Canadian Crusoes

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They feasted now continually upon the waterfowl, and Catharine learned from
Indiana how to skin them, and so preserve the feathers for making tippets,
and bonnets, and ornamental trimmings, which are not only warm, but light
and very becoming. They split open any of the birds that they did not
require for present consumption, and these they dried for winter store,
smoking some after the manner that the Shetlanders and Orkney people smoke
the solan geese: their shanty displayed an abundant store of provisions,
fish, flesh, and fowl, besides baskets of wild rice, and bags of dried
fruit.

One day Indiana came in from the brow of the hill, and told the boys that
the lake eastward was covered with canoes; she showed, by holding up her
two hands and then three fingers, that she had counted thirteen. The tribes
had met for the annual duck-feast, and for the rice harvest. She advised
them to put out the fire, so that no smoke might be seen to attract them;
but said they would not leave the lake for hunting over the plains just
then, as the camp was lower down on the point [Footnote: This point,
commonly known as _Anderson's Point_, now the seat of the Indian village,
used in former times to be a great place of rendezvous for the Indians,
and was the site of a murderous carnage or massacre that took place about
eighty years ago; the war-weapons and bones of the Indians are often turned
up with the plough at this day.] east of the mouth of a big river, which
she called "Otonabee."

Hector asked Indiana if she would go away and leave them, in the event of
meeting with any of her own tribe. The girl cast her eyes on the earth in
silence; a dark cloud seemed to gather over her face.

"If they should prove to be any of your father's people, or a friendly
tribe, would you go away with them?" he again repeated, to which she
solemnly replied,

"Indiana has no father, no tribe, no people; no blood of her father's warms
the heart of any man, woman or child, saving myself alone; but Indiana is
a brave, and the daughter of a brave, and will not shrink from danger: her
heart is warm; red blood flows warm here," and she laid her hand on her
heart. Then lifting up her hand, she said with slow but impassioned tone,
"They left not one drop of living blood to flow in any veins but these,"
and her eyes were raised, and her arms stretched upwards towards heaven, as
though calling down vengeance on the murderers of her father's house.

"My father was a Mohawk, the son of a great chief, who owned these
hunting-grounds far as your eye can see to the rising and setting sun,
along the big waters of the big lakes; but the Ojebwas, a portion of the
Chippewa nation, by treachery cut off my father's people by hundreds in
cold blood, when they were defenceless and at rest. It was a bloody day and
a bloody deed."

Instead of hiding herself, as Hector and Louis strongly advised the young
Mohawk to do, she preferred remaining as a scout, she said, under the cover
of the bushes on the edge of the steep that overlooked the lake, to watch
their movements. She told Hector to be under no apprehension if the Indians
came to the hut; not to attempt to conceal themselves, but offer them food
to eat and water to drink. "If they come to the house and find you away,
they will take your stores and burn your roof, suspecting that you are
afraid to meet them openly; but they will not harm you if you meet them
with open hand and fearless brow: if they eat of your bread, they will not
harm you; me they would kill by a cruel death--the war-knife is in their
heart against the daughter of the _brave_."

The boys thought Indiana's advice good, and they felt no fear for
themselves, only for Catharine, whom they counselled to remain in the
shanty with Wolfe.

The Indians seemed intent only on the sport which they had come to enjoy,
seeming in high glee, and as far as they could see quite peaceably
disposed; every night they returned to the camp on the north side, and the
boys could see their fires gleaming among the trees on the opposite shore,
and now and then in the stillness of the evening their wild shouts of
revelry would come faintly to their ears, borne by the breeze over the
waters of the lake.

The allusion that Indiana had made to her own history, though conveyed in
broken and hardly intelligible language, had awakened feelings of deep
interest for her in the breasts of her faithful friends. Many months
after this she related to her wondering auditors the fearful story of the
massacre of her kindred, and which I may as well relate, as I have raised
the curiosity of my youthful readers, though to do so I must render it in
my own language, as the broken half-formed sentences in which its facts
were conveyed to the ears of my Canadian Crusoes would be unintelligible to
my young friends. [Footnote: The facts of this narrative were gathered from
the lips of the eldest son of a Rice Lake chief. I have preferred giving it
in the present form, rather than as the story of the Indian girl. Simple as
it is, it is matter of history.]

