The Pioneers (Cooper)/Chapter 36
CHAPTER XVII.
"'And I could weep'—th' Oneida chief
His descant wildly thus begun
'But that I may not stain with grief
The death-song of my father's son.'"
It was yet early on the following morning; when Elizabeth and Louisa met by appointment, and proceeded to the store of Monsieur Le Quoi, in order to redeem the pledge that the former had given to the Leather-stocking. The people were again assembling for the business of the day, but the hour was too soon for a crowd, and the ladies found the place in possession only of its polite owner, Billy Kirby, one female customer, and the boy who did the duty of helper or clerk.
Monsieur Le Quoi was perusing a packet of letters, with manifest delight, while the wood-chopper, with one hand thrust into his bosom and the other in the folds of his jacket, holding an axe under his right arm, stood sympathizing in the Frenchman's pleasure with a good-natured interest. The freedom of manners that prevailed in the new settlements, commonly levelled all difference in rank, and with it, frequently, all considerations of education and intelligence. At the time the ladies entered the store they were unseen by the owner, who was saying to Kirby—
"Ah! ha! Monsieur Beel, dis lettair mak-a me de most happi of mans. Ah! ma chère France! I vill see you aga'n."
"I rejoice, Monsieur, at any thing that contributes to your happiness," cried Elizabeth, "but must hope we are not going to lose you entirely."
"Ah! Ma'mselle Templ'! vat honneur I feel to me; mais I 'ave lettair, dat mak-a mon cœur sautez de joie. Ah! Ma'mselle Templ', if you 'ave père, 'ave mère, 'ave leetl'—Jean-tone, vy you dont 'and de ladi a pins, eh!—if you 'ave amis beeg and leetl' you voud be glad to go back. Attendez vous, Ma'mselle, si vous plais; je vous lirai. 'A Monsieur Monsieur Le Quoi, de Mersereau à Templetone, Noo Yorck, les Etats Unis d'Amérique. Très cher ami, Je suis ravis"———
"I apprehend that my French is not equal to your letter, Monsieur," said Elizabeth, glancing her eye expressively at her companion; "will you favour us with its substance in English?"
"Oh! pardonnez moi—I 'ave been so long from Paris dat I do forget de—a—a—a—pronunsashong. You vill 'ave consideration pour moi, and vill excusez my read in France," returned the polite Gaul, bowing with deep humility, as if lamenting his ignorance of his own language; "mais I shall tell you en bon Anglois. I 'ave offeece à Paris, in Bureau, dans le temps du bon Louis; I fly; run avay to sav-a my 'ead. I 'ave in Martinique von leetl' plantation pour sucre ah! ha!-vat you call in dis countray—ah! ha!—Monsieur Beel, vat you call de place vere you vork-a? eh?"
"Clearing," said the wood-chopper, with a kind nod.
"No, no, clear—vere you burn-a my troat, eh!"
Billy hitched up his shoulder, and turned his eyes askance at the ladies, with a broad grin on his face, as he answered—
"I guess 'tis a sugar-bush that the Mounsheer means;—but you mus'nt take that to heart, man; 'tis the law of the woods."
"Ah! coquin, I pardonne you," returned the Frenchman, placing his hand involuntarily on his throat—"diable! de law should be altair. Mais, I 'ave sucre-boosh in Martinique: I fly dere too;—I come ici; votre père help-a me;—I grow reech—yais! I grow reech; mais I 'ave not France!—L'Assemblée Nationale pass von edict"———
"What's that?" interrupted Billy, who was endeavouring, with much interest, to comprehend the story.
"Eh! vat dat! vy vat you call, ven de Assemblee d' Alban' mak-a de law?"
"That's an act of the Legyslatoore," said Kirby, with the readiness of an American on such a subject.
"Veil! dis vas act of Legyslatoore, to restorer my land; my charactair; my sucre-boosh; and ma countray. Ah! Ma'mselle Templ', je suis enchanté! mais I 'ave grief to leav-a you; Oh! yais! I 'ave grief ver mooch."
The amount of all this was, that Mr. Le Quoi, who had fled from his own country more through terror than because he was offensive to the ruling powers in France, had succeeded at length in getting an assurance that his return to the West Indies would be unnoticed; and the Frenchman, who had sunk into the character of a country shop-keeper, with so much grace, was about to emerge again from his obscurity into his proper level in society.
We need not repeat the civil things that passed between the parties on this occasion, nor recount the endless repetitions of sorrow that the delighted Frenchman expressed, at being compelled to quit the society of Miss Temple. Elizabeth took an opportunity, during this expenditure of polite expressions, to purchase the powder privately of the boy, who bore the generic appellation of Jonathan. Before they parted, however, Mr. Le Quoi, who seemed to think that he had not said enough, solicited the honour of a private interview with the heiress, with a gravity in his air that announced the importance of the subject. After conceding the favour, and appointing a more favourable time for the meeting, Elizabeth succeeded in getting out of the store, into which the countrymen now began to enter, as usual, where they met with the same attention and bienséance as formerly.
