Oh, how this tyrant, doubt, torments my breast!
My thoughts, like birds, who’re frighten’d from their nest,
Around the place where all was hush’d before,
Flutter, and hardly nestle any more.

OTWAY.

Our story now reverts to the Indians, of whom we have for so long made little or no mention. It is in vain for us to attempt to control the course of our tale, and to compel it, as it were, to be content with the artificial banks of a canal, stealing insensibly on, with uniform smoothness, to its terminus. Whatever we may do, it will assert its liberty, and wander in its own way, foaming down rocks and rugged precipices, like a mountain stream, at one moment, at the next, stagnating into a pool, and afterwards gliding off in erratic windings, roaming like Ceres, searching through the world for her lost Proserpine. Not ours to subject the succession of events to our will, but to narrate them with such poor skill as nature and a defective education concede, trusting that a homely sincerity, if it cannot wholly supply the place of art, may palliate its want.

Peena, the partridge, or Esther, as she was more commonly called by the whites, heard, with an exquisite delight, that the little boy; whom she had left on the steps of the house, in New York, and now discovered to be Pownal, was the son of Holden. Nothing could have happened more calculated to deepen the reverence she had long felt for the Solitary, and to convince her though no such argument was necessary that he was a “great medicine,” or one peculiarly the favorite, and under the guardianship, of Superior Powers. She herself seemed controlled by the Manito that watched over Holden, and compelled, even unknown to herself, to guard his interests. For was it not she who had preserved the child? Was it not she who had placed him in a situation to become a great and rich man? for such, to her simplicity, Pownal seemed to be was it not she who had brought father and son together, and revealed each to the other? As these reflections and the like passed through her mind, a shudder of superstition thrilled her frame, and she turned her attention to the consideration of how she might best fulfill the designs of the Manito. For it will be remembered, that, although nominally a Christian, she had not wholly cast off the wild notions of her tribe, if it be, indeed, possible for an adult Indian to do so. The maxim of Horace:

“Quo semel est imbuta recens servabit odorem
Testa diu,”

is of universal application, nor has it ever greater force than when reference is had to ideas, connected with the terrors of an unseen world, and where the mind that entertains them is destitute of the advantages of education.

Esther, it may readily then be supposed, did not delay after their arrival, to go to see both Holden and his son. She could not behold again, and recognize the child she had preserved, in the young man who stood before her, without strong feeling, nor could Pownal look unmoved upon the gentle and timid woman, to whom he was so much indebted. Esther knew again the string of coral beads she had left upon the boy’s neck, and ascribed it to the whispers of the Great Spirit, that she had allowed them to remain. She did not return from her visit to Pownal empty handed. In fact, she was loaded with as many presents, of such articles as suited her condition and half-civilized taste, as she and the boy, Quadaquina, who commonly accompanied her, could carry. It was the mode which naturally suggested itself to Pownal, as alike most pleasing to Peena, and most calculated to impress her mind with a sense of his estimate of her services, especially as there was connected with the gifts a promise, that during his life her wants and wishes should all be supplied. Peena now felt herself the happiest and richest of her tribe, and her heart glowed with devotion towards those who had been the means of investing her with wealth, and the consequence attached to it.

“Hugh!” ejaculated Ohquamehud, in amazement, as the squaw and her son threw down upon the floor of the cabin the rich red and blue cloths, and hats, and shoes, and other articles which Pownal had pressed upon them. The exclamation escaped involuntarily, but, with a natural politeness, the Indian asked no questions, but waited till it should please the squaw to furnish an explanation.

The sweet-tempered Peena saw his desire, and turning to the boy, she said, in their native language, in which the three always conversed together:

“Speak, Quadaquina, that the eyes of thy father’s brother may be opened.”

The boy, in obedience to the command of his mother, and without looking at the Indian, tersely replied:

“They are the gifts of my white brother with the open hand, the son of the Longbeard.”

Ohquamehud appeared offended, and he asked, in a sharp tone:

“Is Quadaquina ashamed, when he speaks to a warrior, to look him in the eyes, and did he learn his manners from the pale faces?”

The boy turned round, and gazed full at the other, and his eyes glistened, yet it was in a low, soft tone he replied:

“Quadaquina is a child, and knows not the customs of warriors, and children turn away their eyes from what they do not wish to see.”