There had been for some time a jealous feeling existing between the chiefs
of two principal tribes of the Ojebwas and the Mohawks, which like a
smothered fire had burnt in the heart of each, without having burst into a
decided blaze--for each strove to compass his ends and obtain the advantage
over the other by covert means. The tribe of the Mohawks of which I now
speak, claimed the southern shores of the Rice Lake for their hunting
grounds, and certain islands and parts of the lake for fishing, while that
of the Ojebwas considered themselves masters of the northern shores and
certain rights of water beside. Possibly it was about these rights that the
quarrel originated, but if so, it was not openly avowed between the "Black
Snake," (that was the totem borne by the Mohawk chief,) and the "Bald
Eagle" (the totem of the Ojebwa).

These chiefs had each a son, and the Bald Eagle had also a daughter of
great and rare beauty, called by her people, "The Beam of the Morning;" she
was the admiration of Mohawks as well as Ojebwas, and many of the young men
of both the tribes had sought her hand, but hitherto in vain. Among
her numerous suitors, the son of the Black Snake seemed to be the most
enamoured of her beauty; and it was probably with some intention of winning
the favour of the young Ojebwa squaw for his son, that the Black Snake
accepted the formal invitation of the Bald Eagle to come to his hunting
grounds during the rice harvest, and shoot deer and ducks on the lake, and
to ratify a truce which had been for some time set on foot between them;
but while outwardly professing friendship and a desire for peace, inwardly
the fire of hatred burned fiercely in the breast of the Black Snake against
the Ojebwa chief and his only son, a young man of great promise, renowned
among his tribe as a great hunter and warrior, but who had once offended
the Mohawk chief by declining a matrimonial alliance with one of the
daughters of a chief of inferior rank, who was closely connected to him
by marriage. This affront rankled in the heart of the Black Snake, though
outwardly he affected to have forgiven and forgotten the slight that had
been put upon his relative. The hunting had been carried on for some days
very amicably, when one day the Bald Eagle was requested, with all due
attention to Indian etiquette, to go to the wigwam of the Black Snake. On
entering the lodge, he perceived the Mohawk strangely disordered; he rose
from his mat, on which he had been sleeping, with a countenance fearfully
distorted, his eyes glaring hideously, his whole frame convulsed, and
writhing as in fearful bodily anguish, and casting himself upon the ground,
he rolled and grovelled on the earth, uttering frightful yells and groans.

The Bald Eagle was moved at the distressing state in which he found his
guest, and asked the cause of his disorder, but this the other refused to
tell. After some hours the fit appeared to subside, but the chief remained
moody and silent. The following day the same scene was repeated, and on the
third, when the fit seemed to have increased in bodily agony, with great
apparent reluctance, wrung seemingly from him by the importunity of his
host, he consented to reveal the cause, which was, that the Bad Spirit had
told him that these bodily tortures could not cease till the only son of
his friend, the Ojebwa chief, had been sacrificed to appease his anger--
neither could peace long continue between the two nations until this deed
had been done; and not only must the chief's son be slain, but he must be
pierced by his own father's hand, and his flesh served up at a feast at
which the father must preside. The Black Snake affected the utmost horror
and aversion at so bloody and unnatural a deed being committed to save his
life and the happiness of his tribe, but the peace was to be ratified for
ever if the sacrifice was made,--if not, war to the knife was to be ever
between the Mohawks and Ojebwas.

The Bald Eagle seeing that his treacherous guest would make this an
occasion of renewing a deadly warfare, for which possibly he was not at the
time well prepared, assumed a stoical calmness, and replied,

"Be it so; great is the power of the Bad Spirit to cause evil to the tribes
of the chiefs that rebel against his will. My son shall be sacrificed by my
hand, that the evil one may be appeased, and that the Black Snake's body
may have ease, and his people rest beside the fires of their lodges in
peace."

"The Bald Eagle has spoken like a chief with a large heart," was the
specious response of the wily Mohawk; "moreover, the Good Spirit also
appeared, and said, 'Let the Black Snake's son and the Bald Eagle's
daughter become man and wife, that peace may be found to dwell among the
lodges, and the war-hatchet be buried for ever.'"

"The Beam of the Morning shall become the wife of the Young Pine," was the
courteous answer; but stern revenge lay deep hidden beneath the unmoved
brow and passionless lip.

