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Ticonderoga; A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley

<h4>CHAPTER XVII</h4> "There is a light, sir, at the Castle," said one of the servants of Sir William Johnson, entering the room where he was seated with Mr. Prevost; "it comes from the great court." "Then they have arrived," said the officer, turning to his guest. "Let us set out at once. Are the horses saddled?" "They have been kept ready, sir, ever since the morning," replied the servant to whom the last words were addressed. "It is strange," said Mr. Prevost, as he followed his host toward the door of the room, "that the negro I sent to tell Edith the cause of my delay has not returned, as I told him. He might have been here four hours ago. I am growing somewhat anxious." "Be not so! be not so!" replied Sir William. "Two or three years of forest life, my good friend, are not enough to inure a man to all the little accidents and discomforts he must meet with; and the first serious danger so shakes his nerves that they vibrate at a trifle. The man's horse may have fallen, or he may have purloined a bottle of brandy and got drunk, or he may have missed his way, or set out late. Between this house and yours there is room for chances enough to make a moderate volume. Let us not look out for uncertain evils when there are real ones enough around us." "Real ones enough, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, with a deep sigh. A moment after, they reached the front of the stables, from which their horses were immediately brought forth; and mounting, they set out, followed by a small party, both on horseback and on foot; for Sir William, though he affected the simplicity of the Indian, was not at all averse to a little appearance of state and dignity in his dealings with his red allies. There is a certain sort of pride, which clothes itself in humility, and, without at all meaning to assert that the very remarkable man in question desired to make the Indian chiefs feel that his adoption of their manners was a condescension, yet it is certain that, from time to time, he judged it expedient--perhaps from motives of good policy--to make a somewhat ostentatious display of power and authority. The night was exceedingly dark. The moon now rose at a very late hour, and dim clouds hid the stars from the dwellers upon earth. In such a night, and in such circumstances, the fancy, even of the most stout-hearted, is apt to indulge in deceits; and as the eye of Mr. Prevost wandered round, dim forms, like specters, seemed to be gliding about the fields of maize, cut, but in many places not gathered. Not feeling certain whether imagination cheated him or not, he made no observation; and for some time Sir William Johnson was silent, also; but at length the latter said, in a commonplace tone: "Our good friends seem to have come in great force, probably in consequence of the urgency of my summons. Now, be patient, Prevost, and bear with their cool, phlegmatic ways, for these people often feel the strongest sympathies, and serve their friends the best when they seem the most cold and indifferent." Mr. Prevost felt already how difficult it was to maintain that equanimity which, in theory, he estimated as highly as an Indian, and in practice strove for, but not infrequently lost. He promised, however, to leave entirely to Sir William Johnson the management of a conference with the chiefs of the Mohawk and Onondaga nations, which had been proposed by that officer himself, for the purpose of inducing the two most powerful nations of the Iroquois to interfere in behalf of Walter, and save him from the fate that menaced him. At the gate of the Castle, the door of which stood open, as usual (for although it was filled with large quantities of those stores which the Indians most coveted, its safety was left entirely to the guardianship of their good faith), the two gentlemen entered the large courtyard, which, on this occasion, was quite deserted, the weather being cold enough now to render some shelter agreeable even to an Indian. From the open door of the great hall which stretched along the greater part of the whole building, came forth a blaze of light on entering. Sir William Johnson and his companion found a number of Mohawk and Onondaga chiefs assembled, sitting gravely ranged in a semi-circle round the fire. Each was fully clothed in his garb of ceremony, and bright and brilliant were the colors displayed in the dresses and ornaments of the redmen; but as this was a peaceful occasion, their faces were destitute of paint, and the scalp-lock concealed under the brilliant gostoweh, or cap, in many of which were seen the plume of the famous white egret, used to distinguish the chiefs of the different tribes, ever since the feathers of the famous white bird of heaven had been exhausted. All rose with quiet native dignity when the Indian agent and his companion entered; and a murmur of gratulation ran round while Sir William and Walter's father seated themselves in two large chairs. "This is our brother," said Sir William Johnson, pointing to Mr. Prevost. "Hai! hai!" said the Indian chiefs. "Peace! peace! He is our brother." King Hendrick then approached Mr. Prevost, dressed in his sky-blue coat of European