University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

The next day they set out for the Great Council-Fire,
between the broad lakes, where the earth was shaken by the
roar of mighty waters, and where Heno, the Spirit of
Thunder, sat in his majesty and hurled his bolts at the
enemies of heaven.

The cavalcade (all now being mounted) consisted of
some twenty warriors, with their sisters and mothers,—the
latter always having a voice in the ratification of treaties;
and it was understood that, as usual, the pale-faces would
strive to negotiate for more of their land. They had been
preceded the day before by a very large delegation of
Senecas, who were, with the exception of Red Jacket,
(whose father was a Cayuga) in favour of war—war against
the Colonies.

The Rev. Mr. Jones gladly availed himself of this
opportunity of meeting the representatives of so many
tribes. And Peter Shaver, having not yet succeeded in
finding his enemies, vowed his purpose to look for them
around the Great Council-Fire, and to chastise them wherever
he might see them. The young Delaware chief,
melancholy and sighing, followed in silence.

As Peter endeavoured to urge his long-eared charger
forward, there was a very boisterous exploison of laughter.
Some of the boys had inserted pepper under the tongue of
the jackass, and as he trotted along he kept up for some
distance an incessant braying; and while the boys yelled,
and the men uttered every conceivable sound and some
that were certainly inconceivable, poor Peter could only
gesticulate with his clenched fists and threaten vengeance.

This amused his tormentors the more, even while they admitted
“Popcorn,” as they called him, was a brave man;
and he was no coward, as the sequel will show.

Our party were welcomed to the Great Council by
Brandt himself; and a vast number of Charles's old playmates,
now chiefs and warriors, crowded round him and
renewed their professions of friendship and attachment.

But Charles perceived with regret the greater number
of white men mingling with the Indians were British
agents. Sir John Johnston, John Butler and his son
Walter, Girty, and McKee, as well as the implacable Queen
Esther, were there.

The chiefs were the first to speak. White Eyes, an
aged chief of the Western Delawares, had the precedence,
and he was in favour of peace and alliance with the Americans;
but Captain Pipe, another chief of the same band,
declared for the British.

The Caugnawagas all spoke in favour of the British;
while, the only Cherokee who spoke at all took the opposite
side. The Shawnees were inclined to join the Colonies,
but could never do so, so long as the death of Cornstalk, a
great chief, and his son, Elenipsico, remained unavenged.
They had been killed in a Western fort because the whites
believed some of the Shawnees had murdered a Mr. Gilmore.
Mr. Gilmore had been shot and scalped by Elliot,
an English agent, for the purpose of producing such a
result.

The chiefs of the Five Nations permitted the chiefs of
other tribes to be heard first, because they had come a
great distance to meet them there; and when the representatives
of the various Western tribes had uttered their
sentiments, Thayendanegea rose and spoke in favour of
war—war against the Americans. He said, “States are
ungrateful, like men. The first pale-faces that landed on
our soil were poor, and we pitied them. We gave them
land, and they grew rich. Then they despised us, and
sought our destruction. So with the Colonies. When they
were weak, and the people few in number, we were termed
the lords of this broad continent, and their humble petitions
were addressed to us. Now they consider themselves
the lords, and would drive us from our inheritance. Let
us conquer them or die. Death in battle is preferable to

degradation in life. Such is my judgment. But we will
have the warriors of our great father over the broad water
to aid us, and we shall be victorious. If we do not embrace
this opportunity, we shall never have another. If we remain
neutral, who will assist when the victor in the present
contest shall assail us? No matter which party is beaten,
the other will some day drive us from our fathers' graves.
Rather let us be buried in them!”

Charles was then permitted by the aged chiefs, as a
special act of courtesy, to follow his foster-brother. He
said he could not agree with his brother. The Americans
were not to be dreaded so much as the British. The oppression
came from the government beyond the ocean;
and, if they oppressed their own people, how could it be
supposed they would spare the Indians? He was in favour
of a strict neutrality, unless the Indians should be unanimously
inclined to join the Colonies—a thing he did not
look for.

Sir John Johnston ridiculed the idea of permitting boys
to speak in council, but admitted that the mother of
Charles had a right to send him there. He controverted
what had been said with indignant warmth.