The fatal day arrived; the Bald Eagle, with unflinching hand and eye that
dropped no human tear of sorrow for the son of his love, plunged the weapon
into his heart with Spartan-like firmness. The fearful feast of human flesh
was prepared, and that old chief, pale but unmoved, presided over the
ceremonies. The war-dance was danced round the sacrifice, and all went
off well, as if no such fearful rite had been enacted: but a fearful
retribution was at hand. The Young Pine sought the tent of the Bald Eagle's
daughter that evening, and was received with all due deference, as a son
of so great a chief as the Black Snake merited; he was regarded now as
a successful suitor, and intoxicated with the beauty of the Beam of the
Morning, pressed her to allow the marriage to take place in a few days.
The bride consented, and a day was named for the wedding feast to be
celebrated, and that due honour might be given to so great an event,
invitations were sent out to the principal families of the Mohawk tribe,
and these amounted to several hundreds of souls, while the young Ojebwa
hunters were despatched up the river and to different parts of the country,
avowedly to collect venison, beaver, and other delicacies to regale their
guests, but in reality to summon by means of trusty scouts a large war
party from the small lakes, to be in readiness to take part in the deadly
revenge that was preparing for their enemies.

Meantime the squaws pitched the nuptial tent, and prepared the bridal
ornaments. A large wigwam capable of containing all the expected guests was
then constructed, adorned with the thick branches of evergreens so artfully
contrived as to be capable of concealing the armed Ojebwas and their
allies, who in due time were introduced beneath this leafy screen, armed
with the murderous tomahawk and scalping-knife with which to spring upon
their defenceless and unsuspecting guests. According to the etiquette
always observed upon such occasions, all deadly weapons were left outside
the tent. The bridegroom had been conducted with songs and dancing to the
tent of the bride. The guests, to the number of several hundred naked and
painted warriors were assembled. The feast was declared to be ready; a
great iron pot or kettle occupied the centre of the tent. According to the
custom of the Indians, the father of the bridegroom was invited to lift
the most important dish from the pot, whilst the warriors commenced their
wardance around him. This dish was usually a bear's head, which was
fastened to a string left for the purpose of raising it from the pot.

"Let the Black Snake, the great chief of the Mohawks, draw up the head and
set it on the table, that his people may eat and make merry, and that his
wise heart may be glad;" were the scornful words of the Bald Eagle.

A yell of horror burst from the lips of the horror-stricken father, as
he lifted to view the fresh and gory head of his only son, the _happy_
bridegroom of the lovely daughter of the Ojebwa chief.

"Ha!" shouted the Bald Eagle, "is the great chief of the Mohawks a squaw,
that his blood grows white and his heart trembles at the sight of his son,
the bridegroom of the Beam of the Morning? The Bald Eagle gave neither sigh
nor groan when he plunged the knife into the heart of his child. Come,
brother, take the knife; taste the flesh and drink the blood of thy son:
the Bald Eagle shrank not when you bade him partake of the feast that was
prepared from his young warrior's body." The wretched father dashed himself
upon the earth, while his cries and howlings rent the air; those cries were
answered by the war-whoop of the ambushed Ojebwas, as they sprang to their
feet, and with deafening yells attacked the guests, who, panic-stricken,
naked and defenceless, fell an easy prey to their infuriated enemies. Not
one living foe escaped to tell the tale of that fearful marriage feast. A
second Judith had the Indian girl proved. It was her plighted hand that had
severed the head of her unsuspecting bridegroom to complete the fearful
vengeance that had been devised in return for the merciless and horrible
murder of her brother.