manufacture, presented to him by the reigning monarch of England, and took his hand, saying in a tone of friendly sympathy, and in the English tongue: "Our brother is sad; be comforted." He then seated himself, and the attotarho, or grand chief of the whole confederacy, an office held in descent by the chief of the Onondaga totem of the Bear, advanced to Walter's father and spoke the same words in Iroquois, showing clearly that the object of the meeting was understood, by the Indian leaders. When all had arranged themselves round again, a silence of some minutes succeeded. At length the attotarho said, rising to his full height, which might be termed almost gigantic: "Our father has sent for us, and we are obedient children. We are here to hear his sweet words and understand his mind." Sir William Johnson then, in a speech of very great power and beauty, full of the figurative language of the Indians, related the events which had occurred in the family of Mr. Prevost, and made an appeal to his hearers for counsel and assistance. He represented his friend as an old tree from which a branch had been torn by the lightning, when he strove to depict his desolate state; and then he told a story of a panther, one of whose young ones had been carried off by a wolf, but who, on applying for assistance to a bear and a stag, recovered her young by their means. "The panther was strong enough," he said, "with the aid of the lion, to take back her young ones from the wolf, and to tear it to pieces; but the wolf was of kin to the bear and the stag, and therefore she forebore." "But the bear is slow, and the stag is not strong when he goes against his kindred," said the attotarho, significantly, "and the lion will never take the warpath against his allies." "Heaven forbid that there should be need," said Sir William, "but the lion must consider his children, and the panther is his son." Poor Mr. Prevost remained in a state of painful anxiety while the discussion proceeded in this course, wandering as it seemed to him, round the subject, and affording no indication of any intention on the parts of the chiefs to give him assistance; for figures, though they be very useful things to express the meaning of a speaker, are sometimes equally useful to conceal it. At length he could bear no longer, and forgetting his promise to Sir William Johnson, he started up with all the feelings of a father strong in his heart, and appealed directly to the Indians in their own tongue, which he had completely mastered, but in a style of eloquence very different from their own, and perhaps the more striking to them on that account. "My child!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "Give me back my child! Who is the man amongst the Five Nations whom he has wronged? Where is the man to whom he has refused kindness or assistance? When has his door been shut against the wandering redman? When has he denied to him a share of his food or of his fire? Is he not your brother, and the son of your brother? Have we not smoked the pipe of peace together, and has that peace ever been violated by us? I came within the walls of your Long House, trusting to the truth and the hospitality of the Five Nations. I built my lodge amongst you, in full confidence of your faith and of your friendship. Is my hearth to be left desolate, is my heart to be torn out, because I trusted to the truth and honor of the Mohawks, to the protection and promises of the Onondaga, because I would not believe the songs of the singing bird that said, 'They will slay thy children before thy face?' If there be fault or failing in me or mine toward the redman in any of the tribes, if we have taken aught from him, if we have spoken false words in his ear, if we have refused him aught that he had a right to ask, if we have shed any man's blood, then slay me! Cut down the old tree at the root, but leave the sapling. If we have been just and righteous toward you, if we have been friendly and hospitable, if we have been true and faithful, if we have shed no man's blood and taken no man's goods, then give me back my child! To you, chiefs of the Five Nations, I raise my voice; from you I demand my son! For a crime committed by one of the league is a crime committed by all. Could ye find none but the son of your brother to slay? Must ye make the trust he placed in you the means of his destruction? Had he doubted your hospitality, had he not confided in your faith, had he said, 'The lightning of the guns of Albany and the thunder of her cannon are better protection than the faith and truth of the redman,' ye know he would have been safe. But he said, 'I will put my trust in the hospitality of the Five Nations; I will become their brother. If there be bad men amongst them, their chiefs will protect me, their attotarho will do me justice. They are great warriors, but they are good men. They smite their enemies, but they love their friends.' If, then, ye are good men, if ye are great warriors, if ye are brothers to your brothers, if ye are true to your friends, if ye are fathers yourselves, give me back my son!" "Koui! koui!" cried the Indians in a sad tone, more profoundly affected by the vehement expression of a father's feelings than Sir William Johnson had expected; but the moment that the