University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

At the first wail of the whippoorwill perched on the
trunk of the fallen tree where the Indian maiden sang in
the daytime, and just when the last glimmer of twilight
was succeeded by the silvery rays of the rising moon, our
temporary sojourners at the foot of the mountain were
startled by the hailing halloo of an Indian, which they immediately
understood to be the announcement of the approach
of Julia, the captive maiden.

The only direction by which horses could approach the
small area in the midst of which stood the encampment
was by following the course of the river, along the right
bank of which was an old Indian path. Up this path
Charles and the Indian maiden ran, hand-in-hand, to meet
the captive; and when they turned an acute point of one
of the ridges, round which wound the path, meandering
with the stream, they beheld the object of their solicitude.
Rushing forward, Charles clasped his affianced in his arms,
and, when relinquished by him, she was as heartily embraced
by the Indian maiden.

Silence prevailed for many moments, during which their
tears could not be restrained. But their throbbing hearts
were relieved.

“Oh, Julia,” said Charles, “I did not think, when we
parted, we should meet again in such a place as this! I,
too, am a prisoner. They detained me in hopes I would
unite with them in the war against the Colonists. And they
brought thee hither to remove one of the motives I might
have to escape. I fear you have suffered very much!”

“Indeed, I have not!” replied Julia, with a slight smile
and a blush. “It has been like a dream—a repetition in
my slumbers of some of the fireside stories I have listened
to of long winter evenings. The two chiefs who captured
me could speak our language very well, and provided every

convenience for me in their power. Their first care was to
assure me I should sustain no injury; their next, that I
should meet with thee. After that, all was pleasing novelty
and romantic adventure.”

“Her voice is like the warbling of the robin or the
sound of dancing waters,” said the Indian girl; and Charles
rendered it into English.

“How beautiful!” said Julia, gazing at the face of the
child of the forest.

“Let us now hasten to the tent of my Indian mother,”
said Charles, leading the way. “But who is that?” he
continued, seeing a white man following, the two chiefs
having halted with Queen Esther's guard.

“That is our gardener, Paddy Pence,” said Julia. “You
may come now, Paddy,” she continued.

Paddy ran forward and prostrated himself before Charles,
whom he had not recognised; for Julia, with maiden modesty,
not wishing him to hear that which might be uttered
on her meeting with her lover, had directed him to remain
some distance behind.

“Oh, Misther Indian chafe,” cried he, “if you have kilt
Mr. Charles, do plase send me and Miss Julia back to the
Jenny Jump, and Mr. Schooley will pay you a thousand
pounds; I know he will, for he said he would!”

“When did he say that, Paddy?” asked Julia.

“I mane I know he would naturally say sich a thing
afther he found out we had both been captivated!”

“Paddy!” said Charles.

“You know me name, Misther Indian; and I hope you
don't mane to take the sculp of a friend.”

“Paddy, don't you know me?”

“Are you one of the great and noble and ginerous chafes
who used to ate and smoke at Misther Schooley's table? I
thought I knew yer voice. And do you know I always
thought you the handsomest one of them all?”

“Be done, now, Paddy; none of your nonsense, or by
the patron saint of all the Paddies of ould Ireland—”

“Wha! I know you now, Mr. Charles, by your poor
brogue!” cried Paddy, leaping up. “And, as sure as the
moon is shining over us, I had forgotten your hunting-shirt,
and leggins, and breech-clout, on the day you left

us. And here I've been mistaking you for one of them
blackguard savages!”

“Paddy,” said Julia, as they moved slowly toward the
fire at the hut, “you must not abuse the Indians. If
Charles is not one, this lady is.”

“I beg yer pardon, miss,” said he, addressing the
Thrush; “it was only an Irish slape o' the tongue.”

After interpreting the speech, Charles informed Paddy
that the Indian lady did not understand English.

“Then, be the powers,” said Paddy, “she wouldn't be
likely to sculp me for me Irish.”

They were met at the threshhold of the encampment by
the foster-mother of Charles, who tenderly folded Julia in
her arms, and placed her on the seat of furs which had
been provided for her. She gazed long in admiration of
the features and form of the white maiden; and then, turning
to Charles, said she was very lovely, but that he must
not permit her to estrange him from his forest sister.

Every delicacy the camp afforded was produced for the
captives; and Paddy had just a sufficient recollection of his
position and his duty to forbear the gratification of his
ravenous appetite until his mistress bade him eat.

