14 An Unexpected Offer



The mat was lifted after awhile, and Little Turtle himself, the head chief of the allied tribes, a man of strong countenance, stood before me. Now I knew that it was he and not Hoyoquim with whom I would have to deal.

Mechecunnaqua was dressed with great splendour, his tunic, leggings, moccasins, and head-dress being of the finest Indian make, vivid with many-coloured beads and small feathers of brilliant hue. But his chief garment was a great robe which he wrapped about his person, much as a general infolds himself and his dignity in a military cloak. It was not a blanket such as most Indian chiefs of this region wore, but a robe made of the skin of a young buffalo bull, like the kind affected by the chiefs of the plains Indians, with the soft, silky hair left on and turned outward, the inside decorated beautifully with porcupine quills in such fashion that the setting of the quills depicted the most famous battles and single combats in the life of Mechecunnaqua. It was a splendid garment, but Mechecunnaqua was a splendid man of the Indian type, and he had won most worthily the right to wear it. He took presently from the recesses of his clothing a tiny medicine bag, made of brilliantly dyed beaver-skin such as warriors of the Western tribes carry, passed it before his face two or three times, and then returned it to its concealment.

“What is your wish, Mechecunnaqua?” I asked.

“To talk to you of many things,” he replied.

“Proceed.”

“Lee is a great warrior,” he said, “and his name fills our ears. I, Mechecunnaqua, know that fame does not lie. The war-cry of Lee is as terrible as Annemeekee.”10

Now, I had no war-cry at all, but it was merely his way of paying me a compliment, and it would have been poor courtesy to refuse it. So I said, adopting his tone:

“Proceed. In the presence of Mechecunnaqua, Lee is but Pahpukkeena11 staring at Gheezis.12

“Lee, though our enemy, did not come to take our country or slay our warriors,” he continued. “When the moon hangs over the forest and the wind breathes from the south the Indian hunter, too, seeks his mate. I know not all the ways of men nor the will of Manito, but I suspect that the heart of the white hunter is like that of the red. He, too, would seek the face that he loves, and when he goes upon such an errand labours and dangers become a little thing. Even so has Lee come into the lodges of the Miamis because a white girl’s face has led him on. Now the heart of Mechecunnaqua turns toward Lee. It is the will of Manito. Listen, the white girl is not yet gone from our village, but at the noon hour she starts, if Lee does not say the words that are sweet in my ear.”

“Proceed, 0 Mechecunnaqua!”

“You are a prisoner, and nothing can save you from the stake but the words that please me, and which you alone can speak. You love the white maid. Become a Miami, and she is yours. Even more, you shall be a chief among the Miamis second only to Mechecunnaqua. I, Mechecunnaqua, say it. Forget the ways of the white man. Remember the Long Knives only to fight against them. The woods from the mountains to the great Father of Waters and beyond shall be yours. If the white maid does not please you long, then you shall have your choice among the red. You shall be adopted into the tribe as my son, and when I grow gray and my eyes fail and Manito calls me away, then you shall be head chief in my place.”

The chief paused a moment, but before I could speak resumed the thread of his discourse:

“Lee knows both the ways of the white man and the red,” he said, “and his wisdom will aid us in driving the Long Knives back over the mountains. Then our hunting-grounds shall remain such forever. The Western tribes—the Miamis, the Shawnees, the Wyandots, the Ottawas, the Pottawatomies, the Sacs, the Foxes, and all the others most warlike—shall form a league like that of the Iroquois in the East, but more numerous and of much greater power, of which Lee shall be some day the chief, even as the Yengees,13 call it in their language, the king. And we shall have, too, the help of the Yengees. We have an old and very wise man, Kahgagee.14 Many moons have whitened his head; he fought long ago in the wars between Onontio15 and Corlear;16 now he does not wield Dayanoaqua17 or Osquesont,18 but his heart still throbs at the beat of the war drum, and he would send his children, the warriors, to battle. Just before Behmagat19 began to dry in the chill autumn winds he went in Cheemaun20 to Canada to talk with the big white chief in the red coat,21 and Keewaydin22 has not yet brought him back again; but when he comes he will bring news that the Yengees will help us against the Long Knives.”

