CHAPTER XII

THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOIS

"The Algonquins are reeds that bend, but my paleface brothers are like the oak-tree!" exclaimed the Iroquois chief, as soon as he beheld the youths.

Thus briefly did the savage warrior pay a graceful tribute to the skill and courage of his friends who had held back the French, and at the same time refer modestly to his own victory.

"There is no time to lose!" exclaimed Jack. "The soldiers from the fort are close upon our heels, we did but delay their approach till we heard your signal. What is to be done? They are in a mood for vengeance."

"Ugh! Let the boats be burnt!"

The howl of the wolf, repeated twice, was given, and the next moment a column of smoke was observed in the direction of the canoes, followed by several loud explosions, as the kegs of gunpowder, which formed part of the lading, blew up.

The next instant the head of the French column appeared through the trees, and White Eagle, seeing the uselessness of continuing the fight against such overwhelming odds, withdrew across the stream with his warriors.

"The Wacondah calls us to our wigwams," he said; and now, lightened of their loads, and carrying only their rifles and scalps, the Iroquois struck across the forest in a south easterly direction, and soon put several leagues between themselves and the French, who arrived soon afterwards, only to find the ashes of the fire and the fragments of the canoes strewn around.

Chagrined and vexed beyond measure that they had once more been baulked of their prey, and that the "Iroquois devils" had got the best of them, they discontinued the useless pursuit, and returned to the fort.

The Indians travelled quickly, and soon reached the head waters of the Genesee River, and on the afternoon of the fifth day, from a lofty eminence they looked down upon the lodges and wigwams of their tribe in the peaceful valley below.

A triumphant yell broke from their lips as they beheld this welcome sight, for ever welcome to the soul of the returning warrior is the lodge that he calls his home. The village was quickly deserted by its inhabitants, for every stripling and maiden, all the squaws and children came dancing and shouting to receive them.

With all the agility and suppleness of the deer, the Indian youths came bounding forth to caper about the braves, to finger those gruesome trophies that hung at their girdles, and to carry their rifles and tomahawks. Their faces were radiant with the lofty hero-worship that burned in their young hearts. How they longed to leave the comparative security of the village and join the war parties!

The maidens, too, well versed in all the art and coquetry of the forest, their long raven tresses decked with flowers, their dark eyes beaming with love, welcomed home their sweethearts with unfeigned joy. But there is always a fly in the honey, and the joy of victory was somewhat marred by the bitter lamenting of those squaws whose husbands and sons returned no more.

A hasty meal was then prepared and set before the Indians in wooden platters and gourds, and as soon as this was cleared away by the attendant squaws, a fire was lit and the braves seated themselves in a circle and waited solemnly for the passing round of the peace-pipe and the council that was to follow. A feeling of reverence and awe seemed to pervade the very atmosphere, and the paleface youths became not a little uneasy, wondering what important event was about to happen next.

The two strangers had caused no little curiosity by their presence, especially amongst the squaws and striplings, but so far no one had addressed them personally. Evidently they were all waiting for some explanation as to why these two palefaces returned home with the braves and were not treated as prisoners. Their curiosity was soon to be satisfied.

A low murmur of voices ran around the council fire, and as if by instinct the braves rose to their feet, and in one place the serried ranks opened to admit a very aged chief, who came from one of the lodges near the "painted post" and slowly made his way to the assembly. He was accompanied by several other aged chiefs, but none amongst them looked so wise or even so old, by a generation at least, as the Sagamore, who now toiled painfully across the ground.

His form had once been straight like the fir-tree, but it was now bent, and he leaned heavily on his staff. His face was covered with wrinkles, and his white locks carried the snows of more than a hundred winters. Not till this aged chief had taken his seat at the post of honour amongst the chiefs that formed the front circle did the Indians deign to follow his example.

Then the sacred pipe, the calumet, was lit and solemnly passed from mouth to mouth, and amid a silence that could almost be felt, the blue smoke curled upwards around the fire and scented the still air of the early evening.

At last the White Eagle rose to speak, and as he did so every eye was intently fixed upon him; even the squaws, who stood at a respectful distance from the charmed circle, stayed their gossip and strained their ears to listen to the weighty words of this renowned sachem.

"Father, you see that we come not back with empty hands. The wigwams of the Algonquins are empty. Their squaws and their children gaze no longer upon their braves, for the scalps of their warriors hang at the girdles of my children."

A hum of satisfaction arose from every part of the circle at these words.

"The Great Spirit has called ten of my braves to the happy hunting-fields out there beyond the sunset," continued the chief, raising his right hand as he spoke and pointing to where the sun had just set amongst the pines, leaving a train of red and gold. "But they had no wounds upon their backs, for their faces were never turned away from their enemies. Their squaws and their children shall be provided for. I have spoken, for the words of a chief are few!"

A low buzz of conversation went round the circle as White Eagle resumed his seat, and many an eye was turned towards the palefaces, as though some explanation of their presence was needed. At length the aged chief rose slowly, assisted by two other chiefs.

Every voice immediately lapsed into silence as the old Sagamore, with flowing locks that were white as the driven snow, began to speak. So aged was he that the oldest warrior in that grim circle could scarcely remember him otherwise than he now was. The children of his generation, and the generation that followed him, had passed away like leaves before the north wind.

"My children!" he began, and his voice at first was low and broken, but they listened to him with all the reverence that awe and superstition can give.

