The Lost Hunter Part 42

The irresistible sweep of the cataract resembled his strength; its roar, his voice; and the h.o.a.ry rocks were indicative of his age. Could he obtain the favor of so mighty a Being--could he induce him to aid his design, it could be easy of execution. He would make the trial. He would approach him with offerings, and acquaint him with his wishes.

The Genius of the Fall ought not to love the white man. The pale faces never offered him gifts, while the red men, long before the arrival of the fatal stranger and since, had covered the sh.o.r.es with presents.

He would not be disregardful or turn a deaf ear to one of his children who sought a just revenge.

Animated by these considerations and such hopes, Ohquamehud left the hut of Esther on the afternoon of the following day, to propitiate the Manito of the Falls. His way led through the wood, along the margin of the Severn for a few miles and then crossed the high-road and some open fields and another belt of woods, before he reached the Yaupaae.

Arrived at his destination, he looked with a solemn air around as if half expecting to see the Genius of the place. But he beheld nothing, save the wild features of nature, and the moss-grown roof of the old mill, almost hid by the intervening trees: he heard no sound except the uninterrupted roaring of the torrent. In the hot rays of that June sun, not even the birds emitted a note, waiting under their leafy shelters in the darkest recesses of the woods, until the pleasant coolness of approaching evening should tempt them out and reawaken their songs. The Indian, seeing that no one was in sight, commenced collecting brush and sticks of dry wood that lay about, which he heaped up into a pile upon a rock close to the water's edge. After he had gathered together a quant.i.ty that appeared to him sufficient, he selected from the stones lying around, a couple of flints which seemed fittest for his purpose, and by striking them violently together, soon succeeded in producing a shower of sparks, which falling on the thoroughly dried and combustible matter, instantly set it on fire, and shot a tongue of flame into the air. Reverently then inclining his body towards the cataract, as in an att.i.tude of supplication, Ohquamehud addressed the Manito, and explained his wishes. He spoke with dignity, as one who, though standing in the presence of a superior, was not unmindful of his own worth. The sounds at first were those of lamentation, so low as scarcely to be audible, and plaintive and sweet as the sighs of the wind through the curled conch sh.e.l.l.

"Oh Manito," he said, "where are thy children, once as plenty as the forest leaves? Ask of the month of flowers for the snows that 'Hpoon scatters from his hand, or of the Yaupaae for the streams he pours into the great Salt Lake. The sick-skinned stranger, with hair like the curls of the vine, came from the rising sun. He was weak as a little child: he s.h.i.+vered with the cold: he was peris.h.i.+ng with hunger.

The red man was strong: he wrapped himself in bear skins and was warm; he built his wigwam of bark, and defied the storm, and meat was plenty in his pot. He pitied the dying stranger; he brought him on his back out of the snow, and laid him by the fire; he chafed his limbs and clothed him in furs; he presented venison with his own hands, and the daughters of the tribes offered honey and cakes of maize, and wept for compa.s.sion. And the pale face saw that our land was better than his own, and he envied us, and sent messengers to his people to come and strip us of our heritage. Then they came as the flights of pigeons in the spring, innumerable: in mult.i.tudes as the shad and salmon, when they ascend the thawed rivers. They poisoned the air with their breaths, and the Indians died helpless in the pestilence. They made war upon us, and drove us from our cornfields; they killed our old men, and sent away our young men and maidens into slavery. O, Manito, thus hath the accursed pale faces requited our kindness.

"Wast thou displeased with the red men O, Manito? Had the children of the Forest offended thee, that thou didst deliver them into the hand of their enemies? See, what thine inconsiderate anger hath done. Thou hast destroyed us, and injured thyself. Where are the offerings that once covered these rocks, the bears' meat and the venison, the wampum, the feathers of the eagle, and sweet-smelling tobacco? Who now honoreth the Manito of the loud voiced Yaupaae? I listen, but I hear no answer."

Thus far the voice of Ohquamehud was low and melancholy, as the wail of a broken heart, and his face sad, as of one lamenting for a friend, but now it changed to a loftier expression, and the words were hissed out with a guttural roughness, without being spoken much louder.