The Rev. Mr. Jones, who had been making the woods
vocal with his spiritual songs, came in and shared the
smiles of Julia. Calvin, too, paid his devoirs in his usual
melancholy way

“Murther!” said Paddy, at the end of his repast, when,
lifting up his eyes, he saw, standing before him, a tomahawk
in one hand and a scalping-knife in the other, the
redoubtable rotundity of the chief of the Capitanasses,
—Popcorn.

“I hope you couldn't be so cruel, Mr. Indian, as to
sthrike a man wid a full stomach, and when he's in sich a
good humour that he wouldn't bate the worst inemy in the
world.”

“Paddy!” said Peter Shaver, hardly able to maintain
his composure, although still conscious of the presence of
the dark blotches painted on his face by the Minisink
artist.

“Paddy!” iterated the gardener. “The divil take me
if me name isn't pat in the mouths of all the black—
Misther Charles, can this chafe understand English?”

“Perfectly; and Irish too,” said Charles.

“I mane,” continued Paddy, “in the mouths of all the
picturesquely-painted chafes of the magnificent natural
forests and mossy strames and gliding rocks.”

“Paddy Pence,” continued Peter, approaching a step
nearer, “don't you know me?”

“No doubt of it, yer noble honour; but I can't jist call
yer name at prisent, though it was on the ind of me tongue
a minute since. You came to Misther Schooley's wid the
rest of the tall majestic chafes and—”

“Paddy Pence,” said the other, “you are the first man
who ever called Peter Shaver tall and majestic, and I thank
you for it.”

“Peter Shaver? What! Peter Shaver, our little potbellied
overseer? It is! Och, forgive me, St. Pater! Why,
you nasty little blackguard, to come wid your disguises
and impose yerself on gintlemen as a natural chafe of these
eternal wildernesses! Begone, ye spalpeen, and larn
betther manners!”

“Come! Foller me, and I'll teach you better manners,
you Irish cur, you!” said Peter, rolling up his sleeves, and
stepping out under the spreading maples.

“I won't fight ye,” said Paddy, “wid sich savage instruments
as them,” gazing at the tomahawk and knife.
“But find a good hickory cudgel, and I'll soon paint yer
bald head the original colour of yer hair.”

Charles and Mr. Jones interposed, and after a few words
of peace and explanation the two old acquaintances became
reconciled, and sat by the fire the remainder of the evening
relating their marvellous adventures.

And Julia, declaring she felt no fatigue, as her progress
through the wilderness had been by easy though tortuous
marches, readily consented to narrate the manner of her
capture.

“Every afternoon,” said she, “since the forest-leaves
have been variegated by the early frosts, it has been my
habit to ride over the grounds we used to visit together. It
was not considered prudent to walk alone in the paths, for
a number of large rattlesnakes had been seen by Mr. Green
every year at that season, seeking, as he says, their dens
in the rocks where they pass the winter. Nor would my
guardian permit me to go unattended. Richard, you know,

could not spare the time to accompany me. And so Paddy,
armed with the French fowling-piece given to Mr. Schooley
by Governor Franklin, followed my steps, and kept my
erratic person in view, as much as I saw proper to permit
him. But my chief reliance was on Solo, my poor, faithful
companion.

“It was upon the gentle slope where Richard, you know,
had girdled the noble forest-trees for the purpose of enclosing
another field, that I paused and listened to the dirge-like
sound of the breeze as it murmured through the boughs
of the stricken oaks. And I sang a mournful ditty,—the
requiem you composed for the night of the conflagration
of the grove devoted to destruction by the civilized Vandals.
Leaning on my elbow,—no doubt the picture of dejection,—and
my sympathetic palfrey as motionless as a
monument, I was startled by the sudden cry of poor Solo;
and, turning, I saw him rolling in agony on the ground,
transfixed by an arrow which had passed through the points
of his shoulders. Paddy came running toward me with
great swiftness, but when he saw the arrow he fired his
gun at random, and, without pausing to recharge it, threw
it down and took to his heels. But he was instantly confronted
in the path by one of the Mingo chiefs, who laughed
very heartily at his panic-stricken face. He seized him
and bound his hands.