Elizabeth and Louisa pursued their walk as far as the bridge in profound silence, but when they reached that place, the latter stopped, and appeared anxious to utter something that her feelings suppressed.
"Are you ill, Louisa?" exclaimed Miss Temple; "had we not better return, and seek another opportunity to meet the old man?"
"Not ill, but terrified. Oh! I never, never can go on that hill again with you only. I am not equal to it, indeed I am not."
This was an unexpected declaration to Elizabeth, who, although she experienced no idle apprehensions of a danger that no longer existed, felt most sensitively all the delicacies of maiden modesty. She stood for some time, deeply reflecting within herself, the colour gradually gathering over her features at her own thoughts; but, as if sensible that it was a time for action instead of reflection, she struggled to shake off her hesitation, and replied firmly— "Well, then it must be done by me, and alone. There is no other than yourself to be trusted, or poor old Leather-stocking will be discovered. Wait for me in the edge of these woods, that at least I may not be seen strolling in the hills by myself just now. One would not wish to create remarks, Louisa—if—if—. You will wait for me, dear girl?"
"A year, in sight of the village, Miss Temple," returned the agitated Louisa, "but do not, do not ask me to go on that hill."
Elizabeth found that her companion was really unable to proceed, and they completed their arrangement by posting Louisa out of the observation of the people who occasionally passed, but nigh to the road, and in plain view of the whole valley. Miss Temple then proceeded alone. She ascended the road which has been so often mentioned in our narrative, with an elastic and firm step, fearful that the delay in the store of Mr. Le Quoi, and the time necessary for reaching the summit, would prevent her being punctual to the appointment. Whenever she passed an opening in the bushes, she would pause for breath, or perhaps, drawn from her pursuits by the picture at her feet, would linger a moment to gaze at the beauties of the valley. The long drought had, however, changed its coat of verdure to a hue of brown, and, though the same localities were there, the view wanted the lively and cheering aspect of early summer. Even the heavens seemed to share in the dried appearance of the earth, for the sun was concealed by a haziness in the atmosphere, which looked like a thin smoke without a particle of moisture, if such a thing were possible. The blue sky was scarcely to be seen, though now and then there was a faint lighting up in spots, through which masses of rolling vapour could be discerned gathering around the horizon, as if nature were struggling to collect her floods for the relief of man. The very atmosphere that Elizabeth inhaled was hot and dry, and by the time she reached the point where the course led her from the highway, she experienced a sensation like suffocation. But, disregarding her feelings, the heiress hastened to execute her mission, dwelling in her thoughts on nothing but the disappointment, and even the helplessness, the hunter would experience, without her aid.
On the summit of the mountain which Judge Temple had named the "Vision," a little spot had been cleared, in order that a better view might be obtained of the village and the valley. It was at this point that Elizabeth understood the hunter she was to meet him; and thither she urged her way, as expeditiously as the difficulty of the ascent and the impediments of a forest in a state of nature would admit. Numberless were the fragments of rocks, trunks of fallen trees, and branches, that she had to contend against; but every difficulty vanished before her resolution, and, by her own watch, she stood on the desired spot several minutes before the appointed hour.
After resting a moment on the end of a log, Miss Temple cast a scrutinizing glance about her in quest of her old friend, but he was evidently not in the clearing; when she arose and walked around its skirts, examining every place where she thought it probable Natty might deem it prudent to conceal himself. Her search was fruitless; and, after exhausting not only herself, but her thoughts, in efforts to discover or imagine his situation, she ventured to trust her voice in that solitary place.
"Natty! Leather-stocking! old man!" she called aloud, in every direction; but no answer was given, excepting the reverberations of her own clear tones, as they were echoed in the parched forest.
While calling, Elizabeth gradually approached the brow of the mountain, where a faint cry, like the noise produced by striking the hand against the mouth at the same time that the breath is strongly exhaled, was heard, answering to her own voice. Not doubting in the least that it was the Leather-stocking lying in wait for her, and who gave that signal to indicate the place where he was to be found, Elizabeth descended for near a hundred feet, until she gained a little natural terrace, thinly scattered with trees, that grew in the fissures of the rocks, which were covered by a scanty soil. She had advanced to the edge of this platform, and was gazing over the perpendicular precipice that formed its face, when a rustling among the dry leaves near her drew her eyes in another direction. Miss Temple certainly was startled by the object that she then saw, but a moment restored her self-possession, and she advanced firmly, and with some interest in her manner, to the spot.