Ohquamehud’s face darkened as he said:

“The arts of the Longbeard have blown a cloud between me and my kindred, so that they cannot see me, and it is time my feet were turned towards the setting sun.”

“It is the fire-water that puts out the eyes of Ohquamehud, and makes him forget what he owes to the wife of Huttamoiden,” exclaimed the boy, with suppressed passion.

“Peace, Quadaquina,” said his mother. “Ohquamehud is not now the slave of the fire-water. Go,” she added, detecting, with a mother’s sagacity, the tumult in the mind of the high-spirited boy, “and return not until thou hast tamed thine anger. Wolves dwell not in the cabin of Peena.”

The boy, with downcast eyes, and obedient to his mother, left the hut.

In explanation of this scene we may say, that, unhappily, like most Indians, Ohquamehud was addicted to the use of spirituous liquors, his indulgence in the fiery gratification being limited only by his inability at all times to obtain it. Although unable to indulge his appetite in the cabin of Esther, he occasionally procured strong liquors in the huts of the other Indians, with whom the practice of taking stimulants was almost universal, and sometimes in such quantities as utterly to lose his reason. Returned on one of these occasions, he demanded rum from Esther, and, upon her refusal to give it, struck her a blow. This so exasperated the boy, Quadaquina, who was present, that, with a club, he prostrated the drunken man, which, indeed, in the condition he was in, was not difficult, and would, had he not been restrained by Peena, have inflicted a serious injury, if not killed him. Ohquamehud never knew that he had been struck, but ascribed the violent pain in his head the next day to the fire-water, and the contusion to a fall. Peena, while lamenting the excesses of her relative, felt little or no resentment towards him; but not so with the boy. He despised Ohquamehud for the miserable exhibitions of imbecility he made in his cups, and hated him for the violence to his mother.

“Look,” said Peena, pointing to the articles, and desirous to remove the rising discontent from the mind of the Indian, “the heart of the young Longbeard (for she had no other name for Pownal in her language) is large. All these he took out of it for Peena.”

“Accursed be the gifts of the pale faces!” exclaimed Ohquamehud. “For such rags our fathers sold our hunting-grounds, and gave permission to the strangers to build walls in the rivers so that the fish cannot swim up.”

“Peena sold nothing for these,” said the squaw, mildly. “Because the young Longbeard loved Peena he gave them all to her.”

“Did not Peena preserve his life? But she is right. The white face has an open hand, and pays more for his life than it is worth.”

“The words of my husband’s brother are very bitter. What has the boy whom Huttamoiden’s arm saved from the flames, done, that blackness should gather over the face of Ohquamehud?”

“Quah! Does Peena ask? She is more foolish than the bird, from which she takes her name, when it flies into a tree. Is he not the son of Onontio?”

“Peena never saw Onontio. She has only heard of him as one, who like the red men, loves scalps. The Longbeard is a man of peace, and loves them not. The eyes of Ohquamehud are getting dim.”

“The eyes of Ohquamehud are two fires, which throw a light upon his path, and he sees clearly what is before him. It is only blood that can wash out from the eyes of a warrior the remembrance of his enemy, and nothing but water has cleansed Ohquamehud’s. Thrice have I meet Onontio, once on the yellow Wabash: again, where the mighty Mississippi and Ohio flow into each other’s bosoms, and a third time on the plains of the Upper Illinois. Look,” he cried suddenly, throwing open his shirt, and exposing his breast, “the bullet of Onontio made that mark like the track of a swift canoe in the water. It talks very plain and will not let Ohquamehud forget.”

“If the Longbeard be Onontio, his son has done my brother no injury.”

“The gifts of the pale face have blinded the eyes, and stopped the ears of my sister, so that she can neither see nor hear the truth. Who, when he kills the old panther, lets the cubs escape?”

“There is peace between the red man and the white on the banks of the Sakimau. The long knives are as plenty as the leaves of the western forests. Ohquamehud must forget the bullet of Onontio until he finds him on the prairie, or where the streams run towards the setting sun.”

“My sister is very wise,” said the savage, his whole manner changing from the ferocity, which had at first characterized it, to a subdued and even quiet tone. “But,” added he, as it were despondingly, “let her not fear for the safety of the Longbeard. Ohquamehud is weak and cannot contend with so great a medicine.” He turned away, as if unwilling to continue the conversation, nor did Peena manifest any disposition to renew it.

