*CHAPTER XII*
*THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOIS*
"The Algonquins are reeds that bend, but my paleface brothers are likethe oak-tree!" exclaimed the Iroquois chief, as soon as he beheld theyouths.
Thus briefly did the savage warrior pay a graceful tribute to the skilland courage of his friends who had held back the French, and at the sametime refer modestly to his own victory.
"There is no time to lose!" exclaimed Jack. "The soldiers from the fortare close upon our heels, we did but delay their approach till we heardyour signal. What is to be done? They are in a mood for vengeance."
"Ugh! Let the boats be burnt!"
The howl of the wolf, repeated twice, was given, and the next moment acolumn of smoke was observed in the direction of the canoes, followed byseveral loud explosions, as the kegs of gunpowder, which formed part ofthe lading, blew up.
The next instant the head of the French column appeared through thetrees, and White Eagle, seeing the uselessness of continuing the fightagainst such overwhelming odds, withdrew across the stream with hiswarriors.
"The Wacondah calls us to our wigwams," he said; and now, lightened oftheir loads, and carrying only their rifles and scalps, the Iroquoisstruck across the forest in a south easterly direction, and soon putseveral leagues between themselves and the French, who arrived soonafterwards, only to find the ashes of the fire and the fragments of thecanoes strewn around.
Chagrined and vexed beyond measure that they had once more been baulkedof their prey, and that the "Iroquois devils" had got the best of them,they discontinued the useless pursuit, and returned to the fort.
The Indians travelled quickly, and soon reached the head waters of theGenesee River, and on the afternoon of the fifth day, from a loftyeminence they looked down upon the lodges and wigwams of their tribe inthe peaceful valley below.
A triumphant yell broke from their lips as they beheld this welcomesight, for ever welcome to the soul of the returning warrior is thelodge that he calls his home. The village was quickly deserted by itsinhabitants, for every stripling and maiden, all the squaws and childrencame dancing and shouting to receive them.
With all the agility and suppleness of the deer, the Indian youths camebounding forth to caper about the braves, to finger those gruesometrophies that hung at their girdles, and to carry their rifles andtomahawks. Their faces were radiant with the lofty hero-worship thatburned in their young hearts. How they longed to leave the comparativesecurity of the village and join the war parties!
The maidens, too, well versed in all the art and coquetry of the forest,their long raven tresses decked with flowers, their dark eyes beamingwith love, welcomed home their sweethearts with unfeigned joy. Butthere is always a fly in the honey, and the joy of victory was somewhatmarred by the bitter lamenting of those squaws whose husbands and sonsreturned no more.
A hasty meal was then prepared and set before the Indians in woodenplatters and gourds, and as soon as this was cleared away by theattendant squaws, a fire was lit and the braves seated themselves in acircle and waited solemnly for the passing round of the peace-pipe andthe council that was to follow. A feeling of reverence and awe seemedto pervade the very atmosphere, and the paleface youths became not alittle uneasy, wondering what important event was about to happen next.
The two strangers had caused no little curiosity by their presence,especially amongst the squaws and striplings, but so far no one hadaddressed them personally. Evidently they were all waiting for someexplanation as to why these two palefaces returned home with the bravesand were not treated as prisoners. Their curiosity was soon to besatisfied.
A low murmur of voices ran around the council fire, and as if byinstinct the braves rose to their feet, and in one place the serriedranks opened to admit a very aged chief, who came from one of the lodgesnear the "painted post" and slowly made his way to the assembly. He wasaccompanied by several other aged chiefs, but none amongst them lookedso wise or even so old, by a generation at least, as the Sagamore, whonow toiled painfully across the ground.
His form had once been straight like the fir-tree, but it was now bent,and he leaned heavily on his staff. His face was covered with wrinkles,and his white locks carried the snows of more than a hundred winters.Not till this aged chief had taken his seat at the post of honouramongst the chiefs that formed the front circle did the Indians deign tofollow his example.
Then the sacred pipe, the calumet, was lit and solemnly passed frommouth to mouth, and amid a silence that could almost be felt, the bluesmoke curled upwards around the fire and scented the still air of theearly evening.
At last the White Eagle rose to speak, and as he did so every eye wasintently fixed upon him; even the squaws, who stood at a respectfuldistance from the charmed circle, stayed their gossip and strained theirears to listen to the weighty words of this renowned sachem.
"Father, you see that we come not back with empty hands. The wigwams ofthe Algonquins are empty. Their squaws and their children gaze nolonger upon their braves, for the scalps of their warriors hang at thegirdles of my children."
A hum of satisfaction arose from every part of the circle at thesewords.
"The Great Spirit has called ten of my braves to the happyhunting-fields out there beyond the sunset," continued the chief,raising his right hand as he spoke and pointing to where the sun hadjust set amongst the pines, leaving a train of red and gold. "But theyhad no wounds upon their backs, for their faces were never turned awayfrom their enemies. Their squaws and their children shall be providedfor. I have spoken, for the words of a chief are few!"
A low buzz of conversation went round the circle as White Eagle resumedhis seat, and many an eye was turned towards the palefaces, as thoughsome explanation of their presence was needed. At length the aged chiefrose slowly, assisted by two other chiefs.
Every voice immediately lapsed into silence as the old Sagamore, withflowing locks that were white as the driven snow, began to speak. Soaged was he that the oldest warrior in that grim circle could scarcelyremember him otherwise than he now was. The children of his generation,and the generation that followed him, had passed away like leaves beforethe north wind.