Simon Girty next spoke in behalf of the royal cause.
He made a very great impression by means of ingenious
falsehood. Professing to be quite conversant with the
purposes of the Americans, he announced that they intended
to exterminate the Indians as the shortest way to
possess their lands. And this declaration was substantiated
by McKee and Elliot, all renegade tories.

Red Jacket replied to Girty, and said he derived no
right from his mother to speak in the council, and especially
to utter lies. He was in favour of neutrality. If
they participated in the war at all, many of their brethren
would fall. That was inevitable. And they would
be weakened. If they kept aloof, the victor, whether
America or England, would be weakened from losses and
weary from suffering, while the Indians would be strong
and more numerous than ever. That was their best
security.

Young Bald Eagle, of the Pottawatomies, called Red
Jacket a coward,—all words and no blows.

A Wyandot chief did the same.

A Mingo chief sustained the last two speakers, and
declared for war against the Americans.

A Shawnee chief said his nation was divided, one-half
agreeing with the Western Delawares to remain
neutral.

The Oneidas, influenced by the Rev. Samuel Kirkland,
who was present, announced their determination to remain
at peace with the Americans.

The British officers then proposed to expel the missionaries
from the council, and an intense excitement prevailed.
Many tomahawks, which had been concealed, were
brandished, and the utmost efforts of the sachems and
chiefs were required to prevent the white men from desecrating
the council-house with blood. They arrived at no
other definite result than an agreement of those favourable
to the British to meet again at Oswego.

Then a general dispersion took place, and our party prepared
to return to the village they had set out from, near
the head-waters of the Susquehanna.

The friendly Shawnees, Delawares, Cherokees, and Oneidas,
were encamped on the same ground; while the tribes
committed to the British cause kept aloof, and regarded
them with looks of anger and aversion. The two missionaries,
and the foster-mother and sister of Charles, as
well as Charles himself and the redoubtable “Popcorn,”
were in the midst of the former.

In the evening Brandt came alone to the tent of his
aunt, and sat down in gloomy silence between Charles and
his sister.

“Oh, my brother,” said his sister, “do not go with
them to Oswego. Come with us to the peaceful vale where
the south winds are sighing sweetly through the quivering
leaves.”

“No, sister,” said he, sadly. “The war-whoop is heard
on the shores of the northern lake. The war-paths are
open. The tomahawks have been dug up. Thy red brother
must lead the van of the battle. He must not kill his
white brother.”

“No!” cried the Thrush. “He would not do it if he
met him in battle!”

“But Thayendanegea's people might kill him. The
White Eagle must remain with his brother.”

“The White Eagle is free,” said Charles, “and may soar
whithersoever he chooses.”

“No!” said Brandt.

“What does my brother mean?”

“The White Eagle must not be pierced by the arrows
of his red brother. He must not, then, stand before the
bow. He must remain with his sister, among the women,
if he will not fight the American pale-faces. Then the
White Eagle must have some other name. He will no
longer be a chief. They will call him the Frightened
Hare!”

“Never!” said Charles. “I will lead my white people
against the British. Let my red brother keep from before
our rifles!”

“The Thrush will go with the White Eagle,” said the
maiden, “and sing him to sleep, so that he shall not harm
his red brother.”

“The Brown Thrush must go with Thayendanegea,” said
the chief.

“No!” said his aunt, speaking for the first time,
although she had been an attentive listener. “My sister's
daughter now has no mother but me. My sister is dead.
My sister's son, listen to my command. The Thrush shall
not go with you.”

“My mother's sister, my ears are open. What you
have said has entered them, and you must be obeyed.”

“My sister's son,” she continued, with deliberation, “the
Brown Thrush shall go with the White Eagle.”

“You command it. It must be so. But whither will
they go? You cannot command the three thousand warriors
whose chiefs have decided that my white brother
shall not return to the pale-faces until the war is ended.”

“False, treacherous, perfidious Thayendanegea!” said
Charles. “And this is the cowardly work of the one I
have loved and trusted! No more my brother! Henceforth
we are foes!”

“My brother, do not make my blood boil over. Another
had died ere the speech were finished. Thayendanegea did
nothing. He knew it not until the chiefs had decided.
He did not approve it, but he could not oppose it. He
loves his brother still. He waits to hear his brother's
next words.”