Nor was the sacrifice yet finished, for with fearful cries the Indians
seized upon the canoes of their enemies, and with the utmost speed, urged
by unsatisfied revenge, hurried down the lake to an island where the women
and children and such of the aged or young men as were not included among
the wedding guests, were encamped in unsuspecting security. Panic-stricken,
the Mohawks offered no resistance, but fell like sheep appointed for the
slaughter: the Ojebwas slew there the grey-head with the infant of days.
But while the youths and old men tamely yielded to their enemies, there was
one, whose spirit roused to fury by the murder of her father, armed herself
with the war club and knife, and boldly withstood the successful warriors.
At the door of the tent of the slaughtered chief the Amazon defended her
children: while the war lightning kindled in her dark eye, she called aloud
in scornful tones to her people to hide themselves in the tents of their
women, who alone were _braves_, and would fight their battles. Fiercely she
taunted the men, but they shrank from the unequal contest, and she alone
was found to deal the death-blow upon the foe, till overpowered with
numbers, and pierced with frightful wounds, she fell singing her own
death-song and raising the wail for the dead who lay around her. Night
closed in, but the work of blood still continued, till not a victim was
found, and again they went forth on their exterminating work. Lower down
they found another encampment, and there also they slew all the inhabitants
of the lodges; they then returned back to the island, to gather together
their dead and collect the spoils of their tents. They were weary with
the fatigue of the slaughter of that fearful day; they were tired of
blood-shedding; the retribution had satisfied even their love of blood: and
when they found, on returning to the spot where the heroine had stood at
bay, one young solitary female sitting beside the corpse of that dauntless
woman, her mother, they led her away, and did all that their savage nature
could suggest to soften her anguish and dry her tears. They brought her
to the tents of their women, and clothed and fed her, and bade her
be comforted; but her young heart burned within her, and she refused
consolation. She could not forget the wrongs of her people: she was the
only living creature left of the Mohawks on that island. The young girl
was Indiana, the same whom Hector Maxwell had found, wounded and bound, to
perish with hunger and thirst on Bare-hill.

Brooding with revenge in her heart, the young girl told them that she had
stolen unperceived into the tent of the Bald Eagle, and aimed a knife at
his throat, but the fatal blow was arrested by one of the young men, who
had watched her enter the old chiefs tent. A council was called, and she
was taken to Bare-hill, bound, and left in the sad state already described.

It was with feelings of horror and terror that the Christian children
listened to this fearful tale, and Indiana read in their averted eyes and
pale faces the feelings with which the recital of the tale of blood had
inspired them. And then it was that as they sat beneath the shade of the
trees, in the soft misty light of an Indian summer moon, that Catharine,
with simple earnestness, taught her young disciple those heavenly lessons
of mercy and forgiveness which her Redeemer had set forth by his life, his
doctrines, and his death.

And she told her, that if she would see that Saviour's face in Heaven, and
dwell with him in joy and peace for ever, she must learn to pray for those
dreadful men who had made her fatherless and motherless, and her home a
desolation; that the fire of revenge must be quenched within her heart, and
the spirit of love alone find place within it, or she could not become the
child of God and an inheritor of the kingdom of Heaven. How hard were these
conditions to the young heathen,--how contrary to her nature, to all that
she had been taught in the tents of her fathers, where revenge was virtue,
and to take the scalp of an enemy a glorious thing!

Yet when she contrasted the gentle, kind, and dovelike characters of her
Christian friends, with the fierce bloody people of her tribe and of her
Ojebwa enemies, she could not but own they were more worthy of love and
admiration: had they not found her a poor miserable trembling captive,
unbound her, fed and cherished her, pouring the balm of consolation into
her wounded heart, and leading her in bands of tenderest love to forsake
those wild and fearful passions that warred in her soul, and bringing her
to the feet of the Saviour, to become his meek and holy child, a lamb of
his "extended fold?"*

[*Footnote: The Indian who related this narrative to me was a son of a
Rice Lake chief, Mosang Poudash by name, who vouched for its truth as an
historic fact remembered by his father, whose grandsire had been one of the
actors in the massacre. Mosang Poudash promised to write down the legend,
and did so in part, but made such confusion between his imperfect English
and Indian language, that the MS. was unavailable for copying.]

CHAPTER IX.

"The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill"
_Irish Song._

WHILE the Indians were actively pursuing their sports on the lake, shooting
wild fowl, and hunting and fishing by torch-light, so exciting was the
amusement of watching them, that the two lads, Hector and Louis, quite
forgot all sense of danger, in the enjoyment of lying or sitting on the
brow of the mount near the great ravine, and looking at their proceedings.
Once or twice the lads were near betraying themselves to the Indians, by
raising a shout of delight, at some skilful manoeuvre that excited their
unqualified admiration and applause.