"My children!" he began, and his voice at first was low and broken, butthey listened to him with all the reverence that awe and superstitioncan give.
"Many suns have risen and set since 'Keneu,' the war-eagle of his tribe,led his people forth to battle. A hundred winters have whitened theforests and the plains since he first followed the trail of the deer.Then we were chiefs and sagamores from the shores of the Great SaltLake, far back to the Gitche Gumee and the mountains beyond the plainswhere, amid the eternal snows, the Manitou dwells in the Silence. Thenthe forests were full of deer, the plains were full of herds, and thestreams were filled with fish; and no paleface was to be found in allthe land, for the Wacondah had placed his red children in a land ofplenty, and the smoke from the council fire and the calumet, thepeace-pipe, rose from every valley, and beside every stream were theirlodges, for my people were happy."
"Ugh!" came the ready cry of assent from many a dark-skinned warrior,and many a furtive glance was cast in the direction of the twopalefaces.
"Then from the land of the sun-rising," continued the Sagamore, "in hiswhite-winged birch canoe, that brought the thunder and the lightning,came the paleface; and he laid the forest low before him, and he drovemy people westward, for the face of the Manitou was turned in anger fromhis children. Then we turned our faces westward, towards the land ofthe setting sun, and the regions of the Home-Wind, and we said--
"'Here we will hunt the red deer and the beaver, and from these clearstreams we will take the sturgeon and the salmon, and here, when theManitou calls us, we will die, where we see not the smoke of thepaleface, nor hear the sound of his axe.' Was it well then, chief, tobring hither the children of the East Wind?"
The old man ceased speaking and sank down once more upon the r
ude logthat served as a dais, and the silence became even yet more intense whenthe White Eagle rose again and said--
"Once a mighty paleface came to the lodge of Keneu. Hungry and weary,he came from the land of Wabun, driven here by the cruel laws of hispeople, and he brought to us the thunder and the lightning, and hetaught my people knowledge and wisdom from the sacred writings in theshining land of Wabun. He became the brother and the friend of the redman, and we taught him to hunt the moose and the deer and the beaver,and the Great Sagamore loved him, and gave him a place at the councilfire of my people."
"He is the friend of Keneu, and since many moons his lodge stands empty;but who are these? Are they the children of Miquon?" abruptly asked theaged chief, "or the children of the Canadas?"
"They are the children of the Yengeese, and they raised their hands tohelp the Eagle when his wings were pinioned by the French of theCanadas, and the red man forgets not his friends, when his fetters arefreed, else would the Manitou be angry. They are my brothers, and thewhite blood has been washed from their veins. Will the great fatherturn them from his lodge?"
This speech produced a wonderful transformation in the faces of all whoheard it, and when several other warriors had spoken of the prowess andcourage of Red Feather and Black Hawk, a gentler look came over theSagamore's face as he spoke.
"It is well!" he said. "The Wacondah has willed it. They shall dwellin the lodges of the Iroquois, and my young men shall teach them to huntthe swift deer and the beaver." Then the council broke up, and the menrepaired to their wigwams.
This formal introduction over, the youths were shown to a lodge, nextthe one that awaited the return of the paleface hunter just referred to,and during the weeks and months of their sojourn amongst the tribe theywere treated with all the respect and esteem that belonged to an Indianbrave. The war hatchet had been buried for a while, so they joined thehunting-parties that often scoured the forests, and they soon becameexpert in the arts and crafts of these children of the forest, untileach could handle a canoe, shoot the rapids and hunt the deer like atrue Indian.
"Come with me, my paleface brothers," said White Eagle one day, justbefore the first snow of winter. "Come with me and I will show you howthe Manitou provides for his red children."
So they took their canoes and paddled all day, and then next day theycarried their canoes over a portage until they reached the sweet watersof the Tioga River. As soon as the sun had gone down the chief took apine torch and held it, lighted, over the stream. Almost immediately adozen fine salmon, attracted by the torch, came to the very edge of thestream. Then a fire was kindled close to the bank, and immediately theriver seemed full of living creatures of the finny tribe.
"Look! What a glorious sight!" exclaimed Jamie; "the water is alivewith fish." And it was true, for, attracted by the huge blaze, theycame tumbling over each other, leaping out of the water by dozens, untilthe whole surface glowed and shimmered, green and red and purple.
Then the Indians who had accompanied them in order to get a supply forthe tribe, entered the water, and with long spears made of hard wood,something after the fashion of a trident, speared and hooked the salmonto their heart's content.
As the youths stood spellbound, gazing at this almost miraculous sight,the chief tapped them on the shoulder and said--
"Does the Manitou fill the rivers of the palefaces with fish and theirforests with furs?"
"We have never seen such plenty, chief, in the land of the palefaces.Very often if a man takes a fish from a stream, or a deer from theforest, he is sent to prison and sometimes put to death."
"Humph!" said the chief in a tone of surprise. "Now I know why thepaleface comes over the Salt Water to the hunting-grounds of his redbrother."
The lads were so dumfounded by this unusual sight that their thoughtsturned instinctively to that little burn that sang its way down througha wood-lined vale far away in another land, where to land a single fishwas a heinous crime, and yet how they loved that little spot, now so faraway; but the voice of the chief awoke them from their reverie, saying--
"Come, my brothers, and fill your canoe with the gifts of the Manitou."
They needed no second bidding, and the next minute they, too, wereenjoying the magnificent sport. Very soon all the canoes were filled,and then after a hearty supper of fresh salmon, the fish were sorted,dressed and prepared for drying, after which they were carried home forthe winter's supply.