“The other chief arose from the tall grass near my
horse, and, taking the reins in his hand, assured me, in very
good English, that it was not their intention to injure either
of us, although we must submit to be their prisoners and
promise not to utter any cries. He said he was employed
to convey me to the West, where I would meet the White
Eagle. That assurance, Charles, bereft me of half my
terrors. And yet a painful thought flashed through my
mind—”

That I had, perhaps, resolved to become an Indian
again, and might be violently tearing thee away from thy
home,” said Charles, smiling.

“Something of that nature, I admit,” said Julia; “but it
flitted away like the gleam of the lightning, and the Mingo
assured me you knew nothing of his proceeding. The object
of his employer was to prevent you from returning and
bearing arms against your red brethren. Then I signified

[ILLUSTRATION]

THE CAPTURE OF JULIA AND PADDY BY THE MINGO CHIEFS.—P. 126.

[Description: 622EAF. Illustration page. Image of a short White man raising his hands, possibly in surrender, to a tall Native American. In the foreground is a dog or wolf with an arrow in his chest. In the background a woman wearing a bonnet and an Native American man look on.]

my readiness to accompany them, if they would also take
my poor wounded Solo. This they could not agree to.
But they assured me his wound would not prove fatal,
though it had been their intention to kill him. They said
the report of Paddy's gun would soon attract the people
thither, and the dog would be taken care of. And so they
hastened us away to the old sycamore, where their horses
were concealed. Paddy was made to get up behind one of
the chiefs, and then we plunged into hidden paths, whose
existence I had no knowledge of before, and rode, I suppose,
many miles without halting. They spread a shelter
toward morning in a deep valley, and wrapped me in furs,
so that neither the chill of the night-wind nor the dew of
the leaves could reach me. I could not eat the food they
offered; but I recollect seeing Paddy's jaws in motion. I
fell asleep and dreamed of thee, Charles, and the Indian
maiden, and a scene like this.

“When daylight appeared, we resumed the journey.
Supposing they might be pursued, our captors frequently
deviated from the usual paths, for the purpose of misleading
those who might attempt to follow us.

“After the second day, the chiefs were less apprehensive
of being overtaken. They now suffered poor Paddy to
go unbound, but warned him not to attempt an escape.
This he pledged himself not to do, assuring them, upon his
honour, that, if liberated, he would not know which course
to take, and would starve in the woods. In short, to their
infinite amusement, he begged them not to leave him behind.
They killed various birds and other tender game
for me; and, my appetite returning, I could partake of
them with a good relish.

“In this manner, the weather being very beautiful all
the time, we completed the journey. Paddy and I were
delivered into the hands of the seven warriors—Senecas, I
think—encamped a few miles from this place up the stream.
One of their party guided us hither, and uttered the halloo
which apprised you of our approach. He then vanished,
and I saw him no more.”

When Julia concluded her recital, Paddy, who had been
listening to Peter, was seen to spring upright.

“And you mane to tell me that that is the prant of the

bear's nails on yer leather shirt?” cried he, when Popcorn
recounted his recent adventure.

“I do, Paddy, and hang me if I can't prove it!”

“And so you must be afther having a vulgar set-to at
boxing wid the filthy crature, instead of using a shelalah!
I'm astonished at yer taste!”

“But I killed him with my tomahawk, Paddy,” added
Peter, in a low tone, “and he never hurt a hair of my
head.”

“A precious small dale ye have left at all! If it wasn't
for the shaving of the hair, and painting of wan's countenance
in that blackguard fashion, I would have no objections
to be an Indian meself for the trifle of a week or
two. But what do they lave that plume of a tuft on the
top o' yer head for?”

“That's the scalp-lock, Paddy.”

“The sculp-lock! Divil the bit shall they have to sculp
me by! I'll have ivery blade taken off the top o' my
head! I'll be as bald as a shaven monk to morrow morning,
if there's a razor to be had! They shall find no sculp-lock
on Paddy's head! And now, what in nature is that
horrid roar I hear?”

“That's my—my horse, Paddy,” said Peter, hesitating,
and recognising the sound.

“And I'd like to saa that same horse o' yours. I hope
you don't fade him in the ear.”

“In the ear?”

“Yes; hasn't he ears?”

“Oh, very large ones. But I don't know what he can
be smelling now. Didn't you hear something?”

Shouts and the reports of guns were indeed heard.
Charles and Calvin sprang up and listened attentively.

“McSwine!” said Charles. “It is the voice of McSwine!
Julia, your captors were pursued, and have been overtaken.
My father permitted McSwine to go upon the trail, and he
is an experienced woodsman. Listen! Did you not hear
that? The Senecas cry, Oonah! It is for us to fly. We
will not move! My mother, let Queen Esther's guards
hide from the fatal aim of McSwine. He is our friend,
and will deliver us. We will remain!”