"Many suns have risen and set since 'Keneu,' the war-eagle of his tribe, led his people forth to battle. A hundred winters have whitened the forests and the plains since he first followed the trail of the deer. Then we were chiefs and sagamores from the shores of the Great Salt Lake, far back to the Gitche Gumee and the mountains beyond the plains where, amid the eternal snows, the Manitou dwells in the Silence. Then the forests were full of deer, the plains were full of herds, and the streams were filled with fish; and no paleface was to be found in all the land, for the Wacondah had placed his red children in a land of plenty, and the smoke from the council fire and the calumet, the peace-pipe, rose from every valley, and beside every stream were their lodges, for my people were happy."

"Ugh!" came the ready cry of assent from many a dark-skinned warrior, and many a furtive glance was cast in the direction of the two palefaces.

"Then from the land of the sun-rising," continued the Sagamore, "in his white-winged birch canoe, that brought the thunder and the lightning, came the paleface; and he laid the forest low before him, and he drove my people westward, for the face of the Manitou was turned in anger from his children. Then we turned our faces westward, towards the land of the setting sun, and the regions of the Home-Wind, and we said--

"'Here we will hunt the red deer and the beaver, and from these clear streams we will take the sturgeon and the salmon, and here, when the Manitou calls us, we will die, where we see not the smoke of the paleface, nor hear the sound of his axe.' Was it well then, chief, to bring hither the children of the East Wind?"

The old man ceased speaking and sank down once more upon the rude log that served as a dais, and the silence became even yet more intense when the White Eagle rose again and said--

"Once a mighty paleface came to the lodge of Keneu. Hungry and weary, he came from the land of Wabun, driven here by the cruel laws of his people, and he brought to us the thunder and the lightning, and he taught my people knowledge and wisdom from the sacred writings in the shining land of Wabun. He became the brother and the friend of the red man, and we taught him to hunt the moose and the deer and the beaver, and the Great Sagamore loved him, and gave him a place at the council fire of my people."

"He is the friend of Keneu, and since many moons his lodge stands empty; but who are these? Are they the children of Miquon?" abruptly asked the aged chief, "or the children of the Canadas?"

"They are the children of the Yengeese, and they raised their hands to help the Eagle when his wings were pinioned by the French of the Canadas, and the red man forgets not his friends, when his fetters are freed, else would the Manitou be angry. They are my brothers, and the white blood has been washed from their veins. Will the great father turn them from his lodge?"

This speech produced a wonderful transformation in the faces of all who heard it, and when several other warriors had spoken of the prowess and courage of Red Feather and Black Hawk, a gentler look came over the Sagamore's face as he spoke.

"It is well!" he said. "The Wacondah has willed it. They shall dwell in the lodges of the Iroquois, and my young men shall teach them to hunt the swift deer and the beaver." Then the council broke up, and the men repaired to their wigwams.

This formal introduction over, the youths were shown to a lodge, next the one that awaited the return of the paleface hunter just referred to, and during the weeks and months of their sojourn amongst the tribe they were treated with all the respect and esteem that belonged to an Indian brave. The war hatchet had been buried for a while, so they joined the hunting-parties that often scoured the forests, and they soon became expert in the arts and crafts of these children of the forest, until each could handle a canoe, shoot the rapids and hunt the deer like a true Indian.

"Come with me, my paleface brothers," said White Eagle one day, just before the first snow of winter. "Come with me and I will show you how the Manitou provides for his red children."

So they took their canoes and paddled all day, and then next day they carried their canoes over a portage until they reached the sweet waters of the Tioga River. As soon as the sun had gone down the chief took a pine torch and held it, lighted, over the stream. Almost immediately a dozen fine salmon, attracted by the torch, came to the very edge of the stream. Then a fire was kindled close to the bank, and immediately the river seemed full of living creatures of the finny tribe.

"Look! What a glorious sight!" exclaimed Jamie; "the water is alive with fish." And it was true, for, attracted by the huge blaze, they came tumbling over each other, leaping out of the water by dozens, until the whole surface glowed and shimmered, green and red and purple.

Then the Indians who had accompanied them in order to get a supply for the tribe, entered the water, and with long spears made of hard wood, something after the fashion of a trident, speared and hooked the salmon to their heart's content.

As the youths stood spellbound, gazing at this almost miraculous sight, the chief tapped them on the shoulder and said--

"Does the Manitou fill the rivers of the palefaces with fish and their forests with furs?"

"We have never seen such plenty, chief, in the land of the palefaces. Very often if a man takes a fish from a stream, or a deer from the forest, he is sent to prison and sometimes put to death."

"Humph!" said the chief in a tone of surprise. "Now I know why the paleface comes over the Salt Water to the hunting-grounds of his red brother."

The lads were so dumfounded by this unusual sight that their thoughts turned instinctively to that little burn that sang its way down through a wood-lined vale far away in another land, where to land a single fish was a heinous crime, and yet how they loved that little spot, now so far away; but the voice of the chief awoke them from their reverie, saying--

"Come, my brothers, and fill your canoe with the gifts of the Manitou."

They needed no second bidding, and the next minute they, too, were enjoying the magnificent sport. Very soon all the canoes were filled, and then after a hearty supper of fresh salmon, the fish were sorted, dressed and prepared for drying, after which they were carried home for the winter's supply.