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diff --git a/28815.txt b/28815.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95e504c --- /dev/null +++ b/28815.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8534 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Bridge of the Gods, by Frederic Homer +Balch, Illustrated by L. Maynard Dixon + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Bridge of the Gods + A Romance of Indian Oregon. 19th Edition. + + +Author: Frederic Homer Balch + + + +Release Date: May 14, 2009 [eBook #28815] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank, Darleen Dove, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 28815-h.htm or 28815-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28815/28815-h/28815-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28815/28815-h.zip) + + + + + +THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS + +[Illustration: "_What think you now, Tohomish?_"] + + +THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS + +A Romance of Indian Oregon + +by + +F. H. BALCH + +With eight full-page illustrations by L. Maynard Dixon + +NINETEENTH EDITION + + + + + + + +Chicago . A. C. McClurg & Co. +Nineteen Hundred & Fifteen + +Copyright +A. C. McClurg & Co. +1890 and 1902 + +W. F. Hall Printing Company, Chicago + + + + +PUBLISHERS' NOTE + + +Encouraged by the steady demand for Mr. Balch's "The Bridge of the +Gods," since its publication twelve years ago, the publishers have +decided to issue a new edition beautified with drawings from the +pencil of Mr. L. Maynard Dixon. This tale of the Indians of the far +West has fairly earned its lasting popularity, not only by the intense +interest of the story, but by its faithful delineations of Indian +character. + +In his boyhood Mr. Balch enjoyed exceptional opportunities to inform +himself regarding the character and manners of the Indians: he visited +them in their homes, watched their industries, heard their legends, +saw their gambling games, listened to their conversation; he +questioned the Indians and the white pioneers, and he read many books +for information on Indian history, traditions, and legends. By +personal inquiry among old natives he learned that the Bridge which +suggested the title of his romance was no fabric of the imagination, +but was a great natural bridge that in early days spanned the +Columbia, and later, according to tradition, was destroyed by an +earthquake. + +Before his death the author had the satisfaction of knowing that his +work was stamped with the approval of the press and the public; his +satisfaction would have been more complete could he have foreseen that +that approval would be so lasting. + + JULY 1, 1902. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +In attempting to present with romantic setting a truthful and +realistic picture of the powerful and picturesque Indian tribes that +inhabited the Oregon country two centuries ago, the author could not +be indifferent to the many serious difficulties inseparable from such +an enterprise. Of the literary success with which his work has been +accomplished, he must of course leave others to judge; but he may +without immodesty speak briefly of his preparation for his task, and +of the foundation of some of the facts and legends which form the +framework of his story. Indian life and character have long been a +favorite study with him, and in these pages he has attempted to +describe them, not from an ideal standpoint, but as he knew them in +his own boyhood on the Upper Columbia. Many of the incidents related +in the story have come under his personal observation; others have +been told him by aged pioneers, or gleaned from old books of +Northwestern travel. The every-day life of the Indians, their food, +their dress, their methods of making their mats, of building their +houses, of shaping their canoes, their gambling games, their religious +beliefs, their legends, their subjects of conversation, the sports and +pastimes of their children,--all these have been studied at first +hand, and with the advantages of familiar and friendly intercourse +with these people in their own homes. By constant questioning, many +facts have been gained regarding their ancestry, and the fragments of +history, tradition, and legend that have come down from them. Indian +antiquities have been studied through every available source of +information. All the antiquarian collections in Oregon and California +have been consulted, old trading-posts visited, and old pioneers and +early missionaries conversed with. Nothing has been discarded as +trivial or insignificant that could aid in the slightest degree in +affording an insight into Indian character and customs of a by-gone +age. + +As to the great Confederacy of the Wauna, it may be said that Gray's +"History of Oregon" tells us of an alliance of several tribes on the +Upper Columbia for mutual protection and defence; and students of +Northwestern history will recall the great confederacy that the Yakima +war-chief Kamyakin formed against the whites in the war of 1856, when +the Indian tribes were in revolt from the British Possessions to the +California line. Signal-fires announcing war against the whites leaped +from hill to hill, flashing out in the night, till the line of fire +beginning at the wild Okanogan ended a thousand miles south, on the +foot-hills of Mount Shasta. Knowing such a confederacy as this to be +an historical fact, there seems nothing improbable in that part of the +legend which tells us that in ancient times the Indian tribes on +either side of the Cascade Range united under the great war-chief +Multnomah against their hereditary foes the Shoshones. Even this would +not be so extensive a confederacy as that which Kamyakin formed a +hundred and fifty years later. + +It may be asked if there was ever a great natural bridge over the +Columbia,--a "Bridge of the Gods," such as the legend describes. The +answer is emphatically, "Yes." Everywhere along the mid-Columbia the +Indians tell of a great bridge that once spanned the river where the +cascades now are, but where at that time the placid current flowed +under an arch of stone; that this bridge was _tomanowos_, built by the +gods; that the Great Spirit shook the earth, and the bridge crashed +down into the river, forming the present obstruction of the cascades. +All of the Columbian tribes tell this story, in different versions and +in different dialects, but all agreeing upon its essential features as +one of the great facts of their past history. + +"_Ancutta_ (long time back)," say the Tumwater Indians, "the salmon he +no pass Tumwater falls. It too much big leap. Snake Indian he no catch +um fish above falls. By and by great _tomanowos_ bridge at cascades he +fall in, dam up water, make river higher all way up to Tumwater; then +salmon he get over. Then Snake Indian all time catch um plenty." + +"My father talk one time," said an old Klickitat to a pioneer at White +Salmon, Washington; "long time ago liddle boy, him in canoe, his +mother paddle, paddle up Columbia, then come to _tomanowos_ bridge. +Squaw paddle canoe under; all dark under bridge. He look up, all like +one big roof, shut out sky, no see um sun. Indian afraid, paddle +quick, get past soon, no good. Liddle boy no forget how bridge look." + +Local proof also is not wanting. In the fall, when the freshets are +over and the waters of the Columbia are clear, one going out in a +small boat just above the cascades and looking down into the +transparent depths can see submerged forest trees beneath him, still +standing upright as they stood before the bridge fell in and the river +was raised above them. It is a strange, weird sight, this forest +beneath the river; the waters wash over the broken tree-tops, fish +swim among the leafless branches: it is desolate, spectre-like, beyond +all words. Scientific men who have examined the field with a view to +determining the credibility of the legend about the bridge are +convinced that it is essentially true. Believed in by many tribes, +attested by the appearance of the locality, and confirmed by +geological investigation, it is surely entitled to be received as a +historic fact. + +The shipwreck of an Oriental vessel on the Oregon coast, which +furnishes one of the most romantic elements in our story, is an +altogether probable historic incident, as explained more fully in a +foot-note on page 75. + +The spelling of Indian names, in which authorities differ so widely, +has been made as accurate as possible; and, as in the name "Wallulah," +the oldest and most Indian-like form has been chosen. An exception has +been made in the case of the modernized and corrupted "Willamette," +which is used instead of the original Indian name, "Wallamet." But the +meaningless "Willamette" has unfortunately passed into such general +use that one is almost compelled to accept it. Another verbal +irregularity should be noticed: Wauna, the name given by all the +Indians in the story to the Columbia, was only the Klickitat name for +it. The Indians had no general name for the Columbia, but each tribe +had a special name, if any, for it. Some had no name for it at all. It +was simply "the big water," "_the_ river," "the big salmon water." +What Wauna, the Klickitat name, or Wemath, the Wasco name, signifies, +the author has been unable to learn, even from the Indians who gave +him the names. They do not know; they say their fathers knew, but it +is forgotten now. + +A rich and splendid treasure of legend and lore has passed away with +the old pioneers and the Indians of the earlier generation. All that +may be found interesting in this or any other book on the Indians, +compared to what has been lost, is like "a torn leaf from some old +romance." + + F. H. B. + + OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA, + September, 1890. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + Book I. + + _THE APOSTLE TO THE INDIANS._ + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. THE NEW ENGLAND MEETING 13 + II. THE MINISTER'S HOME 21 + III. A DARKENED FIRESIDE 31 + IV. THE COUNCIL OF ORDINATION 39 + V. INTO TRACKLESS WILDS 47 + + Book II. + + _THE OPENING OF THE DRAMA._ + + I. SHALL THE GREAT COUNCIL BE HELD? 53 + II. THE WAR-CHIEF AND THE SEER 69 + III. WALLULAH 74 + IV. SENDING OUT THE RUNNERS 87 + + Book III. + + _THE GATHERING OF THE TRIBES._ + + I. THE BROKEN PEACE-PIPE 91 + II. ON THE WAY TO THE COUNCIL 103 + III. THE GREAT CAMP ON THE ISLAND 120 + IV. AN INDIAN TRIAL 131 + V. SENTENCED TO THE WOLF-DEATH 142 + + Book IV. + + _THE LOVE TALE._ + + I. THE INDIAN TOWN 151 + II. THE WHITE WOMAN IN THE WOOD 159 + III. CECIL AND THE WAR-CHIEF 169 + IV. ARCHERY AND GAMBLING 176 + V. A DEAD QUEEN'S JEWELS 181 + VI. THE TWILIGHT TALE 191 + VII. ORATOR AGAINST ORATOR 200 + VIII. IN THE DARK 210 + IX. QUESTIONING THE DEAD 217 + + Book V. + + _THE SHADOW OF THE END._ + + I. THE HAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 227 + II. THE MARRIAGE AND THE BREAKING UP 241 + III. AT THE CASCADES 248 + IV. MULTNOMAH'S DEATH-CANOE 260 + V. AS WAS WRIT IN THE BOOK OF FATE 268 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS. + + "'What think you now, Tohomish?'" _Frontispiece_ + "'I have spoken; I will not turn back from + my words'" _Facing page_ 50 + "'The Earth hears us, the Sun sees us'" _Facing page_ 88 + The Great "Witch Mountain" of the Indians _Facing page_ 108 + "'I Will kill him!'" _Facing page_ 168 + "It was the Death-song of the Willamettes" _Facing page_ 204 + "'Come back! Come back!'" _Facing page_ 224 + Multnomah's Death-canoe _Facing page_ 264 + + + + + What tall and tawny men were these, + As sombre, silent, as the trees + They moved among! and sad some way + With tempered sadness, ever they, + Yet not with sorrow born of fear, + The shadows of their destinies + They saw approaching year by year, + And murmured not. + + . . . . . + + They turned to death as to a sleep, + And died with eager hands held out + To reaching hands beyond the deep; + And died with choicest bow at hand, + And quiver full and arrow drawn + For use, when sweet to-morrow's dawn + Should wake them in the Spirit Land. + + JOAQUIN MILLER. + + + + +THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS. + + + + +BOOK I. + + +_THE APOSTLE TO THE INDIANS._ + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE NEW ENGLAND MEETING. + + Such as sit in darkness and the shadow of death.--_Bible_. + + +One Sabbath morning more than two hundred years ago, the dawn broke +clear and beautiful over New England. It was one of those lovely +mornings that seem like a benediction, a smile of God upon the earth, +so calm are they, so full of unutterable rest and quiet. Over the sea, +with its endless line of beach and promontory washed softly by the +ocean swells; over the towns of the coast,--Boston and Salem,--already +large, giving splendid promise of the future; over the farms and +hamlets of the interior, and into the rude clearings where the outer +limits of civilization mingled with the primeval forest, came a flood +of light as the sun rose above the blue line of eastern sea. And still +beyond, across the Alleghanies, into the depth of the wilderness, +passed the sweet, calm radiance, as if bearing a gleam of gospel +sunshine to the Indians of the forest. + +Nowhere did the Sunday seem more peaceful than in a sheltered valley +in Massachusetts. Beautiful indeed were the thrifty orchards, the +rustic farmhouses, the meadows where the charred stumps that marked +the last clearing were festooned with running vines, the fields green +with Indian corn, and around all the sweep of hills dark with the +ancient wood. Even the grim unpainted meeting-house on the hill, which +was wont to look the very personification of the rigid Calvinistic +theology preached within it, seemed a little less bare and forbidding +on that sweet June Sabbath. + +As the hour for morning service drew near, the drummer took his +accustomed stand before the church and began to thunder forth his +summons,--a summons not unfitting those stern Puritans whose idea of +religion was that of a life-long warfare against the world, the flesh, +and the devil. + +Soon the people began to gather,--grave men and women, dressed in the +sober-colored garb of the day, and little children, clad in their +"Sunday best," undergoing the awful process of "going to meeting," yet +some of them, at least, looking at the cool shadowed wood as they +passed, and thinking how pleasant it would be to hunt berries or +birds' nests in those sylvan retreats instead of listening to a two +hours' sermon, under imminent danger of perdition if they went to +sleep,--for in such seductive guise did the Evil One tempt the souls +of these youthful Puritans. Solemn of visage and garb were the groups, +although here and there the gleam of a bit of ribbon at the throat of +some young maiden, or a bonnet tastefully adorned, showed that "the +world, the flesh, and the devil" were not yet wholly subdued among +them. + +As the audience filed through the open door, the men and women +divided, the former taking one side of the house, the latter the +other,--the aisle forming a dividing line between them. The floor was +uncarpeted, the walls bare, the pulpit undraped, and upon it the +hour-glass stood beside the open Bible. Anything more stiff and barren +than the interior of the meeting-house it would be difficult to find. + +An unwonted stir breaks the silence and solemnity of the waiting +congregation, as an official party enters. It is the Governor of the +colony and his staff, who are making a tour of the province, and have +stopped over Sunday in the little frontier settlement,--for although +the Governor is an august man, even he may not presume to travel on +the Sabbath in this land of the Puritans. The new-comers are richly +dressed. There is something heavy, massive, and splendid in their +garb, especially in the Governor's. He is a stately military-looking +man, and wears his ample vestments, his embroidered gloves, his lace +and ruffles, with a magisterial air. + +A rustle goes through the audience as the distinguished visitors pass +up the aisle to the front seats assigned, as the custom was, to +dignitaries. Young people steal curious glances at them; children turn +around in their seats to stare, provoking divers shakes of the head +from their elders, and in one instance the boxing of an ear, at which +the culprit sets up a smothered howl, is ignominiously shaken, and +sits swelling and choking with indignant grief during the remainder of +the service. + +At length the drum ceased, indicating both the arrival of the minister +and the time for service to begin. + +The minister took his place in the pulpit. He was a young man, of +delicate mould, with a pale and intellectual face. Exquisite +sensitiveness was in the large gray eyes, the white brow, the delicate +lips, the long slender fingers; yet will and energy and command were +in them all. His was that rare union of extreme sensibility with +strong resolution that has given the world its religious leaders,--its +Savonarolas and Chrysostoms; men whose nerves shrank at a discord in +music, but when inspired by some grand cause, were like steel to +suffer and endure. + +Something of this was in the minister's aspect, as he stood before the +people that morning. His eyes shone and dilated, and his slight figure +gathered dignity as his gaze met that of the assembly. There was no +organ, that instrument being deemed a device of the Prince of Darkness +to lead the hearts of the unwary off to popery; but the opening hymn +was heartily sung. Then came the Scripture reading,--usually a very +monotonous performance on the part of Puritan divines; but as given in +the young minister's thoughtfully modulated voice, nothing could have +been more expressive. Every word had its meaning, every metaphor was a +picture; the whole psalm seemed to breathe with life and power: "Lord, +thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations." + +Majestic, mournful, yet thrilling with deathless hope, was the +minister's voice; and the people were deeply moved. The prayer +followed,--not the endless monologue of the average Puritan +clergyman, but pointed, significant, full of meaning. Again his face +was lifted before them as he rose to announce the text. It was paler +now; the eyes were glowing and luminous; the long, expressive fingers +were tremulous with excitement. It was evident to all that no common +subject was to be introduced, no common effort to be made. Always +composed, the audience grew more quiet still. The very children felt +the hush of expectation, and gazed wonderingly at the minister. Even +that great man, the Governor, lost his air of unbending grandeur, and +leaned expectantly forward. + +The subject was Paul's vision of the man in Macedonia crying for help. +The speaker portrayed in burning words the condition of Macedonia, the +heathen gloom and utter hopelessness of her people, the vision that +came to Paul, and his going to preach to them. Then, passing to +England under the Druids, he described the dark paganism, the +blood-stained altars, the brutal priesthood of the age; and told of +the cry that went forth for light,--a cry that touched the heart of +the Roman Gregory into sending missionaries to show them the better +way. + +Like some royal poem was the discourse, as it showed how, through the +storms and perils of more than a thousand years, amid the persecution +of popes, the wars of barons, and the tyranny of kings, England had +kept the torch burning, till in these latter times it had filled the +world with light. Beautiful was the tribute he paid to the more recent +defenders of the faith, and most intense the interest of the +listeners; for men sat there who had come over the seas because of +their loyalty to the faith,--old and grizzled men, whose youth had +known Cromwell and Charles Stuart, and who had in more recent years +fought for "King Monmouth" and shared the dark fortunes of Argyle. + +The old Governor was roused like a veteran war-horse at the sound of +the trumpet; many faces were flushed with martial ardor. The young +minister paused reflectively at the enthusiasm he had kindled. A +sorrowful smile flitted around his lips, though the glow of +inspiration was still burning in his eyes. Would they be as +enthusiastic when he made the application of his discourse? + +And yet England, yea, even New England, was false, disloyal. She had +but half kept the faith. When the cry of pagan England had gone forth +for light, it had been heard; the light had been given. But now in her +day of illumination, when the Macedonian cry came to her, she closed +her ears and listened not. On her skirts was the blood of the souls of +men; and at the last day the wail of the heathen as they went down +into the gulf of flame would bear witness against her. + +Grave and impassioned, with an undertone of warning and sorrow, rang +the voice of the minister, and the hearts of the people were shaken as +though a prophet were speaking. + +"Out from the forests around us come the cry of heathen folk, and ye +will not listen. Ye have the light, and they perish in darkness and go +down to the pit. Generation after generation has grown up here in +forest and mountain, and has lived and died without God and without +hope. Generation has followed generation, stumbling blindly downward +to the dust like the brutes that perish. And now their children, +bound in iron and sitting under the shadow of death, reach out their +hands from the wilderness with a blind cry to you for help. Will ye +hear?" + +He lifted his hands to them as he spoke; there was infinite pathos in +his voice; for a moment it seemed as if all the wild people of the +wilderness were pleading through him for light. Tears were in many +eyes; yet in spite of the wonderful power of his oratory, there were +faces that grew stern as he spoke,--for only a few years had passed +since the Pequod war, and the feeling against the Indians was bitter. +The Governor now sat erect and indignant. + +Strong and vehement was the minister's plea for missionaries to be +sent to the Indians; fearlessly was the colonial government arraigned +for its deficiencies in this regard; and the sands in the hour-glass +were almost run out when the sermon was concluded and the minister +sank flushed and exhausted into his seat. + +The closing psalm was sung, and the audience was dismissed. Slow and +lingering were the words of the benediction, as if the preacher were +conscious of defeat and longed to plead still further with his people. +Then the gathering broke up, the congregation filing out with the same +solemnity that had marked the entrance. But when the open air was +reached, the pent-up excitement burst forth in a general murmur of +comment. + +"A good man," remarked the Governor to his staff, "but young, quite +young." And they smiled approvingly at the grim irony of the tone. + +"Our pastor is a fine speaker," said another, "but why will he bring +such unpleasant things into the pulpit? A good doctrinal sermon, now, +would have strengthened our faith and edified us all." + +"Ay, a sermon on the errors of Episcopacy, for instance." + +"Such talk makes me angry," growled a third. "Missionaries for the +Indians! when the bones of the good folk they have killed are yet +bleaching amid the ashes of their cabins! Missionaries for those red +demons! an' had it been powder and shot for them it had been a +righteous sermon." + +So the murmur of disapprobation went on among those slowly dispersing +groups who dreaded and hated the Indian with an intensity such as we +now can hardly realize. And among them came the minister, pale and +downcast, realizing that he had dashed himself in vain against the +stern prejudice of his people and his age. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE MINISTER'S HOME. + + Sore have I panted at the sun's decline, + To pass with him into the crimson West, + And see the peoples of the evening. + + EDWIN ARNOLD. + + +The Reverend Cecil Grey,--for such was our young minister's +name,--proceeded immediately after the service to his home. Before we +cross its threshold with him, let us pause for a moment to look back +over his past life. + +Born in New England, he first received from his father, who was a fine +scholar, a careful home training, and was then sent to England to +complete his education. At Magdalen College, Oxford, he spent six +years. Time passed very happily with him in the quiet cloisters of +that most beautiful of English colleges, with its memories of Pole and +Rupert, and the more courtly traditions of the state that Richard and +Edward had held there. But when, in 1687, James II. attempted to +trample on the privileges of the Fellows and force upon them a popish +president, Cecil was one of those who made the famous protest against +it; and when protests availed nothing, he left Oxford, as also did a +number of others. Returning to America, he was appointed pastor of a +New England church, becoming one of the many who carried the flower +of scholarship and eloquence into the bleak wilds of the New World. + +Restless, sensitive, ardent, he was a man to whom a settled pastorate +was impossible. Daring enterprises, great undertakings of a religious +nature yet full of peril, were the things for which he was naturally +fitted; and amid the monotonous routine of parish duties he longed for +a greater activity. Two centuries later he might have become +distinguished as a revivalist or as a champion of new and startling +views of theology; earlier, he might have been a reformer, a follower +of Luther or Loyola; as it was, he was out of his sphere. + +But for a time the Reverend Mr. Grey tried hard to mould himself to +his new work. He went with anxious fidelity through all the labors of +the country pastorate. He visited and prayed with the sick, he read +the Bible to the old and dim-sighted, he tried to reconcile petty +quarrels, he wrestled with his own discontent, and strove hard to +grind down all the aspirations of his nature and shut out the larger +horizon of life. + +And for a time he was successful; but during it he was induced to take +a very fatal step. He was young, handsome, a clergyman, and unmarried. +Now a young unmarried minister is pre-eminently one of sorrows and +acquainted with grief. For that large body of well-meaning people who +are by nature incapacitated from attending to their own business take +him in hand without mercy. Innumerable are the ways in which he is +informed that he ought to be married. Subtle and past finding out are +the plots laid by all the old ladies and match-makers of his church +to promote that desired event. He is told that he can never succeed +in the ministry till he is married. The praises of Matilda Jane +Tompkins or Lucinda Brown are sounded in his ears till he almost +wishes that both were in a better world,--a world more worthy their +virtues. At length, wearily capitulating, he marries some wooden-faced +or angular saint, and is unhappy for life. + +Now there was in Mr. Grey's church a good, gentle girl, narrow but not +wooden-faced, famous for her neatness and her housekeeping abilities, +who was supposed to be the pattern for a minister's wife. In time gone +by she had set her heart on a graceless sailor lad who was drowned at +sea, much to the relief of her parents. Ruth Anderson had mourned for +him quietly, shutting up her sorrow in her own breast and going about +her work as before; for hers was one of those subdued, practical +natures that seek relief from trouble in hard work. + +She seemed in the judgment of all the old women in the church the +"very one" for Mr. Grey; and it likewise seemed that Mr. Grey was the +"very one" for her. So divers hints were dropped and divers things +were said, until each began to wonder if marriage were not a duty. The +Reverend Cecil Grey began to take unusual pains with his toilet, and +wended his way up the hill to Mr. Anderson's with very much the aspect +of a man who is going to be hanged. And his attempts at conversation +with the maiden were not at all what might have been expected from the +young minister whose graceful presence and fluent eloquence had been +the boast of Magdalen. On her part the embarrassment was equally +great. At length they were married,--a marriage based on a false idea +of duty on each side. But no idea of duty, however strong or however +false, could blind the eyes of this married pair to the terrible fact +that not only love but mental sympathy was wanting. Day by day Cecil +felt that his wife did not love him, that her thoughts were not for +him, that it was an effort for her to act the part of a wife toward +him. Day by day she felt that his interests lay beyond her reach, and +that all the tenderness in his manner toward her came from a sense of +duty, not from love. + +But she strove in all ways to be a faithful wife, and he tried hard to +be a kind and devoted husband. He had been especially attentive to her +of late, for her health had been failing, and the old doctor had +shaken his head very gravely over her. For a week or more she had +grown steadily worse, and was now unable even to walk without help. +Her malady was one of those that sap away the life with a swift and +deadly power against which all human skill seems unavailing. + +Mr. Grey on returning from church entered the living room. The invalid +sat at the window, a heavy shawl wrapped about her, her pale face +turned to the far blue line of sea, visible through a gap in the +hills. A pang wrenched his heart keenly at the sight. Why _would_ she +always sit at that window looking so sorrowfully, so abstractedly at +the sea, as if her heart was buried there with her dead lover? + +She started as she heard his footstep, and turned her head quickly +toward him, a faint flush tinging her cheek and a forced smile +quivering around her lips. Her greeting was very gentle, and he saw +that her heart was reproaching her for being so disloyal to him as to +think of her lost lover; and yet he felt her fingers tremble and +shrink away from his as he took her hand. + +"God forgive me!" he thought, with infinite self-accusation. "How +repugnant I must be to her,--an intruder, thrusting myself into the +heart that is sacred to the dead." + +But he let her see nothing of this in his voice or manner as he +inquired how she had been. She replied wearily that she was no better, +that she longed to get well again and be at work. + +"I missed your sermon to-day," she said, with that strained, pathetic +smile upon her lips again. "You must tell me about it now." + +He drew his chair to her side and began to give an outline of the +sermon. She listened, but it was with forced attention, without +sympathy, without in the least entering into the spirit of what he was +saying. It pained him. He knew that her nature was so narrow, so +conventional, that it was impossible for her to comprehend his grand +scheme of Indian evangelization. But he checked his impatience, and +gave her a full synopsis of the discourse. + +"It is useless, useless. They cannot understand. A whole race is +perishing around them, and they will not put forth a hand save to +mistreat a Quaker or throw a stone at a Churchman. Our Puritanism is +like iron to resist tyranny,--but alas! it is like iron, too, when one +tries to bend it to some generous undertaking." + +He stopped, checking back other and more bitter words. All his soul +rose up in revolt against the prejudice by which he was surrounded. +Then Ruth spoke timidly. + +"Seeing that it is so, would it not be best to let this missionary +subject go, and preach on practical every-day matters? I am not wise +in these things, I know; but would it not be better to preach on +common subjects, showing us how we ought to live from day to day, than +to discourse of those larger things that the people do not +understand?" + +His face darkened, though not angrily. This was the same prejudice he +had just encountered in the meeting-house, though in a different form. +He arose and paced back and forth with quick, impatient steps. Then he +came and stood before her with folded arms and resolute face. + +"Ruth, I have tried that so often, tried it with prayers and tears, +but it is utterly impossible. I cannot bring myself to it. You know +what the physicians say of my disease of the heart,--that my life may +be very short; and I want it to be noble. I want to live for the +greatest possibilities within my reach. I want to set some great work +in motion that will light up thousands of darkened lives,--yea, and +grow in might and power even after my lips are sealed in death." + +The little figure on the chair moved uneasily under his animated +though kindly gaze. + +"I do not quite comprehend you. I think the best work is to do what +God gives us to do, and to do it well. To me he has given to labor in +caring for the house,"--there was a patient weariness in her tone that +did not escape Cecil,--"to you he has given the duties of a pastor, to +strengthen the weak, cheer the sorrowing, comfort the old. Is it not +better to do those things faithfully than to spend our time longing +for some more ideal work not given us?" + +"But suppose the ideal work is given? Suppose a man is called to +proclaim new truths, and be the leader in a new reform? For him the +quiet pastorate is impossible; nay, were it possible, it would be +wrong, for would he not be keeping back the message God had given him? +He would be one called to a work, yet entering not upon it; and upon +him would come the curse that fell on the unfaithful prophets of +old." + +All the gloom of the theology of his age was on him as he spoke. +Refined and poetic as was his nature, it was thoroughly imbued with +the Calvinism of early New England. + +She lifted her hand wearily and passed it over her aching brow. + +"I do not know," she said; "I have never thought of such things, only +it seems to me that God knew best when he gave us our lots in life. +Surely wherever we find ourselves, there he intended us to be, and +there we should patiently work, leaving our higher aspirations to his +will. Is not the ideal life, after all, the one that is kindest and +humblest?" + +"But, Ruth," replied the minister, sadly, "while the work you describe +is certainly noble, I have yet felt for a long time that it is not +what God calls me to. Day after day, night after night, I think of the +wild races that roam the forests to the west, of which no man knows +the end. Sometimes I think that I am called to stand before the rulers +of the colony and plead that missionaries be sent to the Indians. +Sometimes I feel that I am called to go and preach to them myself. +Often in my dreams I plead with dark-browed sachems or with mighty +gatherings of warriors to cast away their blood-stained weapons and +accept Christ, till I awake all trembling with the effort. And always +the deadly pain at my heart warns me that what is done must be done +quickly." + +The burning ardor that had given such intensity to his sermon came +into his voice as he spoke. The invalid moved nervously on her chair, +and he saw that his enthusiasm merely jarred on her without awakening +any response. + +"Forgive me," he said hurriedly, "I forgot that you were not well +enough to talk of those things. Sometime when you are better we will +speak of them again." + +And then he talked of other and to her more interesting topics, while +a keen pang rankled in his breast to find her irresponsive to that +which was so dear to him. + +But he was very kind to her; and when after a while the old Indian +woman, Cecil's nurse in childhood and their only servant now, came to +tell him that dinner was ready, he would not go until he had first +brought his wife her dinner and waited on her with his own hands. + +After his own repast was finished he must hasten away to preach his +afternoon sermon. But he came to her first and bent over her; for +though love never had been, perhaps never could be, between them, +there was a deep domestic feeling in his nature. + +"How good and patient you are in your sickness," he said, gazing down +into the quiet, wistful face that was so honest and true, yet so +thoroughly prosaic and commonplace. "What a sermon you have been +preaching me, sitting here so uncomplainingly." + +"Do you think so?" she said, looking up gratefully. "I am glad. I so +want to do my duty by you." + +He had meant to kiss her as he bent over her, though such caresses +were rare between them, but there was something in her tones that +chilled him, and he merely raised a tress of her hair to his lips +instead. At the door he bade her a pleasant farewell, but his +countenance grew sorrowful as he went down the path. + +"Duty," he murmured, "always duty, never love. Well, the fault is my +own that we were ever married. God help me to be true and kind to her +always. She shall never know that I miss anything in her." + +And he preached to his congregation that afternoon a sermon on +burden-bearing, showing how each should bear his own burden +patiently,--not darkening the lives of others by complaint, but always +saying loving words, no matter how much of heartache lay beneath them. +He told how near God is to us all, ready to heal and to strengthen; +and closed by showing how sweet and beautiful even a common life may +grow through brave and self-sacrificing endurance of trouble. + +It was a helpful sermon, a sermon that brought the listeners nearer +God. More than one heart was touched by those earnest words that +seemed to breathe divine sympathy and compassion. + +He went home feeling more at peace than he had done for many days. His +wife's room was still, as he entered it. She was in her easy-chair at +the window, lying back among the pillows asleep. Her face was flushed +and feverish, her long lashes wet with tears. The wraps had fallen +away from her, and he stooped over to replace them. As he did so her +lips moved in her half-delirious slumber, and she murmured some name +sounding like his own. A wild throb of joy thrilled through him, and +he bent closer to listen. Again she spoke the name, spoke it +sorrowfully, longingly. It was the name of her lover drowned at sea. + +The long, nervous fingers that held the half-drawn wraps shook +convulsively as with acutest pain, then drew the coverings gently +around her. + +"God help her, God help her!" he murmured, as he turned softly away, +his eyes filling with tears,--tears for her sorrow rather than his +own. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +A DARKENED FIRESIDE. + + ... Her way is parted from my way; + Out of sight, beyond light, at what goal may we meet? + + DANTE ROSSETTI. + + +Ruth was much worse in the evening, but at last, after Cecil had +watched at her side till a late hour, she sank into a troubled sleep. +Then the old Indian servant insisted on taking his place at the +sufferer's bedside, for she saw that he was much worn by the labors of +the day and by anxiety for his wife. At first he refused; but she was +a skilled nurse, and he knew that the invalid would fare better in her +hands than his own, so at last he consented on condition that she +would call him if his wife grew worse. The woman promised, and he +withdrew into the library, where a temporary bed had been made for +him. At the door he turned and looked back. + +His wife lay with closed eyes and flushed face amid the white pillows. +The robe over her breast stirred with her difficult breathing, and her +head turned now and then from side to side while she uttered broken, +feverish words. By her sat the swarthy nurse, watching her every +movement and ready with observant eye and gentle touch to minister to +all her needs. + +A yearning tenderness and pity came into his gaze. "Poor child, poor +child!" he thought. "If I could only make her well and happy! If I +could only bring her dead lover back to life, how gladly would I put +her in his arms and go away forever!" And it seemed to him in some dim +way that he had wronged the poor sufferer; that he was to blame for +her sorrow. + +He went on into the library. A lamp was burning on the table; a Hebrew +Bible and a copy of Homer lay beside it. Along the walls were arranged +those heavy and ponderous tomes in which the theology of the age was +wont to clothe itself. + +He seated himself at the table and took up his Homer; for he was too +agitated to sleep. But it was in vain that he tried to interest +himself in it. The rhythm had lost its music, the thought its power; +it was in vain that he tried to forget himself in the reply of +Achilles, or the struggle over the body of Patroclus. + +Hawthorne tells us that a person of artistic temperament may at a time +of mental depression wander through the Roman galleries and see +nothing in the finest masterpieces of Raphael or Angelo. The grace is +gone from the picture, the inspiration from the marble; the one is a +meaningless collection of colors, the other a dull effigy carved in +stone. + +Something of this mood was on Cecil to-night. Irresponsive to the +grand beauty of the poem he felt only its undertone of heartache and +woe. + +"It is like human life," he thought, as he listlessly turned the +pages; "it is bright on the surface, but dark and terrible with pain +below. What a black mystery is life! what bitter irony of justice! +Hector is dragged at Achilles' chariot-wheel, and Paris goes free. +Helen returns to her home in triumph, while Andromache is left +desolate. Did Homer write in satire, and is the Iliad but a splendid +mockery of justice, human and divine? Or is life so sad that every +tale woven of it must needs become a tragedy?" + +He pondered the gloomy puzzle of human existence long that night. At +length his brain grew over-weary, and he slept sitting in his chair, +his head resting on the pages of the open book. + +How long he slept he knew not, but he awoke with a start to find a +hand laid on his shoulder and the tall figure of the Indian woman +standing beside him. He sprang up in sudden fear. + +"Is she worse?" he cried. But the woman, with that light noiseless +step, that mute stolidity so characteristic of her race, had already +glided to the door; and there was no need for her to answer, for +already his own apprehensions had replied. + +He was in the room almost as soon as she. His wife was much worse; and +hastening through the night to a neighboring farmhouse, he roused its +inmates, despatched a messenger for the physician, and returned, +accompanied by several members of the neighbor's family. + +The slow moments dragged away like years as they watched around her. +It seemed as if the doctor would never come. To the end of his life +Cecil never forgot the long-drawn agony of that night. + +At length their strained hearing caught the quick tread of horses' +hoofs on the turf without. + +"The doctor, the doctor!" came simultaneously from the lips of Cecil +and the watchers. The doctor,--there was hope in the very name. + +How eagerly they watched his face as he bent over the patient! It was +a calm, self-contained face, but they saw a shadow flit over it, a +sudden almost imperceptible change of expression that said "Death" as +plainly as if he had spoken it. They could do nothing, he +said,--nothing but wait for the end to come. + +How the moments lingered! Sometimes Cecil bent over the sufferer with +every muscle quivering to her paroxysms; sometimes he could endure it +no longer and went out into the cool night air or into the library, +where with the mere mechanical instinct of a student he picked up a +book, reading a few lines in it, then throwing it aside. Yet wherever +he was he felt her sufferings as acutely as when standing by her side. +His whole frame was in keenest sympathy with hers, his whole being +full of pain. So sharp were his sensations that they imparted an +abnormal vigor to his mind. Every line his eyes met in reading stood +out on the page with wonderful distinctness. The words seemed +pictorial, and his mind grasped abstruse propositions or involved +expressions with marvellous facility. + +He noted it, and remembered afterward that he thought at the time how +curious it was that his tortured sympathies should give him such +startling acuteness of perception. + +The slow night waned, the slow dawn crept over the eastern hills. +Cecil stood with haggard eyes at the foot of the bed, watching the +sleeper's face. As the daylight brightened, blending with the light of +the still burning lamps, he saw a change come over her countenance; +the set face relaxed, the look lost its wildness. A great hope shone +in his hollow eyes. + +"She is getting better, she is coming out of her sufferings," he +whispered to the doctor. + +"She will be out of her sufferings very soon," he replied sadly; and +then Cecil knew that the end was at hand. Was it because the peace, +the profound serenity which sometimes is the prelude of death, filling +her being, penetrated his, that he grew so strangely calm? An +inexpressible solemnity came to him as he looked at her, and all his +agitation left him. + +Her face grew very sweet and calm, and full of peace. Her eyes met +Cecil's, and there was in them something that seemed to thank him for +all his goodness and patience,--something that was both benediction +and farewell. Her lips moved, but she was past the power of speech, +and only her eyes thanked him in a tender, grateful glance. + +The sun's edge flashed above the horizon, and its first rays fell +through the uncurtained window full upon her face. She turned toward +them, smiling faintly, and her face grew tenderly, radiantly +beautiful, as if on that beam of sunshine the spirit of her dead lover +had come to greet her from the sea. Then the sparkle died out of her +eyes and the smile faded from her lips. It was only a white, dead face +that lay there bathed in golden light. + +A moment after, Cecil left the house with swift footsteps and plunged +into the adjacent wood. There under a spreading oak he flung himself +prone upon the earth, and buried his face in his hands. A seething +turmoil of thoughts swept his mind. The past rose before him like a +panorama. All his married life rushed back upon him, and every memory +was regret and accusation. + +"I might have been kinder to her, I might have been better," he +murmured, while the hot tears gushed from his eyes. "I might have +been so much better to her," he repeated over and over,--he, whose +whole thought had been to shut up his sorrow in his own heart and show +her only tenderness and consideration. + +By and by he grew calmer and sat up, leaning against the tree and +looking out into vacancy with dim eyes that saw nothing. His heart was +desolate, emptied of everything. What was he to do? What was he to set +before himself? He had not loved her, but still she had been a part of +his life; with what was he to fill it now? + +As he sat there depressed and troubled, a strange thing happened. + +He was looking, as has been said, blindly into vacancy. It may have +been an optical illusion, it may have been a mere vagary born of an +over-wrought brain; but a picture formed before him. In the distance, +toward the west, he saw something that looked like a great arch of +stone, a natural bridge, rugged with crags and dark with pine. Beneath +it swept a wide blue river, and on it wild horsemen were crossing and +recrossing, with plumed hair and rude lances. Their faces were Indian, +yet of a type different from any he had ever seen. The bridge was in +the heart of a mighty mountain-range. On either side rose sharp and +lofty peaks, their sides worn by the action of water in some remote +age. + +These details he noted as in a dream; then the strangeness of it all +burst upon him. Even as it did so, the vision dissolved; the bridge +wavered and passed away, the mountain-peaks sank in shadow. He leaped +to his feet and gazed eagerly. A fine mist seemed passing before his +sight; then he saw only the reach of hill and woodland, with the +morning light resting upon it. + +While the vision faded, he felt springing up within him an +irrepressible desire to follow it. A mysterious fascination seized +him, a wild desire to seek the phantom bridge. His whole being was +swayed as by a supernatural power toward the west whence the vision +had passed. He started forward eagerly, then checked himself in +bewilderment. What could it mean? + +In the nineteenth century, one similarly affected would think it meant +a fevered, a disordered brain; but in the seventeenth, when statesmen +like Cromwell believed in dreams and omens, and _roues_ like Monmouth +carried charms in their pockets, these things were differently +regarded. + +The Puritan ministry, whose minds were imbued with the gloomy +supernaturalism of the Old Testament on which they fed, were +especially men to whom anything resembling an apparition had a +prophetic significance. And Cecil Grey, though liberal beyond most New +England clergymen, was liable by the keenness of his susceptibilities +and the extreme sensitiveness of his organization to be influenced by +such delusions,--if delusions they be. So he stood awed and trembling, +questioning within himself, like some seer to whom a dark and +uncertain revelation has been made. + +Suddenly the answer came. + +"The Lord hath revealed his will unto me and shown me the path wherein +I am to walk," he murmured in a hushed and stricken tone. "Ruth was +taken from me that I might be free to go where he should send me. The +vision of the Indians and the bridge which faded into the west, and +the strange desire that was given me to follow it, show that the Lord +has another work for me to do. And when I find the land of the bridge +and of the wild people I saw upon it, then will I find the mission +that God has given me to do. 'Lord God of Israel, I thank Thee. Thou +hast shown me the way, and I will walk in it, though all its stones be +fire and its end be death.'" + +He stood a moment with bowed head, communing with his God. Then he +returned to his lonely home. + +The friends whose kindly sympathies had brought them to the house of +mourning wondered at the erect carriage, the rapt, exalted manner of +the man. His face was pale, almost as pale as that within the darkened +room; but his eyes shone, and his lips were closely, resolutely set. + +A little while, and that determined face was all sorrowful and pitying +again, as he bent over the still, cold body of his dead. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE COUNCIL OF ORDINATION. + + Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also + Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and + the Gospel.... + After the Puritan way and the laudable custom of Holland. + + _The Courtship of Miles Standish._ + + +A few days after the funeral, letters missive from the little society +went out to all the neighboring churches, calling a council to ordain +the Reverend Cecil Grey a missionary to the Indians. + +It was a novel thing, in spite of the noble example that Roger +Williams had set not many years before; and the summons met with a +general response. + +All the churches, far and near, sent delegates. If one could only have +taken a peep, the day before the council, into the households of that +part of New England, what a glimpse he would have gotten of Puritan +domestic life! What a brushing up there was of black coats, what a +careful starching and ironing of bands; and above all, in Cecil's own +neighborhood, what a mighty cookery for the ordination dinner the next +day! For verily the capacity of the clerical stomach is marvellous, +and is in fact the one thing in theology that does not change. New +departures alter doctrines, creeds are modified, but the appetite of +the clergy is not subject to such mutations. + +The morrow came, and with it the expected guests. The meeting house +was crowded. There were many ministers and lay delegates in the +council. In the chair sat a venerable preacher, not unknown in the +records of those days,--a portly man, with a shrewd and kindly face. +Sterner faces were there also. The council wore a grave aspect, more +like a court of judges before whom a criminal is cited to appear than +an assembly of clergymen about to ordain a missionary. + +After some preliminaries, Cecil was called on to give a statement of +his reasons for wishing to go as an evangelist to the Indians. He rose +before them. There was a singular contrast between his slight form and +expressive features and the stout frames and grim countenances of the +others. But the graceful presence of the man had in it a quiet dignity +that commanded the respect of all. + +In obedience to the command, he told how he had thought of the unknown +tribes beyond the Alleghanies, living in the gloom of paganism and +perishing in darkness, till an intangible sympathy inclined him toward +them,--till, as it seemed to him, their great desire for light had +entered into and possessed him, drawing him toward them by a +mysterious and irresistible attraction. He felt called of God to go +and minister to their spiritual needs, and that it was his duty to +leave everything and obey the call. + +"Is this all?" he was asked. + +He hesitated a moment, and then described his vision in the wood the +morning of his wife's death. It made a deep impression on his hearers. +There was scarcely a man in the assembly who was not tinged with the +superstition of the age; and all listened, not lightly or sceptically, +but in awe, as if it brought them to the threshold of the +supernatural. + +When the narration was ended, the chairman requested him to retire, +pending the decision of the council; but first he was asked,-- + +"Are you willing to abide by the decision of this council, whatever it +may be?" + +He raised his head confidently, and his reply came frank and +fearless. + +"I shall respect the opinions of my brethren, no matter how they may +decide; but I shall abide by the will of God and my own convictions of +duty." + +The grave Puritan bent his head, half in acknowledgment of the reply, +half in involuntary admiration of its brave manhood; then Cecil left +the room, the silent, watchful crowd that filled the aisles parting +respectfully to let him pass. + +"Now, brethren," said the chairman, "the matter is before you. Let us +hear from each his judgment upon it." + +Solemn and weighty were the opinions delivered. One brother thought +that Mr. Grey had plenty of work to do at home without going off on a +wild-goose chase after the heathen folk of the wilderness. His church +needed him; to leave it thus would be a shameful neglect of duty. + +Another thought that the Indians were descendants of the ten lost +tribes of Israel, and as such should be left in the hands of God. To +attempt to evangelize them was to fly in the face of Providence. + +Another thought the same; but then, how about that vision of Mr. +Grey? He couldn't get around that vision. + +"I don't know, brethren, I don't know!" he concluded, shaking his +head. + +Still another declared positively for Mr. Grey. The good people of the +colonies owed it to the savages to do something for their religious +enlightenment. It was wrong that so little had been done. They had +taken their land from them, they had pushed them back into the wilds +at the point of the sword; now let them try to save their souls. This +man had been plainly called of God to be an apostle to the Indians; +the least that they could do was to bid him Godspeed and let him go. + +So it went on. At length the venerable chairman, who had twice turned +the hour-glass upon the table before him, rose to close the +discussion. His speech was a singular mixture of shrewdness, +benevolence, and superstition. + +He said that, as Christians, they certainly owed a duty to the +Indians,--a duty that had not been performed. Mr. Grey wished to help +fulfil that neglected obligation, and would go at his own expense. It +would not cost the church a shilling. His vision was certainly a +revelation of the will of the Lord, and _he_ dared not stand in the +way. + +A vote was taken, and the majority were found to be in favor of +ordination. The chairman pronounced himself pleased, and Mr. Grey was +recalled and informed of the result. + +"I thank you," he said simply, with a glad and grateful smile. + +"Now, brethren," said the worthy chairman with much unction, "the +hour of dinner is nigh at hand, and the good people of this place have +prepared entertainment for us; so we will e'en put off the ceremony of +ordination till the afternoon. Let us look to the Lord for his +blessing, and be dismissed." + +And so with a murmur of talk and comment the council broke up, its +members going to the places where they were to be entertained. Happy +was the man who returned to his home accompanied by a minister, while +those not so fortunate were fain to be content with a lay delegate. +Indeed, the hospitality of the settlement was so bounteous that the +supply exceeded the demand. There were not enough visitors to go +around; and more than one good housewife who had baked, boiled, and +roasted all the day before was moved to righteous indignation at the +sight of the good man of the house returning guestless from the +meeting. + +Early in the afternoon entertainers and entertained gathered again at +the meeting-house. Almost the entire country side was there,--old and +young alike. The house was packed, for never before had that part of +New England seen a man ordained to carry the gospel to the Indians. It +occurred, too, in that dreary interval between the persecution of the +Quakers and the persecution of the witches, and was therefore doubly +welcome. + +When Cecil arrived, the throng made way reverently for him. Was he not +going, perchance like the martyrs of old, to the fagot and the stake? +To those who had long known him he seemed hardly like the same man. He +was lifted to a higher plane, surrounded by an atmosphere of sanctity +and heroism, and made sacred by the high mission given him of God, to +which was now to be added the sanction of holy men. + +So they made way for him, as the Florentines had made way for "il +Frate" and as the people of God had made way for Francis Xavier when +he left them to stir the heart of the East with his eloquence, and, +alas! to die on the bleak sea-coast of China, clasping the crucifix to +his breast and praying for those who had cast him out. + +Cecil's face, though pale, was calm and noble. All his nature +responded to the moral grandeur of the occasion. It would be difficult +to put into words the reverent and tender exaltation of feeling that +animated him that day. Perhaps only those upon whose own heads the +hands of ordination have been laid can enter into or understand it. + +The charge was earnest, but it was not needed, for Cecil's ardent +enthusiasm went far beyond all that the speaker urged upon him. As he +listened, pausing as it were on the threshold of an unknown future, he +wondered if he should ever hear a sermon again,--he, so soon to be +swallowed by darkness, swept, self-yielded, into the abyss of +savagery. + +Heartfelt and touching was the prayer of ordination,--that God might +accept and bless Cecil's consecration, that the divine presence might +always abide with him, that savage hearts might be touched and +softened, that savage lives might be lighted up through his +instrumentality, and that seed might be sown in the wilderness which +would spring up and cause the waste places to be glad and the desert +to blossom as the rose. + +"And so," said the old minister, his voice faltering and his hands +trembling as they rested on Cecil's bowed head, "so we give him into +Thine own hand and send him forth into the wilderness. Thou only +knowest what is before him, whether it be a harvest of souls, or +torture and death. But we know that, for the Christian, persecutions +and trials are but stepping-stones leading to God; yea, and that death +itself is victory. And if he is faithful, we know that whatever his +lot may be it will be glorious; that whatever the end may be, it will +be but a door opening into the presence of the Most High." + +Strong and triumphant rang the old man's tones, as he closed his +prayer committing Cecil into the hands of God. To him, as he listened, +it seemed as if the last tie that bound him to New England was +severed, and he stood consecrated and anointed for his mission. When +he raised his face, more than one of the onlookers thought of those +words of the Book where it speaks of Stephen,--"And they saw his face +as it had been the face of an angel." + +A psalm was sung, the benediction given, and the solemn service was +over. It was long, however, before the people left the house. They +lingered around Cecil, bidding him farewell, for he was to go forth at +dawn the next day upon his mission. They pressed his hand, some with +warm words of sympathy, some silently and with wet eyes. Many +affectionate words were said, for they had never known before how much +they loved their pastor; and now he seemed no longer a pastor, but a +martyr and a saint. More than one mother brought him her child to +bless;--others strangers from a distance--lifted their children up, +so that they could see him above the press, while they whispered to +them that they must always remember that they had seen the good Mr. +Grey, who was going far off into the west to tell the Indians about +God. + +Long afterward, when nearly all that generation had passed away and +the storm of the Revolution was beginning to gather over the colonies, +there were a few aged men still living who sometimes told how, when +they were children, they had seen Cecil Grey bidding the people +farewell at the old meeting-house; and through all the lapse of years +they remembered what a wonderful brightness was on his face, and how +sweet and kind were his words to each as he bade them good-by +forever. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +INTO TRACKLESS WILDS. + + "I will depart," he said, "the hour is come, + And in the silence of yon sky I read + My fated message flashing." + + EDWIN ARNOLD. + + +The next morning Cecil rose early after a sleepless night. On that day +he was to go out from all that was sweet and precious in life and take +the path into the wilderness. At first his heart sank within him; then +his strength of purpose revived, and he was resolute again. + +He must go, and soon. The briefer the parting the briefer the pang. He +had already bidden his friends good-by; his parents were long since +dead; it only remained to part from the old Indian woman, his nurse in +childhood, now his faithful housekeeper and the only inmate of his +home. + +He went to the kitchen,--for usually at this hour she was up and +preparing breakfast. She was not there, and the room looked cold and +cheerless in the gray dawn. He went to her door and knocked; there was +no response. He called her; the room was as still as death. Alarmed, +he opened the door; no one was within; she was gone,--had evidently +been gone all night, for the bed was untouched. + +He was pained and bewildered at this desertion, for only the day +before he had given her a paper legally drawn up, securing to her the +little property he possessed and making her independent for the rest +of her life. She had taken it, listened in silence to the kindly +expressions that accompanied the gift, and turned away without a word. +Now she was gone; what could it mean? + +Slowly he made the simple preparations that were needed for the +journey--putting a little food, his Bible, and other necessaries into +a kind of knapsack and strapping it upon his back. Then taking his +staff, he went out from his home, never to return. + +The sun was rising, the air was fresh and dewy, but his heart was sad. +Yet through it ran a strange thrill of joy, a strange blending of pain +and gladness. + +"The parting is bitter, bitter almost unto death, but He will keep +me," murmured the white lips, as he went down the walk. + +The sound of voices fell on his ears, and he looked up. At the gate, +awaiting him, was a group of his parishioners, who had come to look +once more on the face of their pastor. One by whose bedside he had +prayed in the hour of sickness; another, whom his counsel had saved +when direly tempted; a little lame child, who loved him for his +kindness; and an aged, dim-sighted woman, to whom he had often read +the Scriptures. + +He opened the gate and came out among them. + +"God bless you, sir," said the old woman, "we wanted to see your bonny +face again before you left us." + +The little lame boy said nothing, but came up to Cecil, took his hand, +and pressed it to his cheek in a manner more eloquent than words. + +"Friends," said Cecil, in a faltering voice, "I thank you. It is very +sweet to know that you care for me thus." + +One by one they came and clasped his hand in tearful farewell. For +each he had a loving word. It was an impressive scene,--the +sorrow-stricken group, the pastor with his pale spiritual face full of +calm resolve, and around them the solemn hush of morning. + +When all had been spoken, the minister reverently uncovered his head; +the others did the same. "It is for the last time," he said; "let us +pray." + +After a few earnest words commending them to the care of God, he drew +his hand gently from the lame boy's cheek and rested it on his head in +silent benediction. Then giving them one last look of unutterable +love, a look they never forgot,-- + +"Good-by," he said softly, "God bless you all." + +"Good-by, God bless _you_, sir," came back in answer; and they saw his +face no more. + +One more farewell was yet to be said. The winding path led close by +the country graveyard. He entered it and knelt by the side of the +new-made grave. Upon the wooden headboard was inscribed the name of +her who slept beneath,--"Ruth Grey." + +He kissed the cold sod, his tears falling fast upon it. + +"Forgive me," he whispered, as if the dull ear of death could hear. +"Forgive me for everything wherein I failed you. Forgive me, +and--Farewell." + +Again he was on his way. At the entrance to the wood he saw a figure +sitting on a rock beside the path. As he drew nearer he observed it +was clad in Indian garb, and evidently awaited his coming. Who was +it? Might it not be some chief, who, having heard of his intended +mission, had come forth to meet him? + +He hastened his steps. When he came nearer, he saw that it was only an +Indian woman; a little closer, and to his inexpressible astonishment +he recognized his old nurse. + +"What does this mean?" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here, and in +Indian garb, too?" + +She rose to her feet with simple, natural dignity. + +"It means," she said, "that I go with you. Was I not your nurse in +childhood? Did I not carry you in my arms then, and has not your roof +sheltered me since? Can I forsake him who is as my own child? My heart +has twined around you too long to be torn away. Your path shall be my +path; we go together." + +It was in vain that Cecil protested, reasoned, argued. + +"I have spoken," she said. "I will not turn back from my words while +life is left me." + +He would have pleaded longer, but she threw a light pack upon her back +and went on into the forest. She had made her decision, and he knew +she would adhere to it with the inflexible obstinacy of her race. + +He could only follow her regretfully; and yet he could not but be +grateful for her loyalty. + +[Illustration: "_I have spoken; I will not turn back from my +words._"] + +At the edge of the wood he paused and looked back. Before him lay the +farms and orchards of the Puritans. Here and there a flock of sheep +was being driven from the fold into the pasture, and a girl, bucket in +hand, was taking her way to the milking shed. From each farmhouse a +column of smoke rose into the clear air. Over all shone the glory of +the morning sun. It was civilization; it was New England; it was +_home_. + +For a moment, the scene seemed literally to lay hold of him and pull +him back. For a moment, all the domestic feelings, all the refinement +in his nature, rose up in revolt against the rude contact with +barbarism before him. It seemed as if he could not go on, as if he +must go back. He shook like a leaf with the mighty conflict. + +"My God!" he cried out, throwing up his arms with a despairing +gesture, "must I give up everything, everything?" + +He felt his resolution giving way; his gray eyes were dark and dilated +with excitement and pain; his long fingers twitched and quivered; +before he knew what he was doing, he was walking back toward the +settlement. + +That brought him to himself; that re-awakened the latent energy and +decision of his character. + +"What! shall I turn back from the very threshold of my work? God +forgive me--never!" + +His delicate frame grew strong and hardy under the power of his +indomitable spirit. Again his dauntless enthusiasm came back; again he +was the Apostle to the Indians. + +One long last look, and he disappeared in the shadows of the wood, +passing forever from the ken of the white man; for only vague rumors +floated back to the colonies from those mysterious wilds into which he +had plunged. The strange and wondrous tale of his after-life New +England never knew. + + + + +BOOK II. + + +_THE OPENING OF THE DRAMA._ + + +CHAPTER I. + +SHALL THE GREAT COUNCIL BE HELD? + + The comet burns the wings of night, + And dazzles elements and spheres; + Then dies in beauty and a blaze of light + Blown far through other years. + + JOAQUIN MILLER. + + +Two hundred years ago--as near as we can estimate the time from the +dim and shadowy legends that have come down to us--the confederacy of +the Wauna or Columbia was one of the most powerful the New World has +ever seen. It was apparently not inferior to that of the Six Nations, +or to the more transitory leagues with which Tecumseh or Pontiac +stayed for a moment the onward march of the white man. It was a union +of the Indian tribes of Oregon and Washington, with the Willamettes at +the head, against their great hereditary enemies, the Nootkas, the +Shoshones, and the Spokanes. + +Sonorous and picturesque was the language of the old Oregon Indians in +telling the first white traders the story of the great alliance. + +"Once, long before my father's time and before his father's time, all +the tribes were as one tribe and the Willamettes were _tyee_ [chief]. +The Willamettes were strong and none could stand against them. The +heart of the Willamette was battle and his hand was blood. When he +lifted his arm in war, his enemy's lodge became ashes and his council +silence and death. + +"The war-trails of the Willamette went north and south and east, and +there was no grass on them. He called the Chinook and Sound Indians, +who were weak, his children, and the Yakima, Cayuse, and Wasco, who +loved war, his brothers; but _he_ was elder brother. And the Spokanes +and the Shoshones might fast and cut themselves with thorns and +knives, and dance the medicine dance, and drink the blood of horses, +but nothing could make their hearts as strong as the hearts of the +Willamettes; for the One up in the sky had told the old men and the +dreamers that the Willamettes should be the strongest of all the +tribes as long as the Bridge of the Gods should stand. That was their +_tomanowos_." + +But whenever the white listener asked about this superstition of the +bridge and the legend connected with it, the Indian would at once +become uncommunicative, and say, "You can't understand," or more +frequently, "I don't know." For the main difficulty in collecting +these ancient tales--"old-man talk," as the Siwashes call them--was, +that there was much superstition interwoven with them; and the Indians +were so reticent about their religious beliefs, that if one was not +exceedingly cautious, the lively, gesticulating talker of one moment +was liable to become the personification of sullen obstinacy the +next. + +But if the listener was fortunate enough to strike the golden mean, +being neither too anxious nor too indifferent, and if above all he had +by the gift of bounteous _muck-a-muck_ [food] touched the chord to +which the savage heart always responds, the Indian might go on and +tell in broken English or crude Chinook the strange, dark legend of +the bridge, which is the subject of our tale. + +At the time our story opens, this confederacy was at the height of its +power. It was a rough-hewn, barbarian realm, the most heterogeneous, +the most rudimentary of alliances. The exact manner of its union, its +laws, its extent, and its origin are all involved in the darkness +which everywhere covers the history of Indian Oregon,--a darkness into +which our legend casts but a ray of light that makes the shadows seem +the denser. It gives us, however, a glimpse of the diverse and squalid +tribes that made up the confederacy. This included the "Canoe Indians" +of the Sound and of the Oregon sea-coast, whose flat heads, greasy +squat bodies, and crooked legs were in marked contrast with their +skill and dexterity in managing their canoes and fish-spears; the +hardy Indians of the Willamette Valley and the Cascade Range; and the +bold, predatory riders of eastern Oregon and Washington,--buffalo +hunters and horse tamers, passionately fond, long before the advent of +the white man, of racing and gambling. It comprised also the +Okanogans, who disposed of their dead by tying them upright to a tree; +the Yakimas, who buried them under cairns of stone; the Klickitats, +who swathed them like mummies and laid them in low, rude huts on the +_mimaluse_, or "death islands" of the Columbia; the Chinooks, who +stretched them in canoes with paddles and fishing implements by their +side; and the Kalamaths, who burned them with the maddest saturnalia +of dancing, howling, and leaping through the flames of the funeral +pyre. Over sixty or seventy petty tribes stretched the wild empire, +welded together by the pressure of common foes and held in the grasp +of the hereditary war-chief of the Willamettes. + + * * * * * + +The chiefs of the Willamettes had gathered on Wappatto Island, from +time immemorial the council-ground of the tribes. The white man has +changed its name to "Sauvie's" Island; but its wonderful beauty is +unchangeable. Lying at the mouth of the Willamette River and extending +for many miles down the Columbia, rich in wide meadows and crystal +lakes, its interior dotted with majestic oaks and its shores fringed +with cottonwoods, around it the blue and sweeping rivers, the wooded +hills, and the far white snow peaks,--it is the most picturesque spot +in Oregon. + +The chiefs were assembled in secret council, and only those of pure +Willamette blood were present, for the question to be considered was +not one to be known by even the most trusted ally. + +All the confederated tribes beyond the Cascade Range were in a ferment +of rebellion. One of the petty tribes of eastern Oregon had recently +risen up against the Willamette supremacy; and after a short but +bloody struggle, the insurrection had been put down and the rebels +almost exterminated by the victorious Willamettes. + +But it was known that the chief of the malcontents had passed from +tribe to tribe before the struggle commenced, inciting them to revolt, +and it was suspected that a secret league had been formed; though when +matters came to a crisis, the confederates, afraid to face openly the +fierce warriors of the Willamette, had stood sullenly back, giving +assistance to neither side. It was evident, however, that a spirit of +angry discontent was rife among them. Threatening language had been +used by the restless chiefs beyond the mountains; braves had talked +around the camp-fire of the freedom of the days before the yoke of the +confederacy was known; and the gray old dreamers, with