“My son,” said the Gentle Moonlight, “there are more
than a hundred Seneca warriors encamped behind us, and

others are on the march. They have been sent to kill
buffalo, and merely await our motions, for they have been
charged to see that no one escapes before we reach Chilicothe.
Such was the speech of a runner who passed this
morning.”

“Queen Esther,” said Calvin, “cannot have given orders
to restrain my actions. I will go to the Oneidas, and then
to the faithful band of Delawares remaining in their wigwams.
I will return with as many as will accompany me,
and we will defend the sister of Brandt's mother, and his
own sister.”

Calvin started away, and was soon lost to sight in the
intricacies of the woods. Meantime an occasional shot was
heard, followed by the yells of the savages, which seemed
to grow fainter in the distance.

Charles went forth alone in the direction from which the
yells at first proceeded, and sounded a horn his father had
given him. It was replied to immediately by McSwine,
who was standing but a few hundred paces distant. The
next moment the rescuing party advanced, and were soon
greeted with the animated congratulations of Charles.

“Hoot, mon! Our blude's up! Where's the lassie?”
said McSwine.

“Safe, safe!” cried Charles. “She is yonder, where the
fire is glimmering, in the camp of my foster-mother. And
she is safe for the night. The Senecas, though wolves by
day, do not often prowl in the night. Come in and eat.
And you are here, Will?” he continued, heartily welcoming
Van Wiggens, and patting the head of his frisky,
stump-tailed dog.

“Yes, tam dem!” said he. “Dey steal te goot and te
peautiful Miss Lane, and leave te scolding Mrs. Wan
Viggens!”

Charles cordially grasped the hands of the rest of the
party—some five or six in all—who had accompanied
McSwine.

But the Indians knew McSwine's Scotch accent, and
recollected his herculean frame, which, years before, had
been terribly familiar. Hence their flight before they
knew exactly the numerical strength of the rescuers.

Charles led his friends into the tent of his Indian
mother, where Julia gave utterance to the thanks she felt

for the pursuit, and where the Indian maiden and her aunt
had already prepared for them a plentiful repast.

They ate like half-starved wolves, having fasted for
several days. And, as they masticated the bear, Peter
Shaver was heard to say he had killed him.

“Tam! Who's dat tere?” cried Van Wiggens, pointing
at the chief of the Capitanasses.

“I'm Peter Shaver, Will,” said he. “Don't you know
me?”

“Peter Shaver? Warn't he drownded at te Gap?
Dey saw a pig fat round ting floating town te river,
which some said was a swelt hog, and some said it vas like
Peter Shaver. Most of us dought it vas Peter, and it
vas more like him tan you.”

“Bill Van Wiggens,” said Peter, quivering with anger,
“you once felt Peter Shaver's fist on your fat paunch. If
you'll step out, you may feel it again, and then you'll know
him!”

“Tat's his voice, I'll swear to it!” said Van Wiggens.
“I pelieve you now, Peter. You needn't prove it any
more. And you look more like a man as an Indian tan
you did before. Peter,” he continued, in a half whisper,
“tam if I don't turn Indian myself! Mrs. Wan Viggens
will be afraid of me den!”

Peter Shaver, Paddy Pence, and Will Van Wiggens,
surrounded by the three or four clansmen of the Cameron
who had followed McSwine, formed a separate group some
paces apart, and entertained each other with the recital of
their exploits.

“Now, Hugh,” said Charles, when the last bone had
been picked, “you will tell me the news of the valley, and
first of my father.”

“Well, mon, well. The laird was never sick in his life,
since we carried him over the hills of Scotland, his breast
and shoulders shot to pieces by the English cannon. He
reads and studies in his castle, watching for his bonny
laddie's return, but not impatiently. He waits the Lord's
time, who holds us all in the hollow of his hand.”

“God bless my good father!” said Charles; and McSwine
uttered a hearty Amen.

The faithful Scot informed Charles that the capture of
Julia had produced great consternation in the neighbourhood,

and for several days after the occurrence it seemed
doubtful whether a party could be formed to go in pursuit.
Mr. Schooley, almost distracted, did nothing but write letters
to all the chiefs and sachems he had ever known; but
there were no messengers to deliver them. Richard rode
from one house to another, offering insignificant pecuniary
rewards for the rescue and restitution of the lady. His
tears flowed incessantly, but he was religiously averse to
bearing arms himself. Yet he ran and brought the
French gun that had been dropped by Paddy, and, putting
it in the hands of Van Wiggens, proposed supplying the
whole party with horses and ammunition.”