There was, however, something about the Indian, that alarmed the squaw, as she had never been before, notwithstanding the pacific language, with which he concluded. The time was drawing nigh for Ohquamehud’s return to the West, and, knowing his brutal temper, she feared that under the influence of the spirituous liquors he indulged in to excess, he might attempt to signalize his departure by some act of wrong and revenge, which would bring down destruction on himself, and disastrously affect the fortunes of the tribe. He evidently cherished a bitter animosity toward Holden, whom he had recognized as a formidable enemy, and although a cool and wary savage when himself, and as capable of appreciating the consequences of an act as clearly as any one and therefore likely to be deterred from violence, there was no knowing what he might do, when stimulated by the frenzy that lurks in the seductive draught. Peena knew the difficulty, with which an Indian foregoes revenge, and her apprehensions were the more excited by the attachment she felt for the two white men. Fears, vague and unformed had before floated through her mind, but they now assumed consistency, and she determined to take such precautions until the departure of her kinsman as should prevent harm either to himself or others. With this view, the moment she was alone with her son, she seized the opportunity to speak on the subject of her alarm. But, first she thought it necessary to reprove him for his feelings towards his uncle.

“Whose blood,” she inquired, “flows in the veins of Quadaquina?”

“It is the blood of Huttamoiden,” answered the boy, erecting his head, and drawing himself up proudly.

“And who gave the bold heart and strong arm to Huttamoiden?”

“It was the mighty Obbatinuua, whose name men say is still mentioned in the song on the great fresh water lakes.”

“He had two sons?”

“Huttamoiden and” He stopped as if unwilling to pronounce the name, and turned with a gesture of contempt from his mother.

Peena supplied the omission. “Ohquamehud,” she said. “He is a brave warrior, and the Shawnees are proud of his exploits.”

“He is a dog!” exclaimed the boy, fiercely. “The blood of Obbatinuua has leaked out of his veins, and the fire-water taken its place.”

“He is the kinsman of Quadaquina, and it does not become a child to judge harshly of any member of his tribe.”

“Mother,” said the boy, gravely, as if he thought it incumbent on him to justify his conduct, “listen. The hearts of Obbatinuua and of Huttamoiden both beat in my bosom. They tell me that the son should remember the glory of his father. Quadaquina is very sick when he sees Ohquamehud lying on the ground, a slave of the fire-water, with his tongue lolling out like a dog’s, and he disdains to acknowledge him as of his blood.”

Peena was not disposed to blame the boy for his disgust at drunkenness. It was a feeling she had herself most sedulously cultivated by every means in her power, pointing out, as occasion offered, like the Lacedemonians, its exhibitions in its worst forms, and contrasting the wretched drunkard falling, from degradation to degradation, into a dishonored grave, with the sober and vigorous man. She had succeeded in imparting to Quadaquina her own abhorrence of the vice, and was cautious not to weaken the impression.

“Enough,” said Peena; “my son will grow up into a brave and good man; but if he despises Ohquamehud for his drunkenness, let him not forget he is his kinsman. Hearken,” she added, earnestly, and drawing the boy nearer, while she lowered her voice; “does Quadaquina know that Ohquamehud hates the Longbeard?”

“Quadaquina’s ears and eyes are open,” said the boy.

“Ohquamehud’s feet will soon chase the setting sun,” continued Peena, “but before he starts the fire-water may try to make him do some foolish thing. Quadaquina must have love enough for his kinsman to prevent the folly.”

“Not because Quadaquina loves, but because Ohquamehud is his father’s brother.”

“It is well. Ohquamehud must do the Longbeard no harm, and Quadaquina must watch them both, and, if need be, warn the Longbeard of the danger.”

The boy, proud of the trust committed to him, promised to obey his mother and be watchful, and from that time commenced a system of patient vigilance, of which a white child would scarcely be capable, but which seems to be a part of the nature of an Indian. Whenever Ohquamehud left the cabin Quadaquina sought no more to avoid him, but accompanied him whenever invited, and if not, generally followed, so as not to lose him long out of sight. There was something about the trust that agreed well with the cunning of the child. It had for him a kind of fascination, like that which induces the hunter patiently, day after day, to pursue the track of the flying game, looking forward to the moment of success, when all his toil is to be repaid.