I doubted the accuracy of this statement, not his belief in it, but it was not for me to say him nay at that moment.

“Your offer is that of a noble spirit, Mechecunnaqua,” I said, “and in its way is greatly beyond my desert, yet I must cling to my own kind. But I tell you truly, Mecheeunnaqua, and to your face, I could wish that God had made us brethren in race.”

“Even so could I,” he replied, “but my heart is sad because Lee will not listen to my words, and a wind of Peboan23 blows between us. And yet it would have been heavier still had I not spoken. Farewell, Lee.”

“Farewell, Mechecunnaqua.”

He lifted the mat that hung over the door of the hut and went out, his footfalls making no sound. I was left a prey to mingled feelings. My own race had cast me off. Then why should I not take the great reward that he offered and join his? I thank God that I never looked at this question with serious intent, but merely as a vague and curious thing that passed before my mind.

I had once more a fine opportunity, lasting two or three hours, to commune with my own unpleasant thoughts, and at the end of that time the mat was raised again, and a figure entered. It was that of Rose Carew. I motioned her to the wolfskin. I shall not tell how glad I was to see her, but I affected an easy and careless air.

“It is little that I may offer you, Miss Carew,” I said, “but I do the best I can. This castle of mine lacks furniture.”

It was poor gallantry, but I scarce knew what to say, and she did not reply, looking for the moment beyond me and over my head As if she had some purpose in mind. I was surprised, too, to find that she had not gone, and I said so.

“The Wyandot chief is a man of his word, and Little Turtle, who now supersedes him here, would not break any promise that Hoyoquim had made. Why have not you and the Englishman started for the South?” I asked.

“There is no breaking of faith,” she replied, “and we linger at my request. Why are you held here a prisoner, Mr. Lee?”

She was looking at me with strange eyes, and I felt a sudden fear, but I answered:

“It is an old matter, Miss Carew—a quarrel between Hoyoquim and myself, but it amounts to little. I am a sort of hostage, and I shall be released in a week or two.”

“And when you are released you will come back to Kentucky?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” I replied, but I knew then that she did not believe me.

“The chief, Little Turtle, let me see you,” she said. “It was a favour that I asked, and he was willing to grant it, as you behold. I know, Mr. Lee, that you are in truth held as a hostage, but not as one who is to be released. I know the real reason why you are here. Do you think that I can accept such a sacrifice? Do you think that I could have any peace hereafter if I did? I am not willing to buy my life at the price of another’s!”

She stood up before me straight and tall, her cheeks flushing a deep red with nervous excitement, and her eyes full of fire.

“It is too late,” I said, “to make any change. What has been done has been done, and perhaps you are mistaken.”

“I am not mistaken.”

“Then if one should grant that you are right, which I do not, what purpose could you serve by refusing the offer? You would but destroy yourself and help nobody else. You must go. You have a father and mother waiting for you. Have they no claims upon you? I saw that mother and her face of misery, and I promised to send you back. And what am I? There is nobody of my blood to grieve for me. If I don’t die here I might fall the next day in battle with some wild beast or wilder man. It is but the risk that we of the forest take.”

“But I can not have you die for me,” she exclaimed.

“I shall not die for anybody,” I said, and I laughed with a simulation of indifference. “Even if the Indians do not release me I shall be rescued. A friend of mine, the most skilful woodsman in the world, is out there in the forest. He comes and goes when he pleases, he is an Indian himself; he will reach me here in the night, and we shall go away together.”

She put her face in her hands and was silent for awhile. I too was silent, watching her. I felt a deep pity for her, torn as she was by conflicting emotions. She raised her face presently and it was pale now, but there was a strange fire in her eyes.