“Poor Solo!” cried Julia, at this point. “Tell me, good
Hugh: what was my poor dog's condition when you left?
Say no more of Richard, or his honest scruples.”

McSwine informed her that he had himself withdrawn
the arrow, and that the faithful animal could use his legs
immediately, for he evinced his gratitude by leaping up
with his paws against his breast; and, when they started in
the pursuit, Solo had to be locked up, else he would have
followed them, and might have died on the way.

“Let us pray!” said Mr. Jones, suddenly returning from
one of his solitary nocturnal rambles, during which he had
been forgotten by the rest of the party. “I have heard
the signals of the wolves of Queen Esther. They are rallying
in the mountains, and after they have buried their
dead they will come upon us with howls and gnashing
teeth.”

“You've got my French gun, Mr. Van Wiggens,” said
Paddy, “and I can't fight.”

“You shall have one of my pistols, Paddy,” said
Charles.

“And one of mine,” said Mr. Jones. “My voice will
intimidate them more than my arms. But, alas! blood has
been spilled. I heard their death-halloo.”

“True, mon!” said Hugh, “we fired bock at 'em. And
when Hugh McSwine fires his rifle at mortal mon he becomes
immortal.”

“Let us pray, then!” repeated David Jones, falling down
on his knees. The whole party, excepting the Presbyterians,
followed his example; the Indian maiden and her
aunt with as little hesitation as the rest. And the Indians,

unlike many of the civilized Christians, never experience
any feeling of shame or degradation in bowing before the
Great Spirit in humble adoration. They care not who sees
them worship the Creator, any more than to be seen admiring
a beautiful flower, or when charmed by a sublime
spectacle of natural scenery.

The eccentric Baptist uttered a long petition to the
Supreme Ruler. He prayed that the party then kneeling
in the solitude of the wilderness might be delivered from
their enemies; and, next, that the Sons of Liberty, led into
battle by George Washington, might triumph over the
legions of the tyrant.

Then he admonished his hearers that to merit the aid
of their Maker it was indispensable that they should be
eager to help themselves, which was the best proof of their
worthiness to be assisted.

And after this, Mr. Jones, by the permission of the
party, retired a few paces apart, and sang one of the martial
psalms of David, in which all the honour of victory was
ascribed to the Lord. And as the savage orgies of the
Senecas in the distant hills could be distinctly heard, constantly
borne on the gentle night-breezes, the mighty sound
of Mr. Jones's voice must have penetrated the ears of the
enemy.

After their defeat, the guard of Senecas bore their dead
—two of their number having fallen—to a place of security,
and buried them with all the ceremonies usual on
such occasions. They then sent a runner to the large
hunting-party of their nation encamped in the vicinity.
Just before the messenger reached the encampment, Queen
Esther arrived; and when the runner delivered his message,
and made known the fact that two of the guard had
fallen, an intense excitement ensued. Queen Esther, who
had been accompanied by several of the principal chiefs
recently returned from Oswego, immediately summoned a
council of warriors, at which it was resolved to surround
the camp on the Alleghany at early dawn and demand the
delivery of the offending whites into their hands. This
project had the hearty approval of the Queen, and she anticipated
with delight the torture she meant to inflict on
her captives.

But Bartholomew Calvin had not been idle. He collected

the party of Delawares who still acknowledged his
authority, and also a number of Cherokees from the South,
who were passing toward the neutral hunting-grounds beyond
the Ohio. A small band of Shawnees, being assured
they had no cause of complaint against the Colonists for
the murder of Cornstalk at Fort Point Pleasant, as that
deed bad been done by the agents of Lord Dunmore, likewise
consented to join him, but with no promise to make
war against the Senecas. These, together with the seven
Oneidas granted as a special protection to Gentle Moonlight
and Brown Thrush, numbered altogether, including
the party at the camp, some seventy men; and, apprehending
an early assault, Calvin lost no time in leading his succours
to the scene of action. They arrived late in the night,
and, to avoid disturbing the slumber of our party, sought a
few hours' repose under shelter of the surrounding trees.