“Forgive me, my brother!” said Charles, with tears in
his eyes. “I ask my brother's pardon.”

“It was the Malcha Manito, and not my brother. But
what can my brother do? The warriors surrounding him,
who will not declare war against his white brothers, will
not oppose the decree of the chiefs. They are not ready
to fight their red brothers.”

“I will escape. You know the White Eagle can soar
above his enemies.”

“But whither will he direct his flight? He will not find
the Antelope in the peaceful vale.”

“My brother speaks no fables,” said Charles, pale, and
deeply moved.

“No. Thayendanegea cannot say what is not true.
His brother's white sister has been, ere this, conveyed
away. It was the decree of the chiefs, solicited by the
Queen of the Senecas; but she cannot be injured. You
are unhappy?”

“Oh,” cried the Indian maiden, “let her be brought
hither, or go where we go, and I will kiss away her tears
and sing her to sleep!”

“Sister's son,” said the aunt, “let it be so.”

“It will be so,” he replied. “Such is the purpose of
the one who decided every thing, and whose decision was
merely ratified by the chiefs.”

“And that was old Esther,” said Charles.

“Queen Esther,” said Brandt.

“My brother,” said the Delaware chief, Calvin, who had
hitherto remained a silent listener, addressing Charles, “I
will remain with you, or we will go together, whithersoever
the great Ha-wen-no-yu, or our Holy Father, may direct
our steps.”

“Farewell!” said Brandt, rising. “The maple-leaf is
red. It has been painted by the first frosts. Ere it falls
we may meet again. Our lodges must be replenished with
meat, and our women must gather the corn. And before
the war-trail winds toward the sea we may hunt the buffalo
in the West.”

And he was gone before his mother's sister could interrogate
him further. And not many minutes afterward the
approach of Queen Esther was announced by fife and
drum, which had been presented her by the British.

Queen Esther, or Catharine Montour, decked in guady
habiliments, entered, and sat in their midst, upon a large
scarlet robe spread for her by one of the attendants.

This woman—who had acquired an almost despotic influence
over the Senecas, the most powerful of the Six Nations,
by her incantations and superior intellect—was herself
a white woman, or the daughter of the half-Indian
wife of one of the noble French governors of Canada—
Frontenac, it has been said. She had been stolen by the
Indians when an infant, and raised among them. She
married a chief, and never could be induced to return to
her white kindred.

She was now in the eightieth year of her age, and her
face was but a concentration of wrinkles, although she had
once been handsome and accomplished.

“Ha, Gentle Moonlight,” said she, with a sardonic
smile, “there is a cloud upon thy face! Oh, yes! I did
it; it was me. War, war to the hilt! My work. Blood
must flow. Brandt shall be the Grand Sachem at Oswego.
He shall be king; but he shall be the head-warrior, too.
And why don't you command this young Eagle to marry
the poor Thrush? and then we would make him a great
prince. Oh that he was a Seneca! I would order him
to marry; and no one disobeys me. What! dost frown
at me? Tut, boy! But you won't escape. I have too
wise a head for that. You will not leave your darling
Antelope? Oh, no! Well, then, you shan't. She will
come to you. That was Queen Esther's wit! Adieu!
Go peaceably and submissively to the West, on the Scioto,
or cross over to the `Dark and Bloody Ground,' as some
call it,—but it is neutral now,—and hunt the deer and
buffalo. But do not destroy the Antelope!”

Without permitting any one to reply, she arose and departed,
preceded by her martial music.

Shortly afterward, Charles was roused from his abstraction
by the quiet entrance of Skippie, who stood before
him and said—

“Going!”

“Going, Skippie?”

“I.”

“I understand. Tell my father—”

“All. Know all.”

And before Charles could utter another word Skippie
was gone.