At night, when the canoes had all retired to the camp on the north shore,
and all fear of detection had ceased for the time, they lighted up their
shanty fire, and cooked a good supper, and also prepared sufficiency of
food for the following day. The Indians remained for a fortnight; at the
end of that time Indiana, who was a watchful spy on their movements, told
Hector and Louis that the camp was broken up, and that the Indians had gone
up the river, and would not return again for some weeks. The departure of
the Indians was a matter of great rejoicing to Catharine, whose dread of
these savages had greatly increased since she had been made acquainted with
the fearful deeds which Indiana had described; and what reliance could
she feel in people who regarded deeds of blood and vengeance as acts of
virtuous heroism?

Once, and only once during their stay, the Indians had passed within a
short distance of their dwelling; but they were in full chase of a bear,
which had been seen crossing the deep ravine near Mount Ararat, and they
had been too intent upon their game to notice the shanty, or had taken it
for the shelter of some trapper if it had been seen, for they never turned
out of their path, and Catharine, who was alone at the time, drawing water
from the spring, was so completely concealed by the high bank above her,
that she had quite escaped their notice. Fortunately, Indiana gave the two
boys a signal to conceal themselves when she saw them enter the ravine; and
effectually hidden among the thick grey mossy trunks of the cedars at the
lake shore, they remained secure from molestation, while the Indian girl
dropped noiselessly down among the tangled thicket of wild vines and
brushwood, which she drew cautiously over her, and closed her eyes, lest,
as she naively remarked, their glitter should be seen and betray her to her
enemies.

It was a moment of intense anxiety to our poor wanderers, whose terrors
were more excited on behalf of the young Mohawk than for themselves, and
they congratulated her on her escape with affectionate warmth.

"Are my white brothers afraid to die?" was the young squaw's half-scornful
reply. "Indiana is the daughter of a brave; she fears not to die?"

The latter end of September, and the first week in October, had been stormy
and even cold. The rainy season, however, was now over; the nights were
often illuminated by the Aurora borealis, which might be seen forming
an arch of soft and lovely brightness over the lake, to the north and
north-eastern portions of the horizon, or shooting upwards, in ever-varying
shafts of greenish light, now hiding, now revealing the stars, which shone
with softened radiance through the silvery veil that dimmed their beauty.
Sometimes for many nights together the same appearance might be seen, and
was usually the forerunner of frosty weather, though occasionally it was
the precursor of cold winds, and heavy rains.

The Indian girl regarded it with superstitious feelings, but whether as an
omen for good or ill, she would not tell. On all matters connected with
her religions notions she was shy and reserved, though occasionally she
unconsciously revealed them. Thus the warnings of death or misfortunes were
revealed to her by certain ominous sounds in the woods, the appearance of
strange birds or animals, or the meanings of others. The screeching of the
owl, the bleating of the doe, or barking of the fox, were evil auguries,
while the flight of the eagle and the croaking of the raven were omens of
good. She put faith in dreams, and would foretel good or evil fortune from
them; she could read the morning and evening clouds, and knew from various
appearances of the sky, or the coming or departing of certain birds or
insects, changes in the atmosphere. Her ear was quick in distinguishing the
changes in the voices of the birds or animals; she knew the times of their
coming and going, and her eye was quick to see as her ear to detect sounds.
Her voice was soft, and low, and plaintive, and she delighted in imitating
the little ballads or hymns that Catharine sung; though she knew nothing of
their meaning, she would catch the tunes, and sing the song with Catharine,
touching the hearts of her delighted auditors by the melody and pathos of
her voice.

The season called Indian summer had now arrived: the air was soft and mild,
almost oppressively warm; the sun looked red as though seen through the
smoke clouds of a populous city. A soft blue haze hung on the bosom of the
glassy lake, which reflected on its waveless surface every passing shadow,
and the gorgeous tints of its changing woods on shore and island. Sometimes
the stillness of the air was relieved by a soft sighing wind, which rustled
the dying foliage as it swept by.

The Indian summer is the harvest of the Indian tribes. It is during this
season that they hunt and shoot the wild fowl that come in their annual
flights to visit the waters of the American lakes and rivers; it is then
that they gather in their rice, and prepare their winter stores of meat,
and fish, and furs. The Indian girl knew the season they would resort to
certain hunting grounds. They were constant, and altered not their customs;
as it was with their fathers, so it was with them.

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