As they had foreseen, the warwhoop of the Senecas rang
down the valley of the Alleghany at early twilight. Charles,
and Calvin, and Hugh, followed by the rescuing party of
Scots, rushed at once to the narrow pass above, which, if
successfully defended, closed the principal avenue of access
to the encampment; for it was defended in other places by
almost precipitous cliffs.

The Indians who had followed Calvin still lay concealed,
in obedience to his instructions.

At the pass Queen Esther herself came forward and demanded
the delivery of the party who had fired on her
guard. This request was refused by Charles, because the
guard had been the first to fire, and because the whites
were his friends, and were pursuing the Indians who had
captured the unoffending maiden.

“You see I have the means of compelling obedience,”
said Esther, pointing to the long array of painted warriors
behind.

“I see you have many brave men,” said Charles, “but
we have warriors quite as bold to meet them.”

“But not so many, On-yit-hah,” (bird of the strong wing.)
“And why should the White Eagle defend the accursed pale-faces?
Ay, he is a pale-face, too! And am not I a pale-face?
But we have dwelt among the sons of the forest, to
whom the great Ha-wen-no-yu gave the whole of the
woods and the prairies. America's rivers, mines, minerals,

fishings, hawkings, huntings, and fowlings,—as enumerated
in the impudent grant of James, Duke of York, to Berkeley,
Baron of Stratton,—and all other royalties, profits,
commodities, and hereditaments, have ever belonged, and
ever should in justice belong, to the noble Indians, who
have spared and adopted us. You and I are bound in
honour to be the foes of their foes, the friends of their
friends. Speak, On yit-hah!”

“Queen Esther, it is too late to reverse the doom of the
Indians. They now stand but as the trunks of the trees of
the forest, while the pale-faces are as innumerable as the
leaves or the stars of heaven. The leaves may fall; they
return again in the spring; but the oak, once uprooted or
felled, rises no more. It is in vain to speak of exterminating
the white race on these shores. And whether King
George succeeds in subjugating the people, or the people
in throwing off their allegiance, the result will be the same
to the doomed Indian. I will weep with you and mourn
their sad destiny; but it would be worse than useless to
contend for them in battle, and criminal to engage them on
either side in the strife between the Colonies and the crown.
Let us unite in preserving them from the danger on every
hand, and thus we may contribute to prolong their existence.”

“Enough, ungrateful boy! But you and I must perish
with the doomed Indian! Know you not it is better to die
nobly and quickly amid the smoke and slaughter of battle,
than to ignominiously drag out a miserable existence and
finally sink into contempt? Better that you, and the white
maiden, and your Indian mother, and Thayendanegea's infatuated
sister, should all perish, than breed divisions among
the warriors of the scattered nations. And you, degenerate
son of the Lenni Lenappé,” she continued, addressing Calvin,
“why dost thou not sigh at the feet of some high-born
white damsel?”

“Queen Esther!” replied the enraged youth, “whoever
accepts me for a husband must be virtuous and contented
with her lot. And such was not the case with thee.”

“Fool! coward! wretch!” cried the exasperated old
hag. “I will have you a prisoner and burn you at the
stake!”

“Not so fast, madam, if you please!” said Calvin.

“There are warriors of my nation now crouching within
call. Let your wolves but once more sound the warwhoop,
and thou shalt be my prisoner!”

“Ha! ha! ha! The poor silly youth! Boasting of his
Delawares when there are not two hundred of them capable
of bearing arms if they were all collected from the four
quarters of the earth!”

“We have Oneidas, Cherokees, and Shawnees in our
camp,” said Charles.

“Not seventy, all told, On-yit-hah. I learned at the
council the numbers and probable localities of every nation.
But Indians should not shed each other's blood. We came
hither to fight the white men who slew our warriors. Will
you give them up?”

“Not while there is an arm among us strong enough to
raise a tomahawk!”

Queen Esther, seeing the pass could be defended by the
small party already posted in the commanding positions,
drew back, announcing her purpose to consult her chiefs
once more before giving the signal for the attack.

And while Charles awaited the result of the consultation,
Paddy Pence came running toward him, nearly out of
breath, and very pale.

“Mr. Charles! Mr. Charles!” said he, “there's Indians
in the bushes under the trays. I stepped aside, niver
draming of sich a thing, and when I cast me eyes downward,
sure enough I beheld an Indian fornents me toes.
And he was winking and making mouths, and screwing
about in his slape! I turned as soon as I could convaniently,
and tried to stale softly away. But, as St. Pater's
my witness, the logs I thought I was stipping over ivery-where
were slaping Indians! And I sat down on one, and
he drew up his fut and struck me behind such a powerful
blow that me head, before I could stop it, went against a
tree siven yards away.”