"O, Manito!" he continued, "I alone am left to offer thee the sacrifice of the fragrant tobacco. Behold! I will fill thy pipe many times if thou wilt a.s.sist me. Onontio hath done me much mischief. He hath burned the villages of my people, and slain our warriors. Why shouldst thou favor him? Is he not a dog which thou wilt kick away from the door of thy lodge? He cometh, sometimes, and sitteth upon the highest rock, to look down upon thy dwelling-place. It is to nourish the pride of his heart. It is to exult that, as far as his eye can see, it beholds no wigwam, nor one bringing thee gifts. Help Manito!

Think upon thine own wrongs,--remember the sufferings of the red man, and give me the scalp of Onontio. Accept my offering."

Having thus spoken, and conciliated by every means that occurred to his untutored mind, the good-will of the tutelary Spirit of the Falls, recounting the generosity of the Indians, and the ingrat.i.tude of the whites, remonstrating with the Manito for his supposed anger, and pointing out its folly, trying to stimulate his indignation on account of the neglect of himself, and, to tempt his love of presents by promises, Ohquamehud threw a quant.i.ty of tobacco in the leaf, which the Indians were accustomed to raise themselves around their cabins, into the flames. But an incident took place, which, for a time, dashed his hopes to the ground, and covered him with mortification and confusion.

The day, as we have already intimated, was unusually hot, even for the month of June. As the hours advanced, a sultry and slumbrous silence filled the air, which quivered with the heat. Clouds began to collect in the northwest, and to roll up higher and higher towards the zenith, in immense waves, which darkened momently, until half the heavens seemed covered with a pall. The lightning began to play more frequently over the surging blackness, and the mutterings of the thunder became every instant louder. Ohquamehud was not altogether unaware of the approaching storm, but, engaged in the solemn rite, the appearances of the clouds had not attracted as much of his attention as otherwise they would have done. At the instant he threw the tobacco into the fire, the blackness of the clouds was intensest, and a grim silence, as if nature were waiting in anxious expectation of some grand event, brooded over the earth interrupted only by the shout of the cataract; then, a thunderbolt blazed almost in the eyes of the Indian, followed, instantly, by a crash, as if the solid rocks were splintered into fragments, and by a torrent of rain, pouring, not in drops, but, in one continuous flood. For a few moments, the rain continued falling violently, then gradually slackened and ceased. The lightning glittered less frequently; the threatenings of the thunder became less distinct, and the clouds rolled up their dark standards and dispersed, disappearing in the depths of the unfathomable sky.

The Indian, meanwhile, remained immovable, staring at the fire in which the rain hissed as it fell. Thus, like a statue, he stood, until the storm had rolled away; then, recovering from his stupefaction, he turned, despondingly, from the heap of ashes. His offering, then, had been rejected. The Manito either could not or would not a.s.sist him.

Onontio bore a charmed life. He was a great medicine, beyond the power of his vengeance. Ohquamehud, with a frown upon his brow, dark as the folds of the departing clouds, strode several steps from the rock, when, turning, as if struck by a sudden thought, he commenced searching in the ashes. The surface, of course, was soaked; but, as he penetrated deeper, they were drier, and at the bottom he found unextinguished coals. He carefully searched round, to discover if any portion of the tobacco was unconsumed, but could find none. The offering had not, then, been rejected. The Manito had accepted it.

It was not he who sent the storm. Perhaps, some other Manito, who, however, was unable to defeat the sacrifice. The countenance of Ohquamehud brightened, and he began again to collect the brush and scattered sticks. From hollows, in the b.u.t.ts of old trees, and recesses under projecting cliffs, he succeeded in finding enough dry fuel to start the fire anew, and soon it shot up a bright bold flame as before. "O, Manito!" he softly said, "thou art not angry--receive my gift." Again, he threw tobacco into the fire, and, this time, no portent interposed. The greedy flame seized upon the dry leaves, which crackled in the heat, and bore them on its s.h.i.+ning billows high into the air. The fire continued burning till all was consumed, and the heap sent up only a spiral of indistinct smoke.

The importunity of Ohquamehud had wrung from the Genius the consent which he solicited. The gratified Indian stretched out his hand, and again spoke--

"O, Manito, thanks! The heart of Ohquamehud is strong. When he journeys towards the setting sun, his feet shall bound like those of a deer, for the scalp of Onontio will hang at his girdle."

