might be
greeted with rather rough treatment; but as we crossed
the creek, they fell back respectfully—neither offering
violence, nor seeking to annoy us.

The women of the village—the Lendcooms, or Squaw-wives—were
habited in skins; but, unlike the Squaw-workers,
with some regard to decency—the parts exposed
being their arms, necks, feet and ankles. Their dress,
however, was not calculated to display their figures to any
artistic advantage—it being merely a straight gown, of
prepared deerskin, seamed up the sides, with shoulder
straps, and covering the person to the extent mentioned.
All were costumed much alike—though some few, with
more taste than the others, wore wampum belts around
their waists. Some, too, had coarse ornaments in their
ears; and more than one dangled a heavy ring from her
nose; but this, in my opinion, did not improve their looks
in the slightest degree. Taken collectively, they were not
decidedly an ill-looking set of females; and a few of the
younger were tolerably passable; though their low foreheads,
and broad, flat, animal-faces, set a seal upon any
thing like a near approach to beauty.

I must, however, make an exception in favor of one—
though, from the first, I could not bring myself to believe
that she was a full blooded daughter of the Indian race.
This was a girl, apparently about eighteen years of age,
who, on our approach, stood apart from the others, with
some half a dozen warriors drawn up in a line behind her,
among whom I instantly recognized the three of our escort
who had ridden into the village in advance of us. I was
struck at the same time with her personal appearance and
the marked deference with which she was treated by young
and old, not one venturing to approach her beyond a
certain limit. As to who she was, I of course knew nothing—but
that she was a personage of consequence, was
easily to be seen.

And what struck me as the most singular was, that so
much respect should be shown to one of her sex—for, as a

general thing, the savage esteems the female as far inferior
to the male, and deems her totally unworthy to have a
voice in the councils of the nation. And besides, I had
seen the chief himself, and seen his warriors approach him
with a familiarity that none displayed toward this
mysterious being—so that, unless she were greater in the
tribe than Kenneloo, which it was unreasonable to suppose,
I knew not how to account for this general deference.

I have said that her age was apparently about eighteen,
and that her appearance was so different from the others,
as to lead me, at a first glance, to the conclusion, that she
was not of their race—or, at all events, that her blood
was not purely Indian. She was straight, symmetrical,
and tall, with a dark complexion, and black eyes and hair
—but here all resemblance between her and others of the
Wepecoolahs ceased. Her face, instead of being broad,
flat, and round, was rather oval, with the angular outline
of the American or European. Her nose, too, of the
Grecian cast, was prominent, with thin, dilating nostrils—
and her forehead was broad, high, and intellectual. Her
mouth, with its thin lips, had a classic shape; and her
chin was well rounded, giving her a straight and beautiful
profile.

Nor was it alone in the shape of the features that she
differed materially from all the others. In her proud,
queen-like deportment, and the lofty, intelligent expression
of her countenance, she rose in the bright contrast to them
of day to night. There was an air of superiority and
command in her every look and gesture; and her black,
brilliant, piercing eyes seemed to gleam and sparkle
with the intellectual fires of no ordinary soul. She was
beautiful—that I could not deny—but hers was a kind of
beauty not to my taste. It lacked the softening traits so
much admired in woman; and displayed too much pride,

haughtiness, fire, passion, and all the concomitants of a
self-willed, unsubdued, unbending, masculine spirit.

How she had attained to her exalted position among the
Wepecoolahs, was of course a mystery to me; but once
obtained, it was not difficult to understand how she had
retained it; for it is a law of nature that matter can be
governed by mind—and the mere animal must ever yield
to intellectual dominion.

The dress of this singular being was not unlike that of
the other females, in its shape and extent—though
rendered of a more showy appearance, by being covered
with divers colored beads, worked into crude imitations of
beasts, birds, and flowers. Besides, as a further distinction,
she wore leggins and moccasins of scarlet; and her
long black hair was swept back from her forehead, and
braided into cues, that dangled about her neck and
shoulders, something after the fashion of the Gipseys.

As we were escorted directly past her, single file, at
a slow pace, I had an opportunity to observe the peculiarities
which I have attempted to describe to the reader.
She stood with folded arms, in an attitude of graceful
dignity, calmly, but I fancied rather haughtily, regarding
us. Her black eyes at once fixed upon mine with an
intense, searching expression, as if she would read my
very thoughts; and then fell upon Clara, who rode next
in file. I watched her closely all the while—for somehow
I felt that our fate, in a great degree, rested with her—
and I was anxious to glean from her looks what that fate
would probably be. But all was dark, cold, and reserved,
as if she had schooled her thoughts and feelings against
betraying themselves by outward sign. Once, I fancied,
while she was looking at Clara, her black eyes shot a
fiercer gleam, and that her thin lips slightly curled with

something like disdainful pride—but it might have been
only fancy.