“Nonsense! Don't trouble me now with your idle
dreams,” said Charles, making an effort to assume a severe
gravity.

“Drames! Och, murther! An' I hope the savage will
think it a drame when he wakes up! Och, Paddy Pence,
Paddy Pence! It's coming to be the very thing they said
would happen to ye in the wild country of America!”

Leaving the Highlanders under McSwine posted in positions
to command the pass, Charles, who had been beckoned
away by his foster-mother, slowly walked toward the tent.
She lifted the curtain of dressed skins, and revealed a
spectacle that caused the young man's bosom to swell with
tender emotions. At the extremity of the pavilion he beheld
Julia partly habited in the Indian costume, profusely
and richly ornamented. At her feet sat the Indian maiden,
her head reclining on the captive's knee and her lustrous
eyes fixed in admiration on her lovely face.

“The Brown Thrush is very kind to her pale sister,”
said Charles, advancing in obedience to the desire of his
foster-mother.

“Oh, yes!” said Julia, smiling sadly. “She has been
kind and loving. And what return can I make for such
affection? To carry her into the habitations of our people
would be to deprive her of happiness.”

“Kacha Manito dwells in the air,” said the Indian
maiden, who had learned many English words. “He likes
trees, flowers, rocks, and streams. He would not stay in
strong houses.”

“And I could not dwell in tents,” said Julia.

“Unless detained as a prisoner,” said Charles.

“Oh, then there would be no remedy,” said she.

“Would the Antelope escape?” asked the Thrush. “If
so, she shall return to her people; and, if she desires her
Indian sister to go with her, she will do so. And then the
White Eagle will put down his tomahawk and rifle, and no
one will watch to take away his life. His sisters would be
very happy.”

“But the Thrush would droop and die if taken from her
native woods,” said Julia.

“Then she would go to the Spirit-land and sing until
her white sister and the White Eagle came. In that hunting-ground
there are no rains to wet, no frosts to chill us.
The good Manito makes all happy. No more dying, no
more pain here,” she added, placing her hand on her breast.

“And hast thou any pain there?” asked Julia.

“Oh, yes! The Malcha Manito keeps saying I must
kill the Antelope, or On-yit-hah (bird of the strong wing)
will fly away and return no more. But the Good Spirit
whispers that when the Antelope dies the White Eagle will

fold his wings on some high rock and close his eyes. I
could not bear to see him so.”

After a long silence, during which both Charles and Julia
scanned with amazement the ingenuous features of the Indian
girl, the latter asked the Thrush if she had not said
she loved her white sister, and if she could really be induced
to take her life if assured it would not grieve the White
Eagle.

The Indian maiden said the Thrush never sang falsely.
She did love her white sister dearly. She loved her before
she ever saw her face, from the description her brother
(Brandt) had given, and because the White Eagle loved
her. But she said it would not be an unfriendly act to
send her sister to the eternal flowers and fruits of the
Spirit-land. She would be very happy there, and the
Thrush would be very happy here with the White Eagle.

Charles and Julia only gazed in astonishment, mingled
with painful forebodings. And the Indian maiden continued
substantially as follows:—

“But her white brother might mourn, and never smile
again. Then his forest-sister would do nothing but shed
tears. No; she would not kill her sister. Her word was
spoken. But her white sister might kill her. She would
dig up a root for the Antelope to give her. She would
take it from her snow-white hand and swallow it. She
would be happy in the Spirit-land, and her pale-face sister
would be happy with the White Eagle in the house of his
white-haired father.”

“No!” said Charles, with emphasis. “The White Eagle
would be as miserable if his red sister died as he would to
lose his Antelope. Neither must die. But if one of them
were to kill the other, On-yit-hah would dart up into the
clouds and never alight upon the earth again. His sisters
must live and love each other.”

The Indian girl, smiling through her tears, wound her
arms round the form of Julia, and kissed her repeatedly.

Charles, being informed by his Indian mother that a
messenger from Queen Esther awaited him at the pass,
hastened in that direction.

Julia's tears were wiped away by the long silken hair of
the forest-maiden, and they ate together the delicious viands
placed before them by the Gentle Moonlight.