He glided into the woods and disappeared, ignorant that any one had been a witness of his actions. But, Quadaquina, from an evergreen thicket, had watched all his motions. As the form of Ohquamehud became dimmer in the distance, the boy could not repress his exultation at the success of his ambush, but gave it vent in a whistle, imitating the notes of the whipperwill. It caught the ear of the Indian, and he turned, and as he did so, the boy threw himself on the ground. The sun had hardly set. It was too early for the bird to be heard, which never commences his melancholy chant until the shades of evening are spread over the dewy earth. The eyes of Ohquamehud sent sharp glances in the direction whence the whistle came, but he could discern nothing. He listened for awhile, but the sounds were not repeated, and wondering what they could mean--for he relied too implicitly on his senses to suppose his imagination had deceived him--he resumed his course homeward. Presently, Quadaquina slowly rose, and, perceiving no one in sight, followed in the same direction.

The boy, at first, walked deliberately along; but, after, as he supposed, a considerable interval was interposed between him and the Indian, he quickened his steps, in order to more at about the same rate as the other. He had cleared the clumps of trees next to the Falls, and crossed the open fields, and advanced some little distance into the belt of continuous woods along the river, when, suddenly, Ohquamehud, starting from behind the trunk of a large tree, stood before him. Quadaquina's heart beat quicker, but no outward sign betrayed emotion.

"What does a child like Quadaquina, mean by wandering so far in the dark away from its mother?" demanded Ohquamehud.

"Quadaquina is no longer a child," answered the boy, "to need his mother. He runs about, like a squirrel, in the woods, whenever he please."

"Quah! He is more like a bird, and it is to take lessons from the whipperwill, that he comes into the woods."

"Ohquamehud talks like a crow that knows not what he says."

"When next," said the Indian, with a laugh, "Quadaquina tries to be a bird, let him remember that the bashful whipperwill likes not the sun to hear his song."

The boy fancying that he had been discovered, and that any further attempt at concealment was vain, answered boldly,

"It is no concern of Ohquamehud, whether Quadaquina is a bird, or a squirel, or a fish. He will fly in the air, or swim in the water, or run in the woods without asking permission from any one."

"And Ohquamehud is not a rabbit to be tracked by a little dog wherever he goes. _Ahque_! (beware). He will strike the little dog if he presses too close upon his heels." So saying, and as if to give emphasis to his words, the Indian lightly touched the shoulders of the boy, with a small stick which he held in his hand.

It was like lightning falling in a powder-magazine, so suddenly blazed up the anger of Quadaquina, when he felt the touch of the rod. He jumped back as though bitten by a snake, and s.n.a.t.c.hing up a stone, hurled it with all his strength at Ohquamehud. It was well that the Indian leaped behind a tree near which he stood, else the missile, with such true aim and vindictive force was it sent, might have proved fatal. As soon as the stone was thrown, the Indian stepped up to the boy, who stood trembling with pa.s.sion, but observing no intention on the part of the latter to renew his violence, he pa.s.sed close by him, with a contemptuous laugh, and pursued his way, Quadaquina following, though at some distance, in his steps. The boy came into the hut of Peena within a short time after the entrance of the Indian, nor could the most jealous eye have detected in either a trace of what had happened. Ohquamehud moved with a grave dignity to the seat he usually occupied, and his pipe presently sent grateful volumes of smoke through the cabin. He noticed, however, that when Quadaquina came in, his mother made no inquiry into the cause which had detained him beyond the hour of the evening meal, and this confirmed the suspicions that were floating in his mind. They were indeed vague, and he fancied that if for any reason he had been watched by Quadaquina, the lesson he had just given would intimidate the boy, and satisfy him there would be danger in d.o.g.g.i.ng the steps of one so vigilant as himself, and who had avowed his intention to punish the offender, if he were caught again.

Quadaquina, when they were by themselves, related to his mother what he had witnessed at the Falls, but made no allusion to the quarrel betwixt Ohquamehud and himself, nor of the threats of the former.

He could give no account of the address to the Manito, the distance having been too great to allow him to hear the words. His story caused no alarm to Peena, inasmuch as acquainted with the superst.i.tions of the Indians, she ascribed the sacrifice to a desire to propitiate the Manito, in order to secure a fortunate journey to the western tribe.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

But love itself could never pant For all that beauty sighs to grant, With half the fervor hate bestows Upon the last embrace of foes, When grappling in the fight, they fold Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold; Friends meet to part; love laughs at faith: True foes, once met, are joined till death!