On the trunk of a fallen oak Mohegan was seated, with his tawny visage turned towards her, and his glaring eyes fixed on her face with an expression of wildness and fire that would have terrified a less resolute female. His blanket had fallen from his shoulders, and was lying in folds around him, leaving his breast, arms, and most of his body bare. The medallion of Washington reposed on his chest, a badge of distinction that Elizabeth well knew he only produced on great and solemn occasions. But the whole appearance of the aged chief was more studied than common, and was in some particulars terrific. The long black hair was plaited on his head, falling either way so as to expose his high forehead and piercing eyes, without their usual shading. In the enormous incisions of his ears were entwined ornaments of silver, beads, and porcupine's quills, mingled in a rude taste, and after the Indian fashions. A large drop, composed of similar materials, was suspended from the cartilage of his nose, and, falling below his lips, rested on his chin. Streaks of red paint crossed his wrinkled brow, and were traced down either cheek, with such variations in the lines as caprice or custom suggested. His body was also coloured in the same manner; the whole exhibiting an Indian warrior prepared for some event of more than usual moment.
"John! how fare you, worthy John?" said Elizabeth, as she approached him; "you have long been a stranger in the village. You promised me a willow basket, and I have had a shirt of calico in readiness for you this month past."
The Indian looked steadily at her for some time without answering, and then shaking his head, he replied, in his low, guttural tones —
"John's hand can make baskets no more—he wants no shirt."
"But if he should, he will know where to come for it," returned Miss Temple. "Indeed, old John, I feel as if you had a natural right to order what you will from us."
"Daughter," said the Indian, "listen:—Six times ten hot summers have passed, since John was young; tall like a pine; straight like the bullet of Hawk-eye; strong as the buffalo; spry as the cat of the mountain. He was strong, and a warrior like the Young Eagle. If his tribe wanted to track the Maquas for many suns, the eye of Chingachgook found the print of their moccasins. If the people feasted and were glad as they counted the scalps of their enemies, it was on his pole they hung. If the squaws cried because there was no meat for their children, he was the first in the chase. His bullet was swifter than the deer.—Daughter, then Chingachgook struck his tomahawk into the trees; it was to tell the lazy ones where to find him and the Mingoes—but he made no baskets."
"Those times have gone by, old warrior," returned Elizabeth; "since then, your people have disappeared, and in place of chasing your enemies, you have learned to fear God and to live at peace."
"Stand here, daughter, where you can see the great spring, the wigwams of your father, and the land on the crooked-river. John was yet young, when his tribe gave away the country, in council, from where the blue mountain stands above the water, to where the Susquehannah is hid by the trees. All this, and all that grew in it, and all that walked over it, and all that fed there, they gave to the Fire-eater—for they loved him. He was strong, and they were women, and he helped them. No Delaware would kill a deer that run in his woods, nor stop a bird that flew over his land; for it was his. Has John lived in peace! Daughter, since John was young, he has seen the white man from Frontinac come down on his white brothers at Albany, and fight. Did they fear God! He has seen his English and his American Fathers burying their tomahawks in each others' brains, for this very land. Did they fear God, and live in peace! He has seen the land pass away from the Fire-eater, and his children, and the child of his child, and a new chief set over the country. Did they live in peace who did this! did they fear God!"
"Such is the custom of the whites, John. Do not the Delawares fight, and trade their lands for powder, and blankets, and merchandise?"
The Indian turned his dark eyes on the heiress, and kept them there, with a scrutiny that alarmed her a little, as he replied, in a louder and more animated voice—
"Where are the blankets and merchandise that bought the right of the Fire-eater! are they with him in his wigwam? Did they say to him, brother, sell us your land, and take this gold, this silver, these blankets, these rifles, or even this rum, for it? No; they tore it from him, as a scalp is torn from an enemy; and they that did it looked not behind them, to see whether he lived or died. Do such men live in peace, and fear the Great Spirit?"
"But you hardly understand the circumstances," said Elizabeth, more embarrassed than she would own, even to herself. "If you knew our laws and customs better, you would judge differently of our acts. Do not believe evil of my father, old Mohegan, for he is just and good."
"The brother of Miquon is good, and he will do right. I have said it to Hawk-eye—I have said it to the Young Eagle, that the brother of Miquon would do justice."
"Whom call you the Young Eagle?" said Elizabeth, averting her face from the gaze of the Indian as she asked the question; "whence comes he, and what are his rights?"
"Has my daughter lived so long with him, to ask this question?" returned the Indian, warily. "Old age freezes up the blood, as the frosts cover the great spring in winter; but youth keeps the streams of the blood open, like a sun in the time of blossoms. The Young Eagle has eyes; had he no tongue?"