word was uttered, which, according to the tone and rapidity with which it is pronounced, signifies either approbation and joy, or sympathy and grief, they relapsed into deep silence again. Sir William Johnson, though he had been a good deal annoyed and alarmed at Mr. Prevost taking upon himself to speak, and fearful lest he should injure his own cause, now fully appreciated the effect produced, and would not add a word to impair it; but at length King Hendrick rose, and said in a grave and melancholy tone: "We are brothers, but what can we do? The Oneidas are our brethren, also. The Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Onondagas, the Cayugas, and the Senecas are separate nations, though they are brethren and allies. We are leagued together for common defence, but not that we should rule over each other. The Oneidas have their laws, and they execute them; but this law is common to all the nations, that if a man's blood be shed except in battle, the man who shed it must die. If he cannot be found, any of his nearest kin must be taken. If he have none, one of his tribe or race. The same is it with the Mohawk as with the Oneida. But in this thing have the Oneidas done as the Mohawks would not have done. They have not sought diligently for the slayer; neither have they waited patiently to see whether they could find any of his kindred. The Oneidas have been hasty. They have taken the first man they could find. They have been fearful like the squirrel, and they keep him lest in time of need they should not find another. This is unjust. They should have first waited and searched diligently, and should not have taken the son of their brother till they were sure no other man could be found. But koui! koui! what is to be done? Shall the Mohawk unbury the hatchet against the Oneida? That cannot be. Shall the Mohawk say to the Oneida, 'Thou art unjust'? The Oneida will answer, 'We have our laws and you have yours; the Mohawk is not the ruler of the Oneida; repose under your own tree; we sit upon a stone.' One thing, perchance, may be done," and a very slight look of cunning intelligence came into his face; "subtlety will sometimes do what force cannot. The snake is as powerful as the panther. I speak my thought, and I know not if it be good. Were my brother the attotarho to choose ten of the subtlest serpents of his nation, and I to choose ten of the subtlest of mine, they might go, un-painted and unarmed, and, creeping through the wood without rattle or hiss, reach the place where the young man lies. If there be thongs upon his hands the breath of a Snake can melt them. If there be a door upon his prison, the eyes of a Snake can pierce it. If there be a guard, the coil of the Snake can twine around him, and many of the Oneida chiefs and warriors will rejoice that they are thus friendly forced to do right, and seek another. I speak my thought; I know not whether it is good. Let those speak who know, for no nation of the five can do aught against another nation alone; otherwise we break to pieces like a faggot when the thong bursts." Thus saying, he ended, sat down, and resumed his quiet stillness; and after a pause, as if for thought, the attotarho rose, addressing himself direct to Mr. Prevost, and speaking with a great deal of grave dignity. "We grieve for you, my brother," he said, "and we grieve for ourselves. We know that our great English father who sits under the mighty pine tree will be wroth with his red children; but let him remember and speak it in his ears, that the Mohawk and the Onondaga, the Seneca and the Cayuga, are not to blame for this act. They say the Oneidas have done hastily, and they will consult together around the council fire how thou mayest best be comforted. Haste is only fit for children. Grown men are slow and deliberate. Why should we go quickly now? Thy son is safe; for the Oneidas cannot, according to their law, take any sacrifice except the life of the slayer, till they be well assured that the slayer cannot be found." Mr. Prevost's lip quivered with emotion as if about to speak, but Sir William Johnson laid his hand upon his arm, saying in a quick whisper, "Leave him to me;" and the Onondaga proceeded. "We will do the best that we can for our brother, but the meadow lark has not the strength of the eagle, nor the fox of the panther, and if we should fail it would not be the fault of the Mohawk or the Onondaga. I have said." Sir William Johnson then rose to reply, seeing that the attotarho sought to escape any distinct promise, and judging that with the support of King Hendrick a little firmness might wring something more from him. "My brother, the attotarho," he said, "has spoken well. The Five Nations are leagued together in peace and in war. They take the scalps of their enemies as one man. They live in brotherhood; but my brother says that if the Oneida commits a crime the Mohawk and the Onondaga, the Seneca and the Cayuga are not guilty of the act, and therefore deserve no wrath. But he says at the same time that if the man named Woodchuck slays a redman, Walter Prevost, the brother of the redman, must die for it. How is this? Have the children of the Five Nations forked tongues? Do they speak double words? If the Onondagas are not guilty of what the Oneidas do, neither