BYRON'S _Giaour_.

Pownal, upon parting with Esther, sought his father. But the expression of his apprehensions was so vague, he was so incapable of giving his fears any definite shape, that he made no more impression than the woman. The calm austerity of the Solitary's face almost melted into a smile at the idea that any event could occur except in the determined course of things. It was the pride of the human heart; it was the presumption of the human intellect that dreamed of freedom of choice or of action. If individual wills were permitted to cross and jostle each other, the universe would be a scene of confusion.

Freedom was only in appearance. One grand, serene, supreme will embraced the actual and the ideal in its circle, and all things were moved by a law as certain and irresistible as that which impels worlds in their orbits. The conviction was a part of Holden's self. He could no more be convinced of its fallacy than of his own non-existence, and his son left him with the full a.s.surance that, even were he to know that his life was menaced, he would be the last one to take any precautionary measures for its protection. But, in truth, the fears of Pownal were so slight, that after an allusion to them, he forbore to dwell upon the subject, especially as the conversation took a turn as interesting to him as it was unexpected.

"Thou art of an age, my son," said Holden, abruptly, "to take to thee a wife, and the bounty of the good man whose name I permit thee still to bear, hath placed thee in a condition to gratify an innocent and natural desire. Hath thy heart moved at all in this matter?"

The question was excessively embarra.s.sing, and the young man blushed and hesitated as he replied, that there was yet abundant time to think of such things.

"Think not," said the Solitary, observing his son's hesitation, "that I desire to intrude into thy confidence, though the heart of a son should be like a clear stream, the bottom of which may be seen by a father's eye. I speak, because partly common fame, and partly my own observation, connect thy name in some wise with a young lady's."

"And who is the lady," inquired Pownal, laughing, "whom my indiscreet gallantry has so compromised?"

"Nay, if thou wilt not be frank with me, or choosest to reply in the language of trifling, we will drop the subject."

"I will be frank. I will answer any question you may ask."

"Tell me, then, is there any relation between thee and Anne Bernard tenderer than that of common acquaintance?"

Pownal expected the question, and was therefore prepared.

"I esteem Miss Bernard highly," he said. "I am acquainted with no young lady who is her superior. I should consider myself fortunate to attract her attention. But nothing, except the language of friends.h.i.+p, has pa.s.sed betwixt us."

"I am satisfied," said Holden, "and it is evidence of excellence in thyself that one possessing the lovable and n.o.ble qualities of Anne should attract thee. But though, in the limited circle of the small town, thy presence may be acceptable in the withdrawing room of the wealthy lawyer, thinkest thou he will be willing to give thee the hand of his only daughter?"

"I have made no pretensions to the hand of Miss Bernard; and even if I did, I see in it no presumption. There is no distinction of patrician and plebeian in this country."

"There are no such names, and yet there is a distinction. Will it please the rich and polished Judge to ally his daughter with the son of one like me?"

"Judge Bernard is above the mean conceit of valuing himself upon his riches. I never heard anything that sounded like arrogance or superciliousness from him, and he has uniformly treated me with kindness. For yourself, dear father, though for reasons of your own you have chosen to lead hitherto this life of solitude and privation, why continue to do so? Why not leave this miserable hut for comforts more befitting your age and the society you are capable of adorning?"

"Forbear! In this miserable hut, as thou callest it, I found the peace that pa.s.seth understanding, and its walls are to me more glorious than the gildings of palaces. If thou lovest Anne Bernard, as I strongly suspect, I say not unto thee cease to love her, but wait, h.o.a.rding thy love in secrecy and silence, until the fullness of the time is come.

Wilt thou not promise me this, for a short time?"

"I will do nothing, father, that may be contrary to your inclinations."

"It is enough: then let there be no change in thy conduct. If thou have the love of Anne, keep it as a precious jewel, but for the present be content with the knowledge thereof: if thou have it not, seek not thereafter. I promise thee it shall be for thy good, nor will I unreasonably try thy patience."

Here the interview ended, and Pownal departed, wondering over the mystery his father affected, though he could not but confess to himself there was a worldly wisdom (as he supposed it to be) in the advice, not to be precipitate, but to watch the course of events.