We passed on, leaving her standing motionless as a
statute, gazing after us. Our Indian conductor, who was
riding in advance, now led us straight to the Council
House, at the door of which he dismounted and made a
sign to us to do likewise. He then pointed to the door,
and signified that we must enter; which we did accordingly,
he remaining without.

We now found ourselves alone together, in a circular
building of some fifty feet in diameter, constructed of
sticks, bark, and earth, the roof of which sloped down
nearly to the ground, and was from twelve to fifteen feet
high in the central part. A few stakes had been driven
into the earth at regular intervals, and around the walls
were a number of rude seats. A few loopholes admitted
light enough for us to see across the building.

We cast a hurried glance about us, and then gazed at
each other.

“Clara!” said I, in a low, tremulous voice.

“Henry! dear Henry!” she rejoined; and the next
moment, weeping and half fainting, her head reclined
against my breast, and my arms, encircling her slender
form, drew her more closely to my heart.

“Oh! what will become of us?” she added at length,
looking up tearfully into my face—for in the ratio that
personal danger appeared to decrease, her timidity seemed
to return.

“I apprehend nothing more serious than temporary
imprisonment,” I replied, assuming a cheerful air, in order
to raise her spirits. “You see we have not been very
roughly treated as yet.”

“What think you of that strange female we passed just
now?” she inquired. “She does not look like an Indian;

and she is either possessed of authority, or is a prisoner
herself, closely guarded, I know not which. Such eyes—
such black, fiery, piercing eyes—they seemed to burn into
my very soul.”

“I know not what to think of her, Clara,” I replied;
“but that she is a personage of authority, and no prisoner,
is evident from the manner in which she is treated. Perhaps
she is either the daughter or wife of the chief.”

“Hush!” interrupted Clara, grasping my arm; and at
the same moment the subject of our conversation entered
the Council House with a lofty carriage and graceful step.

She advanced straight toward us, till within a couple
of paces, and then halting, drew herself up more haughtily
than ever, and keenly surveyed us from head to foot.
Clara shrunk from her piercing gaze—and, in spite of her
efforts to appear calm and composed, her whole frame
trembled.

Perceiving this, the thin lips of the other curled with
something like a sneer; and then, to our great surprise,
these words, sharp, clear, and distinct, rang forth:

“Is the daughter of the white man an aspen, that she
quivers thus in the presence of Dundenah, the Leaping
Fawn?”

“Oh! lady, whoever you are, thanks be to God you
speak my native tongue!” cried Clara, joyfully. “Oh!
lady, tell us why we are here prisoners?”

“Call me not lady!” returned the other, scornfully.
“I have a name! I am Dundenah, the Leaping Fawn!”

“That name sounds pleasantly in our ears,” I interposed—“for
the fawn is a gentle creature.”

“Perhaps I am not rightly named, then,” she rejoined,
turning almost fiercely upon me. “It is a name the
great chief gave me in infancy.”

“By your language, you should be of our race,” said I.

“Wandewah, the Great Spirit, hath given Dundenah
many tongues,” she replied, proudly.

“Can you tell us what will be our fate?”

“Ask yours of Kenneloo, when he comes in from the
war-path.” Then turning to Clara, she touched her on
the shoulder, and, pointing to the door, continued: “The
Blue-Eye must go with Dundenah!”

“Are you going to separate us?” cried Clara, with a
look of dismay.

“The Blue-Eye must go with Dundenah!” repeated the
other, sternly.

“Oh! no! no!” pleaded Clara: “let us remain
together in our captivity!”

Dundenah looked from Clara to me, and said quickly:

“Is the Blue-Eye already a wife?”

Clara drooped her head, and a blush of confusion spread
over her lovely features.

“She is not wedded,” I replied.

“Then she must go with Dundenah!” returned the
Leaping Fawn.

“I trust Dundenah will do her no harm!” I hastened to
rejoin.

Again those black, piercing orbs became fixed upon me,
and fairly flashed fire, as she made answer:

“Dundenah is mistress of her own actions; and when
she needs advice, she seeks it of the mighty chief of the
Wepecoolahs!”