whom the +_mimaluse tillicums_ [dead people] talked, had said that the fall of +the Willamettes was near at hand. + +The sachems of the Willamettes, advised of everything, were met in +council in the soft Oregon spring-tide. They were gathered under the +cottonwood trees, not far from the bank of the Columbia. The air was +fresh with the scent of the waters, and the young leaves were just +putting forth on the "trees of council," whose branches swayed gently +in the breeze. Beneath them, their bronze faces more swarthy still as +the dancing sunbeams fell upon them through the moving boughs, thirty +sachems sat in close semi-circle before their great war-chief, +Multnomah. + +It was a strange, a sombre assembly. The chiefs were for the most part +tall, well-built men, warriors and hunters from their youth up. There +was something fierce and haughty in their bearing, something menacing, +violent, and lawless in their saturnine faces and black, glittering +eyes. Most of them wore their hair long; some plaited, others flowing +loosely over their shoulders. Their ears were loaded with _hiagua_ +shells; their dress was composed of buckskin leggings and moccasins, +and a short robe of dressed skin that came from the shoulders to the +knees, to which was added a kind of blanket woven of the wool of the +mountain sheep, or an outer robe of skins or furs, stained various +colors and always drawn close around the body when sitting or +standing. Seated on rude mats of rushes, wrapped each in his outer +blanket and doubly wrapped in Indian stoicism, the warriors were +ranged before their chief. + +His garb did not differ from that of the others, except that his +blanket was of the richest fur known to the Indians, so doubled that +the fur showed on either side. His bare arms were clasped each with a +rough band of gold; his hair was cut short, in sign of mourning for +his favorite wife, and his neck was adorned with a collar of large +bear-claws, showing he had accomplished that proudest of all +achievements for the Indian,--the killing of a grizzly. + +Until the last chief had entered the grove and taken his place in the +semi-circle, Multnomah sat like a statue of stone. He leaned forward +reclining on his bow, a fine unstrung weapon tipped with gold. He was +about sixty years old, his form tall and stately, his brow high, his +eyes black, overhung with shaggy gray eyebrows and piercing as an +eagle's. His dark, grandly impassive face, with its imposing +regularity of feature, showed a penetration that read everything, a +reserve that revealed nothing, a dominating power that gave strength +and command to every line. The lip, the brow, the very grip of the +hand on the bow told of a despotic temper and an indomitable will. +The glance that flashed out from this reserved and resolute +face--sharp, searching, and imperious--may complete the portrait of +Multnomah, the silent, the secret, the terrible. + +When the last late-entering chief had taken his place, Multnomah rose +and began to speak, using the royal language; for like the Cayuses and +several other tribes of the Northwest, the Willamettes had two +languages,--the common, for every-day use, and the royal, spoken only +by the chiefs in council. + +In grave, strong words he laid before them the troubles that +threatened to break up the confederacy and his plan for meeting them. +It was to send out runners calling a council of all the tribes, +including the doubtful allies, and to try before them and execute the +rebellious chief, who had been taken alive and was now reserved for +the torture. Such a council, with the terrible warning of the rebel's +death enacted before it, would awe the malcontents into submission or +drive them into open revolt. Long enough had the allies spoken with +two tongues; long enough had they smoked the peace-pipe with both the +Willamettes and their enemies. They must come now to peace that should +be peace, or to open war. The chief made no gestures, his voice did +not vary its stern, deliberate accents from first to last; but there +was an indefinable something in word and manner that told how his +warlike soul thirsted for battle, how the iron resolution, the +ferocity beneath his stoicism, burned with desire of vengeance. + +There was perfect attention while he spoke,--not so much as a glance +or a whisper aside. When he had ceased and resumed his seat, silence +reigned for a little while. Then Tla-wau-wau, chief of the Klackamas, +a sub-tribe of the Willamette, rose. He laid aside his outer robe, +leaving bare his arms and shoulders, which were deeply scarred; for +Tla-wau-wau was a mighty warrior, and as such commanded. With measured +deliberation he spoke in the royal tongue. + +"Tla-wau-wau has seen many winters, and his hair is very gray. Many +times has he watched the grass spring up and grow brown and wither, +and the snows come and go, and those things have brought him wisdom, +and what he has seen of life and death has given him strong thoughts. +It is not well to leap headlong into a muddy stream, lest there be +rocks under the black water. Shall we call the tribes to meet us here +on the island of council? When they are all gathered together they are +more numerous than we. Is it wise to call those that are stronger than +ourselves into our wigwam, when their hearts are bitter against us? +Who knows what plots they might lay, or how suddenly they might fall +on us at night or in the day when we were unprepared? Can we trust +them? Does not the Klickitat's name mean 'he that steals horses'? The +Yakima would smoke the peace-pipe with the knife that was to stab you +hid under his blanket. The Wasco's heart is a lie, and his tongue is a +trap. + +"No, let us wait. The tribes talk great swelling words now and their +hearts are hot, but if we wait, the fire will die down and the words +grow small. Then we can have a council and be knit together again. Let +us wait till another winter has come and gone; then let us meet in +council, and the tribes will listen. + +"Tla-wau-wau says, 'wait, and all will be well.'" + +His earnest, emphatic words ended, the chief took his seat and resumed +his former look of stolid indifference. A moment before he had been +all animation, every glance and gesture eloquent with meaning; now he +sat seemingly impassive and unconcerned. + +There was another pause. It was so still that the rustling of the +boughs overhead was startlingly distinct. Saving the restless glitter +of black eyes, it was a tableau of stoicism. Then another spoke, +advising caution, setting forth the danger of plunging into a contest +with the allies. Speaker followed speaker in the same strain. + +As they uttered the words counselling delay, the glance of the +war-chief grew ever brighter, and his grip upon the bow on which he +leaned grew harder. But the cold face did not relax a muscle. At +length rose Mishlah the Cougar, chief of the Mollalies. His was one of +the most singular faces there. His tangled hair fell around a +sinister, bestial countenance, all scarred and seamed by wounds +received in battle. His head was almost flat, running back from his +eyebrows so obliquely that when he stood erect he seemed to have no +forehead at all; while the back and lower part of his head showed an +enormous development,--a development that was all animal. He knew +nothing but battle, and was one of the most dreaded warriors of the +Willamettes. + +He spoke,--not in the royal language, as did the others, but in the +common dialect, the only one of which he was master. + +"My heart is as the heart of Multnomah. Mishlah is hungry for war. If +the tribes that are our younger brothers are faithful, they will come +to the council and smoke the pipe of peace with us; if they are not, +let us know it. Mishlah knows not what it is to wait. You all talk +words, words, words; and the tribes laugh and say, 'The Willamettes +have become women and sit in the lodge sewing moccasins and are afraid +to fight.' Send out the runners. Call the council. Let us find who are +our enemies; then let us strike!" + +The hands of the chief closed involuntarily as if they clutched a +weapon, and his voice rang harsh and grating. The eyes of Multnomah +flashed fire, and the war-lust kindled for a moment on the dark faces +of the listeners. + +Then rose the grotesque figure of an Indian, ancient, withered, with +matted locks and haggard face, who had just joined the council, +gliding in noiselessly from the neighboring wood. His cheek-bones were +unusually high, his lower lip thick and protruding, his eyes deeply +sunken, his face drawn, austere, and dismal beyond description. The +mis-shapen, degraded features repelled at first sight; but a second +glance revealed a great dim sadness in the eyes, a gloomy foreboding +on brow and lip that were weirdly fascinating, so sombre were they, so +full of woe. There was a wild dignity in his mien; and he wore the +robe of furs, though soiled and torn, that only the richest chiefs +were able to wear. Such was Tohomish, or Pine Voice, chief of the +Santiam tribe of the Willamettes, the most eloquent orator and potent +medicine or _tomanowos_ man in the confederacy. + +There was a perceptible movement of expectation, a lighting up of +faces as he arose, and a shadow of anxiety swept over Multnomah's +impassive features. For this man's eloquence was wonderful, and his +soft magnetic tones could sway the passions of his hearers to his will +with a power that seemed more than human to the superstitious Indians. +Would he declare for the council or against it; for peace or for war? + +He threw back the tangled locks that hung over his face, and spoke. + +"Chiefs and warriors, who dwell in lodges and talk with men, Tohomish, +who dwells in caves and talks with the dead, says greeting, and by him +the dead send greeting also." + +His voice was wonderfully musical, thrilling, and pathetic; and as he +spoke the salutation from the dead, a shudder went through the wild +audience before him,--through all but Multnomah, who did not shrink +nor drop his searching eyes from the speaker's face. What cared he for +the salutation of the living or the dead? Would this man whose +influence was so powerful declare for action or delay? + +"It has been long since Tohomish has stood in the light of the sun and +looked on the faces of his brothers or heard their voices. Other faces +has he looked upon and other voices has he heard. He has learned the +language of the birds and the trees, and has talked with the People of +Old who dwell in the serpent and the cayote; and they have taught him +their secrets. But of late terrible things have come to Tohomish." + +He paused, and the silence was breathless, for the Indians looked on +this man as a seer to whom the future was as luminous as the past. But +Multnomah's brow darkened; he felt that Tohomish also was against +him, and the soul of the warrior rose up stern and resentful against +the prophet. + +"A few suns ago, as I wandered in the forest by the Santiam, I heard +the death-wail in the distance. I said, 'Some one is dead, and that is +the cry of the mourners. I will go and lift up my voice with them.' +But as I sought them up the hill and through the thickets the cry grew +fainter and farther, till at last it died out amid distant rocks and +crags. And then I knew that I had heard no human voice lamenting the +dead, but that it was the Spirit Indian-of-the-Wood wailing for the +living whose feet go down to the darkness and whose faces the sun +shall soon see no more. Then my heart grew heavy and bitter, for I +knew that woe had come to the Willamettes. + +"I went to my den in the mountains, and sought to know of those that +dwell in the night the meaning of this. I built the medicine-fire, I +fasted, I refused to sleep. Day and night I kept the fire burning; day +and night I danced the _tomanowos_ dance around the flames, or leaped +through them, singing the song that brings the _Spee-ough_, till at +last the life went from my limbs and my head grew sick and everything +was a whirl of fire. Then I knew that the power was on me, and I fell, +and all grew black. + +"I dreamed a dream. + +"I stood by the death-trail that leads to the spirit-land. The souls +of those who had just died were passing; and as I gazed, the wail I +had heard in the forest came back, but nearer than before. And as the +wail sounded, the throng on the death-trail grew thicker and their +tread swifter. The warrior passed with his bow in his hand and his +quiver swinging from his shoulder; the squaw followed with his food +upon her back; the old tottered by. It was a whole people on the way +to the spirit-land. But when I tried to see their faces, to know them, +if they were Willamette or Shoshone or our brother tribes, I could +not. But the wail grew ever louder and the dead grew ever thicker as +they passed. Then it all faded out, and I slept. When I awoke, it was +night; the fire had burned into ashes and the medicine wolf was +howling on the hills. The voices that are in the air came to me and +said, 'Go to the council and tell what you have seen;' but I refused, +and went far into the wood to avoid them. But the voices would not let +me rest, and my spirit burned within me, and I came. Beware of the +great council. Send out no runners. Call not the tribes together. +Voices and omens and dreams tell Tohomish of something terrible to +come. The trees whisper it; it is in the air, in the waters. It has +made my spirit bitter and heavy until my drink seems blood and my food +has the taste of death. Warriors, Tohomish has shown his heart. His +words are ended." + +He resumed his seat and drew his robe about him, muffling the lower +part of his face. The matted hair fell once more over his drooping +brow and repulsive countenance, from which the light faded the moment +he ceased to speak. Again the silence was profound. The Indians sat +spell-bound, charmed by the mournful music of the prophet's voice and +awed by the dread vision he had revealed. All the superstition within +them was aroused. When Tohomish took his seat, every Indian was ready +to oppose the calling of the council with all his might. Even Mishlah, +as superstitious as blood-thirsty, was startled and perplexed. The +war-chief stood alone. + +He knew it, but it only made his despotic will the stronger. Against +the opposition of the council and the warning of Tohomish, against +_tomanowos_ and _Spee-ough_, ominous as they were even to him, rose up +the instinct which was as much a part of him as life itself,--the +instinct to battle and to conquer. He was resolved with all the grand +strength of his nature to bend the council to his will, and with more +than Indian subtility saw how it might be done. + +He rose to his feet and stood for a moment in silence, sweeping with +his glance the circle of chiefs. As he did so, the mere personality of +the man began to produce a reaction. For forty years he had been the +great war-chief of the tribes of the Wauna, and had never known +defeat. The ancient enemies of his race dreaded him; the wandering +bands of the prairies had carried his name far and wide; and even +beyond the Rockies, Sioux and Pawnee had heard rumors of the powerful +chief by the Big River of the West. He stood before them a huge, stern +warrior, himself a living assurance of victory and dominion. + +As was customary with Indian orators in preparing the way for a +special appeal, he began to recount the deeds of the fathers, the +valor of the ancient heroes of the race. His stoicism fell from him as +he half spoke, half chanted the harangue. The passion that was burning +within him made his words like pictures, so vivid they were, and +thrilled his tones with electric power. As he went on, the sullen +faces of his hearers grew animated; the superstitious fears that +Tohomish had awakened fell from them. Again they were warriors, and +their blood kindled and their pulses throbbed to the words of their +invincible leader. He saw it, and began to speak of the battles they +themselves had fought and the victories they had gained. More than one +dark cheek flushed darker and more than one hand moved unconsciously +to the knife. He alluded to the recent war and to the rebellious tribe +that had been destroyed. + +"_That_," said he, "was the people Tohomish saw passing over the +death-trail in his dream. What wonder that the thought of death should +fill the air, when we have slain a whole people at a single blow! Do +we not know too that their spirits would try to frighten our dreamers +with omens and bad _tomanowos_? Was it not bad _tomanowos_ that +Tohomish saw? It could not have come from the Great Spirit, for he +spoke to our fathers and said that we should be strongest of all the +tribes as long as the Bridge of the Gods should stand. Have the stones +of that bridge begun to crumble, that our hearts should grow weak?" + +He then described the natural bridge which, as tradition and geology +alike tell us, spanned at that time the Columbia at the Cascades. The +Great Spirit, he declared, had spoken; and as he had said, so it would +be. Dreams and omens were mist and shadow, but the bridge was rock, +and the word of the Great Spirit stood forever. On this tradition the +chief dwelt with tremendous force, setting against the superstition +that Tohomish had roused the still more powerful superstition of the +bridge,--a superstition so interwoven with every thought and hope of +the Willamettes that it had become a part of their character as a +tribe. + +And now when their martial enthusiasm and fatalistic courage were all +aglow, when the recital of their fathers' deeds had stirred their +blood and the portrayal of their own victories filled them again with +the fierce joy of conflict, when the mountain of stone that arched the +Columbia had risen before them in assurance of dominion as eternal as +itself,--now, when in every eye gleamed desire of battle and every +heart was aflame, the chief made (and it was characteristic of him) in +one terse sentence his crowning appeal,-- + +"Chiefs, speak your heart. Shall the runners be sent out to call the +council?" + +There was a moment of intense silence. Then a low, deep murmur of +consent came from the excited listeners: a half-smothered war-cry +burst from the lips of Mishlah, and the victory was won. + +One only sat silent and apart, his robe drawn close, his head bent +down, seemingly oblivious of all around him, as if resigned to +inevitable doom. + +"To-morrow at dawn, while the light is yet young, the runners will go +out. Let the chiefs meet here in the grove to hear the message given +them to be carried to the tribes. The talk is ended." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE WAR-CHIEF AND THE SEER. + + Cassandra's wild voice prophesying woe. + + PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. + + +The war-chief left the grove as soon as he had dismissed the council. +Tohomish went with him. For some distance they walked together, the +one erect and majestic, the other gliding like a shadow by his side. + +At length Multnomah stopped under a giant cottonwood and looked +sternly at Tohomish. + +"You frightened the council to-day with bad _mimaluse_ [death] talk. +Why did you do it? Why did you bring into a council of warriors dreams +fit only for old men that lie sleeping in the sun by the door of the +wigwam?" + +"I said what my eyes saw and my ears heard, and it was true." + +"It cannot be true, for the Great Spirit has said that the Willamettes +shall rule the tribes as long as the bridge shall stand; and how can +it fall when it is a mountain of stone?" + +A strange expression crossed Tohomish's sullen face. + +"Multnomah, beware how you rest on the prophecy of the bridge. Lean +not your hand on it, for it is as if you put it forth to lean it on a +coiled rattlesnake." + +"Your sayings are dark," replied the chief impatiently. "Speak +plainly." + +Tohomish shook his head, and the gloomy look habitual to him came +back. + +"I cannot. Dreams and omens I can tell, but the secret of the bridge +is the secret of the Great Spirit; and I cannot tell it lest he become +angry and take from me my power of moving men with burning words." + +"The secret of the Great Spirit! What black thing is it you are hiding +and covering up with words? Bring it forth into the light, that I may +see it." + +"No, it is my _tomanowos_. Were I to tell it the gift of eloquence +would go from me, the fire would die from my heart and the words from +my lips, and my life would wither up within me." + +Multnomah was silent. Massive and commanding as was his character he +was still an Indian, and the words of the seer had touched the latent +superstition in his nature. They referred to that strongest and most +powerful of all the strange beliefs of the Oregon savages,--the spirit +possession or devil worship of the _tomanowos_. + +As soon as an Oregon Indian was old enough to aspire to a place among +the braves, he was sent into the hills alone. There he fasted, prayed, +and danced, chanted the medicine-chant, and cut himself with knife or +thorn till he fell exhausted to the ground. Whatever he saw then, in +waking delirium or feverish sleep, was the charm that was to control +his future. Be it bird or beast, dream or mystic revelation, it was +his _totem_ or _tomanowos_, and gave him strength, cunning, or +swiftness, sometimes knowledge of the future, imparting to him its own +characteristics. But _what_ it was, its name or nature, was the one +secret that must go with him to his grave. Woe unto him if he told the +name of his _totem_. In that moment it would desert him, taking from +him all strength and power, leaving him a shattered wreck, an outcast +from camp and war-party. + +"Multnomah says well that it is a black secret, but it is my _totem_ +and may not be told. For many winters Tohomish has carried it in his +breast, till its poisoned sap has filled his heart with bitterness, +till for him gladness and warmth have gone out of the light, laughter +has grown a sob of pain, and sorrow and death have become what the +feast, the battle, and the chase are to other men. It is the black +secret, the secret of the coming trouble, that makes Tohomish's voice +like the voice of a pine; so that men say it has in it sweetness and +mystery and haunting woe, moving the heart as no other can. And if he +tells the secret, eloquence and life go with it. Shall Tohomish tell +it? Will Multnomah listen while Tohomish shows what is to befall the +bridge and the Willamettes in the time that is to come?" + +The war-chief gazed at him earnestly. In that troubled, determined +look, superstition struggled for a moment and then gave way to the +invincible obstinacy of his resolve. + +"No. Multnomah knows that his own heart is strong and will not fail +him, come what may; and that is all he cares to know. If you told me, +the _tomanowos_ would be angry, and drain your spirit from you and +cast you aside as the serpent casts its skin. And you must be the most +eloquent of all at the great council; for there the arm of Multnomah +and the voice of Tohomish must bend the bad chiefs before them." + +His accents had the same undertone of arbitrary will, of inflexible +determination, that had been in them when he spoke in the council. +Though the shadows fell more and more ominous and threatening across +his path, to turn back did not occur to him. The stubborn tenacity of +the man could not let go his settled purpose. + +"Tohomish will be at the council and speak for his chief and his +tribe?" asked Multnomah, in a tone that was half inquiry, half +command; for the seer whose mysterious power as an orator gave him so +strong an influence over the Indians must be there. + +Tohomish's haggard and repulsive face had settled back into the look +of mournful apathy habitual to him. He had not, since the council, +attempted to change the chief's decision by a single word, but seemed +to have resigned himself with true Indian fatalism to that which was +to come. + +"Tohomish will go to the council," he said in those soft and lingering +accents, indescribably sweet and sad, with which his degraded face +contrasted so strongly. "Yes, he will go to the council, and his voice +shall bend and turn the hearts of men as never before. Strong will be +the words that he shall say, for with him it will be sunset and his +voice will be heard no more." + +"Where will you go when the council is ended, that we shall see you no +more?" asked Multnomah. + +"On the death-trail to the spirit-land,--nor will I go alone," was the +startling reply; and the seer glided noiselessly away and disappeared +among the trees. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WALLULAH. + + Ne'er was seen + In art or nature, aught so passing sweet + As was the form that in its beauteous frame + Inclosed her, and is scattered now in dust. + + CAREY: _Dante_. + + +Multnomah passed on to seek the lodge of his daughter Wallulah, a half +Asiatic, and the most beautiful woman in all the land of the Wauna. + +Reader, would you know the tale of the fair oriental of whom was born +the sweet beauty of Wallulah? + +Eighteen years before the time of our story, an East Indian ship was +wrecked on the Columbia bar, the crew and cargo falling into the hands +of the Indians. Among the rescued was a young and exceedingly lovely +woman, who was hospitably entertained by the chief of the tribe. He +and his people were deeply impressed by the grace of the fair +stranger, whose dainty beauty won for her the name of "Sea-Flower," +because the sea, that is ever drifting weeds, had for once wafted a +flower to the shore. + +As she sat on the mat in the rude bark lodge, the stern chief softened +his voice, trying to talk with her; the uncouth women gently stroked +her long soft hair, and some of the bolder and more curious touched +her white hands wonderingly, while the throng of dusky faces pressed +close round the pale, sweet creature whose eyes looked at them with a +deep, dumb woe they could not understand. + +When she had become familiar with the Willamette tongue, she told them +that she was the daughter of a chief far away across the great water, +who ruled a country as broad as the land of the Wauna and far richer. +He had sent her as a bride to the ruler of another land, with a +fabulous dowry of jewels and a thousand gifts besides. But the ship +that bore her and her splendid treasures had been turned from its +course by a terrible storm. Day after day it was driven through a +waste of blackness and foam,--the sails rent, the masts swept away, +the shattered hulk hurled onward like a straw by the fury of the wind. +When the tempest had spent itself, they found themselves in a strange +sea under strange stars. Compass and chart were gone; they knew not +where they were, and caught in some unknown current, they could only +drift blindly on and on. Never sighting land, seeing naught but the +everlasting sweep of wave and sky, it began to be whispered in terror +that this ocean had no further shore, that they might sail on forever, +seeing nothing but the boundless waters. At length, when the +superstitious sailors began to talk of throwing their fair charge +overboard as an offering to the gods, the blue peaks of the Coast +Range rose out of the water, and the ever rain-freshened green of the +Oregon forests dawned upon them. Then came the attempt to enter the +Columbia, and the wreck on the bar.[1] + +Multnomah made the lovely princess his wife, and Sea-Flower showed the +spirit of a queen. She tried to introduce among the Indians something +of the refinement of her oriental home. From her the degraded +medicine-men and dreamers caught a gleam of the majestic lore of +Buddha; to the chiefs-in-council she taught something of the grave, +inexorable justice of the East, that seemed like a higher development +of their own grim unwritten code. Her influence was very great, for +she was naturally eloquent and of noble presence. More than one sachem +felt the inspiration of better, purer thoughts than he had ever known +before when the "war-chief's woman" spoke in council. Strange +gatherings were those: blood-stained chiefs and savage warriors +listening all intent to the sweetest of Indian tongues spoken in +modulations that were music; the wild heart of the empire stirred by +the perfumed breath of a woman! + +She had died three years before the events we have been narrating, and +had left to her daughter the heritage of her refinement and her +beauty. Wallulah was the only child of the war-chief and his Asiatic +wife, the sole heir of her father's sovereignty. + +Two miles from the council grove, in the interior of the island, was +Wallulah's lodge. The path that Multnomah took led through a pleasant +sylvan lawn. The grass was green, and the air full of the scent of +buds and flowers. Here and there a butterfly floated like a sunbeam +through the woodland shadows, and a humming-bird darted in winged +beauty from bloom to bloom. The lark's song came vibrating through the +air, and in the more open spaces innumerable birds flew twittering in +the sun. The dewy freshness, the exquisite softness of spring, was +everywhere. + +In the golden weather, through shadowed wood and sunny opening, the +war-chief sought his daughter's lodge. + +Suddenly a familiar sound attracted his attention, and he turned +toward it. A few steps, and he came to the margin of a small lake. +Several snow-white swans were floating on it; and near the edge of the +water, but concealed from the swans by the tall reeds that grew along +the shore, was his daughter, watching them. + +She was attired in a simple dress of some oriental fabric. Her form +was small and delicately moulded; her long black hair fell in rich +masses about her shoulders; and her profile, turned toward him, was +sweetly feminine. The Indian type showed plainly, but was softened +with her mother's grace. Her face was sad, with large appealing eyes +and mournful lips, and full of haunting loveliness; a face whose +strange mournfulness was deepened by the splendor of its beauty; a +face the like of which is rarely seen, but once seen can never be +forgotten. + +There was something despondent even in her pose, as she sat with her +shoulders drooping slightly forward and her dark eyes fixed absently +on the swans, watching them through the bending reeds. Now one uttered +its note, and she listened, seeming to vibrate to the deep, plaintive +cry; then she raised to her lips a flute that she held in her hands, +and answered it with a perfect intonation,--an intonation that +breathed the very spirit of the swan. So successful was the mimicry +that the swans replied, thinking it the cry of a hidden mate; and +again she softly, rhythmically responded. + +"Wallulah!" said the chief. + +She sprang to her feet and turned toward him. Her dark face lighted +with an expressive flash, her black eyes shone, her features glowed +with joy and surprise. It was like the breaking forth of an inner +illumination. There was now nothing of the Indian in her face. + +"My father!" she exclaimed, springing to him and kissing his hand, +greeting him as her mother had taught her to do from childhood. +"Welcome! Were you searching for me?" + +"Yes, you were well hidden, but Multnomah is a good hunter and can +always track the fawn to its covert," replied the chief, with the +faint semblance of a smile. All that there was of gentleness in his +nature came out when talking with his daughter. + +"You have come from the council? Are you not weary and hungry? Come to +the lodge, and let Wallulah give you food, and spread a mat for you +to rest upon." + +"No, I am hungry only to see Wallulah and hear her talk. Sit down on +the log again." She seated herself, and her father stood beside her +with an abstracted gaze, his hand stroking her long, soft tresses. He +was thinking of the darker, richer tresses of another, whose proud, +sad face and mournful eyes with their wistful meaning, so like +Wallulah's own, he, a barbarian prince, could never understand. + +Although, according to the superstitious custom of the Willamettes, he +never spoke the name of Sea-Flower or alluded to her in any way, he +loved his lost wife with a deep and unchanging affection. She had been +a fair frail thing whose grace and refinement perplexed and fascinated +him, moving him to unwonted tenderness and yearning. He had brought to +her the spoils of the chase and of battle. The finest mat was braided +for her lodge, the choicest skins and furs spread for her bed, and the +chieftainess's string of _hiagua_ shells and grizzly bear's claws had +been put around her white neck by Multnomah's own hand. In spite of +all this, she drooped and saddened year by year; the very hands that +sought to cherish her seemed but to bruise; and she sickened and died, +the delicate woman, in the arms of the iron war-chief, like a flower +in the grasp of a mailed hand. + +Why did she die? Why did she always seem so sad? Why did she so often +steal away to weep over her child? Was not the best food hers, and the +warm place by the lodge fire, and the softest bearskin to rest on; and +was she not the wife of Multnomah,--the big chief's woman? Why then +should she droop and die like a winged bird that one tries to tame by +tying it to the wigwam stake and tossing it food? + +Often the old chief brooded over these questions, but it was unknown +to all, even to Wallulah. Only his raven tresses, cut close year by +year in sign of perpetual mourning, told that he had not forgotten, +could never forget. + +The swans had taken flight, and their long lingering note sounded +faint in the distance. + +"You have frightened away my swans," said Wallulah, looking up at him +smilingly. + +A shadow crossed his brow. + +"Wallulah," he said, and his voice had now the stern ring habitual to +it, "you waste your life with the birds and trees and that thing of +sweet sounds,"--pointing to the flute. "Better be learning to think on +the things a war-chief's daughter should care for,--the feast and the +council, the war-parties and the welcome to the braves when they come +back to the camp with the spoil." + +The bright look died out of her face. + +"You say those words so often," she replied sorrowfully, "and I try to +obey, but cannot. War is terrible to me." + +His countenance grew harsher, his hand ceased to stroke her hair. + +"And has Multnomah, chief of the Willamettes and war-chief of the +Wauna, lived to hear his daughter say that war is terrible to her? +Have you nothing of your father in you? Remember the tales of the +brave women of Multnomah's race,--the women whose blood is in your +veins. Remember that they spoke burning words in the council, and went +forth with the men to battle, and came back with their own garments +stained with blood. You shudder! Is it at the thought of blood?" + +The old wistful look came back, the old sadness was on the beautiful +face again. One could see now why it was there. + +"My father," she said sorrowfully, "Wallulah has tried to love those +things, but she cannot. She cannot change the heart the Great Spirit +has given her. She cannot bring herself to be a woman of battle any +more than she can sound a war-cry on her flute," and she lifted it as +she spoke. + +He took it into his own hands. + +"It is this," he said, breaking down the sensitive girl in the same +despotic way in which he bent the wills of warriors; "it is this that +makes you weak. Is it a charm that draws the life from your heart? If +so, it can be broken." + +Another moment and the flute would have been broken in his ruthless +hands and its fragments flung into the lake; but Wallulah, startled, +caught it from him with a plaintive cry. + +"It was my mother's. If you break it you will break my heart!" + +The chief's angry features quivered at the mention of her mother, and +he instantly released the flute. Wallulah clasped it to her bosom as +if it represented in some way the mother she had lost, and her eyes +filled with tears. Again her father's hand rested on her head, and she +knew that he too was thinking of her mother. Her nature rose up in +revolt against the Indian custom which forbade talking of the dead. +Oh, if she might only talk with her father about her mother, though it +were but a few brief words! Never since her mother's death had her +name been mentioned between them. She lifted her eyes, pathetic with +three years' hunger, to his. As their glances met, it seemed as if the +veil that had been between their diverse natures was for a moment +lifted, and they understood each other better than they ever had +before. While his look imposed silence and sealed her lips as with a +spoken command, there was a gleam of tenderness in it that said, "I +understand, I too remember; but it must not be spoken." + +There came to her a sense of getting closer to her father's heart, +even while his eyes held her back and bade her be silent. + +At length the chief spoke, this time very gently. + +"Now I shall talk to you not as to a girl but as to a woman. You are +Multnomah's only child. When he dies there will be no one but you to +take his place. Are your shoulders strong enough to bear the weight of +power, the weight that crushes men? Can you break down revolt and read +the hearts of plotters,--yes, and detect conspiracy when it is but a +whisper in the air? Can you sway council and battle to your will as +the warrior bends his bow? No; it takes men, men strong of heart, to +rule the races of the Wauna. Therefore there is but one way left me +whereby the line of Multnomah may still be head of the confederacy +when he is gone. I must wed you to a great warrior who can take my +place when I am dead and shelter you with his strength. Then the name +and the power of Multnomah will still live among the tribes, though +Multnomah himself be crumbled into dust." + +She made no reply, but sat looking confused and pained, by no means +elated at the future he had described. + +"Have you never thought of this,--that some time I must give you to a +warrior?" + +Her head drooped lower and her cheek faintly flushed. + +"Sometimes." + +"But you have chosen no one?" + +"I do not know," she faltered. + +Her father's hand still rested on her head, but there was an +expression on his face that showed he would not hesitate to sacrifice +her happiness to his ambition. + +"You have chosen, then? Is he a chief? No, I will not ask that; the +daughter of Multnomah could love no one but a chief. I have already +selected a husband for you. Tear this other love from your heart and +cast it aside." + +The flush died out of her cheek, leaving it cold and ashen; and her +fingers worked nervously with the flute in her lap. + +He continued coldly,-- + +"The fame of your beauty has gone out through all the land. The chief +of the Chopponish[2] has offered many horses for you, and the chief of +the Spokanes, our ancient foes, has said there would be peace between +us if I gave you to him. But I have promised you to another. Your +marriage to him will knit the bravest tribe of the confederacy to us; +he will take my place when I am dead, and our people will still be +strong." + +She made no reply. What could she do against her father's granite +will? All the grace and mobility were gone from her face, and it was +drooping and dull almost to impassiveness. She was only an Indian girl +now, waiting to learn the name of him who was to be her master. + +"What is the name of the one you love? Speak it once, then never speak +it again." + +"Snoqualmie, chief of the Cayuses," faltered her tremulous lips. + +A quick change of expression came into the gaze that was bent on her. + +"Now lift your head and meet your fate like the daughter of a chief. +Do not let me see your face change while I tell you whom I have +chosen." + +She lifted her face in a tumult of fear and dread, and her eyes +fastened pathetically on the chief. + +"His name is--" she clasped her hands and her whole soul went out to +her father in the mute supplication of her gaze--"the chief +Snoqualmie, him of whom you have thought." + +Her face was bewilderment itself for an instant; the next, the sudden +light, the quick flash of expression which transfigured it in a moment +of joy or surprise, came to her, and she raised his hand and kissed +it. Was that all? Remember she had in her the deep, mute Indian nature +that meets joy or anguish alike in silence. She had early learned to +repress and control her emotions. Perhaps that was why she was so sad +and brooding now. + +"Where have you seen Snoqualmie?" asked Multnomah. "Not in your +father's lodge, surely, for when strange chiefs came to him you always +fled like a frightened bird." + +"Once only have I seen him," she replied, flushing and confused. "He +had come here alone to tell you that some of the tribes were plotting +against you. I saw him as he went back through the wood to the place +where his canoe was drawn up on the bank of the river. He was tall; +his black hair fell below his shoulders; and his look was very proud +and strong. His back was to the setting sun, and it shone around him +robing him with fire, and I thought he looked like the Indian +sun-god." + +"I am glad it is pleasant for you to obey me. Now, listen while I tell +you what you must do as the wife of Snoqualmie." + +Stilling the sweet tumult in her breast, she tried hard to listen +while he told her of the plans, the treaties, the friendships, and the +enmities she must urge on her husband, when he became war-chief and +was carrying on her father's work; and in part she understood, for her +imagination was captivated by the splendid though barbarian dream of +empire he set before her. + +At length, as the sun was setting, one came to tell Multnomah that a +runner from a tribe beyond the mountains had come to see him. Then her +father left her; but Wallulah still sat on the mossy log, while all +the woodland was golden in the glory of sunset. + +Her beloved flute was pressed close to her cheek, and her face was +bright and joyous; she was thinking of Snoqualmie, the handsome +stately chief whom she had seen but once, but whose appearance, as +she saw him then, had filled her girlish heart. + +And all the time she knew not that this Snoqualmie, to whom she was to +be given, was one of the most cruel and inhuman of men, terrible even +to the grim warriors of the Wauna for his deeds of blood. + + +----- + + [1] Shipwrecks of Asiatic vessels are not uncommon on the + Pacific Coast, several having occurred during the present + century,--notably that of a Japanese junk in 1833, from which + three passengers were saved at the hands of the Indians; while + the cases of beeswax that have been disinterred on the sea-coast, + the oriental words that are found ingrafted in the native + languages, and the Asiatic type of countenance shown by many of + the natives, prove such wrecks to have been frequent in + prehistoric times. One of the most romantic stories of the Oregon + coast is that which the Indians tell of a buried treasure at + Mount Nehalem, left there generations ago by shipwrecked men of + strange garb and curious arms,--treasure which, like that of + Captain Kidd, has been often sought but never found. There is + also an Indian legend of a shipwrecked white man named Soto, and + his comrades (See Mrs. Victor's "Oregon and Washington"), who + lived long with the mid-Columbia Indians and then left them to + seek some settlement of their own people in the south. All of + these legends point to the not infrequent occurrence of such a + wreck as our story describes. + + [2] Indian name of the Nez Perces. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +SENDING OUT THE RUNNERS. + + Speed, Malise, speed; the dun deer's hide + On fleeter foot was never tied; + Herald of battle, fate and fear + Stretch around thy fleet career. + + SCOTT. + + +At early morning, the sachems had gathered in the council-grove, +Multnomah on the seat of the war-chief, and twenty runners before him. +They were the flower of the Willamette youth, every one of royal +birth, handsome in shape and limb, fleet-footed as the deer. They were +slender and sinewy in build, with aquiline features and sharp +searching eyes. + +Their garb was light. Leggins and moccasins had been laid aside; even +the _hiagua_ shells were stripped from their ears. All stood nerved +and eager for the race, waiting for the word that was to scatter them +throughout the Indian empire, living thunderbolts bearing the summons +of Multnomah. + +The message had been given them, and they waited only to pledge +themselves to its faithful delivery. + +"You promise," said the chief, while his flashing glance read every +messenger to the heart, "you promise that neither cougar nor cataract +nor ambuscade shall deter you from the delivery of this summons; that +you will not turn back, though the spears of the enemy are thicker in +your path than ferns along the Santiam? You promise that though you +fall in death, the summons shall go on?" + +The spokesman of the runners, the runner to the Chopponish, stepped +forward. With gestures of perfect grace, and in a voice that rang +like a silver trumpet, he repeated the ancient oath of the +Willamettes,--the oath used by the Shoshones to-day. + +"The earth hears us, the sun sees us. Shall we fail in fidelity to our +chief?" + +There was a pause. The distant cry of swans came from the river; the +great trees of council rustled in the breeze. Multnomah rose from his +seat, gripping the bow on which he leaned. Into that one moment he +seemed gathering yet repressing all the fierceness of his passion, all +the grandeur of his will. Far in the shade he saw Tohomish raise his +hand imploringly, but the eyes of the orator sank once more under the +glance of the war-chief. + +"Go!" + +An electric shock passed through all who heard; and except for the +chiefs standing on its outskirts like sombre shadows, the grove was +empty in a moment. + +Beyond the waters that girdled the island, one runner took the trail +to Puyallup, one the trail to Umatilla, one the path to Chelon, and +one the path to Shasta; another departed toward the volcano-rent +desert of Klamath, and still another toward the sea-washed shores of +Puget Sound. + +The irrevocable summons had gone forth; the council was +inevitable,--the crisis must come. + +[Illustration: "_The Earth hears us, the Sun sees us._"] + +Long did Multnomah and his chiefs sit in council that day. Resolute +were the speeches that came from all, though many secretly regretted +that they had allowed Multnomah's oratory to persuade them into +declaring for the council: but there was no retreat. + +Across hills and canyons sped the fleet runners, on to the huge bark +lodges of Puget Sound, the fisheries of the Columbia, and the crowded +race-courses of the Yakima. Into camps of wandering prairie tribes, +where the lodges stood like a city to-day and were rolled up and +strapped on the backs of horses to-morrow; into councils where +sinister chiefs were talking low of war against the Willamettes; into +wild midnight dances of plotting dreamers and medicine-men,--they came +with the brief stern summons, and passed on to speak it to the tribes +beyond. + + + + +BOOK III. + + +_THE GATHERING OF THE TRIBES._ + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE BROKEN PEACE-PIPE. + + My full defiance, hate, and scorn. + + SCOTT. + + +It is the day after the departure of the runners to call the great +council,--eight years since Cecil Grey went out into the wilderness. +Smoke is curling slowly upward from an Indian camp on the prairie not +far from the Blue Mountains of eastern Oregon. Fifteen or twenty +cone-shaped lodges, each made of mats stretched on a frame-work of +poles, compose the village. It swarms with wolfish-looking dogs and +dirty, unclad children. Heaps of refuse, heads and feet of game, lie +decaying among the wigwams, tainting the air with their disgusting +odor. Here and there an ancient withered specimen of humanity sits in +the sun, absorbing its rays with a dull animal-like sense of +enjoyment, and a group of warriors lie idly talking. Some of the +squaws are preparing food, boiling it in water-tight willow baskets by +filling them with water and putting in hot stones.[3] Horses are +tethered near the lodges, and others are running loose on the +prairie. + +There are not many of them. The Indians have only scores now where a +century later Lewis and Clark found thousands; and there are old men +in the camp who can recall the time when the first horses ever seen +among them were bought or stolen from the tribes to the south. + +On every side the prairie sweeps away in long grassy swells and +hollows, rolling off to the base of the Blue Mountains. + +The camp has the sluggish aspect that an Indian camp always presents +at noonday. + +Suddenly a keen-sighted warrior points to a dim speck far over the +prairie toward the land of the Bannocks. A white man would have +scarcely noticed it; or if he had, would have thought it only some +wandering deer or antelope. But the Indians, glancing at the moving +object, have already recognized it as a horseman coming straight +toward the camp. + +Some messenger it is, doubtless, from the Bannocks. Once the whole +camp would have rushed to arms at the approach of a rider from that +direction, for the two tribes had been at bitter enmity; but of late +the peace-pipe has been smoked between them, and the old feud is at an +end. Still, the sight arouses considerable curiosity and much +speculation as to the object of the visitor. + +He is a good rider, his horse is fleet, and in less time than would +have been thought possible reaches the camp. He gallops up, stops near +the lodges that are farthest out, and springs lightly to the ground. +He does not go on into the camp, but stands beside his horse till +advances are made on the other side. + +The dogs bark at him; his steed, a fiery black, tosses its head and +paws the ground; he stands beside it immovably, and to all appearance +is ready so to stand till sunset. Some of the warriors recognize him +as one of the bravest of the Bannocks. He looks like a daring, +resolute man, yet wary and self-contained. + +After a while one of the Cayuse warriors (for this was a camp of the +Cayuses) advanced toward him, and a grave salutation was exchanged. +Then the Bannock said that he wanted to see the Cayuse chief, +Snoqualmie, in the council-lodge, for the chief of the Bannocks had +sent a "talk" to the Cayuses. + +The warrior left him to speak with Snoqualmie. In a short time he +returned, saying that the chief and the warriors had gone to the +council-lodge and were ready to hear the "talk" that their brother, +the chief of the Bannocks, had sent them. The messenger tied his horse +by its lariat, or long hair-rope, to a bush, and followed the brave to +the lodge. + +It was a large wigwam in the centre of the village. A crowd of old +men, women, and children had already gathered around the door. Within, +on one side of the room, sat in three rows a semi-circle of braves, +facing the chief, who sat on the opposite side. Near the door was a +clear space where the messenger was to stand while speaking. + +He entered, and the doorway behind him was immediately blocked up by +the motley crowd excluded from the interior. Not a warrior in the +council looked at him; even the chief, Snoqualmie, did not turn his +head. The messenger advanced a few paces into the room, stopped, and +stood as impassive as the rest. Then, when the demands of Indian +stoicism had been satisfied, Snoqualmie turned his face, a handsome +but treacherous and cruel face, upon the messenger. + +"The warrior comes to speak the words of our brother, the chief of the +Bannocks; he is welcome. Shall we smoke the pipe of peace before we +hear our brother's words?" + +The Bannock gazed steadily at Snoqualmie. In that fierce and proud +regard was something the Cayuse could not fathom. + +"Why should the peace-pipe be smoked?" he asked. "Was it not smoked in +the great council a moon ago? Did not Snoqualmie say then that the two +tribes should henceforth be as one tribe, and that the Bannocks should +be the brethren of the Cayuses forever?" + +"Those were the words," replied the chief with dignity. "Snoqualmie +has not forgotten them." + +All eyes were now turned on the messenger; they saw that something +unexpected was coming. The Bannock drew his form up to its full +height, and his resolute features expressed the bitterest scorn. + +"Nor have the Bannocks forgotten. At the council you talked 'peace, +peace.' Last night some of your young men surprised a little camp of +Bannocks,--a few old men and boys who were watching horses,--and slew +them and ran off the horses. Is that your peace? The Bannocks will +have no such peace. _This_ is the word the chief of the Bannocks sends +you!" + +Holding up the peace-pipe that had been smoked at the great council +and afterward given to the medicine-men of the Bannocks as a pledge of +Cayuse sincerity, he broke the long slender stem twice, thrice, +crushed the bowl in his fingers, and dashed the pieces at Snoqualmie's +feet. It was a defiance, a contemptuous rejection of peace, a +declaration of war more disdainful than any words could have made it. + +Then, before they could recover from their astonishment, the Bannock +turned and leaped through the crowd at the door,--for an instant's +stay was death. Even as he leaped, Snoqualmie's tomahawk whizzed after +him, and a dozen warriors were on their feet, weapon in hand. But the +swift, wild drama had been played like lightning, and he was gone. +Only, a brave who had tried to intercept his passage lay on the ground +outside the lodge, stabbed to the heart. They rushed to the door in +time to see him throw himself on his horse and dash off, looking back +to give a yell of triumph and defiance. + +In less time than it takes to describe it, the horses tethered near +the lodges were mounted and twenty riders were in pursuit. But the +Bannock was considerably in advance now, and the fine black horse he +rode held its own nobly. Out over the prairie flew the pursuing +Cayuses, yelling like demons, the fugitive turning now and then to +utter a shout of derision. + +Back at the lodges, the crowd of spectators looked on with excited +comments. + +"His horse is tired, ours are fresh!" "They gain on him!" "No, he is +getting farther from them!" "See, he throws away his blanket!" "They +are closer, closer!" "No, no, his horse goes like a deer." + +Out over the prairies, fleeting like the shadow of a hurrying cloud, +passed the race, the black horse leading, the Cayuse riders close +behind, their long hair outstreaming, their moccasins pressed against +their horses' sides, their whips falling without mercy. Down a canyon +they swept in pursuit and passed from the ken of the watchers at the +camp, the black horse still in the van. + +But it could not cope with the fresh horses of the Cayuses, and they +gained steadily. At last the pursuers came within bowshot, but they +did not shoot; the fugitive knew too well the reason why. Woe unto him +if he fell alive into their hands! He leaned low along his horse's +neck, chanting a weird refrain as if charming it to its utmost speed, +and ever and anon looked back with that heart-shaking shout of +defiance. But steadily his pursuers gained on him; and one, +outstripping the rest, rode alongside and reached out to seize his +rein. Even as he touched it, the Bannock's war-club swung in air and +the Cayuse reeled dead from his saddle. A howl of rage burst from the +others, a whoop of exultation from the fugitive. + +But at length his horse's breath grew short and broken, he felt its +body tremble as it ran, and his enemies closed in around him. + +Thrice the war-club rose and fell, thrice was a saddle emptied; but +all in vain. Quickly his horse was caught, he was dragged from the +saddle and bound hand and foot. + +He was thrown across a horse and brought back to the village. What a +chorus of triumph went up from the camp, when it was seen that they +were bringing him back! It was an ominous sound, with something of +wolfish ferocity in it. But the Bannock only smiled grimly. + +He is bound to a post,--a charred, bloodstained post to which others +of his race have been bound before him. The women and children taunt +him, jeer at him, strike him even. The warriors do not. They will +presently do more than that. Some busy themselves building a fire near +by; others bring pieces of flint, spear points, jagged fragments of +rock, and heat them in it. The prisoner, dusty, torn, parched with +thirst, and bleeding from many wounds, looks on with perfect +indifference. Snoqualmie comes and gazes at him; the prisoner does not +notice him, is seemingly unconscious of his presence. + +By and by a band of hunters ride up from a long excursion. They have +heard nothing of the trouble. With them is a young Bannock who is +visiting the tribe. He rides up with his Cayuse comrades, laughing, +gesticulating in a lively way. The jest dies on his lips when he +recognizes the Bannock who is tied to the stake. Before he can even +think of flight, he is dragged from his horse and bound,--his whilom +comrades, as soon as they understand the situation, becoming his +bitterest assailants. + +For it is war again, war to the death between the tribes, until, two +centuries later, both shall alike be crushed by the white man. + +At length the preparations are complete, and the women and children, +who have been swarming around and taunting the captives, are brushed +aside like so many flies by the stern warriors. First, the young +Bannock who has just come in is put where he must have a full view of +the other. Neither speaks, but a glance passes between them that is +like a mutual charge to die bravely. Snoqualmie comes and stands +close by the prisoner and gives directions for the torture to begin. + +The Bannock is stripped. The stone blades that have been in the fire +are brought, all red and glowing with heat, and pressed against his +bare flesh. It burns and hisses under the fiery torture, but the +warrior only sneers. + +"It doesn't hurt; you can't hurt me. You are fools. You don't know how +to torture."[4] + +No refinement of cruelty could wring a complaint from him. It was in +vain that they burned him, cut the flesh from his fingers, branded his +cheek with the heated bowl of the pipe he had broken. + +"Try it again," he said mockingly, while his flesh smoked. "I feel no +pain. We torture your people a great deal better, for we make them cry +out like little children." + +More and more murderous and terrible grew the wrath of his tormentors, +as this stream of vituperation fell on their ears. Again and again +weapons were lifted to slay him, but Snoqualmie put them back. + +"He can suffer more yet," he said; and the words were like a glimpse +into the cold, merciless heart of the man. Other and fiercer tortures +were devised by the chief, who stood over him, pointing out where and +how the keenest pain could be given, the bitterest pang inflicted on +that burned and broken body. At last it seemed no longer a man, but a +bleeding, scorched, mutilated mass of flesh that hung to the stake; +only the lips still breathed defiance and the eyes gleamed deathless +hate. Looking upon one and another, he boasted of how he had slain +their friends and relatives. Many of his boasts were undoubtedly +false, but they were very bitter. + +"It was by my arrow that you lost your eye," he said to one; "I +scalped your father," to another; and every taunt provoked +counter-taunts accompanied with blows. + +At length he looked at Snoqualmie,--a look so ghastly, so disfigured, +that it was like something seen in a horrible dream. + +"I took your sister prisoner last winter; you never knew,--you thought +she had wandered from home and was lost in a storm. We put out her +eyes, we tore out her tongue, and then we told her to go out in the +snow and find food. Ah-h-h! you should have seen her tears as she went +out into the storm, and----" + +The sentence was never finished. While the last word lingered on his +lips, his body sunk into a lifeless heap under a terrific blow, and +Snoqualmie put back his blood-stained tomahawk into his belt. + +"Shall we kill the other?" demanded the warriors, gathering around the +surviving Bannock, who had been a stoical spectator of his companion's +sufferings. A ferocious clamor from the women and children hailed the +suggestion of new torture; they thronged around the captive, the +children struck him, the women abused him, spat upon him even, but not +a muscle of his face quivered; he merely looked at them with stolid +indifference. + +"Kill him, kill him!" "Stretch him on red hot stones!" "We will make +_him_ cry!" + +Snoqualmie hesitated. He wished to save this man for another purpose, +and yet the Indian blood-thirst was on him; chief and warrior alike +were drunken with fury, mad with the lust of cruelty. + +As he hesitated, a white man clad in the garb of an Indian hunter +pushed his way through the crowd. Silence fell upon the throng; the +clamor of the women, the fierce questioning of the warriors ceased. +The personality of this man was so full of tenderness and sympathy, so +strong and commanding, that it impressed the most savage nature. Amid +the silence, he came and looked first at the dead body that yet hung +motionless from the stake, then sorrowfully, reproachfully, at the +circle of faces around. An expression half of sullen shame, half of +defiance, crossed more than one countenance as his glance fell upon +it. + +"Friends," said he, sadly, pointing at the dead, "is this your peace +with the Bannocks,--the peace you prayed the Great Spirit to bless, +the peace that was to last forever?" + +"The Bannocks sent back the peace-pipe by this man, and he broke it +and cast the pieces in our teeth," answered one, stubbornly. + +"And you slew him for it? Why not have sent runners to his tribe +asking why it was returned, and demanding to know what wrong you had +done, that you might right it? Now there will be war. When you lie +down to sleep at night, the surprise may be on you and massacre come +while your eyes are heavy with slumber; when you are gone on the +buffalo trail the tomahawk may fall on the women and children at home. +Death will lurk for you in every thicket and creep round every +encampment. The Great Spirit is angry because you have stained your +hands in blood without cause." + +There was no reply. This white man, coming from far eastern lands +lying they knew not where, who told them God had sent him to warn them +to be better, had a singular influence over them. There was none of +his hearers who did not dimly feel that he had done wrong in burning +and scarring the poor mass of humanity before him, and that the Great +Spirit was angry with him for it. + +Back in the crowd, some of the children, young demons hungering for +blood, began to clamor again for the death of the surviving Bannock. +Cecil Grey looked at him pityingly. + +"At least you can let him go." + +There was no answer. Better impulses, better desires, were struggling +in their degraded minds; but cruelty was deeply rooted within them, +the vague shame and misgiving his words had roused was not so strong +as the dark animalism of their natures. + +Cecil turned to Snoqualmie. + +"I saved your life once, will you not give me his?" + +The chief regarded him coldly. + +"Take it," he said after a pause. Cecil stooped over and untied the +thongs that bound the captive, who rose to his feet amid a low angry +murmur from those around. Snoqualmie silenced it with an imperious +gesture. Then he turned to the young Bannock. + +"Dog, one of a race of dogs! go back to your people and tell them what +you have seen to-day. Tell them how we burned and tortured their +messenger, and that we let you go only to tell the tale. Tell them, +too, that Snoqualmie knows his sister died by their hand last winter, +and that for every hair upon her head he will burn a Bannock warrior +at the stake. Go, and be quick, lest my war-party overtake you on the +trail." + +The Bannock left without a word, taking the trail across the prairie +toward the land of his tribe. + +"The gift was given, but there was that given with it that made it +bitter. And now may I bury this dead body?" + +"It is only a Bannock; who cares what is done with it?" replied +Snoqualmie. "But remember, my debt is paid. Ask of me no more gifts," +and the chief turned abruptly away. + +"Who will help me bury this man?" asked Cecil. No one replied; and he +went alone and cut the thongs that bound the body to the stake. But as +he stooped to raise it, a tall fine-looking man, a renegade from the +Shoshones, who had taken no part in the torture, came forward to help +him. Together they bore the corpse away from the camp to the hillside; +together they hollowed out a shallow grave and stretched the body in +it, covering it with earth and heaping stones on top, that the cayote +might not disturb the last sleep of the dead. + +When they returned to the camp, they found a war-party already in the +saddle, with Snoqualmie at their head, ready to take the Bannock +trail. But before they left the camp, a runner entered it with a +summons from Multnomah calling them to the great council of the tribes +on Wappatto Island, for which they must start on the morrow. + + +----- + + [3] See Bancroft's "Native Races," vol. i., p. 270. + + [4] See Ross Cox's "Adventures on the Columbia River" for a + description of torture among the Columbia tribes. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +ON THE WAY TO THE COUNCIL. + + They arrived at the village of Wishram. + + IRVING: _Astoria_. + + +The camp was all astir at dawn, for sunset must see them far on the +way. They must first cross the prairies to the northward till they +struck the Columbia, then take the great trail leading down it to the +Willamette valley. It was a two days' journey at the least. + +Squaws were preparing a hurried meal; lodge-poles were being taken +down and the mats that covered them rolled up and strapped on the +backs of horses; Indians, yelling and vociferating, were driving up +bands of horses from which pack and riding ponies were to be selected; +unbroken animals were rearing and plunging beneath their first +burdens, while mongrel curs ran barking at their heels. Here and there +unskilful hands were throwing the lasso amid the jeers and laughter of +the spectators. All was tumult and excitement. + +At length they were under way. First rode the squaws, driving before +them pack-horses and ponies, for the herds and entire movable property +of the tribe accompanied it in all its marches. The squaws rode +astride, like men, in the rude wooden saddles that one yet sees used +by the wilder Indians of eastern Oregon and Idaho,--very high, both +before and behind, looking like exaggerated pack-saddles. A hair rope, +tied around the lower jaw of the horse, answered for a bridle. To this +must be added the quirt, a short double-lashed whip fastened into a +hollow and curiously carved handle. The application of this whip was +so constant as to keep the right arm in continual motion; so that even +to-day on the frontier an Indian rider can be distinguished from a +white man, at a distance, by the constant rising and falling of the +whip arm. With the squaws were the children, some of whom, not over +four, five, and six years of age, rode alone on horseback, tied in the +high saddles; managing their steeds with instinctive skill, and when +the journey became fatiguing, going to sleep, secured by their +fastenings from falling off. + +Next came the men, on the best horses, unencumbered by weight of any +kind and armed with bow and arrow. Here and there a lance pointed with +flint, a stone knife or hatchet, or a heavy war-club, hung at the +saddle; but the bow and arrow constituted their chief weapon. + +The men formed a kind of rear-guard, protecting the migrating tribe +from any sudden assault on the part of the Bannocks. There were +perhaps two hundred fighting-men in all. Snoqualmie was at their head, +and beside him rode the young Willamette runner who had brought the +summons from Multnomah the day before. The Willamette was on horseback +for the first time in his life. The inland or prairie tribes of +eastern Oregon, coming as they did in contact with tribes whose +neighbors bordered on Mexico, had owned horses for perhaps a +generation; but the sea-board tribes owned very few, and there were +tribes on Puget Sound and at the mouth of the Columbia who had never +seen them. Even the Willamettes, sovereign tribe of the confederacy +though they were, had but few horses. + +This morning the young Willamette had bought a colt, giving for it a +whole string of _hiagua_ shells. It was a pretty, delicate thing, and +he was proud of it, and had shown his pride by slitting its ears and +cutting off its tail, as was the barbarous custom with many of the +Indians. He sat on the little creature now; and loaded as it was with +the double weight of himself and the heavy wooden saddle, it could +hardly keep pace with the older and stronger horses. + +In the rear of all rode Cecil Grey and the Shoshone renegade who had +helped him bury the dead Bannock the evening before. Cecil's form was +as slight and graceful in its Indian garb as in days gone by, and his +face was still the handsome, sensitive face it had been eight years +before. It was stronger now, more resolute and mature, and from long +intercourse with the Indians there had come into it something grave +and Indian-like; but it only gave more of dignity to his mien. His +brown beard swept his breast, and his face was bronzed; but the lips +quivered under the beard, and the cheek flushed and paled under the +bronze. + +What had he been doing in the eight years that had elapsed since he +left his New England home? Let us listen to his story in his own words +as he tells it to the Shoshone renegade by his side. + +"I lived in a land far to the east, beside a great water. My people +were white like myself. I was one of an order of men whom the Great +Spirit had appointed to preach of goodness, mercy, and truth, and to +explain to the people the sayings of a mighty book which he had given +to the fathers,--a book that told how men should live in this world, +and said that a beautiful place in the next would be given those who +are good and true in this. But by and by the Great Spirit began to +whisper to me of the Indians in the wilderness who knew nothing of the +book or the hope within it, and a longing rose within me to go and +tell them; but there were ties that held me to my own people, and I +knew not what to do. Death cut those ties; and in my hour of grief +there came to me a vision of a great bridge far in the west, and of +Indians passing over it, and a voice spoke to me and bade me go and +seek the land of the bridge, for the Great Spirit had a mission for me +there; and I went forth into the wilderness. I met many tribes and +tarried with them, telling them of God. Many were evil and treated me +harshly, others were kind and listened. Some loved me and wished me to +abide always in their lodges and be one of them. But even while they +spoke the Great Spirit whispered to me to go on, and an unrest rose +within me, and I could not stay. + +"So the years went by, and I wandered farther and farther to the west, +across rivers and deserts, till I reached this tribe; and they said +that farther on, toward the land of the Willamettes, a great river +flowed through the mountains, and across it was a bridge of stone +built by the gods when the world was young. Then I knew that it was +the bridge of my vision, and the unrest came back and I arose to go. +But the tribe kept me, half as guest and half as prisoner, and would +not let me depart; until last night the runner came summoning them to +the council. Now they go, taking me with them. I shall see the land of +the bridge and perform the work the Great Spirit has given me to do." + +The old grand enthusiasm shone in his look as he closed. The Shoshone +regarded him with grave attention. + +"What became of the book that told of God?" he asked earnestly. + +"A chief took it from me and burned it; but its words were written on +my heart, and they could not be destroyed." + +They rode on for a time in silence. The way was rugged, the country a +succession of canyons and ridges covered with green and waving grass +but bare of trees. Behind them, the Blue Mountains were receding in +the distance. To the west, Mt. Hood, the great white "Witch Mountain" +of the Indians, towered over the prairie, streaking the sky with a +long floating wreath of volcanic smoke. Before them, as they journeyed +northward toward the Columbia, stretched out the endless prairie. Now +they descended into a deep ravine, now they toiled up a steep +hillside. The country literally rolled, undulating in immense ridges +around and over which the long file of squaws and warriors, herds and +pack-horses, wound like a serpent. From the bands ahead came shouts +and outcries,--the sounds of rude merriment; and above all the +long-drawn intonation so familiar to those who have been much with +Indian horsemen,--the endlessly repeated "ho-ha, ho-ha, ho-ha," a kind +of crude riding-song. + +After a while Cecil said, "I have told you the story of my life, will +you not tell me the story of yours?" + +"Yes," said the renegade, after a moment's thought; "you have shown me +your heart as if you were my brother. Now I will show you mine. + +"I was a Shoshone warrior.[5] There was a girl in our village whom I +had loved from childhood. We played together; we talked of how, when I +became a man and a warrior, she should become my wife; she should keep +my wigwam; we would always love one another. She grew up, and the +chief offered many horses for her. Her father took them. She became +the chief's wife, and all my heart withered up. Everything grew dark. +I sat in my wigwam or wandered in the forest, caring for nothing. + +"When I met her, she turned her face aside, for was she not the wife +of another? Yet I knew her heart hungered for me. The chief knew it +too, and when he spoke to her a cloud was ever on his brow and sharp +lightning on his tongue. But she was true. Whose lodge was as clean as +his? The wood was always carried, the water at hand, the meat cooked. +She searched the very thought that was in his heart to save him the +trouble of speaking. He could never say, 'Why is it not done?' But her +heart was mine, and he knew it; and he treated her like a dog and not +like a wife. + +"Me too he tried to tread under foot. One day we assembled to hunt the +buffalo. Our horses were all collected. Mine stood before my tent, and +he came and took them away, saying that they were his. What could I +do? He was a chief. + +[Illustration: _The Great "Witch Mountain" of the Indians._] + +"I came no more to the council, I shared no more in the hunt and the +war-dance. I was unhorsed, degraded, dishonored. He told his wife what +he had done, and when she wept he beat her. + +"One evening I stood on a knoll overlooking the meadow where the +horses were feeding; the chief's horses were there, and mine with +them. I saw _him_ walking among them. The sight maddened me; my blood +burned; I leaped on him; with two blows I laid him dead at my feet. I +covered him with earth and strewed leaves over the place. Then I went +to _her_ and told her what I had done, and urged her to fly with me. +She answered only with tears. I reminded her of all she had suffered, +and told her I had done only what was just. I urged her again to fly. +She only wept the more, and bade me go. My heart was heavy but my eyes +were dry. + +"'It is well,' I said, 'I will go alone to the desert. None but the +wild beasts of the wilderness will be with me. The seekers of blood +will follow on my trail; they may come on me while I am asleep and +slay me, but you will be safe. I will go alone.' + +"I turned to go. She sprang after me. 