“The chief, Little Turtle, has spoken to me,” she said, “and he has told me perhaps more than you know. Did he not make you some kind of an offer?”

“I do not recall any,” I said, although I did full well.

“Perhaps he forgot it when he spoke to you,” she said, “but he mentioned it to me, and it may be that there is a way for you to save your life.”

Her gaze now met mine directly, and that strange fire was still in her eyes. I felt a sudden quiver in the blood and a thought shot through my head like lightning. But that inward voice said, “Who are you and what are you, John Lee, to dream of such a thing?” The hope that had flamed up so suddenly died.

“I can not think of any way but the one way,” I said, “and that is for my trusty comrade to come for me.”

“I did not mean that,” she said. “Is there no other?”

“None.”

Her cheeks became red again, but the fire did not go from her eyes. Nor did she take her gaze from me.

“Think, and think well, if there is not another way,” she said.

I had admired her from the first—her beauty, her strength, her mind, and all her womanly qualities—and now I admired her more than ever. Truly, she was worth winning by any man, and it was well that I was able to send her back to her own race. Then that persistent thought came to me again. Life could be pleasant. But I crushed it once more, and said for the second time:

“No, I can not think of any other way.”

Her face became white again.

“Who are you and what are you?” she asked, “and why should you do this thing for me?”

“I am but a wilderness hunter,” I replied, “and there are many others like me. Death—although I do not care to die for many years—does not seem terrible to us, as it is always by our side, and we grow familiar with it. What I do is from choice, and because it is the first chance that I have had in a long time to be of real service to any one. You would not deny me the pleasure of such a feeling, would you?”

I laughed lightly, pretending to indifference, but I saw a mist appear in her eyes.

“But think,” she said, “to die here in this vast wilderness at the hands of savages!”

“It is not to happen,” I said; “and even if it should happen, remember it is but the fate which in any event is sure to overtake me some day.”

“And you will stay? Nothing can change your mind?”

“Nothing. I shall stay until Osseo comes for me, which I do not think will be long, and then he and I shall go together into the wilderness again, and you shall return to Civilization unharmed. Winchester will take you safely. I know it. Believe in him.”

“I will go,” she said. Then, stooping suddenly, her face aflame, she kissed me on the forehead and rushed from the lodge.

I will not deny that I felt regrets when she was gone, but I was marked with one deep scar, and I did not wish another. My own conscience gave me approval, however great was the weakness of the flesh, and it was very weak.

It seemed that Little Turtle now had no wish to treat me ill before my time, and shortly he gave me food in abundance, in wooden or earthenware bowls, and consisting of dried buffalo meat, fresh venison, corn cakes, a sort of pudding made of roots and succulent to the taste, and wild plums. It was all very good, and I can not say that its character as a farewell feast given before sending me into the Supreme Presence interfered with my enjoyment of it, so I ate with slowness and dignity.

As I sat there I thought of Rose Carew returning to Kentucky. I was sending her back to Jasper. I had not thought of that when I made the sacrifice, but I was glad, nevertheless, that I had helped her to escape. Yet I could not keep from my mind the picture of her as Jasper’s wife and Jasper and her father again planning great schemes for their advancement in the West. St. Clair had been beaten and the Northwest was not yet to be divided, but Mr. Carew’s fertile mind would form fresh plans. He and Jasper and Knowlton would speedily be plotting something else, and perhaps it would not be so innocent as the acquisition of new land. The wish to know added to my wish to live.

At times they left the door of my prison open, and I could see much that passed in the village. Warriors had been coming continually, bringing some fresh trophy, or if too late to have a part in the battle and pursuit, to share in the triumphal songs and dances.