“I meant no offence,” I rejoined, in a humbled tone,
anxious to appease her irritation, but more on Clara's
account than my own.

She looked at me fixedly a moment, and then turning
toward the door, struck the palms of her hands together
three times. An Indian quickly entered, to whom she
addressed a few words in his native dialect. The savage

replied only with a nod—thus silently indicating that she
was understood and would be obeyed.

Dundenah then touched Clara on the shoulder again,
and pointed to the door. Clara started, and seemed for a
moment or two to stand irresolute, while an expression of
deep, intense anguish passed over her lovely countenance.
Then, with a quick, impulsive movement, she rushed into
my arms, exclaiming:

“Farewell, dear Henry! may God protect you! This
may be the last time we shall behold each other on earth—
but I trust we shall meet in a better world. To God I
commend you! Farewell!”

“Farewell, dear Clara!” I replied, in a choking voice
of deep emotion. “Whatever may happen, rest assured
your dear image shall never be effaced from my heart!
Adieu! and may all holy angels guard you!”

I drew her fondly to my heart, silently imprinted a kiss
upon her pale forehead, and then turned away to conceal
the tears that I found myself unable to suppress.

When, after the lapse of a few minutes, I ventured to
look around, I found myself alone with the Indian whom
Dundenah had left with me as a guard. The savage was
seated near the door, the only point of entrance or exit to
the building, and, with his black eyes fixed upon me,
looked more like a hideous figure in wax than a human
being.

I knew by this, that for the present I was to be guarded
without being bound; and I felt grateful to Dundenah,
who had the ordering of all, for even this little act of kindness.
I took advantage of my liberty, therefore, and
seating myself upon one of the rude benches, gave way to
such reflections as my peculiar situation naturally called
forth.

I thought of home, and the friends of my youth, from

whom, not three months since, I had parted with feelings
of exultation—not because of leaving them—but because I
was going abroad into the great world, a free man, to
follow the bent of my own inclinations; and now how I
envied them! and what would I not have given to have
been once more among them! I pictured to myself the
grief of my father, and sisters, and Old Moll, when the
news should reach them that I was lost, with an awful
uncertainty hanging over my fate; and in imagination I
saw poor Tom, even now, breaking his faithful heart at
my long absence.

Then I went over my adventures with Harley and Viola,
and tried to calculate the chances of my ever seeing them
again. Fortunate Harley! so happy in inventions, in
cases of emergency! were he only with me now, I somehow
felt that I could presume upon ultimately escaping
from captivity through his resources and good fortune.

Again I was at the mansion of Colonel Moreland, and
fancied I could see the gloom and distress of the family at
the unaccountable absence of Clara—while I, though innocent,
was even now, perhaps, being denounced as a heartless
miscreant, who had led her astray from the paths of
rectitude and honor; and this reflection caused me many
a keen pang, valuing as I did my reputation more than
my life. That my rival would every where proclaim me as
a base, unprincipled, and perhaps cowardly villain, I felt
to be certain; and I fairly groaned at the thought that I
could not soon be there to clear myself of the calumnious
charges.

Then my thoughts reverted to Clara. Poor girl! what
would be her fate? Perhaps doomed to a miserable life
of captivity, toil and drudgery—wedded, it might be, after
the Indian custom, to one of her brutal captors. But no!
no! this idea was too horrible—I could not bear to dwell

upon it—death in any shape were a thousand times
preferable to such a doom. I felt Clara would think so
also; and, should the worst come to the worst, would
rather end her life in self-defence—go unpolluted into the
presence of her Maker—than suffer so demoralizing a
degradation!

Dear Clara! how her sweet, sad image dwelt in my
mind! and how her last words still rung in my ear, mournfully,
like a knell for one departed! Had we indeed said
the last farewells? should we meet no more on earth?
God forefend! for then, even with life and liberty, I felt
I must be ever miserable.

But who was she that had separated us? that strange,
mysterious, beautiful being, who spoke our tongue with
such fluent ease and lofty diction? If a native of the
tribe, how had she acquired such a command of our
language? and if of another race, how had she attained to
such power over the barbarous Wepecoolahs?

Strange being! would she have a voice in the council
which must decide our fate? and if so, would she lean to
the side of mercy, or give her influence for the heaviest
doom? Wonderful being! I had not been able to read
her; and knew not if her heart were of adamant, or
susceptible of the tender touches of pity.

While occupied with these reflections and speculations, a
hand lightly touched my shoulder. I looked up, and
Dundenah again stood before me.