Shortly after this, Charles was again startled by a tremendous
uproar among the boys. It appeared that, in imitation
of their fathers, they had been holding a council.
They had their interpreter, who rendered every thing in
plain English to Peter Shaver, who was present. Very
soon Peter was informed that he had been elected king.
And, upon desiring to know where his subjects were to
be found, they informed him he should be ruler over all
the Capitanasses. There had been a tribe of that name
in Jersey, although Peter was not aware of it. Peter,
therefore, supposing he had been made the laughing-stock
of the boys, being called King of the Capitanasses because
he rode an ass, indignantly withdrew. They followed,
whooping and crying, “Popcorn, King of the
Capitanasses!” The men laughed heartily as Peter strode
over the ground toward the camp of Gentle Moonlight.
And, as he approached, he espied the Minisink Indian who
had put the dark stains on his face, and which no process
of washing and rubbing he could employ had yet removed.
Finding the Indian merry at his expense, he threw aside
his blanket and charged upon him with his fists. Now,
although Peter was short and fat, and rather short-winded,
he was somewhat scientific in the use of his fists. A ring
was instantly formed around the combatants, with shouts
and cries of merriment. The Minisink strove in vain to
get the “Indian hug” on Peter. Peter planted his blows
with such precision and rapidity that his adversary was
forced back, and, as he retreated, dodging from one side to
another, Peter was applauded by the spectators. Finally,
Peter succeeded in planting a blow on the stomach of the
Indian, which laid him on the ground, and then the victor
would have been content to drop the quarrel. Not so the
Indian. Incensed and suffering, he drew his knife and
made several desperate lunges, which were warded off with
difficulty. The spectators interfered, and disarmed the
Indian, who threatened to be revenged on some future occasion,
while the boys conducted their new chief and champion
in triumph to his tent.

But the bruised Minisink soon found sympathizers; and
as the British agents, under the guise of peddlers, had distributed

no small quantity of rum among the men, there
soon arose a cry for the scalps of the American pale-faces.
When this reached the ears of the foster-mother of Charles,
she had her tent removed to a place of greater security,
where it was surrounded and guarded by a number of Delaware
warriors; and early in the morning our party set
out, in a southern direction, toward the head-waters of the
Alleghany.

Gentle Moonlight, Brown Thrush, Charles, the young
Delaware chief, the Rev. David Jones, and Peter, formed
the party. Although a prisoner, Charles was permitted to
retain his arms, having given his word that he would not
attempt an escape for the space of seven days. This he
did the more readily, as he knew it would require that
length of time to convey Julia to the place in the West
designated by Queen Esther, and where he hoped to be
permitted to see her.

Although our party were granted the privilege of encamping
as often as they pleased on the route, to make long or
short marches as might suit the convenience of the sister
of the mother of Brandt, yet it was soon apparent that
they were followed and observed by seven of the guards of
Queen Esther, whose duty it was to prevent any communication
with the settlements of the white people. But they
were also preceded by seven Oneida warriors friendly to
the American cause. These warriors shot an abundance
of game, as they proceeded, for the use of the travellers.

The weather was fine, and the journey, although easy and
pleasant, (for the foster-mother of Charles was rich, and
had been lavish in expenditure when providing for the comfort
of her children,) was devoid of special incident until
the party crossed the dividing-line between New York and
Pennsylvania. Here they rested while canoes were sought
in which to descend the Alleghany River; and here they
were informed by a runner of the approach of Julia,
guarded by two Mingo chiefs, who could speak the English
language, and who had been charged, as the runner assured
Charles, to provide for all her wants, and to prevent her
from suffering the slightest bodily inconvenience on the
journey. Runners likewise came from Oswego, confirming
the rumour that Brandt had been made grand-sachem of the
Five Nations. It was also understood that the Indians

would not go upon the war-path until the next spring; and
in the mean time they were to disperse in hunting-parties,
and secure a large supply of buffalo-meat.

The camp of the travellers, or captives, (for it appeared
they were still subject to the direction of Queen Esther,)
was situated in one of the wildest, and at the same time one
of the most lovely and romantic, spots in nature. It was
on a small delta of the Alleghany. The bright water
flowed at their feet on the south, and upon its surface the
golden beams of the sun danced in ever-varying splendour.
Behind, they were defended from the chilling winds of the
north by a high mountain, whose sides were clothed with
evergreens.