The loveliness to which the old warrior alluded was in no degree diminished by his allegorical speech; for the blushes of the maiden who listened, covered her burning cheeks, till her dark eyes seemed to glow with their reflection; but, after struggling a moment with her shame, she laughed, as if unwilling to understand him seriously, and replied in a tone of pleasantry—
"Not to make me the mistress of his secret. He is too much of a Delaware, to tell his secret thoughts to a woman."
"Daughter, the Great Spirit made your father with a white skin, and he made mine with a red; but he coloured both their hearts with blood. When young, it is swift and warm; but when old, it is still and cold. Is there difference below the skin? No. Once John had a woman. She was the mother of so many sons"—he raised his hand with three fingers elevated—"and she had daughters that would have made the young Delawares happy. She was kind, daughter, and what I said she did. You have different fashions; but do you think John did not love the wife of his youth—the mother of his children!"
"And what has become of your family, John, your wife and your children?" asked Elizabeth, touched by the melancholy of the Indian's manner.
"Where is the ice that covered the great spring: It is melted, and gone with the waters. John has lived till all his people have left him for the land of spirits; but his time has come, and he is ready."
Mohegan dropped his head in his blanket, and sat in silence. Miss Temple knew not what to say. She wished to draw the thoughts of the old warrior from his gloomy recollections, but there was a dignity in his sorrow, and in his fortitude, that repressed her efforts to speak again, for some time. After a long pause, however, she renewed the discourse, by asking—
"Where is the Leather-stocking, John? this canister of powder I have brought at his request; but he is nowhere to be seen. Will you take charge of it, and see it delivered?"
The Indian raised his head slowly, and looked earnestly at the gift of the heiress, which she put in his hand.
"This is the great enemy of my nation. Without this, when could the white men drive the Delawares! Daughter, the Great Spirit gave your fathers to know how to make guns and powder, that they might sweep the Indians from the land. There will soon be no red-skin in the country. When John has gone, the last will leave these hills, and all his family will be dead." The aged warrior stretched his body forward, leaning his elbow on his knee, and appeared to be taking a parting look at the objects of the vale, which were still visible through the misty atmosphere; though the air seemed to thicken at each moment around Miss Temple, who became conscious of an increased difficulty of respiration. The eye of Mohegan changed gradually, from its sorrowful expression to a look of wildness, that might be supposed to border on the inspiration of a prophet, as he continued—"But he will go to the country where his fathers have met. The game shall be plenty as the fish in the lakes. No woman shall cry for meat. No Mingo can ever come. The chase shall be for children, and all just red-men shall live together as brothers."
"John! this is not the heaven of a Christian!" cried Miss Temple; "you deal now in the superstition of your forefathers."
"Fathers! sons!" said Mohegan with firmness —"all gone all gone! I have no son but the Young Eagle, and he has the blood of a white man."
"Tell me, John," said Elizabeth, willing to draw his thoughts to other subjects, and at the same time yielding to her own secret interest in the youth; "who is this Mr. Edwards? why are you so fond of him, and whence does he come?"
The Indian started at the question, which evidently recalled his recollection to the earth, and, taking her hand, he drew Miss Temple to a seat beside him, and pointed to the country beneath them, before he answered.
"See, daughter," he said, directing her looks towards the north; "as far as your young eyes can see, was the land of his"———
But immense volumes of smoke at that moment rolled over their heads, and whirling in the eddies formed by the mountains, interposed a barrier to their sight, while he was speaking. Startled by the circumstance, Miss Temple sprung on her feet, and turning her eyes toward the summit of the mountain, she beheld it covered by a similar canopy, while a roaring sound was heard in the forest above her, like the rushing of furious winds.
"What means it, John!" she exclaimed; "we are enveloped in smoke, and I feel a heat like the glow of a furnace."
Before the Indian could reply, a voice was heard, crying in the woods, with a painful anxiety—
"John! where are you, old Mohegan! the woods are on fire, and you have but a few minutes for escape."
The chief put his hand before his mouth, and making it play on his lips, produced the kind of noise that had attracted Elizabeth to the place, when a quick and hurried step was heard dashing through the dried underbrush and bushes, and presently Edwards rushed to his side, with horror painted in every feature.
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James Fenimore Cooper, The Pioneers, Preface, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10, Ch.11, Ch.12, Ch.13, Ch.14, Ch.15, Ch.16, Ch.17, Ch.18, Ch.19, Ch.20, Ch.21, Ch.22, Ch.23, Ch.24, Ch.25, Ch.26, Ch.27, Ch.28, Ch.29, Ch.30, Ch.31, Ch.32, Ch.33, Ch.34, Ch.35, Ch.36, Ch.37, Ch.38, Ch.39, Ch.40, Ch.41, Characters. |