One of these parties arrived as I was looking forth, and the squaws welcomed the warriors with the chant of triumph. I was about to turn my face away, finding no joy in the spectacle of Indians coming with the scalps of my own people, when I noticed that the song was for a prisoner and not a scalp; and then, when I looked again, I saw that the prisoner was my cousin Jasper, wounded in the shoulder, his clothes torn and his face pallid.

The hurt did not seem to be serious, but his situation was, and the lack of colour in his face showed clearly that he knew it. I had much cause to dislike Jasper, but at this moment I felt only pity for him, knowing what would be the fate of a white man taken by the savages. I wondered, too, that they had spared him so long, as he must have been captured while near Fort Jefferson, and that was two days’ journey away.

They hurried him by me, and he passed so near that I could have touched him with my hand. Then they carried him on to one of the wigwams, in which he was imprisoned. His ambitions, I thought, were to end like mine, and as badly. Rose Carew was to be for neither of us.

The afternoon and night passed without event and another day of my captivity came—a day that found me wondering at the delay of my fate. The door of my hut, closed at night, was opened again in the morning to admit the fresh air, which, however, was not wholly a blessing, as it brought with it stronger recollections of the freedom that was lost.

A strange and faint but musical note entered the lodge.

It was the sound of a flute, scarce higher than that of a gentle wind, but I could not mistake it. I smiled in momentary amusement. De Chamillard the “madman!” Then I silently begged the forgiveness of the gallant Frenchman. Until that moment I had completely forgotten his existence.

The voice of the flute playing a plaintive old French air grew louder, and I smiled again. Now that I had no use for him and his flute, I regarded his continued appearance in the rôle of a madman as a childish act; once was well enough, twice was folly. Then I knew that I had wronged him. De Chamillard might be eccentric, but he was not a fool; perhaps it was curiosity that brought him back to the Miami village. His music did not cease, but steadily growing louder, changed from the pathetic to the gay, and at last De Chamillard played his cheerful air directly before the door of my prison. I could see him as he stood there, facing the warrior on guard. He played the tune to the end, waved the man aside, and entered. He stared at me a moment, put the flute to his mouth again, played another short tune, and then said:

“Do you think that I am really insane, my dear Lee? I merely do this to maintain the character which chance gave to me. The warrior outside has that opinion, and he did not dare to resist my entrance here, lest his Manito should strike him down with a bolt of lightning. I came to tell you, Monsieur Lee, that Monsieur Winchester and the girl have gone southward, but your friends who are left, and particularly the red gentleman who calls himself the son of the evening star, are alert, and.are determined that your captivity shall not be of long duration.”

“I am grateful to you, De Chamillard,” I replied. “I have played double and quits with death before, and I do not give up hope now, especially while you and Winchester and Osseo are free to help me.”

“I thank you for your confidence in me, nom du chien, I do,” he said with much dignity, “but I am only an amateur in this wilderness life, and I think you shall owe me merely for good wishes and not much for material help.”

Then he took his flute and cheerful countenance from the wigwam, and presently I heard the notes of music in the village—dying soon, however—and I imagined from the circumstances that De Chamillard was wandering into the forest once more.

Again the mat before the door of my prison was lifted, and now the amazing spectacle that greeted my eyes was my cousin Jasper walking with the renegades, Blackstaffe and the still more famous Simon Girty, much of the colour returned to his face, and his manner suggestive of liberty and relief from fear.

“The Long Knife whom we took near the fort,” said Little Turtle, who visited me again, “has had a message from Manito, and it tells him to join the red men, as Girty and Blackstaffe have done, and fight against the white men who have come to take from us the country which is ours. He is adopted into the tribe of the Miamis, and presently he shall go upon the war path with us.”

And so my good cousin had become a renegade to save himself from the torture! Perhaps, too, there was something in the man that would reconcile him to such a life. All the pity I had felt for him the day before went away, and in its place came contempt. It should be known that on the border we always hated the renegades more than the Indians. In a bitter spirit but in silence I wished Jasper in his change of life the luck that he deserved.

Thus the time passed.