The camp was sheltered from the dews and the noonday
sun by a grove of sugar-maples, upon whose boughs,
ever and anon, rested myriads of wild-pigeons, pausing in
their migratory flight. Charles and Bartholomew Calvin
explored the mountains and streams in the vicinity, and
admired the bold features of the country. And it was
during one of these excursions with gun and angling-rod,
that Calvin confessed—what Charles had already suspected
—his passion for the sister of Brandt; and at the same time
expressed the sad conviction—which was evident to all—
that the Thrush was deeply, blindly in love with the Eagle.
Charles said every thing in his power to encourage and comfort
his friend, assuring him that, whatever might be his
affection for his foster-sister, or her attachment to him,
they could never be united.

And the poor Thrush and her aunt devoted themselves
to the generous task of providing for the comfort of the
captive maiden, whose arrival was now daily looked for.
She was the Antelope, loved by Charles, whom they loved,
and therefore they must love her too. The jealousy and
hatred that might have poisoned more civilized women
under similar circumstances found no place in their bosoms.
It is true, according to their code of morals, a chief
might have more than one wife; but they were not ignorant
that Charles, during the process of his education, had
adopted the Christian faith, and would be governed by the
laws of the race from which he was descended. And, likewise,
Mr. Jones had made some progress in their own conversion
to Christianity. Nevertheless, the devoted Thrush

sang joyously as she prepared soft furs and fashioned robes
of fine cloth and hoods and moccasins for the Antelope.

It was while thus engaged in the deep solitude of the
silent grove that Charles once encountered her. He had
left Calvin and Peter fishing up the stream, near the camp
of the seven guards of Queen Esther.

“My sister,” said he, sitting down at her side on the
bleached trunk of a fallen tree, then checkered by the
straggling rays of the morning sun, “you will be kind to
your white sister, will you not?”

“My brother loves his white sister. I love my brother.”

“But will the Thrush always love the Antelope when
she sees her brother gather the sweetest flowers for her
nosegays?”

“Why not? Cannot my brother love us both? And
why should we not love one another?”

“I fear, my poor sister, that you are incapable of comprehending
me.”

“Oh, never fear. My brother Thayendanegea used to
say the White Eagle would forget his wild Thrush and
remain away. But it was not so. I did not believe it.
And did he not return? He used to tell her, also, that her
white brother would love his white Antelope and forsake
the Thrush. I did not believe that either. He was mistaken
in the one, and will be in the other.”

“But, my sister, suppose it had been as Brandt said?”

“The Thrush would still have sung. She would never
have blamed and hated the Eagle. But it would have been
a mournful song,—her own death-song. She would have
folded her wings and died.”

“Do you not know, my sister, that among the whites
it is unlawful for a man to love two maidens at the same
time?”

“Oh, yes! Mr. Jones has told me. That is among courts
and cities, and where the country is torn by the iron
ploughs. I do not doubt it. But we will not go thither.
The Antelope will remain with us in the warm sunlight,
near the edge of the bright, leaping waters at the foot of
the mountain. She will see the antlered buck followed by
two does, and the birds of fairest plumage attended by two
mates. She will forget the white people and their cruel
customs.”

Charles despaired of convincing her of the superiority
of the customs of the white people; and, after a protracted
silence on his part, while the Indian maiden resumed her
song and plied her delicate fingers in the fabrication of an
exquisitely-ornamented pair of moccasins for Julia, he resumed:—

“But, my sister, hast thou not seen that thy brother's
friend, the young Delaware chief, was fascinated by the
song of the Thrush?”

`He would not wrong his friend. He would rather
perish.”

“I know it. But I would not have him die. I love him
too. We were brothers at the college.”

“And did he not hear thee speak of me? Did he not
know thy sister loved thee? Let him return to his people
in the East, or wed among the Delawares of the West. The
Brown Thrush knows her mate!”

“My sister,” continued Charles, “I say these things to
thee that thou mayest be prepared for the events of the
future. Once I loved thee only, and I love thee yet. But
I could not avoid loving the Antelope of my own race,
when she was so kind to me. What thy brother says is
the truth. A Christian is not allowed to have two wives.
And the Antelope is a Christian. Her husband must have
but one wife!”

“Be it so!” said the maiden, lifting her confiding eyes
to those of the young man. “We will not marry. We
will build no nests. The Antelope and the Thrush will
only love and charm the White Eagle. And when we go
to the great hunting-grounds together, Ha-wen-no-yu may
not have such bad laws as the white men.”