is Walter Prevost guilty of what the paleface Woodchuck does. May the Great Spirit forbid that your father near the rising of the sun should deal unjustly with his red children, or be wroth with them for acts done by others; but he does expect that his children of the Five Nations will show the same justice to his paleface children; and unless they are resolved to take upon themselves the act of the Oneidas, and say their act is our act, they will do something to prevent it. My brother says that haste is for children, and true are his words. Then why have the Oneidas done this hasty thing? We cannot trust that they will not be children any more, or that having done this thing they will not hastily do worse. True, everything should be done deliberately. We should show ourselves men, if we want children to follow our example. Let us take counsel then, fully, while we are here together. The council fire burns in the midst of us, and we have time enough to take thought calmly. Here I will sit till I know that my brothers will do justice in this matter, and not suffer the son of my brother to remain in the hands of those who have wrongfully made him a prisoner. Yes, truly, here I will sit to take counsel with the chiefs till the words of wisdom are spoken, even although the sun should go five times round the earth before our talk were ended. Have I spoken well?" "Koui! koui!" exclaimed a number of voices, and one of the old sachems rose, saying in slow and deliberate tones: "Our white brother has the words of truth and resolution. The Oneida has shown the speed of the deer, but not the wisdom of the tortoise. The law of the Oneida is our law, and he should have waited at least one moon to see if the right man could be found. The Oneida must be in trouble at his own hastiness. Let us deliver him from the pit into which he has fallen, but let us do it with the silent wisdom of the snake, which creeps through the grass where no one sees him. The rattlesnake is the most foolish of reptiles, for he talks of what he is going to do beforehand. We will be more wise than he is, and as our thoughts are good, we will keep them for ourselves. Let us only say, 'The boy shall be delivered, if the Mohawks and the Onondagas can do it;' but let us not say how; for a man who gives away a secret deprives himself of what he can never recover, and benefits nothing but the wind. I have said." All the assembled chiefs expressed their approbation of the old man's words, and seemed to consider the discussion concluded. Mr. Prevost, indeed, was anxious to have something more definite, but Sir William Johnson nodded his head significantly, saying in a low tone: "We have done as much, nay, more than we could expect. It will be necessary to close our conference with some gifts, which will be, as it were, a seal upon our covenant." "But have they entered into any covenant?" rejoined Mr. Prevost. "I have heard of none made yet on their part." "As much as Indians ever do," answered Sir William Johnson, "and you can extract nothing more from them with your utmost skill." He then called some of his people from without into the hall, ordered the stores to be opened, and brought forth some pieces of scarlet cloth, one of the most honorable presents which could be offered to an Indian chief. A certain portion was cut off for each, and received with grave satisfaction. Mats and skins were then spread upon the floor in great abundance. Long pipes were brought in and handed round, and after having smoked together in profound silence for nearly half an hour, the chiefs stretched themselves out upon the ground and composed themselves to rest. Sir William Johnson and his guest, as a mark of confidence and brotherhood, remained with them throughout the night, but retired to the farther end of the hall. They did not sleep as soon as their dusky companions. Their conversation, though carried on in low tones, was, nevertheless, eager and anxious, for the father could not help still feeling great apprehensions regarding the fate of his son; and Sir William Johnson was not altogether without alarm regarding the consequences of the very determination to which he had brought the chiefs of the Mohawks and Onondagas. Symptoms of intestine discord had of late been perceived in the great Indian confederacy. They had not acted on the behalf of England with the unanimity which they had displayed in former years, and it was the policy of the British government by every means to heal all divisions and consolidate their union, as well as to attach them more and more firmly to the English cause. Although he doubted not that whatever was done by the chiefs with whom he had just been in conference would be effected with the utmost subtlety and secrecy, yet there was still the danger of producing a conflict between them and the Oneidas in the attempt, or causing angry feeling, even if it were successful; and Sir William, who was not at all insensible to his government's approbation, felt some alarm at the prospect before him. However, he and Mr. Prevost both slept, at length, and the following morning saw the chiefs dispersing in the gray dawn of a cold and threatening morning. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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