As for Esther, she lost no time in starting off to apprise Holden and Pownal of the danger she feared. As the canoe glided along under the strokes of the paddle, which she knew how to use as well as any man, she reflected upon the proper manner of communicating her apprehensions; but the more she thought on the subject, the more difficult it appeared. She could not mention the name of her kinsman as the person whom she suspected of an evil design. That seemed to her a sort of treason, a violation of the rights of relationship and of hospitality. He might be innocent. She herself might be to blame for cherishing such suspicions. She knew not what evils the disclosure of Ohquamehud’s name connected with the charge might occasion. He might be arrested and put in prison, perhaps, executed. The white people, in the opinion of the Indians, had never exercised much forbearance towards them, and regarded them as an inferior race. The liberty or life of an Indian was, probably, with them, but of little consequence. Besides, might she not be running some risk herself? But this reflection weighed but little with the affectionate creature. While such considerations occurred to the ignorant and timid woman, she was half tempted to turn back, and trust to the Manito or protecting genius, who had thus far borne the Solitary triumphantly through all perils, but her fears at last prevailed over these scruples, and she resolved to give the warning without making allusion to any person.

But Holden, a man naturally of great courage, and familiarized from his earliest years with danger, and the means of avoiding it, paid but little attention to the obscure hints of Esther. He did not even take the trouble to inquire to what direction her allusions pointed. From whom, from what, had he to apprehend danger to his life? He had voluntarily embraced poverty; there was nothing about him to tempt cupidity; he loved all the world, and would hardly, indeed, hesitate to sacrifice, if need were, his life for that of an another. What motive could there be to injure him? He was not in the boundless forest of the West, roamed by predatory savages, but in a land of law, and order, and religion. Were he, indeed, in those regions which had witnessed the fiery trials and perils of his youth, caution would be necessary; but even then, he would have relied with confidence on his own resources, controlled and directed by a shaping Providence. It was not probable that Holden thought at all of Ohquamehud, but if his mind rested for a moment on the Indian, it could not be with an emotion of fear. The western pioneers feel their superiority too greatly to be accessible to such apprehensions, and Holden had been too long a hunter of savages, to dread either their cunning or their force. Had he reflected on the subject, he would have seemed to himself to stand in pretty much the same relation to a red skin that a grown man does to a child; or, if the Indian were hostile, as the hunter does to the bears, and wolves, and catamounts, he pursues.

“Peena,” said Holden, “I thank thee. It is not in human nature to be ungrateful for affection, whatever be the color of the skin that covers the heart which offers it. But dismiss thy fears, and think of them as unsubstantial as the morning mist. And know that at all times doubt and fear are in vain. Thou canst not make one hair white and another black. It is appointed unto all men once to die, but of the times and seasons, though fixed by the Master of Life with infallible wisdom, and by a decree that may not be gainsaid, no man knoweth. The arrow shot by the hand of Jéhovah must reach its mark, though thou seest not its track in the clouds.”

Somewhat more effect attended Esther’s visit to Pownal, not that, indeed, she felt the same apprehensions for him as for his father, or was able to inspire him with fears on his own account. Living in the village, and with habits so different from those of Holden, he was vastly less exposed to a danger of the kind she apprehended. The bullet or the knife of the savage would not be likely to reach him in the streets of Hillsdale. For it is no part of the tactics of an American Indian to expose his own life. On the contrary, he is considered a fool who does so unnecessarily. Stratagem is prized above force, and he is the greatest warrior who, while inflicting an injury, takes care not to expose himself to harm. Esther knew all this, and for these reasons, perhaps, if with Holden she was vague, with his son she was oracular. Consequently, Pownal only laughed at her, when she spoke of himself, as well, indeed, he might, but when she referred to his father, the case was altered. Not that any clear, well-defined danger presented itself, but as in low, monotonous tones the squaw proceeded, darkly hinting at what she would not explain, an oppression fell upon his spirits as strange as it was painful. We can liken it to nothing with more propriety than to that dim sense of terror and discomfort which is sometimes observed in the inferior animals at the approach of an eclipse or the bursting of a hurricane. Yielding to the mysterious monitor, and prompt in action as he was rapid in judgment, Pownal proceeded instantly to seek his father.