Charles, half amused and half vexed at the argument
and devotion of the child of nature, ceased the discussion.
He was startled, however, soon after, by the arrival of
Peter Shaver, bearing in his arms a very young bear-cub,
which kept up a piteous crying for its dam.

The Indian maiden leaped up in terror, and asked if the
dam had been killed; but Peter, not understanding her
language, only offered her the “pretty pet,” as he called
it. Then, in reply to the same question from Charles, he
said he had not seen the dam.

The Indian girl, upon learning that the dam had not

been destroyed, gathered up her work and fled toward the
camp, not doubting the men would soon have to use their
rifles.

“Yonder she comes now!” said Peter, as he beheld the
infuriated animal plunging down the side of the mountain,
attracted by the cries of her offspring.

“Stop the cub's cries, Peter,” said Charles, “or else
you may feel the weight of the mother's claws before we
can kill her.”

“It wont stop!” said Peter. “And if I shoot it, its
mamma may catch me with an empty gun! I'll let it go!”
he continued, and instantly threw it down. But, instead
of running away, the cub followed Peter as he retreated
behind the fallen trunk. “Oh, what shall I do?” cried
he, now stricken with terror; for the creature would not
leave him, and the dam was coming with fearful strides.

“Climb a tree,” said Charles, amused at the efforts of
Peter to shake off the cub, “or else kill it.”

“Oh!” cried Peter, “he's biting my hand! Help me,
Mr. Cameron!” And as the poor man glared fearfully at
the old bear, now within fifty paces of him, his knees trembled
so violently he was unable to climb the tree he ran to.
But the Delaware youth, who had followed to see the result
of the experiment, and Charles, who did not relish a
closer proximity to the old bear, fired their rifles nearly at
the same moment, from opposite sides, and both with effect.
Nevertheless, she was not killed, though mortally wounded,
and rolled and ran together to the foot of the tree behind
which Peter Shaver was endeavouring to conceal himself;
and there she fell, but not before striking one blow at
Peter, which merely caught the skirt of his buckskin coat
as he fled round the trunk. He was held fast, however,
though the bear was dead, her teeth being desperately
sunk in a root of the tree, upon which Peter's cap had
fallen. Peter continued to make violent struggles to extricate
himself, and still called lustily for help.

“Why don't you turn and fight, Peter?” asked Charles,
advancing carelessly.

“Shoot, Popcorn!” said Calvin.

“Oh! he'll tear me all to pieces! I've lost my gun!”
cried Peter, who had dropped his rifle when the bear sprang
toward him.

“Take your tomahawk or knife,” continued Charles,
seeing the bear was quite dead. One arm clasped her cub,
while the other nailed Peter's hunting-shirt to the tree.

“I can't! I tremble so!” said Peter; “kill him, if you
please!”

“No,” said Charles; “you must distinguish yourself before
you can become a great Indian. If we were to dispatch
the bear, the Indians would call you a woman.”

“Dad burn the Indians and the women,” cried Peter,
“when a savage bear has hold of my shirt-tail! Get out
of the way, if you won't help me!” and, extricating himself
by a violent effort, he sank his tomahawk in Bruin's
head.

“That finished her!” said Calvin.

“You have conquered,” said Charles.

“You dealt such a deadly blow,” continued Calvin,
“that she never moved afterward.”

Just then Peter's ass, which was browsing near, began
to bray.

“Your steed, even, is cheering you, Peter. Well done,
great Popcorn!” added Charles.

“Gentlemen,” said Peter, who soon began to suspect
they were quizzing him, of all offences the most unpardonable,
“I guess you're not in earnest, for I believe the bear
was dead before I struck her. But I don't like to be made
sport of. If you doubt my courage, just strip and let us
fight it out!”

But this was not agreed to. Boxing was not one of
their accomplishments; and they declined the honour, assuring
Peter they did not doubt his superiority in the mode
of combat proposed.

The braying of the ass was caused by the smell of the
blood of the bear. Charles had been informed by the Indian
who had made the exchange with Peter, that it was
his startling braying, whenever he got the scent of blood,
which rendered it necessary to part with him.