'No,' she cried, 'you shall not +go alone. Wherever you go I will go: you shall never part from me.' + +"While we were talking, one who had seen me slay the chief and had +roused the camp, came with others. We heard their steps approaching +the door, and knew that death came with them. We escaped at the back +of the lodge, but they saw us and their arrows flew. She fell, and I +caught her in my arms and fled into the wood. When we were safe I +looked at her I carried, and she was dead. An arrow had pierced her +heart. I buried her that night beneath a heap of stones, and fled to +the Cayuses. That is my story." + +"What will you do now?" asked Cecil, deeply touched. + +"I shall live a man's life. I shall hunt and go on the war-trail, and +say strong words in the council. And when my life is ended, when the +sunset and the night come to me and I go forth into the darkness, I +know I shall find her I love waiting for me beside the death-trail +that leads to the spirit-land." + +The tears came into Cecil's eyes. + +"I too have known sorrow," he said, "and like you I am a wanderer from +my own people. We are going together into an unknown land, knowing not +what may befall us. Let us be friends." + +And he held out his hand. The Indian took it,--awkwardly, as an Indian +always takes the hand of a white man, but warmly, heartily. + +"We are brothers," he said simply. And as Cecil rode on with the wild +troop into the unknown world before him, he felt that there was one +beside him who would be faithful, no matter what befell. + +The long day wore on; the sun rose to the zenith and sunk, and still +the Indians pushed forward. It was a long, forced march, and Cecil was +terribly fatigued when at last one of the Indians told him that they +were near a big river where they would camp for the night. + +"One sun more," said the Indian, pointing to the sun now sinking in +the west, "and you will see the Bridge of the Gods." + +The news re-animated Cecil, and he hurried on. A shout rose from the +Indians in advance. He saw the head of the long train of horses and +riders pause and look downward and the Indians at the rear gallop +forward. Cecil and his friend followed and joined them. + +"The river! the river!" cried the Indians, as they rode up. The scene +below was one of gloomy but magnificent beauty. Beneath them opened an +immense canyon, stupendous even in that land of canyons,--the great +canyon of the Columbia. The walls were brown, destitute of verdure, +sinking downward from their feet in yawning precipices or steep +slopes. At the bottom, more than a thousand feet below, wound a wide +blue river, the gathered waters of half a continent. Beneath them, the +river plunged over a long low precipice with a roar that filled the +canyon for miles. Farther on, the flat banks encroached upon the +stream till it seemed narrowed to a silver thread among the jutting +rocks. Still farther, it widened again, swept grandly around a bend in +the distance, and passed from sight. + +"_Tuum, tuum_," said the Indians to Cecil, in tones that imitated the +roar of the cataract. It was the "Tum" of Lewis and Clark, the +"Tumwater" of more recent times; and the place below, where the +compressed river wound like a silver thread among the flat black +rocks, was the far-famed Dalles of the Columbia. It was superb, and +yet there was something profoundly lonely and desolate about it,--the +majestic river flowing on forever among barren rocks and crags, shut +in by mountain and desert, wrapped in an awful solitude where from age +to age scarce a sound was heard save the cry of wild beasts or wilder +men. + +"It is the very river of death and of desolation," thought Cecil. "It +looks lonely, forsaken, as if no eye had beheld it from the day of +creation until now." + +Looking again at the falls, he saw, what he had not before noticed, a +large camp of Indians on the side nearest them. Glancing across the +river, he descried on a knoll on the opposite bank--what? Houses! He +could not believe his eyes; could it be possible? Yes, they certainly +were long, low houses, roofed as the white man roofs his. A sudden +wild hope thrilled him; his brain grew dizzy. He turned to one of the +Indians. + +"Who built those houses?" he exclaimed; "white men like me?" + +The other shook his head. + +"No, Indians." + +Cecil's heart died within him. "After all," he murmured, "it was +absurd to expect to find a settlement of white men here. How could I +think that any but Indians had built those houses?" + +Still, as they descended the steep zigzag pathway leading down to the +river, he could not help gazing again and again at the buildings that +so reminded him of home. + +It was Wishram, the ancient village of the falls, whose brave and +insolent inhabitants, more than a century later, were the dread of the +early explorers and fur traders of the Columbia. It was built at the +last and highest fishery on the Columbia, for the salmon could not at +that time ascend the river above the falls. All the wandering tribes +of the Upper Columbia came there to fish or to buy salmon of the +Wishram fishers. There too the Indians of the Lower Columbia and the +Willamette met them, and bartered the _hiagua_ shells, the dried +berries, and _wappatto_ of their country for the bear claws and +buffalo robes of the interior. It was a rendezvous where buying, +selling, gambling, dancing, feasting took the place of war and the +chase; though the ever burning enmities of the tribes sometimes flamed +into deadly feuds and the fair-ground not infrequently became a field +of battle. + +The houses of Wishram were built of logs, the walls low, the lower +half being below the surface of the ground, so that they were +virtually half cellar. At a distance, the log walls and arched roofs +gave them very much the appearance of a frontier town of the whites. + +As they descended to the river-side, Cecil looked again and again at +the village, so different from the skin or bark lodges of the Rocky +Mountain tribes he had been with so long. But the broad and sweeping +river flowed between, and his gaze told him little more than his first +glance had done. + +They were now approaching the camp. Some of the younger braves at the +head of the Cayuse train dashed toward it, yelling and whooping in the +wildest manner. Through the encampment rang an answering shout. + +"The Cayuses! the Cayuses! and the white medicine-man!" + +The news spread like wildfire, and men came running from all +directions to greet the latest arrivals. It was a scene of abject +squalor that met Cecil's eyes as he rode with the others into the +camp. Never had he seen among the Indian races aught so degraded as +those Columbia River tribes. + +The air was putrid with decaying fish; the very skins and mats that +covered the lodge-poles were black with rancid salmon and filth. Many +of the men were nude; most of the women wore only a short garment of +skin or woven cedar bark about the waist, falling scarcely to the +knees. The heads of many had been artificially flattened; their faces +were brutal; their teeth worn to the gums with eating sanded salmon; +and here and there bleared and unsightly eyes showed the terrible +prevalence of ophthalmia. Salmon were drying in the sun on platforms +raised above the reach of dogs. Half-starved horses whose raw and +bleeding mouths showed the effect of the hair-rope bridles, and whose +projecting ribs showed their principal nutriment to be sage-brush and +whip-lash, were picketed among the lodges. Cayote-like dogs and unclad +children, shrill and impish, ran riot, fighting together for +half-dried, half-decayed pieces of salmon. Prevailing over everything +was the stench which is unique and unparalleled among the stenches of +the earth,--the stench of an Indian camp at a Columbia fishery.[6] + +Perhaps ten of the petty inland tribes had assembled there as their +starting-point for the great council at Wappatto Island. All had heard +rumors of the white man who had appeared among the tribes to the south +saying that the Great Spirit had sent him to warn the Indians to +become better, and all were anxious to see him. They pointed him out +to one another as he rode up,--the man of graceful presence and +delicate build; they thronged around him, naked men and half-clad +women, squalid, fierce as wild beasts, and gazed wonderingly. + +"It is he, the white man," they whispered among themselves. "See the +long beard." "See the white hands." "Stand back, the Great Spirit sent +him; he is strong _tomanowos_; beware his anger." + +Now the horses were unpacked and the lodges pitched, under the eyes of +the larger part of the encampment, who watched everything with +insatiable curiosity, and stole all that they could lay their hands +on. Especially did they hang on every motion of Cecil; and he sank +very much in their estimation when they found that he helped his +servant, the old Indian woman, put up his lodge. + +"Ugh, he does squaw's work," was the ungracious comment. After awhile, +when the lodge was up and Cecil lay weary and exhausted upon his mat +within it, a messenger entered and told him that the Indians were all +collected near the river bank and wished him to come and give them the +"talk" he had brought from the Great Spirit. + +Worn as he was, Cecil arose and went. It was in the interval between +sunset and dark. The sun still shone on the cliffs above the great +canyon, but in the spaces below the shadows were deepening. On the +flat rocks near the bank of the river, and close by the falls of +Tumwater, the Indians were gathered to the number of several hundred, +awaiting him,--some squatting, Indian fashion, on the ground, others +standing upright, looking taller than human in the dusky light. +Mingled with the debased tribes that made up the larger part of the +gathering, Cecil saw here and there warriors of a bolder and superior +race,--Yakimas and Klickitats, clad in skins or wrapped in blankets +woven of the wool of the mountain sheep. + +Cecil stood before them and spoke, using the Willamette tongue, the +language of common intercourse between the tribes, all of whom had +different dialects. The audience listened in silence while he told +them of the goodness and compassion of the Great Spirit; how it +grieved him to see his children at war among themselves, and how he, +Cecil, had been sent to warn them to forsake their sins and live +better lives. Long familiarity with the Indians had imparted to him +somewhat of their manner of thinking and speaking; his language had +become picturesque with Indian imagery, and his style of oratory had +acquired a tinge of Indian gravity. But the intense and vivid +spirituality that had ever been the charm of his eloquence was in it +still. There was something in his words that for the moment, and +unconsciously to them, lifted his hearers to a higher plane. When he +closed there was upon them that vague remorse, that dim desire to be +better, that indefinable wistfulness, which his earnest, tender words +never failed to arouse in his hearers. + +When he lifted his hands at the close of his "talk," and prayed that +the Great Spirit might pity them, that he might take away from them +the black and wicked heart of war and hate and give them the new heart +of peace and love, the silence was almost breathless, broken only by +the unceasing roar of the falls and the solemn pleading of the +missionary's voice. + +He left them and returned through the deepening shadows to his lodge. +There he flung himself on the couch of furs the old Indian woman had +spread for him. Fatigued with the long ride of the day and the heavy +draught his address had made on an overtaxed frame, he tried to +sleep. + +But he could not. The buildings of the town of Wishram across the +river, so like the buildings of the white man, had awakened a thousand +memories of home. Vivid pictures of his life in New England and in the +cloisters of Magdalen came before his sleepless eyes. The longing for +the refined and pleasant things that had filled his life rose strong +and irrepressible within him. Such thoughts were never entirely absent +from his mind, but at times they seemed to dominate him completely, +driving him into a perfect fever of unrest and discontent. After +tossing for hours on his couch, he arose and went out into the open +air. + +The stars were bright; the moon flooded the wide canyon with lustre; +the towering walls rose dim and shadowy on either side of the river +whose waters gleamed white in the moonlight; the solemn roar of the +falls filled the silence of the night. + +Around him was the barbarian encampment, with here and there a fire +burning and a group of warriors talking beside it. He walked forth +among the lodges. Some were silent, save for the heavy breathing of +the sleepers; others were lighted up within, and he could hear the +murmur of voices. + +At one place he found around a large fire a crowd who were feasting, +late as was the hour, and boasting of their exploits. He stood in the +shadow a moment and listened. One of them concluded his tale by +springing to his feet, advancing a few paces from the circle of +firelight, and making a fierce speech to invisible foes. Looking +toward the land of the Shoshones, he denounced them with the utmost +fury, dared them to face him, scorned them because they did not +appear, and ended by shaking his tomahawk in their direction, amid the +applause of his comrades. + +Cecil passed on and reached the outer limit of the camp. There, amid +some large bowlders, he almost stumbled on a band of Indians engaged +in some grisly ceremony. He saw them, however, in time to escape +observation and screen himself behind one of the rocks. + +One of the Indians held a rattlesnake pinned to the ground with a +forked stick. Another held out a piece of liver to the snake and was +provoking him to bite it. Again and again the snake, quivering with +fury and rattling savagely, plunged his fangs into the liver. Several +Indians stood looking on, with arrows in their hands. At length, when +the meat was thoroughly impregnated with the virus, the snake was +released and allowed to crawl away. Then they all dipped the points of +their arrows in the poisoned liver,[7] carefully marking the shaft of +each in order to distinguish it from those not poisoned. None of them +saw Cecil, and he left without being discovered. + +Why did they wish to go to the council with poisoned arrows? + +Further on, among the rocks and remote from the camp, he saw a great +light and heard a loud hallooing. He went cautiously toward it. He +found a large fire in an open space, and perhaps thirty savages, +stripped and painted, dancing around it, brandishing their weapons +and chanting a kind of war-chant. On every face, as the firelight fell +on it, was mad ferocity and lust of war. Near them lay the freshly +killed body of a horse whose blood they had been drinking. Drunk with +frenzy, drunk with blood, they danced and whirled in that wild +saturnalia till Cecil grew dizzy with the sight.[8] + +He made his way back to the camp and sought his lodge. He heard the +wolves howling on the hills, and a dark presentiment of evil crept +over him. + +"It is not to council that these men are going, but to war," he +murmured, as he threw himself on his couch. "God help me to be +faithful, whatever comes! God help me to keep my life and my words +filled with his spirit, so that these savage men may be drawn to him +and made better, and my mission be fulfilled! I can never hope to see +the face of white man again, but I can live and die faithful to the +last." + +So thinking, a sweet and restful peace came to him, and he fell +asleep. And even while he thought how impossible it was for him ever +to reach the land of the white man again, an English exploring-ship +lay at anchor at Yaquina Bay, only two days' ride distant; and on it +were some who had known and loved him in times gone by, but who had +long since thought him lost in the wilderness forever. + + +----- + + [5] See Bonneville's Adventures, chapters xiii, and xlviii. + + [6] See Townsend's Narrative, pages 137, 138. Both Lewis and + Clark and Ross Cox substantiate his description; indeed, very + much the same thing can be seen at the Tumwater Fishery to-day. + + [7] See Bancroft's _Native Races_, article "Columbians." A bunch + of arrows so poisoned is in the Museum of the Oregon State + University at Eugene. + + [8] Irving's "Astoria," chap. xli. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE GREAT CAMP ON THE ISLAND. + + Of different language, form and face, + A various race of men. + + SCOTT. + + +"You say that we shall see the Bridge of the Gods to-day?" asked Cecil +of the young Willamette runner the next morning. "Tell me about it; is +it high?" + +The young Willamette rose to his full height, arched his right hand +above his eyes, looked skyward with a strained expression as if gazing +up at an immense height, and emitted a prolonged "ah-h-h!" + +That was all, but it was enough to bring the light to Cecil's eyes and +a sudden triumphant gladness to his heart. At last he approached the +land of his vision, at last he should find the bridge whose wraith had +faded before him into the west eight years before! + +The Cayuse band had started early that morning. The chief Snoqualmie +was impatient of delay, and wished to be one of the earliest at the +council; he wanted to signalize himself in the approaching struggle by +his loyalty to Multnomah, whose daughter he was to marry and whom he +was to succeed as war-chief. + +The women were in advance, driving the pack-horses; Cecil rode behind +them with the Shoshone renegade and the young Willamette runner; +while Snoqualmie brought up the rear, looking sharply after +stragglers,--for some of his young men were very much inclined to +linger at the rendezvous and indulge in a little gambling and +horse-racing with the other bands, who were not to start till later in +the day. + +The young Willamette still rode the pretty little pony whose ears and +tail he had so barbarously mutilated. It reeled under him from sheer +weakness, so young was it and so worn by the journey of the day +before. In vain did Cecil expostulate. With true Indian obtuseness and +brutality, the Willamette refused to see why he should be merciful to +a horse. + +"Suppose he rode me, what would _he_ care? Now I ride him, what do I +care? Suppose he die, plenty more _hiagua_ shells, plenty more +horses." + +After which logical answer he plied the whip harder than ever, making +the pony keep up with the stronger and abler horses of the other +riders. The long train of squaws and warriors wound on down the trail +by the river-side. In a little while Wishram and Tumwater passed from +sight. The wind began to blow; the ever drifting sand of the Columbia +came sifting in their faces. They passed the Dalles of the Columbia; +and the river that, as seen from the heights the evening before, wound +like a silver thread among the rocks, was found to be a compressed +torrent that rushed foaming along the narrow passage,--literally, as +it has been described, "a river turned on edge." + +There too they passed the camp of the Wascos, who were preparing to +start, but suspended their preparations at the approach of the +cavalcade and stood along the path eager to see the white man. Cecil +noticed that as they descended the river the language of the local +tribes became more gutteral, and the custom of flattening the head +prevailed more and more.[9] + +Below, the scenery was less barren; the river entered the Cascade +Range, and the steep banks, along which wound the trail, grew dark +with pines, relieved here and there with brighter verdure. They saw +bands of Indians on the opposite shore, descending the trail along +that side on the way to the council. Many were on foot, though some +horses were among them. They were Indians of the nine tribes of the +Klickitat, and as yet had but few horses. A century later they owned +thousands. Indian women never accompanied war-parties; and Cecil +noticed that some of the bands were composed entirely of men, which +gave them the appearance of going to war. It had an ominous and +doubtful look. + +At the Wau-coma (place of cottonwoods), the modern Hood River, they +found the tribe that inhabited that beautiful valley already on the +march, and the two bands mingled and went on together. The Wau-comas +seemed to be peaceably inclined, for their women were with them. + +A short distance below the Wau-coma, the young Willamette's horse, +urged till it could go no farther, fell beneath him. The blood gushed +from its nostrils; in a few moments it was dead. The Willamette +extricated himself from it. "A bad horse, _cultus_ [no good]!" he +said, beating it with his whip. After venting his anger on it in that +way, he strode forward on foot. + +And now Cecil was all expectation, on the alert for the first sight of +the bridge. + +"Shall we see it soon?" he asked the young Willamette. + +"When the sun is there, we shall see it," replied the Indian, pointing +to the zenith. The sun still lacked several hours of noon, and Cecil +had to restrain his impatience as best he could. + +Just then an incident occurred that for the time effectually +obliterated all thought of the bridge, and made him a powerful enemy +where he least desired one. + +At a narrow place in the trail, the loose horses that were being +driven at the head of the column became frightened and ran back upon +their drivers. In a moment, squaws, pack-horses, and ponies were all +mingled together. The squaws tried in vain to restore order; it seemed +as if there was going to be a general stampede. The men dashed up from +the rear, Snoqualmie and Cecil among them. Cecil's old nurse happened +to be in Snoqualmie's way. The horse she rode was slow and obstinate; +and when she attempted to turn aside to let Snoqualmie pass he would +not obey the rein, and the chief's way was blocked. To Snoqualmie an +old Indian woman was little more than a dog, and he raised his whip +and struck her across the face. + +Like a flash, Cecil caught the chief's rein and lifted his own whip. +An instant more, and the lash would have fallen across the Indian's +face; but he remembered that he was a missionary, that he was +violating his own precepts of forgiveness in the presence of those +whom he hoped to convert. + +The blow did not fall; he grappled with his anger and held it back; +but Snoqualmie received from him a look of scorn so withering, that it +seemed when Cecil's flashing eyes met his own as if he had been +struck, and he grasped his tomahawk. Cecil released the rein and +turned away without a word. Snoqualmie seemed for a moment to +deliberate within himself; then he let go his weapon and passed on. +Order was restored and the march resumed. + +"You are strong," said the Shoshone renegade to Cecil. He had seen the +whole of the little drama. "You are strong; you held your anger down, +but your eyes struck him as if he were a dog." + +Cecil made no reply, but rode on thinking that he had made an enemy. +He regretted what had happened; and yet, when he recalled the insult, +his blood burned and he half regretted that the blow had not been +given. So, absorbed in painful thought, he rode on, till a murmur +passing down the line roused him. + +"The bridge! The bridge!" + +He looked up hastily, his whole frame responding to the cry. There it +was before him, and only a short distance away,--a great natural +bridge, a rugged ridge of stone, pierced with a wide arched tunnel +through which the waters flowed, extending across the river. It was +covered with stunted pine and underbrush growing in every nook and +crevice; and on it were Indian horsemen with plumed hair and rude +lances. It was the bridge of the Wauna, the Bridge of the Gods, the +bridge he had seen in his vision eight years before. + +For a moment his brain reeled, everything seemed shadowy and unreal, +and he half expected to see the bridge melt, like the vision, into +mist before his eyes. + +Like one in a dream, he rode with the others to the place where the +path turned abruptly and led over the bridge to the northern bank of +the Columbia. Like one in a dream he listened, while the young +Willamette told him in a low tone that this bridge had been built by +the gods when the world was young, that it was the _tomanowos_ of the +Willamettes, that while it stood they would be strongest of all the +tribes, and that if it fell they would fall with it. As they crossed +it, he noted how the great arch rung to his horse's hoofs; he noted +the bushes growing low down to the tunnel's edge; he noted how +majestic was the current as it swept into the vast dark opening below, +how stately the trees on either bank. Then the trail turned down the +river-bank again toward the Willamette, and the dense fir forest shut +out the mysterious bridge from Cecil's backward gaze. + +Solemnity and awe came to him. He had seen the bridge of his vision; +he had in truth been divinely called to his work. He felt that the +sight of the bridge was both the visible seal of God upon his mission +and a sign that its accomplishment was close at hand. He bowed his +head involuntarily, as in the presence of the Most High. He felt that +he rode to his destiny, that for him all things converged and +culminated at the great council. + +They had not advanced far into the wood ere the whole train came to a +sudden halt. Riding forward, Cecil found a band of horsemen awaiting +them. They were Klickitats, mounted on good ponies; neither women nor +pack-horses were with them; they were armed and painted, and their +stern and menacing aspect was more like that of men who were on the +war-trail than of men who were riding to a "peace-talk." + +The Cayuses halted a short distance away. Snoqualmie rode forward and +met the Klickitat chief in the space between the two bands. A few +words passed, fierce and questioning on the part of the Klickitat, +guarded and reserved on the part of the Cayuse. Then the Klickitat +seemed to suggest something at which the Cayuse shook his head +indignantly. The other instantly wheeled his horse, rode back to his +band, and apparently reported what Snoqualmie had said; for they all +set up a taunting shout, and after flinging derisive words and +gestures at the Cayuses, turned around and dashed at full gallop down +the trail, leaving the Cayuses covered with a cloud of dust. + +And then Cecil knew that the spectacle meant war. + +The air grew softer and more moist as they descended the western slope +of the Cascade Range. The pines gave way to forests of fir, the +underwood became denser, and ferns grew thick along the trail. It had +rained the night before, and the boughs and bushes hung heavy with +pendant drops. Now and then an Indian rider, brushing against some +vine or maple or low swaying bough, brought down upon himself a +drenching shower. The disgusted "ugh!" of the victim and the laughter +of the others would bring a smile to even Cecil's lips. + +And so approaching the sea, they entered the great, wooded, rainy +valley of the lower Columbia. It was like a different world from the +desert sands and prairies of the upper Columbia. It seemed as if they +were entering a land of perpetual spring. They passed through groves +of spreading oaks; they skirted lowlands purple with blooming _camas_; +they crossed prairies where the grass waved rank and high, and sunny +banks where the strawberries were ripening in scarlet masses. And ever +and anon they caught sight of a far snow peak lifted above the endless +reach of forest, and through openings in the trees caught glimpses of +the Columbia spreading wide and beautiful between densely wooded +shores whose bending foliage was literally washed by the waters. + +At length, as the sun was setting, they emerged from the wood upon a +wide and level beach. Before them swept the Columbia, broader and +grander than at any previous view, steadily widening as it neared the +sea. Opposite them, another river, not as large as the Columbia, but +still a great river, flowed into it. + +"Willamette," said the young runner, pointing to this new river. +"Wappatto Island," he added, indicating a magnificent prospect of wood +and meadow that lay just below the mouth of the Willamette down along +the Columbia. Cecil could not see the channel that separated it from +the mainland on the other side, and to him it seemed, not an island, +but a part of the opposite shore. + +Around them on the beach were groups of Indians, representatives of +various petty tribes who had not yet passed to the island of council. +Horses were tethered to the driftwood strewed along the beach; packs +and saddles were heaped on the banks awaiting the canoes that were to +carry them over. Across the river, Cecil could see upon the island +scattered bands of ponies feeding and many Indians passing to and fro. +Innumerable lodges showed among the trees. The river was dotted with +canoes. Never before had he beheld so large an encampment, not even +among the Six Nations or the Sioux. It seemed as if all the tribes of +Puget Sound and the Columbia were there. + +As they halted on the bank, a little canoe came skimming over the +water like a bird. It bore a messenger from Multnomah, who had seen +the Cayuses as soon as they emerged on the beach. + +"Send your packs over in canoes, swim your horses, camp on the +island," was the laconic message. Evidently, in view of the coming +struggle, Multnomah wanted the loyal Cayuses close at hand. + +In a little while the horses were stripped of their packs, which were +heaped in the canoes that had followed the messenger, and the crossing +began. A hair rope was put around the neck of a horse, and the end +given to a man in a canoe. The canoe was then paddled out into the +stream, and the horse partly pulled, partly pushed into the river. The +others after much beating followed their leader; and in a little while +a long line of half submerged horses and riders was struggling across +the river, while the loaded canoes brought up the rear. The rapid +current swept them downward, and they landed on the opposite bank at a +point far below that from which they started. + +On the bank of the Columbia, near Morgan's Lake, an old gnarled +cottonwood still marks the ancient landing-place; and traces remain of +the historic trail which led up from the river-bank into the interior +of the island,--a trail traversed perhaps for centuries,--the great +Indian road from the upper Columbia to the Willamette valley. + +The bank was black with people crowding out to see the latest +arrivals. It was a thronging multitude of dusky faces and diverse +costumes. The Nootka with his tattooed face was there, clad in his +woollen blanket, his gigantic form pushing aside the short Chinook of +the lower Columbia, with his crooked legs, his half-naked body +glistening with grease, his slit nose and ears loaded with _hiagua_ +shells. Choppunish women, clad in garments of buckskin carefully +whitened with clay, looked with scorn on the women of the Cowlitz and +Clatsop tribes, whose only dress was a fringe of cedar bark hanging +from the waist. The abject Siawash of Puget Sound, attired in a scanty +patch-work of rabbit and woodrat skin, stood beside the lordly Yakima, +who wore deerskin robe and leggins. And among them all, conscious of +his supremacy, moved the keen and imperious Willamette. + +They all gazed wonderingly at Cecil, "the white man," the "long +beard," the "man that came from the Great Spirit," the "_shaman_ of +strong magic,"--for rumors of Cecil and his mission had spread from +tribe to tribe. + +Though accustomed to savage sights, this seemed to Cecil the most +savage of all. Flat heads and round heads; faces scarred, tattooed, +and painted; faces as wild as beasts'; faces proud and haughty, +degraded and debased; hair cut close to the head, tangled, matted, +clogged with filth, carefully smoothed and braided,--every phase of +barbarism in its most bloodthirsty ferocity, its most abject squalor, +met his glance as he looked around him. It seemed like some wild +phantasmagoria, some weird and wondrous dream; and the discord of +tongues, the confusion of dialects, completed the bewildering scene. + +Through the surging crowd they found their way to the place where +their lodges were to be pitched. + +On the morrow the great council was to begin,--the council that to the +passions of that mob of savages might be as the torch to dry +brushwood. On the morrow Multnomah would try and would condemn to +death a rebel chief in the presence of the very ones who were in +secret league with him; and the setting sun would see the Willamette +power supreme and undisputed, or the confederacy would be broken +forever in the death-grapple of the tribes. + +----- + + [9] Lewis and Clark. See also Irving's "Astoria." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +AN INDIAN TRIAL. + + Like flame within the naked hand + His body bore his burning heart. + + DANTE ROSSETTI. + + +Wappatto Island had seen many gatherings of the tribes, but never +before had it seen so large an assembly as on the opening day of the +council. The great cottonwoods of the council-grove waved over an +audience of sachems and warriors the like of which the oldest living +Indian could not remember. + +No weapons were to be seen, for Multnomah had commanded that all arms +be left that day in the lodges. But the dissatisfied Indians had come +with weapons hidden under their robes of deer or wolf skin, which no +one should have known better than Multnomah. Had he taken any +precautions against surprise? Evidently not. A large body of +Willamette warriors, muffled in their blankets, lounged carelessly +around the grove, with not a weapon visible among them; behind them +thronged the vast and motley assemblage of doubtful allies; and back +of them, on the outskirts of the crowd, were the faithful Cayuses, +unarmed like the Willamettes. Had Multnomah's wonderful astuteness +failed him now when it was never needed more? + +He was on the council-seat, a stone covered with furs; the Willamette +sachems sat in their places facing him; and mats were spread for the +chiefs of the tributaries. On a bearskin before the stern war-chief +lay a peace-pipe and a tomahawk; and to the Indians, accustomed to +signs and symbols, the two had a grim significance. + +One by one the chiefs entered the circle and took their seats on the +mats provided for them. Those who were friendly to Multnomah first +laid presents before him; those who were not, took their places +without offering him either gift or salutation. Multnomah, however, +seemed unconscious of any neglect. + +The chief of a Klamath tribe offered him a brilliantly dyed blanket; +another, a finely fringed quiver, full of arrows; another, a long and +massive string of _hiagua_ shells. Each laid his gift before Multnomah +and took his seat in silence. + +The chief of the Chopponish presented him with a fine horse, the best +belonging to his tribe. Multnomah accepted it, and a slave led it +away. Then came Snoqualmie, bringing with him Cecil Grey. The chief's +hour of vengeance was at hand. + +"Behold the white man from the land where the sun rises, the white +_shaman_ of whom all the tribes have heard. He is thine. Let him be +the white slave of Multnomah. All the chiefs have slaves, but who will +have a white slave like Multnomah?" + +Cecil saw the abyss of slavery yawning before him, and grew pale to +the lips. His heart sank within him; then the resolute purpose that +never failed him in time of peril returned; he lifted his head and met +Multnomah's gaze with dignity. The war-chief bent on him the glance +which read men to the heart. + +"The white stranger has been a chief among his own people," he said to +Cecil, more in the manner of one asserting a fact than asking a +question. + +"I have often spoken to my people in the gatherings to hear the word +of the Great Spirit." + +Again the keen, inscrutable gaze of the great chief seemed to probe +his being to its core; again the calm, grave stranger met it without +shrinking. The instinct, so common among savage races, of in some way +_knowing_ what a man is, of intuitively grasping his true merit, was +possessed by Multnomah in a large degree; and the royalty in his +nature instinctively recognized the royalty in Cecil's. + +"The white guest who comes into the land of Multnomah shall be to him +as a guest; the chief should still be chief in any land. White +stranger, Multnomah gives you welcome; sit down among the chiefs." + +Cecil took his place among them with all the composure he could +command, well knowing that he who would be influential among the +Indians must seem to be unmoved by any change of fortune. He felt, +however, not only the joy of personal deliverance, but mingled with it +came the glad, triumphant thought that he had now a voice in the +deliberations of the chiefs; it was a grand door opened for Indian +evangelization. As for Snoqualmie, his face was as impassive as +granite. One would have said that Cecil's victory was to him a matter +of no moment at all. But under the guise of indifference his anger +burned fierce and deadly,--not against Multnomah but against Cecil. + +The last chief had taken his place in the council. There was a long, +ceremonious pause. Then Multnomah arose. He looked over the council, +upon the stern faces of the Willamettes and the loyal tributaries, +upon the sullen faces of the malcontents, upon the fierce and lowering +multitude beyond. Over the throng he looked, and felt as one feels who +stands on the brink of a volcano; yet his strong voice never rang +stronger, the grand old chief never looked more a chief than then. + +"He is every inch a king," thought Cecil. The chief spoke in the +common Willamette language, at that time the medium of intercourse +between the tribes as the Chinook is now. The royal tongue was not +used in a mixed council. + +"Warriors and chiefs, Multnomah gives you welcome. He spreads the +buffalo-robe." He made the Indian gesture of welcome, opening his +hands to them with a backward and downward gesture, as of one +spreading a robe. "To the warriors Multnomah says, 'The grass upon my +prairies is green for your horses; behold the wood, the water, the +game; they are yours.' To the chiefs he says, 'The mat is spread for +you in my own lodge and the meat is cooked.' The hearts of the +Willamettes change not as the winters go by, and your welcome is the +same as of old. Word came to us that the tribes were angry and had +spoken bitter things against the Willamettes; yes, that they longed +for the confederacy to be broken and the old days to come again when +tribe was divided against tribe and the Shoshones and Spokanes +trampled upon you all. But Multnomah trusted his allies; for had they +not smoked the peace-pipe with him and gone with him on the +war-trail? So he stopped his ears and would not listen, but let those +rumors go past him like thistle-down upon the wind. + +"Warriors, Multnomah has shown his heart. What say you? Shall the +peace-pipe be lighted and the talk begin?" + +He resumed his seat. All eyes turned to where the peace-pipe and the +tomahawk lay side by side before the council. Multnomah seemed waiting +for them to choose between the two. + +Then Snoqualmie, the bravest and most loyal of the tributaries, +spoke. + +"Let the peace-pipe be lighted; we come not for strife, but to be knit +together." + +The angry malcontents in the council only frowned and drew their +blankets closer around them. Tohomish the seer, as the oldest chief +and most renowned medicine-man present, came forward and lighted the +pipe,--a long, thin piece of carving in black stone, the workmanship +of the Nootkas or Hydahs, who made the more elaborate pipes used by +the Indians of the Columbia River. + +Muttering some mystical incantation, he waved it to the east and the +west, to the north and the south; and when the charm was complete, +gave it to Multnomah, who smoked it and passed it to Snoqualmie. From +chief to chief it circled around the whole council, but among them +were those who sat with eyes fixed moodily on the ground and would not +so much as touch or look at it. As the pipe passed round there was a +subdued murmur and movement in the multitude, a low threatening +clamor, as yet held in check by awe of Multnomah and dread of the +Willamette warriors. But the war-chief seemed unconscious that any had +refused the pipe. He now arose and said,-- + +"The pipe is smoked. Are not our hearts as one? Is there not perfect +trust between us? Now let us talk. First of all, Multnomah desires +wise words from his brethren. Last winter one of the tribes rose up +against Multnomah, saying that he should no longer be elder brother +and war-chief of the tribes. But the rebels were beaten and all of +them slain save the chief, who was reserved to be tried before you. +You in your wisdom shall decide what shall be done with the warrior +who has rebelled against his chief and stained his hands with the +blood of his brethren." + +Two Willamette braves then entered the circle, bringing with them one +whose hands were tied behind him, whose form was emaciated with hunger +and disease, but whose carriage was erect and haughty. Behind came a +squaw, following him into the very presence of Multnomah, as if +resolved to share his fortunes to the last. It was his wife. She was +instantly thrust back and driven with brutal blows from the council. +But she lingered on the outskirts of the crowd, watching and waiting +with mute, sullen fidelity the outcome of the trial. No one looked at +her, no one cared for her; even her husband's sympathizers jostled the +poor shrinking form aside,--for she was only a squaw, while he was a +great brave. + +He looked a great brave, standing there before Multnomah and the +chiefs with a dignity in his mien that no reverse could crush, no +torture could destroy. Haggard, starved, bound, his eyes gleamed +deathless and unconquerable hate on council and war-chief alike. +There were dark and menacing looks among the malcontents; in the +captive they saw personified their own loss of freedom and the hated +domination of the Willamettes. + +"Speak! You that were a chief, you whose people sleep in the +dust,--what have you to say in your defence? The tribes are met +together, and the chiefs sit here to listen and to judge." + +The rebel sachem drew himself up proudly and fixed his flashing eyes +on Multnomah. + +"The tongue of Multnomah is a trap. I am brought not to be tried but +to be condemned and slain, that the tribes may see it and be afraid. +No one knows this better than Multnomah. Yet I will speak while I +still live, and stand here in the sun; for I go out into the darkness, +and the earth will cover my face, and my voice shall be heard no more +among men. + +"Why should the Willamettes rule the other tribes? Are they better +than we? The Great Spirit gave us freedom, and who may make himself +master and take it away? + +"I was chief of a tribe; we dwelt in the land the Great Spirit gave +our fathers; their bones were in it; it was ours. But the Willamettes +said to us, 'We are your elder brethren, you must help us. Come, go +with us to fight the Shoshones.' Our young men went, for the +Willamettes were strong and we could not refuse them. Many were slain, +and the women wailed despairingly. The Willamettes hunted on our +hunting-grounds and dug the _camas_ on our prairies, so that there was +not enough for us; and when winter came, our children cried for food. +Then the runners of the Willamettes came to us through the snow, +saying, 'Come and join the war-party that goes to fight the +Bannocks.' + +"But our hearts burned within us and we replied, 'Our hunting-grounds +and our food you have taken; will you have our lives also? Go back and +tell your chief that if we must fight, we will fight him and not the +Bannocks.' Then the Willamettes came upon us and we fought them, for +their tyranny was so heavy that we could not breathe under it and +death had become better than life. But they were the stronger, and +when did the heart of a Willamette feel pity? To-day I only am left, +to say these words for my race. + +"Who made the Willamettes masters over us? The Great Spirit gave us +freedom, and none may take it away. Was it not well to fight? Yes; +free my hands and give me back my people from the cairns and the +death-huts, and we will fight again! I go to my death, but the words I +have spoken will live. The hearts of those listening here will +treasure them up; they will be told around the lodge-fires and +repeated in the war-dance. The words I speak will go out among the +tribes, and no man can destroy them. Yes, they go out words, but they +will come back arrows and war in the day of vengeance when the tribes +shall rise against the oppressor. + +"I have spoken, my words are done." + +He stood erect and motionless. The wrath and disdain passed from his +features, and stoicism settled over them like a mask of stone. +Multnomah's cold regard had not faltered a moment under the chief's +invective. No denunciation could shake that iron self-control. + +The rebellious chiefs interchanged meaning glances; the throng of +malcontents outside the grove pressed closer upon the ring of +Willamette warriors, who were still standing or squatting idly around +it. More than one weapon could be seen among them in defiance of the +war-chief's prohibition; and the presage of a terrible storm darkened +on those grim, wild faces. The more peaceably disposed bands began to +draw themselves apart. An ominous silence crept through the crowd as +they felt the crisis approaching. + +But Multnomah saw nothing, and the circle of Willamette warriors were +stolidly indifferent. + +"Can they not see that the tribes are on the verge of revolt?" thought +Cecil, anxiously, fearing a bloody massacre. + +"You have heard the words of the rebel. What have you to say? Let the +white man speak first, as he was the last to join us." + +Cecil rose and pictured in the common Willamette tongue, with which he +had familiarized himself during his long stay with the Cayuses, the +terrible results of disunion, the desolating consequences of +war,--tribe clashing against tribe and their common enemies trampling +on them all. Even those who were on the verge of insurrection listened +reverently to the "white wizard," who had drawn wisdom from the Great +Spirit; but it did not shake their purpose. Their own dreamers had +talked with the Great Spirit too, in trance and vision, and had +promised them victory over the Willamettes. + +Tohomish followed; and Cecil, who had known some of the finest orators +in Europe, listened in amazement to a voice the most musical he had +ever heard. He looked in wonder on the repulsive features that seemed +so much at variance with those melodious intonations. Tohomish pleaded +for union and for the death of the rebel. It seemed for a moment as if +his soft, persuasive accents would win the day, but it was only for a +moment; the spell was broken the instant he ceased. Then Snoqualmie +spoke. One by one, the great sachems of the Willamettes gave their +voices for death. Many of the friendly allies did not give their +decision at all, but said to Multnomah,-- + +"You speak for us; your word shall be our word." + +When the dissatisfied chiefs were asked for their counsel, the sullen +reply was given,-- + +"I have no tongue to-day;" or "I do not know." + +Multnomah seemed not to notice their answers. Only those who knew him +best saw a gleam kindling in his eyes that told of a terrible +vengeance drawing near. The captive waited passively, seeming neither +to see nor hear. + +At length all had spoken or had an opportunity to speak, and Multnomah +rose to give the final decision. Beyond the circle of Willamettes, who +were still indifferent and unconcerned, the discontented bands had +thrown aside all concealment, and stood with bared weapons in their +hands; all murmurs had ceased; there was a deathlike silence in the +dense mob, which seemed gathering itself together for a forward +rush,--the commencement of a fearful massacre. + +Behind it were the friendly Cayuses, but not a weapon could be seen +among them. The chief saw all; saw too that his enemies only waited +for him to pronounce sentence upon the captive,--that that was the +preconcerted signal for attack. Now among some of the tribes sentence +was pronounced not by word but by gesture; there was the gesture for +acquittal, the gesture for condemnation. + +Multnomah lifted his right hand. There was breathless suspense. What +would it be? Fixing his eyes on the armed malcontents who were waiting +to spring, he clinched his hand and made a downward gesture, as if +striking a blow. It was the death-signal, the death-sentence. + +In an instant a deafening shout rang through the grove, and the +bloodthirsty mob surged forward to the massacre. + +Then, so suddenly that it blended with and seemed a part of the same +shout, the dreaded Willamette war-cry shook the earth. Quick as +thought, the Willamettes who had been lounging so idly around the +grove were on their feet, their blankets thrown aside, the weapons +that had been concealed under them ready in their hands. A wall of +indomitable warriors had leaped up around the grove. At the same +moment, the Cayuses in the rear bared their weapons and shouted back +the Willamette war-cry. + +The rebels were staggered. The trap was sprung on them before they +knew that there was a trap. Those in front shrank back from the iron +warriors of Multnomah, those in the rear wavered before the fierce +Cayuses. They paused, a swaying flood of humanity, caught between two +lines of rock. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +SENTENCED TO THE WOLF-DEATH. + + The other, great of soul, changed not + Countenance stern. + + DANTE. + + +In that momentary pause Multnomah did something that showed the cold +disdainfulness of his character as nothing else could have done. He +had given the death-sign; he had not yet told how or when death was to +be inflicted. He gave the sentence _now_, as if in utter scorn of the +battle-cloud that hung quivering, ready to burst. + +"He would have torn the confederacy to pieces; let him be left bound +in the wood of the wolves, and torn limb from limb by them as he would +have rent the tribes asunder." + +The two warriors who had brought the criminal into the council came +forward, flung a covering over his head and face, and led him away. +Perhaps no custom of the northwestern Indians was more sombre than +this,--the covering of the culprit's eyes from the time of his +sentence till his death. Never again were those eyes to behold the +sun. + +Then, and not till then, did Multnomah turn his gaze on the +malcontents, who stood, desperate but hesitating, hemmed in by the +Willamettes and the Cayuses. + +"You have chosen the tomahawk instead of the peace-pipe. Shall +Multnomah choose the tomahawk also? Know you not that Multnomah holds +your lives in his hand, and that he can crush you like an eggshell if +he chooses?" + +The war-chief lifted his arm as he spoke, and slowly closed his +fingers till his hand was clinched. The eyes of Willamette and +tributary alike hung on those slowly closing fingers, with their own +strained on their tomahawks. That was half the death-signal! Would he +give the other half,--the downward gesture? The baffled rebels tasted +all the bitterness of death in that agonizing suspense. They felt that +their lives were literally in his grasp; and so the stern autocrat +wished them to feel, for he knew it was a lesson they would never +forget. + +At length he spoke. + +"Drop your weapons and Multnomah will forget what he has seen, and all +will be well. Strike but a blow, and not one of you will ever go back +over the trail to his home." + +Then he turned to the chiefs, and there was that in his tones which +told them to expect no mercy. + +"How comes it that your braves lift their tomahawks against Multnomah +in his own council and on his own land? Speak! chiefs must answer for +their people." + +There was sullen silence for a little time; then one of them muttered +that it was the young men; their blood was hot, they were rash, and +the chiefs could not control them. + +"Can you not control your young men? Then you are not fit to be +chiefs, and are chiefs no longer." He gave a signal to certain of the +Willamettes who had come up behind the rebellious leaders, as they +stood confused and hesitating in the council. They were seized and +their hands bound ere they could defend themselves; indeed, they made +no effort to do so, but submitted doggedly. + +"Take them down the Wauna in the sea-canoes and sell them as slaves to +the Nootkas who hunt seal along the coast. Their people shall see +their faces no more. Slaves in the ice-land of the North shall they +live and die." + +The swarthy cheeks of the captives grew ashen, and a shudder went +through that trapped and surrounded mob of malcontents. Indian slavery +was always terrible; but to be slaves to the brutal Indians of the +north, starved, beaten, mutilated, chilled, and benumbed in a land of +perpetual frost; to perish at last in the bleak snow and winter of +almost arctic coasts,--that was a fate worse than the torture-stake. + +Dreadful as it was, not a chief asked for mercy. Silently they went +with their captors out of the grove and down the bank to the river's +edge. A large sea-canoe, manned by Chinook paddlers, was floating at +the beach. They quickly embarked, the paddles dipped, the canoe glided +out into the current and down the stream. In a few moments the +cottonwood along the river's edge hid it from sight, and the rebels +were forever beyond the hope of rescue. + +Swift and merciless had the vengeance of Multnomah fallen, and the +insurrection had been crushed at a blow. It had taken but a moment, +and it had all passed under the eyes of the malcontents, who were +still surrounded by the loyal warriors. + +When the canoe had disappeared and the gaze of that startled and awed +multitude came back to Multnomah, he made a gesture of dismissal. The +lines drew aside and the rebels were free. + +While they were still bewildered and uncertain what to do, Multnomah +instantly and with consummate address called the attention of the +council to other things, thereby apparently assuming that the trouble +was ended and giving the malcontents to understand that no further +punishment was intended. Sullenly, reluctantly, they seemed to accept +the situation, and no further indications of revolt were seen that +day. + +Popular young men, the bravest of their several tribes, were appointed +by Multnomah to fill the vacant chieftainships; and that did much +toward allaying the discontent. Moreover, some troubles between +different tribes of the confederacy, which had been referred to him +for arbitration, were decided with rare sagacity. At length the +council ended for the day, the star of the Willamettes still in the +ascendant, the revolt seemingly subdued. + +So the first great crisis passed. + + * * * * * + +That evening a little band of Willamette warriors led the rebel +sachem, still bound and blindfolded, down to the river's bank, where a +canoe lay waiting them. His wife followed and tried to enter it with +him, as if determined to share his fortunes to the very last; but the +guard thrust her rudely away, and started the canoe. As it moved away +she caught the prow wildly, despairingly, as if she could not let her +warrior go. One of the guards struck her hands brutally with his +paddle, and she released her hold. The boat glided out into the river. +Not a word of farewell had passed between the condemned man and his +wife, for each disdained to show emotion in the presence of the enemy. +She remained on the bank looking after him, mute and despondent,--a +forlorn creature clothed in rags and emaciated with hunger, an outcast +from all the tribes. She might have been regarded as a symbolic figure +representing woman among the Indians, as she stood there with her +bruised hands, throbbing with pain where the cruel blow had fallen, +hanging, in sullen scorn of pain, uncared for by her side. So she +stood watching the canoe glide down the river, till it was swallowed +up in the gathering shadows of evening. + +The canoe dropped down the river to a lonely point on the northern +shore, a place much frequented by wolves. There, many miles below the +encampment on the island, they disembarked and took the captive into +the wood. He walked among them with a firm and even tread; there was +no sign of flinching, though he must have known that his hour was +close at hand. They bound him prostrate at the foot of an oak, tying +him to the hard, tough roots that ran over the ground like a network, +and from which the earth had been washed away, so that thongs could be +passed around them. + +Head and foot they bound him, drawing the rawhide thongs so tight that +they sank into the flesh, and knotting them, till no effort possible +to him could have disentangled him. It was on his lips to ask them to +leave one arm free, so that he might at least die fighting, though it +were with but one naked hand. But he hated them too much to ask even +that small favor, and so submitted in disdainful silence. + +The warriors all went back to the canoe, except one, an old hunter, +famed for his skill in imitating every cry of bird or beast. Standing +beside the bound and prostrate man, he sent forth into the forest the +cry of a wolf. It rang in a thousand echoes and died away, evoking no +response. He listened a moment with bated breath, but could hear +nothing but the deep heart-beat of the man at his feet. Another cry, +with its myriad echoes, was followed by the oppressive sense of +stillness that succeeds an outcry in a lonely wood. Then came a faint, +a far-off sound, the answer of a wolf to a supposed mate. The Indian +replied, and the answer sounded nearer; then another blended with it, +as the pack began to gather. Again the Indian gave the cry, wild and +wolfish, as only a barbarian, half-beast by virtue of his own nature, +could have uttered it. An awful chorus of barking and howling burst +through the forest as the wolves came on, eager for blood. + +The Indian turned and rejoined his comrades at the canoe. They pushed +out into the river, but held the boat in the current by an occasional +paddle-stroke, and waited listening. Back at the foot of the tree the +captive strained every nerve and muscle in one mighty effort to break +the cords that bound him; but it was useless, and he lay back with set +teeth and rigid muscles, while his eyes sought in vain through their +thick covering to see the approach of his foes. Presently a fierce +outburst of howls and snarls told the listeners that the wolves had +found their prey. They lingered and listened a little longer, but no +sound or cry was heard to tell of the last agony under those rending +fangs; the chief died in silence. Then the paddles were dipped again +in the water, and the canoe glided up the river to the camp. + +When they reached the shore they found the rebel's wife awaiting them +in the place where they had left her. She asked no questions; she only +came close and looked at their faces in the dusk, and read there the +thing she sought to know. Then she went silently away. In a little +while the Indian wail for the dead was sounding through the forest. + +"What is that?" asked the groups around the camp fires. + +"The rebel chief's wife wailing the death-wail for her husband," was +the low reply; and in that way the tribes knew that the sentence had +been carried out. Many bands were there, of many languages, but all +knew what that death-wail meant the instant it fell upon their ears. +Multnomah heard it as he sat in council with his chiefs, and there was +something in it that shook even his iron heart; for all the wilder, +more superstitious elements of the Indians thrilled to two +things,--the war-cry and the death-wail. He dismissed his chiefs and +went to his lodge. On the way he encountered Tohomish, lurking, as was +his wont, under the shadow of the trees. + +"What think you now, Tohomish, you who love darkness and shadow, what +think you? Is not the arm of the Willamette strong? Has it not put +down revolt to-day, and held the tribes together?" + +The Pine Voice looked at him sorrowfully. + +"The vision I told in the council has come back to me again. The cry +of woe I heard far off then is nearer now, and the throng on the +death-trail passes thicker and swifter. That which covered their faces +is lifted, and their faces are the faces of Willamettes, and Multnomah +is among them. The time is close at hand." + +"Say this before our enemies, and, strong _tomanowos_ though you are, +you die!" said the chief, laying his hand on his tomahawk. But the +seer was gone, and Multnomah stood alone among the trees. + + * * * * * + +Every evening at dusk, the widow of the rebel sachem went out into the +woods near the camp and wailed her dead. Every night that wild, +desolate lament was lifted and rang through the great encampment,--a +cry that was accusation, defiance, and lament; and even Multnomah +dared not silence her, for among the Indians a woman lamenting her +dead was sacred. So, while Multnomah labored and plotted for union by +day, that mournful cry raised the spirit of wrath and rebellion by +night. And thus the dead liberator was half avenged. + + + + +BOOK IV. + + +_THE LOVE TALE._ + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE INDIAN TOWN. + + The bare ground with hoarie mosse bestrowed + Must be their bed, their pillow was unsowed + And the frutes of the forrest was their feast. + + _The Faerie Queene._ + + +Never before had there come to Cecil so grand an opportunity for +disseminating gospel truth. The work of half a lifetime might be done +in a few days. + +"The tribes are all gathered together in one encampment, and I can +talk with them all, tell them of God, of the beauty of heaven and of +the only Way. Then, when they disperse, they will carry my teaching in +every direction, and so it will be scattered throughout all this wild +land." + +This was the thought that came to Cecil when he awoke on the morning +after the trial. Now was the time to work! Now was the time for every +element of argument, persuasion, and enthusiasm to be exerted to the +utmost. + +Earnestly did he pray that morning, kneeling in his lodge beside his +couch of furs, that God would be with and help him. And as he prayed, +warm and glowing was the love and tenderness that filled his heart. +When the day was a little more advanced, he entered upon his work. The +camp was astir with life; nearly all had finished their morning meal, +and the various employments and diversions of the day were begun. Each +tribe or band had pitched its lodges apart, though not far from the +others. It was not so much an encampment as a group of many +encampments, and the whole made up a scattered town of huts and +wigwams. + +A precarious and uncertain quiet had succeeded the agitation of the +day before. Multnomah's energy had awed the malcontents into temporary +submission, and the different bands were mingling freely with one +another; though here and there a chief or warrior looked on +contemptuously, standing moodily apart, wrapped in his blanket. Now +and then when a Willamette passed a group who were talking and +gesticulating animatedly they would become silent all at once till the +representative of the dreaded race was out of hearing, when a storm of +indignant gutterals would burst forth; but there were no other +indications of hostility. + +Groups were strolling from place to place observing curiously the +habits and customs of other tribes; the common Willamette tongue, +precursor of the more modern Chinook jargon, furnishing a means of +intercourse. Everywhere Cecil found talk, barter, diversion. It was a +rude caricature of civilization, the picture of society in its +infancy, the rough dramatization of that phase through which every +race passes in its evolution from barbarism. + +At one place, a hunter from the interior was bartering furs for +_hiagua_ shells to a native of the sea-coast. At another, a brave +skilled in wood-work had his stock of bows and arrows spread out +before him, and an admiring crowd were standing around looking on. But +the taciturn brave sat coolly polishing and staining his arrows as if +he were totally unconscious of spectators, until the magical word +"buy" was mentioned, when he at once awoke to life and drove a bargain +in bow and quiver _versus_ dried berries and "ickters" that would have +done credit to a Yankee. + +At one place sat an old warrior from the upper Columbia, making +arrow-heads, chipping off the little scales of flint with infinite +patience, literally _wearing_ the stone into the requisite shape. +Beside him lay a small pack of flints brought from beyond the +mountains, for such stone was rarely found along the lower Columbia. +Squaws sat in front of their wigwams sewing mats,--carefully sorting +the rushes, putting big ends with little ends, piercing each with a +bodkin, and sewing them all together with a long bone needle threaded +with buckskin or sinew. Others were weaving that water-tight +wickerwork which was, perhaps, the highest art to which the Oregon +Indians ever attained. Here a band of Indians were cooking, feasting, +laughing, shouting around a huge sturgeon captured the night before. +There a circle of gamblers were playing "hand,"--passing a small stick +secretly from hand to hand and guessing whose hand contained +it,--singing as they played that monotonous "ho-ha, ho-ha, ho-ha," +which was the inseparable accompaniment of dancing, gambling, and +horseback riding. + +Among them all Cecil moved with the calm dignity he had acquired from +long intercourse with the Indians. Wherever he went there was silence +and respect, for was he not the great white medicine-man? Gambling +circles paused in the swift passage of the stick and the monotone of +the chant to look and to comment; buyers and sellers stopped to gaze +and to question; children who had been building miniature wigwams of +sticks or floating bark canoes in the puddles, ran away at his +approach and took shelter in the thickets, watching him with twinkling +black eyes. + +Wherever there was opportunity, he stopped and talked, scattering +seed-thoughts in the dark minds of the Indians. Wherever he paused a +crowd would gather; whenever he entered a wigwam a throng collected at +the door. + +Let us glance for a moment into the domestic life of the Indians as +Cecil saw it that morning. + +He enters one of the large bark huts of the Willamette Indians, a +long, low building, capable of sheltering sixty or seventy persons. +The part around the door is painted to represent a man's face, and the +entrance is through the mouth. Within, he finds a spacious room +perhaps eighty or a hundred feet long by twenty wide, with rows of +rude bunks rising tier above tier on either side. In the centre are +the stones and ashes of the hearth; above is an aperture in the roof +for the escape of smoke; around the hearth mats are spread to sit +upon; the bare ground, hard and trodden, forms the only floor, and the +roof is made of boards that have been split out with mallet and +wedges. + +Cecil enters and stands a moment in silence; then the head of the +house advances and welcomes him. The best mat is spread for him to sit +upon; food is brought,--pounded fish, nuts, and berries, and a kind of +bread made of roots cooked, crushed together, and cut in slices when +cold. All this is served on a wooden platter, and he must eat whether +hungry or not; for to refuse would be the grossest affront that could +be offered a Willamette host, especially if it were presented by his +own hands. The highest honor that a western Oregon Indian could do his +guest was to wait on him instead of letting his squaw do it. The +Indian host stands beside Cecil and says, in good-humored hospitality, +"Eat, eat much," nor is he quite pleased if he thinks that his visitor +slights the offered food. When the guest can be no longer persuaded to +eat more, the food is removed, the platter is washed in water, and +dried with a wisp of twisted grass; a small treasure of tobacco is +produced from a little buckskin pocket and a part of it carefully +mixed with dried leaves;[10] the pipe is filled and smoked. Then, and +not till then, may the Indian host listen to the talk of the white +man. + +So it was in lodge after lodge; he must first eat, be it ever so +little. Two centuries later, the Methodist and Congregational +missionaries found themselves confronted with the same oppressive +hospitality among the Rocky Mountain Indians.[11] Nay, they need not +visit a wigwam; let them but stroll abroad through the village, and if +they were popular and the camp was well supplied with buffalo-meat, +messengers would come with appalling frequency, bearing the laconic +invitation, "Come and eat;" and the missionary must go, or give +offence, even though he had already gone to half a dozen wigwams on +the same errand. There is a grim humor in a missionary's eating fresh +buffalo-meat in the cause of religion until he is like to burst, and +yet heroically going forth to choke down a few mouthfuls more, lest he +offend some dusky convert. + +At one house Cecil witnessed a painful yet comical scene. The +Willamettes were polygamists, each brave having as many wives as he +was able to buy; and Cecil was in a lodge where the brother of the +head man of that lodge brought home his second wife. At the entrance +of the second wife, all gay in Indian finery, the first did not +manifest the sisterly spirit proper for the occasion. After sitting +awhile in sullen silence, she arose and began to kick the fire about, +accompanying that performance with gutteral exclamations addressed to +no one in particular; she struck the dog, which chanced to be in the +way, sending it yelping from the wigwam; and then, having worked +herself into a rage, began to scold her husband, who listened grimly +but said nothing. At last she turned on her new-found sister, struck +her, and began to lay rending hands on the finery that their mutual +husband had given her. That was instantly resented; and in a few +moments the squaws were rolling on the floor, biting, scratching, and +pulling each other's hair with the fury of devils incarnate. The dogs, +attracted by the tumult, ran in and began to bark at them; the Indians +outside the hut gathered at the door, looking in and laughing; the +husband contemplated them as they rolled fighting at his feet, and +then looked at Cecil. It was undoubtedly trying to Indian dignity but +the warrior sustained his admirably. "Bad, very bad," was the only +comment he allowed himself to make. Cecil took his leave, and the +brave kept up his air of indifference until the white man had gone. +Then he quietly selected a cudgel from the heap of fire-wood by the +doorway, and in a short time peace reigned in the wigwam. + +In a lodge not far away, Cecil witnessed another scene yet more +barbarous than this. He found a little blind boy sitting on the ground +near the fire, surrounded by a quantity of fish-bones which he had +been picking. He was made a subject for the taunting jibes and +laughter of a number of men and women squatting around him. His mother +sat by in the most cruel apathy and unconcern, and only smiled when +Cecil expressed commiseration for her unfortunate and peculiarly +unhappy child. It had been neglected and seemed almost starved. Those +around apparently took pleasure in tormenting it and rendering it +miserable, and vied with each other in applying to it insulting and +degrading epithets. The little articles that Cecil gave to it, in the +hope that the Indians seeing him manifest an interest in it would +treat it more tenderly, it put to its mouth eagerly; but not finding +them eatable, it threw them aside in disgust. Cecil turned away sick +at heart. Worn, already weary, this last sight was intolerable; and he +went out into the woods, away from the camp. + +But as he walked along he seemed to see the child again, so vividly +had it impressed his imagination. It rose before him in the wood, when +the noise of the camp lay far behind; it seemed to turn its sightless +eyes upon him and reach out its emaciated arms as if appealing for +help.[12] + +Out in the wood he came across an Indian sitting on a log, his face +buried in his hands, his attitude indicating sickness or despondency. +He looked up as Cecil approached. It was the young Willamette runner +who had been his companion on the journey down the Columbia. His face +was haggard; he was evidently very sick. The missionary stopped and +tried to talk with him, but could evoke little response, except that +he did not want to talk, and that he wanted to be left alone. He +seemed so moody and irritable that Cecil thought it best to leave him. +His experience was that talking with a sick Indian was very much like +stirring up a wounded rattlesnake. So he left the runner and went on +into the forest, seeking the solitude without which he could scarcely +have lived amid the degrading barbarism around him. His spirit +required frequent communion with God and Nature, else he would have +died of weariness and sickness of heart. + +Wandering listlessly, he went on further and further from the camp, +never dreaming of what lay before him, or of the wild sweet destiny to +which that dim Indian trail was leading him through the shadowy wood. + +----- + +[10] Lewis and Clark. + +[11] See Parkman's "Oregon Trail," also, Parker's work on + Oregon. + +[12] See Townsend's Narrative, pages 182-183. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE WHITE WOMAN IN THE WOOD. + + I seek a sail that never looms from out the purple haze + At rosy dawn, or fading eve, or in the noontide's blaze. + + CELIA THAXTER. + + +Cecil walked listlessly on through the wood. He was worn out by the +day's efforts, though it was as yet but the middle of the afternoon. +There was a feeling of exhaustion in his lungs, a fluttering pain +about his heart, the result of years of over-work upon a delicate +frame. With this feeling of physical weakness came always the fear +that his strength might give way ere his work was done. Nor was this +all. In these times of depression, the longing to see again the faces +of his friends, to have again the sweet graceful things of the life +that was forever closed to him, rushed over him in a bitter flood. + +The trail led him to the bank of the Columbia, some distance below the +encampment. He looked out over the blue river sweeping majestically +on, the white snow-peaks, the canyons deep in the shadows of +afternoon, the dense forest beyond the river extending away to the +unknown and silent North as far as his eyes could reach. + +"It is wonderful, wonderful!" he thought. "But I would give it all to +look upon one white face." + +So musing, he passed on down the bank of the river. He was now perhaps +two miles from the camp and seemingly in complete solitude. After a +little the path turned away from the beach and led toward the +interior. As he entered the woodland he came upon several Indian +sentinels who lay, bow in hand, beside the path. They sprang up, as if +to intercept his passage; but seeing that it was the white _shaman_ +whom Multnomah had honored, and who had sat at the council with the +great sachems, they let him go on. Cecil indistinctly remembered +having heard from some of the Indians that this part of the island was +strictly guarded; he had forgotten why. So absorbed was he in his +gloomy reflections that he did not stop to question the sentinels, but +went on, not thinking that he might be treading on forbidden ground. +By and by the path emerged from the wood upon a little prairie; the +cottonwoods shut out the Indians from him, and he was again alone. The +sunshine lay warm and golden on the little meadow, and he strolled +forward mechanically, thinking how like it was to some of the sylvan +lawns of his own New England forests. Again the shade of trees fell +over the path. He looked up, his mind full of New England memories, +and saw something that made his heart stand still. For there, not far +from him, stood a girl clad in soft flowing drapery, the dress of a +white woman. In Massachusetts a woman's dress would have been the last +thing Cecil would have noticed. Now, so long accustomed to the Indian +squaws' rough garments of skin or plaited bark, the sight of that +graceful woven cloth sent through him an indescribable thrill. + +He went on, his eager eyes drinking in the welcome sight, yet scarcely +believing what he saw. + +She had not yet observed him. The profile of her half-averted face was +very sweet and feminine; her form was rounded, and her hair fell in +long black ringlets to the shoulders. He was in the presence of a +young and beautiful woman,--a white woman! All this he noted at a +glance; noted, too, the drooping lashes, the wistful lines about the +lips, the mournful expression that shadowed the beauty of her face. + +Who was she? Where could she have come from? + +She heard the approaching footsteps and turned toward him. Absolute +bewilderment was on her face for a moment, and then it glowed with +light and joy. Her dark, sad eyes sparkled. She was radiant, as if +some great, long-looked for happiness had come to her. She came +eagerly toward him, holding out her hands in impetuous welcome; saying +something in a language he did not understand, but which he felt could +not be Indian, so refined and pleasing were the tones. + +He answered he knew not what, in his own tongue, and she paused +perplexed. Then he spoke again, this time in Willamette. + +She shrank back involuntarily. + +"That language?" she replied in the same tongue, but with a tremor of +disappointment in her voice. "I thought you were of my mother's race +and spoke her language. But you _are_ white, like her people?" + +She had given him both her hands, and he stood holding them; looking +down into her eager, lifted face, where a great hope and a great doubt +in mingled light and shadow strove together. + +"I am a white man. I came from a land far to the East. But who are +you, and how came you here?" + +She did not seem to hear the last words, only the first. + +"No, no," she protested eagerly, "you came not from the East but from +the West, the land across the sea that my mother came from in the ship +that was wrecked." And she withdrew one hand and pointed toward the +wooded range beyond which lay the Pacific. + +He shook his head. "No, there are white people in those lands too, but +I never saw them. I came from the East," he said, beginning to surmise +that she must be an Asiatic. She drew away the hand that he still held +in his, and her eyes filled with tears. + +"I thought you were one of my mother's people," she murmured; and he +felt that the pang of an exceeding disappointment was rilling her +heart. + +"Who are you?" he asked gently. + +"The daughter of Multnomah." + +Cecil remembered now what he had heard of the dead white wife of +Multnomah, and of her daughter, who, it was understood among the +tribes, was to be given to Snoqualmie. He noticed, too, for the first +time the trace of the Indian in her expression, as the light faded +from it and it settled back into the despondent look habitual to it. +All that was chivalrous in his nature went out to the fair young +creature; all his being responded to the sting of her disappointment. + +"I am not what you hoped I was, but your face is like the face of the +women of my own land. Shall we not be friends?" + +She looked up wistfully at the handsome and noble countenance above +her, so different from the stolid visages she had known so long. + +"Yes; you are not Indian." + +In that one expression she unconsciously told Cecil how her sensitive +nature shrank from the barbarism around her; how the tastes and +aspirations she had inherited from her mother reached out for better +and higher things. + +In a little while they were seated on a grassy bank in the shade of +the trees, talking together. She bade him tell her of his people. She +listened intently; the bright, beautiful look came back as she heard +the tale. + +"They are kind to women, instead of making them mere burden-bearers; +they have pleasant homes; they dwell in cities? Then they are like my +mother's people." + +"They are gentle, kind, humane. They have all the arts that light up +life and make it beautiful,--not like the tribes of this grim, +bloodstained land." + +"_This_ land!" Her face darkened and she lifted her hand in a quick, +repelling gesture. "This land is a grave. The clouds lie black and +heavy on the spirit that longs for the sunlight and cannot reach it." +She turned to him again. "Go on, your words are music." + +He continued, and she listened till the story of his country and his +wanderings was done. When he ended, she drew a glad, deep breath; her +eyes were sparkling with joy. + +"I am content," she said, in a voice in which there was a deep +heart-thrill of happiness. "Since my mother died I have been alone, +all alone; and I longed, oh so often, for some one who talked and felt +as she did to come to me, and now you have come. I sat cold and +shivering in the night a long time, but the light and warmth have come +at last. Truly, Allah is good!" + +"Allah!" + +"Yes; he was my mother's God, as the Great Spirit is my father's." + +"They are both names for the same All Father," replied Cecil. "They +mean the same thing, even as the sun is called by many names by many +tribes, yet there is but the one sun." + +"Then I am glad. It is good to learn that both prayed to the one God, +though they did not know it. But my mother taught me to use the name +of Allah, and not the other. And while my father and the tribes call +me by my Indian name, 'Wallulah,' she gave me another, a secret name, +that I was never to forget." + +"What is it?" + +"I have never told it, but I will tell you, for you can understand." + +And she gave him a singularly melodious name, of a character entirely +different from any he had ever heard, but which he guessed to be +Arabic or Hindu. + +"It means, 'She who watches for the morning.' My mother told me never +to forget it, and to remember that I was not to let myself grow to be +like the Indians, but to pray to Allah, and to watch and hope, and +that sometime the morning would come and I would be saved from the +things around me. And now you have come and the dawn comes with +you." + +Her glad, thankful glance met his; the latent grace and mobility of +her nature, all roused and vivid under his influence, transfigured her +face, making it delicately lovely. A great pang of longing surged +through him. + +"Oh," he thought, "had I not become a missionary, I might have met and +loved some one like her! I might have filled my life with much that is +now gone from it forever!" + +For eight years he had seen only the faces of savage women and still +more savage men; for eight years his life had been steeped in +bitterness, and all that was tender or romantic in his nature had been +cramped, as in iron fetters, by the coarseness and stolidity around +him. Now, after all that dreary time, he met one who had the beauty +and the refinement of his own race. Was it any wonder that her glance, +the touch of her dress or hair, the soft tones of her voice, had for +him an indescribable charm? Was it any wonder that his heart went out +to her in a yearning tenderness that although not love was dangerously +akin to it? + +He was startled at the sweet and burning tumult of emotion she was +kindling within him. What was he thinking of? He must shake these +feelings off, or leave her. Leave her! The gloom of the savagery that +awaited him at the camp grew tenfold blacker than ever. All the light +earth held for him seemed gathered into the presence of this dark-eyed +girl who sat talking so musically, so happily, by his side. + +"I must go," he forced himself to say at length, "The sun is almost +down." + +"Must you go so soon?" + +"I will come again if you wish." + +"But you must not go yet; wait till the sun reaches the mountain-tops +yonder. I want you to tell me more about your own land." + +So he lingered and talked while the sun sank lower and lower in the +west. It seemed to him that it had never gone down so fast before. + +"I must go now," he said, rising as the sun's red disk sank behind the +mountains. + +"It is not late; see, the sun is shining yet on the brow of the snow +mountains." + +Both looked at the peaks that towered grandly in the light of the +sunken sun while all the world below lay in shadow. Together they +watched the mighty miracle of the afterglow on Mount Tacoma, the soft +rose-flush that transfigured the mountain till it grew transparent, +delicate, wonderful. + +"That is what my life is now,--since you have brought the light to the +'watcher for the morning;'" and she looked up at him with a bright, +trustful smile. + +"Alas?" thought Cecil, "it is not the light of morning but of +sunset." + +Slowly the radiance faded, the rose tint passed; the mountain grew +white and cold under their gaze, like the face of death. Wallulah +shuddered as if it were a prophecy. + +"You will come back to-morrow?" she said, looking at him with her +large, appealing eyes. + +"I will come," he said. + +"It will seem long till your return, yet I have lived so many years +waiting for that which has come at last that I have learned to be +patient." + +"Ask God to help you in your hours of loneliness and they will not +seem so long and dark," said Cecil, whose soul was one tumultuous +self-reproach that he had let the time go by without telling her more +of God. + +"Ah!" she said in a strange, wistful way, "I have prayed to him so +much, but he could not fill _all_ my heart. I wanted so to touch a +hand and look on a face like my mother's. But God has sent you, and so +I know he must be good." + +They parted, and he went back to the camp. + +"Is my mission a failure?" he thought, as he walked along, clinching +his hands in furious anger with himself. "Why do I let a girl's beauty +move me thus, and she the promised wife of another? How dare I think +of aught beside the work God has sent me here to do? Oh, the shame and +guilt of such weakness! I will be faithful. I will never look upon her +face again!" + +He emerged from the wood into the camp; its multitudinous sounds were +all around him, and never had the coarseness and savagery of Indian +life seemed so repellent as now, when he came back to it with his mind +full of Wallulah's grace and loveliness. It was harsh discord after +music. + +Stripped and painted barbarians were hallooing, feasting, dancing; the +whole camp was alive with boisterous hilarity, the result of a day of +good fellowship. Mothers were calling their children in the dusk and +young men were sportively answering, "Here I am, mother." Here and +there, Indians who had been feasting all day lay like gorged anacondas +beside the remnant of their meal; others, who had been gambling, were +talking loudly of the results of the game. + +Through it all the white man walked with swift footsteps, looking +neither to the right nor the left, till he gained his lodge. He flung +himself on his bed and lay there, his fingers strained together +convulsively, his nerves throbbing with pain; vainly struggling with +regret, vainly repeating to himself that he cared nothing for love and +home, that he had put all those things from him, that he was engrossed +now only in his work. + +"Never, never! It can never be." + + * * * * * + +And the English exploring-ship in Yaquina Bay was to weigh anchor on +the morrow, and sail up nearer along the unknown coast. The Indians +had all deserted the sea-board for the council. Would Cecil hear? +Would any one see the sail and bring the news? + + + + +[Illustration: "_I Will kill him!_"] + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +CECIL AND THE WAR-CHIEF. + + Children of the sun, with whom revenge is virtue. + + YOUNG. + + +On the next day came the races, the great diversion of the Indians. +Each tribe ran only one horse,--the best it had. There were thirty +tribes or bands, each with its choicest racer on the track. The Puget +Sound and lower Columbia Indians, being destitute of horses, were not +represented. There had been races every day on a small scale, but they +were only private trials of speed, while to-day was the great day of +racing for all the tribes, the day when the head chiefs ran their +horses. + +The competition was close, but Snoqualmie the Cayuse won the day. He +rode the fine black horse he had taken from the Bannock he had +tortured to death. Multnomah and the chiefs were present, and the +victory was won under the eyes of all the tribes. The haughty, +insolent Cayuse felt that he had gained a splendid success. Only, as +in the elation of victory his glance swept over the crowd, he met the +sad, unapplauding gaze of Cecil, and it made his ever burning +resentment grow hotter still. + +"I hate that man," he thought. "I tried to thrust him down into +slavery, and Multnomah made him a chief. My heart tells me that he is +an enemy. I hate him. I will kill him." + +"Poor Wallulah!" Cecil was thinking. "What a terrible future is before +her as the wife of that inhuman torturer of men!" + +And his sympathies went out to the lonely girl, the golden thread of +whose life was to be interwoven with the bloodstained warp and woof of +Snoqualmie's. But he tried hard not to think of her; he strove +resolutely that day to absorb himself in his work, and the effort was +not unsuccessful. + +After the races were over, a solemn council was held in the grove and +some important questions discussed and decided. Cecil took part, +endeavoring in a quiet way to set before the chiefs a higher ideal of +justice and mercy than their own. He was heard with grave attention, +and saw that more than one chief seemed impressed by his words. Only +Snoqualmie was sullen and inattentive, and Mishlah the Cougar was +watchful and suspicious. + +After the council was over Cecil went to his lodge. On the way he +found the young Willamette runner sitting on a log by the path, +looking even more woebegone than he had the day before. Cecil stopped +to inquire how he was. + +"_Cultus_ [bad]," was grunted in response. + +"Did you see the races?" + +"Races bad. What do I care?" + +"I hope you will be better soon." + +"Yes, better or worse by and by. What do I care?" + +"Can I do anything for you?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +"Go." + +And he dropped his hand upon his knees, doubled himself together, and +refused to say another word. As Cecil turned to go he found Multnomah +standing close by, watching him. + +"Come," said the stern despot, briefly. "I want to talk with you." + +He led the way back through the noisy encampment to the now deserted +grove of council. Everything there was quiet and solitary; the thick +circle of trees hid them from the camp, though its various sounds +floated faintly to them. They were quite alone. Multnomah seated +himself on the stone covered with furs, that was his place in the +council. Cecil remained standing before him, wondering what was on his +mind. Was the war-chief aware of his interview with Wallulah? If so, +what then? Multnomah fixed on him the gaze which few men met without +shrinking. + +"Tell me," he said, while it seemed to Cecil as if that eagle glance +read every secret of his innermost heart, "tell me where your land is, +and why you left it, and the reason for your coming among us. Keep no +thought covered, for Multnomah will see it if you do." + +Cecil's eye kindled, his cheek flushed. Wallulah was forgotten; his +mission, and his mission only, was remembered. He stood before one who +held over the many tribes of the Wauna the authority of a prince: if +_he_ could but be won for Christ, what vast results might follow! + +He told it all,--the story of his home and his work, his call of God +to go to the Indians, his long wanderings, the message he had to +deliver, how it had been received by some and rejected by many; now +he was here, a messenger sent by the Great Spirit to tell the tribes +of the Wauna the true way of life. He told it all, and never had he +been so eloquent. It was a striking contrast, the grim Indian sitting +there leaning on his bow, his sharp, treacherous gaze bent like a bird +of prey on the delicately moulded man pleading before him. + +He listened till Cecil began to talk of love and forgiveness as duties +enjoined by the Great Spirit. Then he spoke abruptly. + +"When you stood up in the council the day the bad chief was tried, and +told of the weakness and the wars that would come if the confederacy +was broken up, you talked wisely and like a great chief and warrior; +now you talk like a woman. Love! forgiveness!" He repeated the words, +looking at Cecil with a kind of wondering scorn, as if he could not +comprehend such weakness in one who looked like a brave man. "War and +hate are the life of the Indian. They are the strength of his heart. +Take them away, and you drain the blood from his veins; you break his +spirit; he becomes a squaw." + +"But my people love and forgive, yet they are not squaws. They are +brave and hardy in battle; their towns are great; their country is +like a garden." + +And he told Multnomah of the laws, the towns, the schools, the settled +habits and industry of New England. The chief listened with growing +impatience. At length he threw his arm up with an indescribable +gesture of freedom, like a man rejecting a fetter. + +"How can they breathe, shut in, bound down like that? How can they +live, so tied and burdened?" + +"Is not that better than tribe forever warring against tribe? Is it +not better to live like men than to lurk in dens and feed on roots +like beasts? Yet we will fight, too; the white man does not love war, +but he will go to battle when his cause is just and war must be." + +"So will the deer and the cayote fight when they can flee no longer. +The Indian loves battle. He loves to seek out his enemy, to grapple +with him, and to tread him down. That is a man's life!" + +There was a wild grandeur in the chief's tone. All the tameless spirit +of his race seemed to speak through him, the spirit that has met +defeat and extermination rather than bow its neck to the yoke of +civilization. Cecil realized that on the iron fibre of the war-chief's +nature his pleading made no impression whatever, and his heart sank +within him. + +Again he tried to speak of the ways of peace, but the chief checked +him impatiently. + +"That is talk for squaws and old men. Multnomah does not understand +it. Talk like a man, if you wish him to listen. Multnomah does not +forgive; Multnomah wants no peace with his enemies. If they are weak +he tramples on them and makes them slaves; if they are strong he +fights them. When the Shoshones take from Multnomah, he takes from +them; if they give him war he gives them war; if they torture one +Willamette at the stake, Multnomah stretches two Shoshones upon +red-hot stones. Multnomah gives hate for hate and war for war. This is +the law the Great Spirit has given the Indian. What law he has given +the white man, Multnomah knows not nor cares!" + +Baffled in his attempt, Cecil resorted to another line of persuasion. +He set before Multnomah the arts, the intelligence, the splendor of +the white race. + +"The Indian has his laws and customs, and that is well; but why not +council with the white people, even as chiefs council together? Send +an embassy to ask that wise white men be sent you, so that you may +learn of their arts and laws; and what seems wise and good you can +accept, what seems not so can be set aside. I know the ways that lead +back to the land of the white man; I myself would lead the embassy." + +It was a noble conception,--that of making a treaty between this +magnificent Indian confederacy and New England for the purpose of +introducing civilization and religion; and for a moment he lost sight +of the insurmountable obstacles in the way. + +"No," replied the chief, "neither alone nor as leader of a peace party +will your feet ever tread again the path that leads back to the land +of the white man. We want not upon our shoulders the burden of his +arts and laws. We want not his teachers to tell us how to be women. If +the white man wants us, let him find his way over the desert and +through the mountains, and we will grapple with him and see which is +the strongest." + +So saying, the war-chief rose and left him. + +"He says that I shall never be allowed to go back," thought Cecil, +with a bitter consciousness of defeat. "Then my mission ends here in +the land of the Bridge, even as I have so often dreamed that it would. +So be it; I shall work the harder now that I see the end approaching. +I shall gather the chiefs in my own lodge this evening and preach to +them." + +While he was forming his resolution, there came the recollection that +Wallulah would look for him, would be expecting him to come to her. + +"I cannot," he thought, though he yearned to go to her. "I cannot go; +I must be faithful to my mission." + +Many chiefs came that night to his lodge; among them, to his surprise, +Tohomish the seer. Long and animated was Cecil's talk; beautiful and +full of spiritual fervor were the words in which he pointed them to a +better life. Tohomish was impassive, listening in his usual brooding +way. The others seemed interested; but when he was done they all rose +up and went away without a word,--all except the Shoshone renegade who +had helped him bury the dead Bannock. He came to Cecil before leaving +the lodge. + +"Sometime," he said, "when it will be easier for me to be good than it +is now, I will try to live the life you talked about to-night." + +Then he turned and went out before Cecil could reply. + +"There is one at least seeking to get nearer God," thought Cecil, +joyfully. After awhile his enthusiasm faded away, and he remembered +how anxiously Wallulah must have waited for him, and how bitterly she +must have been disappointed. Her face, pale and stained with tears, +rose plainly before him. A deep remorse filled his heart. + +"Poor child! I am the first white person she has seen since her mother +died; no wonder she longs for my presence! I must go to her to-morrow. +After all, there is no danger of my caring for her. To me my work is +all in all." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +ARCHERY AND GAMBLING. + + To gambling they are no less passionately addicted in the + interior than on the coast.--BANCROFT: _Native Races_. + + +The next morning came the archery games. The best marksmen of each +tribe contended together under the eyes of Multnomah, and Snoqualmie +the Cayuse won the day. + +These diversions were beginning to produce the result that the politic +chief had intended they should. Better feeling was springing up. The +spirit of discontent that had been rife was disappearing. Every day +good-fellowship grew more and more between the Willamettes and their +allies. Every day Snoqualmie the Cayuse became more popular among the +tribes, and already he was second in influence to none but Multnomah +himself. + +The great war-chief had triumphed over every obstacle; and he waited +now only for the last day of the council, when his daughter should be +given to Snoqualmie and the chiefs should recognize him as the future +head of the confederacy. + +Knowing this, the sight of Snoqualmie's successful archery was almost +intolerable to Cecil, and he turned away from the place where the +games were held. + +"I will seek the young Willamette who is sick," he said to himself. +"Then this evening I will go and visit Wallulah." + +The thought sent the blood coursing warmly through his veins, but he +chided himself for it. "It is but duty, I go to her only as a +missionary," he repeated to himself over and over again. + +He went to the lodge of the young Willamette and asked for him. + +"He is not here," the father of the youth told him. "He is in the +sweat-house. He is sick this morning, _hieu_ sick." + +And the old man emphasized the _hieu_ [much], with a prolonged +intonation and a comprehensive gesture as if the young man were very +sick indeed. To the sweat-house went Cecil forthwith. He found it to +be a little arched hut, made by sticking the ends of bent willow-wands +into the ground and covering them over with skins, leaving only a +small opening for entrance. When a sick person wished to take one of +those "sweat baths" so common among the Indians, stones were heated +red hot and put within the hut, and water was poured on them. The +invalid, stripped to the skin, entered, the opening was closed behind +him, and he was left to steam in the vapors. + +When Cecil came up, the steam was pouring between the overlapping +edges of the skins, and he could hear the young Willamette inside, +chanting a low monotonous song, an endlessly repeated invocation to +his _totem_ to make him well. How he could sing or even breathe in +that stifling atmosphere was a mystery to Cecil. + +By and by the Willamette raised the flap that hung over the entrance +and crawled out, hot, steaming, perspiring at every pore. He rushed +with unsteady footsteps down to the river, only a few yards away, and +plunged into the cold water. After repeatedly immersing himself, he +waded back to the shore and lay down to dry in the sun. The shock to +his nervous system of plunging from a hot steam-bath into ice-cold +water fresh from the snow peaks of the north had roused all his latent +vitality. He had recovered enough to be sullen and resentful to Cecil +when he came up; and after vainly trying to talk with or help him, the +missionary left him. + +It is characteristic of the Indian, perhaps of most half-animal races, +that their moral conduct depends on physical feeling. Like the animal, +they are good-humored, even sportive, when all is well; like the +animal, they are sluggish and unreasoning in time of sickness. + +Cecil went back to the camp. He found that the archery games were +over, and that a great day of gambling had begun. He was astonished at +the eagerness with which all the Indians flung themselves into it. +Multnomah alone took no part, and Tohomish, visible only at the +council, was not there. But with those two exceptions, chiefs, +warriors, all flung themselves headlong into the game. + +First, some of the leading chiefs played at "hand," and each tribe +backed its chief. Furs, skins, weapons, all manner of Indian wealth +was heaped in piles behind the gamblers, constituting the stakes; and +they were divided among the tribes of the winners,--each player +representing a tribe, and his winnings going, not to himself, but to +his people. This rule applied, of course, only to the great public +games; in private games of "hand" each successful player kept his own +spoils. + +Amid the monotonous chant that always accompanied gambling, the two +polished bits of bone (the winning one marked, the other not) were +passed secretly from hand to hand. The bets were made as to who held +the marked stick and in which hand, then a show of hands was made and +the game was lost and won. + +From "hand" they passed to _ahikia_, a game like that of dice, played +with figured beaver teeth or disks of ivory, which were tossed up, +everything depending on the combination of figures presented in their +fall. It was played recklessly. The Indians were carried away by +excitement. They bet anything and everything they had. Wealthy chiefs +staked their all on the turn of the ivory disks, and some were +beggared, some enriched. Cecil noticed in particular Mishlah the +Cougar, chief of the Molallies. He was like a man intoxicated. His +huge bestial face was all ablaze with excitement, his eyes were +glowing like coals. He had scarcely enough intellect to understand the +game, but enough combativeness to fling himself into it body and soul. +He bet his horses and lost them; he bet his slaves and lost again; he +bet his lodges, with their rude furnishings of mat and fur, and lost +once more. Maddened, furious, like a lion in the toils, the desperate +savage staked his wives and children on the throw of the _ahikia_, and +they were swept from him into perpetual slavery. + +Then he rose up and glared upon his opponents, with his tomahawk +clinched in his hand,--as if feeling dimly that he had been wronged, +thirsting for vengeance, ready to strike, yet not knowing upon whom +the blow should fall. There was death in his look, and the chiefs +shrunk from him, when his eyes met Multnomah's, who was looking on; +and the war-chief checked and awed him with his cold glance, as a +tamer of beasts might subdue a rebellious tiger. Then the Molallie +turned and went away, raging, desperate, a chief still, but a chief +without lodge or wife or slave. + +The sight was painful to Cecil, and he too went away while the game +was at its height. Drawn by an influence that he could not resist, he +took the trail that led down the bank of the river to the retreat of +Wallulah. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A DEAD QUEEN'S JEWELS. + + For round about the walls yclothed were + With goodly arras of great maiesty, + Woven with golde and silke so close and nere + That the rich metall lurked privily. + + _The Faerie Queene._ + + +He found the sentinels by the pathway half reluctant to let him pass, +but they did not forbid him. Evidently it was only their awe of him as +the "Great White Prophet," to whom Multnomah had added the dignity of +an Indian sachem, that overcame their scruples. It was with a sense of +doing wrong that he went on. "If Multnomah knew," he thought, "what +would he do?" And brave as Cecil was, he shuddered, thinking how +deadly the wrath of the war-chief would be, if he knew of these secret +visits to his daughter. + +"It is an abuse of hospitality; it is clandestine, wrong," he thought +bitterly. "And yet she is lonely, she needs me, and I must go to her; +but I will never go again." + +Where he had met her before, he found her waiting for him now, a +small, graceful figure, standing in the shadow of the wood. She heard +his footsteps before he saw her, and the melancholy features were +transfigured with joy. She stood hesitating a moment like some shy +creature of the forest, then sprang eagerly forward to meet him. + +"I knew you were coming!" she cried rapturously. "I felt your approach +long before I heard your footsteps." + +"How is that?" said Cecil, holding her hands and looking down into her +radiant eyes. Something of the wild Indian mysticism flashed in them +as she replied: + +"I cannot tell; I knew it! my spirit heard your steps long before my +ears could catch the sound. But oh!" she cried in sudden transition, +her face darkening, her eyes growing large and pathetic, "why did you +not come yesterday? I so longed for you and you did not come. It +seemed as if the day would never end. I thought that perhaps the +Indians had killed you; I thought it might be that I should never see +you again; and all the world grew dark as night, I felt so terribly +alone. Promise me you will never stay away so long again!" + +"Never!" exclaimed Cecil, on the impulse of the moment. An instant +later he would have given the world to have recalled the word. + +"I am so glad!" she cried, clapping her hands in girlish delight; and +he could not pain her by an explanation. + +"After a while I will tell her how impossible it is for me to come +again," he thought. "I cannot tell her now." And he seized upon every +word and look of the lovely unconscious girl, with a hunger of heart +born of eight years' starvation. + +"Now you must come with me to my lodge; you are my guest, and I shall +entertain you. I want you to look at my treasures." + +Cecil went with her, wondering if they would meet Multnomah at her +lodge, and if so, what he would say. He felt that he was doing wrong, +yet so sweet was it to be in her presence, so much did her beauty fill +the mighty craving of his nature, that it was not possible for him to +tear himself away. + +Some fifteen minutes' walk brought them to Wallulah's lodge. It was a +large building, made of bark set upright against a frame-work of +poles, and roofed with cedar boards,--in its external appearance like +all Willamette lodges. Several Indian girls, neatly dressed and of +more than ordinary intelligence, were busied in various employments +about the yard. They looked in surprise at the white man and their +mistress, but said nothing. The two entered the lodge. Cecil muttered +an exclamation of amazement as he crossed the threshold. + +The interior was a glow of color, a bower of richness. Silken +tapestries draped and concealed the bark walls; the floor of trodden +earth was covered with a superbly figured carpet. It was like the hall +of some Asiatic palace. Cecil looked at Wallulah, and her eyes +sparkled with merriment at his bewildered expression. "I knew you +would be astonished," she cried. "Is not this as fair as anything in +your own land? No, wait till I show you another room!" + +She led the way to an inner apartment, drew back the tapestry that +hung over the doorway, and bade him enter. + +Never, not even at St. James or at Versailles, had he seen such +magnificence. The rich many-hued products of Oriental looms covered +the rough walls; the carpet was like a cushion; mirrors sparkling +with gems reflected his figure; luxurious divans invited to repose. +Everywhere his eye met graceful draperies and artistically blended +colors. Silk and gold combined to make up a scene that was like a +dream of fable. Cecil's dazzled eyes wandered over all this splendor, +then came back to Wallulah's face again. + +"I have seen nothing like this in my own land, not even in the King's +palace. How came such beautiful things here among the Indians?" + +"They were saved from the vessel that was wrecked. They were my +mother's, and she had them arranged thus. This was her lodge. It is +mine now. I have never entered any other. I have never been inside an +Indian wigwam. My mother forbade it, for fear that I might grow like +the savage occupants." + +Cecil knew now how she had preserved her grace and refinement amid her +fierce and squalid surroundings. Again her face changed and the +wistful look came back. Her wild delicate nature seemed to change +every moment, to break out in a hundred varying impulses. + +"I love beautiful things," she said, drawing a fold of tapestry +against her cheek. "They seem half human. I love to be among them and +feel their influence. These were my mother's, and it seems as if part +of her life was in them. Sometimes, after she died, I used to shut my +eyes and put my cheek against the soft hangings and try to think it +was the touch of her hand; or I would read from her favorite poets and +try to think that I heard her repeating them to me again!" + +"Read!" exclaimed Cecil; "then you have books?" + +"Oh, yes, I will show you all my treasures." + +She went into another apartment and returned with a velvet case and a +richly enchased casket. She opened the case and took out several rolls +of parchment. + +"Here they are, my dear old friends, that have told me so many +beautiful things." + +Cecil unrolled them with a scholar's tenderness. Their touch thrilled +him; it was touching again some familiar hand parted from years ago. +The parchments were covered with strange characters, in a language +entirely unknown to him. The initial letters were splendidly +illuminated, the margins ornamented with elaborate designs. Cecil +gazed on the scrolls, as one who loves music but who is ignorant of +its technicalities might look at a sonata of Beethoven or an opera of +Wagner, and be moved by its suggested melodies. + +"I cannot read it," he said a little sadly. + +"Sometime I will teach you," she replied; "and you shall teach me your +own language, and we will talk in it instead of this wretched Indian +tongue." + +"Tell me something about it now," asked Cecil, still gazing at the +unknown lines. + +"Not now, there is so much else to talk about; but I will to-morrow." + +To-morrow! The word pierced him like a knife. For him, a missionary +among barbarians, for her, the betrothed of a savage chief, the morrow +could bring only parting and woe; the sweet, fleeting present was all +they could hope for. For them there could be no to-morrow. Wallulah, +however, did not observe his dejection. She had opened the casket, and +now placed it between them as they sat together on the divan. One by +one, she took out the contents and displayed them. A magnificent +necklace of diamonds, another of pearls; rings, brooches, jewelled +bracelets, flashed their splendor on him. Totally ignorant of their +great value, she showed them only with a true woman's love of +beautiful things, showed them as artlessly as if they were but pretty +shells or flowers. + +"Are they not bright?" she would say, holding them up to catch the +light. "How they sparkle!" + +One she took up a little reluctantly. It was an opal, a very fine one. +She held it out, turning it in the light, so that he might see the +splendid jewel glow and pale. + +"Is it not lovely?" she said; "like sun-tints on the snow. But my +mother said that in her land it is called the stone of misfortune. It +is beautiful, but it brings trouble with it." + +He saw her fingers tremble nervously as they held it, and she dropped +it from them hurriedly into the casket, as if it were some bright +poisonous thing she dreaded to touch. + +After a while, when Cecil had sufficiently admired the stones, she put +them back into the casket and took it and the parchments away. She +came back with her flute, and seating herself, looked at him closely. + +"You are sad; there are heavy thoughts on your mind. How is that? He +who brings me sunshine must not carry a shadow on his own brow. Why +are you troubled?" + +The trouble was that he realized now, and was compelled to acknowledge +to himself, that he loved this gentle, clinging girl, with a +passionate love; that he yearned to take her in his arms and shelter +her from the terrible savagery before her; and that he felt it could +not, must not be. + +"It is but little," he replied. "Every heart has its burden, and +perhaps I have mine. It is the lot of man." + +She looked at him with a vague uneasiness; her susceptible nature +responded dimly to the tumultuous emotions that he was trying by force +of will to shut up in his own heart. + +"Trouble? Oh, do I not know how bitter it is! Tell me, what do your +people do when they have trouble? Do they cut off their hair and +blacken their faces, as the Indians do, when they lose one they +love?" + +"No, they would scorn to do anything so degrading. He is counted +bravest who makes the least display of grief and yet always cherishes +a tender remembrance of the dead." + +"So would I. My mother forbade me to cut off my hair or blacken my +face when she died, and so I did not, though some of the Indians +thought me bad for not doing so. And your people are not afraid to +talk of the dead?" + +"Most certainly not. Why should we be? We know that they are in a +better world, and their memories are dear to us. It is very sweet +sometimes to talk of them." + +"But the Willamettes never talk of their dead, for fear they may hear +their names spoken and come back. Why should they dread their coming +back? Ah, if my mother only _would_ come back! How I used to long and +pray for it!" + +Cecil began to talk to her about the love and goodness of God. If he +could only see her sheltered in the Divine compassion, he could trust +her to slip from him into the unknown darkness of her future. She +listened earnestly. + +"Your words are good," she said in her quaint phraseology; "and if +trouble comes to me again I shall remember them. But I am very happy +now." + +The warmth and thankfulness of her glance sent through him a great +thrill of blended joy and pain. + +"You forget," he said, forcing himself to be calm, "that you are soon +to leave your home and become the wife of Snoqualmie." + +Wallulah raised her hand as if to ward off a blow, her features +quivering with pain. She tried to reply, but for an instant the words +faltered on her lips. He saw it, and a fierce delight leaped up in his +heart. "She does not love him, it is I whom she cares for," he +thought; and then he thrust the thought down in indignant +self-reproach. + +"I do not care for Snoqualmie; I once thought I did, but--" + +She hesitated, the quick color flushed her face; for the first time +she seemed in part, though not altogether, aware of why she had +changed. + +For an instant Cecil felt as if he must speak; but the consequences +rose before him while the words were almost on his lips. If he spoke +and won her love, Multnomah would force her into a marriage with +Snoqualmie just the same; and if the iron despot were to consent and +give her to Cecil, the result would be a bloody war with Snoqualmie. + +"I cannot, I must not," thought Cecil. He rose to his feet; his one +impulse was to get away, to fight out the battle with himself. +Wallulah grew pale. + +"You are going?" she said, rising also. "Something in your face tells +me you are not coming back," and she looked at him with strained, sad, +wistful eyes. + +He stood hesitating, torn by conflicting emotions, not knowing what to +do. + +"If you do not come back, I shall die," she said simply. + +As they stood thus, her flute slipped from her relaxed fingers and +fell upon the floor. He picked it up and gave it to her, partly +through the born instinct of the gentleman, which no familiarity with +barbarism can entirely crush out, partly through the tendency in time +of intense mental strain to relieve the mind by doing any little +thing. + +She took it, lifted it to her lips, and, still looking at him, began +to play. The melody, strange, untaught, artless as the song of a +wood-bird, was infinitely sorrowful and full of longing. Her very life +seemed to breathe through the music in fathomless yearning. Cecil +understood the plea, and the tears rushed unbidden into his eyes. All +his heart went out to her in pitying tenderness and love; and yet he +dared not trust himself to speak. + +"Promise to come back," said the music, while her dark eyes met his; +"promise to come back. You are my one friend, my light, my all; do not +leave me to perish in the dark. I shall die without you, I shall die, +I shall die!" + +Could any man resist the appeal? Could Cecil, of all men, thrilling +through all his sensitive and ardent nature to the music, thrilling +still more to a mighty and resistless love? + +"I will come back," he said, and parted from her; he dared not trust +himself to say another word. But the parting was not so abrupt as to +prevent his seeing the swift breaking-forth of light upon the +melancholy face that was becoming so beautiful to him and so dear. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE TWILIGHT TALE. + + That eve I spoke those words again, + And then she hearkened what I said. + + DANTE ROSSETTI. + + +The next day the Indians had a great hunt. A circle of men on foot and +on horseback was drawn around a large tract of forest on the western +side of the Willamette River. Gradually, with much shouting, +hallooing, and beating of bushes, the circle closed upon the game +within it, like the folds of a mighty serpent. + +There was a prodigious slaughter, a mad scene of butchery, in which +the Indians exulted like fiends. Late in the afternoon they returned +to camp, stained with blood and loaded with the spoils of the chase. +Snoqualmie distinguished himself by killing a large bear, and its +claws, newly severed and bleeding, were added to his already ample +necklace of similar trophies. + +Cecil remained in the almost deserted camp. He tried in vain to talk +with the few chiefs who had not gone out to join in the hunt. +Missionary work was utterly impossible that day. Wallulah and the +problem of his love filled his thoughts. His mind, aroused and +burning, searched and analyzed the question upon every side. + +Should he tell Multnomah of Snoqualmie's cruelty, representing his +unfitness to be the husband of the gentle Wallulah? + +To the stern war-chief that very cruelty would be an argument in +Snoqualmie's favor. Should he himself become a suitor for her hand? He +knew full well that Multnomah would reject him with disdain; or, were +he to consent, it would involve the Willamettes in a war with the +haughty and vindictive Cayuse. Finally, should he attempt to fly with +her to some other land? Impossible. All the tribes of the northwest +were held in the iron grip of Multnomah. They could never escape; and +even if they could, the good he had done among the Indians, the good +he hoped would grow from generation to generation, would be all +destroyed if it were told among them that he who claimed to come to +them with a message from God had ended by stealing the chief's +daughter. And had he a right to love any one?--had he a right to love +at all? God had sent him to do a work among the Indians; was it not +wicked for him to so much as look either to the right or to the left +till that work was done? + +Amid this maze of perplexities, his tense, agonized soul sought in +vain for some solution, some conclusion. At times he sat in his lodge +and brooded over these things till he seemed wrought up almost to +madness, till his form trembled with excitement, and the old pain at +his heart grew sharp and deadly. + +Then again, trying to shake it off, he went out among the few Indians +who were left in the camp and attempted to do missionary work; but +enthusiasm was lacking, the glow and tenderness was gone from his +words, the grand devotion that had inspired him so long failed him at +last. He was no longer a saintly apostle to the Indians; he was only a +human lover, torn by stormy human doubts and fears. + +Even the Indians felt that some intangible change had come over him, +and as they listened their hearts no longer responded to his +eloquence; they felt somehow that the life was gone from his words. He +saw it too, and it gave him a keen pang. + +He realized that the energy and concentration of his character was +gone, that a girl's beauty had drawn him aside from the mission on +which God had sent him. + +"I will go and see her. I will, without letting her know that I love +her, give her to understand my position and her own. She shall see how +impossible it is for us ever to be aught to each other. And I shall +urge her to cling to God and walk in the path he has appointed for +her, while I go on in mine." + +So thinking, he left his lodge that evening and took the path to +Wallulah's home. + +Some distance from the encampment he met an Indian funeral procession. +The young Willamette runner had died that morning, and now they were +bearing him to the river, down which a canoe was to waft the body and +the mourners to the nearest _mimaluse_ island. The corpse was swathed +in skins and tied around with thongs; the father bore it on his +shoulder, for the dead had been but a slender lad. Behind them came +the mother and a few Indian women. As they passed, the father chanted +a rude lament. + +"Oh, Mox-mox, my son, why did you go away and leave our wigwam empty? +You were not weak nor sickly, and your life was young. Why did you go? +Oh, Mox-mox, dead, dead, dead!" + +Then the women took up the doleful refrain,-- + +"Oh, Mox-mox, dead, dead, dead!" + +Then the old man again,-- + +"Oh, Mox-mox, the sun was warm and food was plenty, yet you went away; +and when we reach out for you, you are not there. Oh Mox-mox, dead, +dead, dead!" + +Then the women again,-- + +"Oh, Mox-mox, dead, dead, dead!" + +And so it went on, till they were embarked and the canoe bore them +from sight and hearing. Down on some _mimaluse_ island or rocky point, +they would stretch the corpse out in a canoe, with the bow and arrows +and fishing spear used in life beside it; then turn over it another +canoe like a cover, and so leave the dead to his long sleep. + +The sight gave an added bitterness to Cecil's meditations. + +"After all," he thought, "life is so short,--a shadow fleeting onward +to the night,--and love is so sweet! Why not open my heart to the +bliss it brings? The black ending comes so soon! Why not fling all +thought of consequences to the winds, and gather into my arms the love +that is offered me? why not know its warmth and thrill for one golden +moment, even though that moment ends in death?" + +The blood rushed wildly through his veins, but he resolutely put down +the temptation. No, he would be faithful, he would not allow himself +even to think of such a thing. + +Reluctantly, as before, the sentinels made way for him and he went on +through the wood to the trysting-place, for such it had come to be. +She was waiting. But there was no longer the glad illumination of +face, the glad springing forward to meet him. She advanced shyly, a +delicate color in her cheek, a tremulous grace in her manner, that he +had not observed before; the consciousness of love had come to her and +made her a woman. Never had she seemed so fair to Cecil; yet his +resolution did not falter. + +"I have come, you see,--come to tell you that I can come no more, and +to talk with you about your future." + +Her face grew very pale. + +"Are you going away?" she asked sorrowfully, "and shall I never see +you again?" + +"I cannot come back," he replied gently. The sight of her suffering +cut him to the heart. + +"It has been much to see you," he continued, while she stood before +him, looking downward, without reply. "It has been like meeting one of +my own people. I shall never forget you." + +She raised her head and strove to answer, but the words died on her +lips. How he loathed himself, talking so smoothly to her while he +hungered to take her in his arms and tell her how he loved her! + +Again he spoke. + +"I hope you will be happy with Snoqualmie, and--" + +She lifted her eyes with a sudden light flashing in their black +depths. + +"Do you want me to hate him? Never speak his name to me again!" + +"He is to be your husband; nay, it is the wish of your father, and the +great sachems approve it." + +"Can the sachems put love in my heart? Can the sachems make my heart +receive him as its lord? Ah, this bitter custom of the father giving +his daughter to whomsoever he will, as if she were a dog! And your +lips sanction it!" + +Her eyes were full of tears. Scarcely realizing what he did, he tried +to take her hand. The slender fingers shrank from his and were drawn +away. + +"I do not sanction it, it is a bitter custom; but it is to be, and I +only wished to smooth your pathway. I want to say or do something that +will help you when I am gone." + +"Do you know what it would be for me to be an Indian's wife? To cut +the wood, and carry the water, and prepare the food,--that would be +sweet to do for one I loved. But to toil amid dirt and filth for a +savage whom I could only abhor, to feel myself growing coarse and +squalid with my surroundings,--I could not live!" + +She shuddered as she spoke, as if the very thought was horrible. + +"You hate this degraded Indian life as much as I do, and yet it is the +life you would push me into," she continued, in a tone of mournful +heart-broken reproach. It stung him keenly. + +"It is not the life I would push you into. God knows I would give my +life to take one thorn from yours," The mad longing within him rushed +into his voice in spite of himself, making it thrill with a passionate +tenderness that brought the color back into her pallid cheek. "But I +cannot remain," he went on, "I dare not; all that I can do is to say +something that may help you in the future." + +She looked at him with dilated eyes full of pain and bewilderment. + +"I have no future if you go away. Why must you go? What will be left +me after you are gone? Think how long I was here alone after my mother +died, with no one to understand me, no one to talk to. Then you came, +and I was happy. It was like light shining in the darkness; now it +goes out and I can never hope again. Why must you go away and leave +Wallulah in the dark?" + +There was a childlike plaintiveness and simplicity in her tone; and +she came close to him, looking up in his face with wistful, pleading +eyes, the beautiful face wan and drawn with bewilderment and pain, yet +never so beautiful as now. + +Cecil felt the unspeakable cruelty of his attitude toward her, and his +face grew white as death in an awful struggle between love and duty. +But he felt that he must leave her or be disloyal to his God. + +"I do not wish to go away. But God has called me to a great work, and +I must do it. I dare not turn aside. You cannot know how dear your +presence is to me, or how bitter it is for me to part from you. But +our parting must be, else the work I have done among the tribes will +be scattered to the winds and the curse of God will be on me as a +false and fallen prophet." + +He spoke with a kind of fierceness, striving blindly to battle down +the mad longing within, and his tones had a harshness that he was too +agitated to notice. She drew back involuntarily. There came into her +face a dignity he had never seen before. She was but a recluse and a +girl, but she was of royal lineage by right of both her parents, and +his words had roused a spirit worthy the daughter of Multnomah. + +"Am I a weight on you? Are you afraid I will bring a curse upon you? +Do not fear, I shall no longer ask you to stay. Wallulah shall take +herself out of your life." + +She gave him a look full of despair, as if seeing all hope go from her +forever; then she said simply, "Farewell," and turned away. + +But in spite of her dignity there was an anguish written on her sweet +pale face that he could not resist. All his strength of resolve, all +his conviction of duty, crumbled into dust as she turned away; and he +was conscious only that he loved her, that he could not let her go. + +How it happened he never knew, but she was clasped in his arms, his +kisses were falling on brow and cheek in a passionate outburst that +could be kept back no longer. At first, she trembled in his arms and +shrank away from him; then she nestled close, as if sheltering herself +in the love that was hers at last. After awhile she lifted a face over +which a shadow of pain yet lingered. + +"But you said I would bring you a curse; you feared--" + +He stopped her with a caress. + +"Even curses would be sweet if they came through you. Forget what I +said, remember only that I love you!" + +And she was content. + +Around them the twilight darkened into night; the hours came and went +unheeded by these two, wrapped in that golden love-dream which for a +moment brings Eden back again to this gray old earth, all desolate as +it is with centuries of woe and tears. + +But while they talked there was on him a vague dread, an indefinable +misgiving, a feeling that he was disloyal to his mission, disloyal to +her; that their love could have but one ending, and that a dark one. + +Still he strove hard to forget everything, to shut out all the +world,--drinking to the full the bliss of the present, blinding his +eyes to the pain of the future. + +But after they parted, when her presence was withdrawn and he was +alone, he felt like a man faithless and dishonored; like a prophet who +had bartered the salvation of the people to whom he had been sent, in +exchange for a woman's kisses, which could bring him only disgrace and +death. + +As he went back to the camp in the stillness of midnight, he was +startled by a distant roar, and saw through the tree-tops flames +bursting from the far-off crater of Mount Hood. The volcano was +beginning one of its periodical outbursts. But to Cecil's mind, imbued +with the gloomy supernaturalism of early New England, and +unconsciously to himself, tinged in later years with the superstition +of the Indians among whom he had lived so long, that ominous roar, +those flames leaping up into the black skies of night, seemed a sign +of the wrath of God. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +ORATOR AGAINST ORATOR. + + The gravity, fixed attention, and decorum of these sons of the + forest was calculated to make for them a most favorable + impression.--GRAY: _History of Oregon_. + + +The next day all the Indians were gathered around the council grove. +Multnomah presided, and every sachem was in his place. + +There was to be a trial of eloquence,--a tourney of orators, to see +which tribe had the best. Only one, the most eloquent of each tribe, +was to speak; and Multnomah was to decide who was victor. The mother +of Wallulah had introduced the custom, and it had become popular among +the Indians. + +Cecil was in his place among the chiefs, with worn face and abstracted +air; Snoqualmie was present, with hawk-like glance and imperious mien; +there was Mishlah, with his sullen and brutal features; there, too, +wrapped closely in his robe of fur, sat Tohomish, brooding, +gloomy,--the wild empire's mightiest master of eloquence, and yet the +most repulsive figure of them all. + +The Indians were strangely quiet that morning; the hush of a +superstitious awe was upon them. The smoking mountains, Hood and Adams +as the white man calls them, Au-poo-tah and Au-ka-ken in the Indian +tongue, were becoming active of late. The previous night flame had +been seen bursting from the top of Mount Hood and thick black smoke +still puffed upward from it, and on Mount Adams rested a heavy cloud +of volcanic vapors. Were the mountains angry? Aged men told how in the +old time there had been a terrible outburst of flame and ashes from +Mount Hood; a rain of fire and stones had fallen over all the +Willamette valley; the very earth had trembled at the great mountain's +wrath. + +As the lower animals feel in the air the signs of a coming storm, so +these savages felt, by some kindred intuition, that a mysterious +convulsion of Nature was at hand. They talked in low tones, they were +subdued in manner; any one coming suddenly upon them would have been +impressed by the air of uneasiness and apprehension that everywhere +prevailed. But the chiefs were stoical, and Multnomah impassive as +ever. + +Could it have been that the stormy influences at work in Nature lent +energy to the orators that day? They were unusually animated, at least +for Indians, though a white man would have found them intolerably +bombastic. Each speech was a boastful eulogy of the speaker's tribe, +and an exaggerated account of the wonderful exploits of its warriors. + +This was rather dangerous ground; for all the tribes had been at +enmity in days gone by, and some of their most renowned victories had +been won over each other. Every one took it in good part, however, +except Mishlah. When We-math, chief of the Klamaths, recounting the +exploits of his race, told how in ancient times they had lorded it +over the Mollalies, Mishlah glared at him as if tempted to leap upon +him and strike him down. Fortunately the orator passed on to other +things, and the wrath of the Mollalie chief gradually cooled. + +Then came Cecil. It was a grand opening. He could speak of his own +people, of their ancient savagery and present splendor, and show how +the gospel of love and justice had been the cause of their elevation. +Then would come the appeal to the Indians to accept this faith as +their own and share in its uplifting power. It was a magnificent +opportunity, the opportunity of a life-time. + +But the mental conflict he had just passed through had rent his mind +like a volcanic upheaval. It possessed no longer the intense +concentration which had been the source of its strength. Tenderness, +benevolence, missionary zeal, were still there, but no longer +sovereign. Other passions divided his heart; a hopeless and burning +love consumed his being. + +He spoke, but the fire was gone from his delivery and the vividness +from his imagination. His eloquence was not what it had been; his +heart was no longer in his work, and his oration was a failure. + +Even the Indians noticed that something was lacking in his oratory, +and it no longer moved them as it had done. Cecil realized it, and +strove to speak with more energy, but in vain; he could not arouse +himself; and it was with a consciousness of failure that he brought +his speech to a close and resumed his seat. + +To a man of his morbid conscientiousness only one conclusion was +possible. + +"God sent me to proclaim salvation to these children of darkness," he +thought, "and I have turned aside to fill my heart with a woman's +love. His wrath is on me. He has taken his spirit from me. I am a +thing rejected and accursed, and this people will go down to death +because I have failed in my mission." + +While he sat absorbed in these bitter, self-accusing thoughts, the +speaking went on. Wau-ca-cus the Klickitat made a strong "talk," +picturesque in Indian metaphor, full of energy. But the chief that +followed surpassed him. Orator caught fire from orator; thoughts not +unworthy a civilized audience were struck out by the intensity of the +emulation; speakers rose to heights which they had never reached +before, which they were destined never to reach again. In listening to +and admiring their champions, the tribes forgot the smoking mountains +and the feeling of apprehension that had oppressed them. At length +Snoqualmie made a speech breathing his own daring spirit in every +word. It went immeasurably beyond the others; it was the climax of all +the darkly splendid eloquence of the day. + +No, not of all. From his place among the chiefs rose a small and +emaciated figure; the blanket that had muffled his face was thrown +aside, and the tribes looked on the mis-shapen and degraded features +of Tohomish the Pine Voice. He stood silent at first, his eyes bent on +the ground, like a man in a trance. For a moment the spectators forgot +the wonderful eloquence of the man in his ignoble appearance. What +could he do against Wau-ca-cus the Klickitat and Snoqualmie the +Cayuse, whose sonorous utterances still rang in their ears, whose +majestic presence still filled their minds! + +"The Willamettes are beaten at last,--the Willamette speakers can no +more be called the best," was the one exultant thought of the allies, +and the Willamettes trembled for the fame of their orators. Back in +the shadow of the cottonwoods, an old Willamette warrior put an arrow +on the string and bent his bow unseen on Tohomish. + +"He cannot beat them, and it shall never be said that Tohomish +failed," he muttered. At that moment, even as death hung over him, the +orator's voice was heard beginning his "talk;" and the warrior's hand +fell, the bent bow was relaxed, the arrow dropped from the string. For +with the first accents of that soft and lingering voice the tribes +were thrilled as with the beginning of music. + +The orator's head was still bent down, his manner abstracted; he spoke +of the legends and the glories of the Willamette tribe, but spoke of +them as if that tribe belonged to the past, as if it had perished from +the earth, and he was telling the tale of a great dead race. His tones +were melodious but indescribably mournful. When at length he lifted +his face, his eyes shone with a misty light, and his brutal features +were illuminated with a weird enthusiasm. A shudder went through the +vast and motley assembly. No boastful rant was this, but a majestic +story of the past, the story of a nation gone forever. It was the +death-song of the Willamettes, solemnly rendered by the last and +greatest orator of the race. + +At length he spoke of Multnomah and of the power of the confederacy in +his time, but spoke of it as of old time, seen dimly through the lapse +of years. Then, when as it seemed he was about to go on and tell how +this power came to fall, he hesitated; the words faltered on his lips; +he suddenly broke off, took his seat, and drew his robe again over his +face. + +[Illustration: "_It was the Death-song of the Willamettes._"] + +The effect was indescribable. The portentous nature of the whole +speech needed only that last touch of mystery. It sent through every +heart a wild and awesome thrill, as at the shadow of approaching +destiny. + +The multitude were silent; the spell of the prophet's lofty and +mournful eloquence still lingered over them. Multnomah rose. With him +rested the decision as to who was the greatest orator. But the proud +old war-chief knew that all felt that Tohomish had far surpassed his +competitors, and he was resolved that not his lips but the voice of +the tribes should proclaim their choice. + +"Multnomah was to decide who has spoken best, but he leaves the +decision with you. You have heard them all. Declare who is the +greatest, and your word shall be Multnomah's word." + +There was an instant's silence; then in a murmur like the rush of the +sea came back the voice of the multitude. + +"Tohomish! Tohomish! he is greatest!" + +"He is greatest," said Multnomah. But Tohomish, sitting there +dejectedly, seemed neither to see nor hear. + +"To-morrow," said the war-chief, "while the sun is new, the chiefs +will meet in council and the great talk shall be ended. And after it +ends, Multnomah's daughter will be given to Snoqualmie, and Multnomah +will bestow a rich _potlatch_ [a giving of gifts] on the people. And +then all will be done." + +The gathering broke up. Gradually, as the Indians gazed on the smoking +mountains, the excitement produced by the oratory they had just heard +wore off. Only Tohomish's sombre eloquence, so darkly in unison with +the menacing aspect of Nature, yet lingered in every mind. They were +frightened and startled, apprehensive of something to come. Legends, +superstitious lore of by-gone time connected with the "smoking +mountains," were repeated that afternoon wherever little groups of +Indians had met together. Through all these gathered tribes ran a +dread yet indefinable whisper of apprehension, like the first low +rustle of the leaves that foreruns the coming storm. + +Over the valley Mount Adams towered, wrapped in dusky cloud; and from +Mount Hood streamed intermittent bursts of smoke and gleams of fire +that grew plainer as the twilight fell. Louder, as the hush of evening +deepened, came the sullen roar from the crater of Mount Hood. Below +the crater, the ice-fields that had glistened in unbroken whiteness +the previous day were now furrowed with wide black streaks, from which +the vapor of melting snow and burning lava ascended in dense wreaths. +Men wiser than these ignorant savages would have said that some +terrible convulsion was at hand. + +Multnomah's announcement in the council was a dreadful blow to Cecil, +though he had expected it. His first thought was of a personal appeal +to the chief, but one glance at the iron features of the autocrat told +him that it would be a hopeless undertaking. No appeal could turn +Multnomah from his purpose. For Cecil, such an undertaking might be +death; it certainly would be contemptuous refusal, and would call down +on Wallulah the terrible wrath before which the bravest sachem +quailed. + +Cecil left the grove with the other chiefs and found his way to his +lodge. There he flung himself down on his face upon his couch of furs. +The Indian woman, his old nurse, who still clung to him, was absent, +and for some time he was alone. After a while the flap that hung over +the entrance was lifted, and some one came in with the noiseless tread +of the Indian. Cecil, lying in a maze of bitter thought, became aware +of the presence of another, and raised his head. The Shoshone renegade +stood beside him. His gaze rested compassionately on Cecil's sad, worn +face. + +"What is it?" he asked. "Your words were slow and heavy to-day. There +was a weight on your spirit; what is it? You said that we were +friends, so I came to ask if I could help." + +"You are good, and like a brother," replied Cecil, gently, "but I +cannot tell you my trouble. Yet this much I can tell,"--and he sat +upon the couch, his whole frame trembling with excitement. "I have +sinned a grievous sin, therefore the Great Spirit took away the words +from my lips to-day. My heart has become evil, and God has punished +me." + +It was a relief to his over-burdened conscience to say those harsh +things of himself, yet the relief was bitter. Over the bronzed face of +the Indian came an expression of deep pity. + +"The white man tears himself with his own claws like a wounded beast, +but it does not give him peace. Has he done evil? Then let him +remember what he has so often told the Indians: 'Forsake evil, turn +from sin, and the Great Spirit will forgive.' Let my white brother do +this, and it will be well with him." + +He gazed at Cecil an instant longer; then, with a forbearance that +more civilized men do not always show, he left the lodge without +another word. + +But what he said had its effect. Through Cecil's veins leaped the +impulse of a sudden resolve,--a resolve that was both triumph and +agony. He fell on his knees beside the couch. + +"Thou hast shown me my duty by the lips of the Indian, and I will +perform it. I will tear this forbidden love from my heart. Father, +help me. Once before I resolved to do this and failed. Help me that I +fail not now. Give me strength. Give me the mastery over the flesh, O +God! Help me to put this temptation from me. Help me to fulfil my +mission." + +The struggle was long and doubtful, but the victory was won at last. +When Cecil arose from his knees, there was the same set and resolute +look upon his face that was there the morning he entered the +wilderness, leaving friends and home behind him forever,--the look +that some martyr of old might have worn, putting from him the clinging +arms of wife or child, going forth to the dungeon and the stake. + +"It is done," murmured the white lips. "I have put her from me. My +mission to the Indians alone fills my heart. But God help her! God +help her!" + +For the hardest part of it all was that he sacrificed her as well as +himself. + +"It must be," he thought; "I must give her up. I will go now and tell +her; then I will never look upon her face again. But oh! what will +become of her?" + +And his long fingers were clinched as in acutest pain. But his +sensitive nerves, his intense susceptibilities were held in abeyance +by a will that, once roused, was strong even unto death. + +He went out. It was dark. Away to the east Mount Hood lifted its +blazing crater into the heavens like a gigantic torch, and the roar of +the eruption came deep and hoarse through the stillness of night. +Once, twice it seemed to Cecil that the ground trembled slightly under +his feet. The Indians were huddled in groups watching the burning +crest of the volcano. As the far-off flickering light fell on their +faces, it showed them to be full of abject fear. + +"It is like the end of the world," thought Cecil. "Would that it were; +then she and I might die together." + +He left the camp and took the trail through the wood to the +trysting-place; for, late as it was, he knew that she awaited him. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +IN THE DARK. + + There is not one upon life's weariest way, + Who is weary as I am weary of all but death. + + SWINBURNE. + + +The grim sentinels by the pathway, who had been so reluctant to let +Cecil pass the day before, were still more reluctant this evening. One +of them planted himself in the trail directly in front of Cecil, and +did not offer to let him go on, but stood sullenly blocking the way. +Cecil touched the warrior's arm and bade him stand aside. For an +instant it seemed that he would refuse, but his superstitious respect +for the white _tomanowos_ overcame his obstinacy,--and he stepped +unwillingly back. + +But as Cecil went on he felt, and felt rightly, that they would not +let him pass again,--that the last act, be it what it might, in his +love drama, was drawing to a close. + +A few moments' walk, and he saw in the dark the little figure awaiting +him under the trees. She came slowly forward to meet him. He saw that +her face was very pale, her eyes large and full of woe. She gave him +her hands; they felt like ice. He bent over her and kissed her with +quivering lips. + +"Poor child," he said, putting his arms around her slender form and +drawing it close in his embrace, "how can I ever tell you what I have +to tell you to-night!" + +She did not respond to his caress. At length, looking up in a +lifeless, stricken way, she spoke in a mechanical voice, a voice that +did not sound like her own,-- + +"I know it already. My father came and told me that to-morrow I +must--" She shuddered; her voice broke; then she threw her arms around +his neck and clung to him passionately. "But they can never tear me +away from you; never, never!" + +How could he tell her that he came to put her away from him, that he +came to bid her farewell? He clasped her the tighter in his arms. For +an instant his mind swept all the chances of flight with her, only to +realize their utter hopelessness; then he remembered that even to +think of such a thing was treachery to the resolves he had just made. +He shook from head to foot with stormy emotion. + +She lifted her head from his breast, where it was pillowed. + +"Let us get horses or a canoe, and fly to-night to the desert or the +sea,--anywhere, anywhere, only to be away from here! Let us take the +trail you came on, and find our way to your people." + +"Alas," replied Cecil, "how could we escape? Every tribe, far and +near, is tributary to your father. The runners would rouse them as +soon as we were missed. The swiftest riders would be on our trail; +ambuscades would lurk for us in every thicket; we could never escape; +and even if we should, a whole continent swarming with wild tribes +lies between us and my land." + +She looked at him in anguish, with dim eyes, and her arms slipped from +around his neck. + +"Do you no longer love Wallulah? Something tells me that you would not +wish to fly with me, even if we could escape. There is something you +have not told me." + +Clasping her closely to him, he told her how he felt it was the will +of God that they must part. God had sent him on a sacred mission, and +he dared not turn aside. Either her love or the redemption of the +tribes of the Wauna must be given up; and for their sake love must be +sacrificed. + +"To-day God took away the words from my lips and the spirit from my +heart. My soul was lead. I felt like one accursed. Then it came to me +that it was because I turned aside from my mission to love you. We +must part. Our ways diverge. I must walk my own pathway alone +wheresoever it leads me. God commands, and I must obey." + +The old rapt look came back, the old set, determined expression which +showed that that delicate organization could grow as strong as granite +in its power to endure. + +Wallulah shrank away from him, and strove to free herself from his +embrace. + +"Let me go," she said, in a low, stifled tone. "Oh, if I could only +die!" + +But he held her close, almost crushing the delicate form against his +breast. She felt his heart beat deeply and painfully against her own, +and in some way it came to her that every throb was agony, that he was +in the extremity of mental and physical suffering. + +"God help me!" he said; "how can I give you up?" + +She realized by woman's intuition that his whole soul was wrung with +pain, with an agony darker and bitterer than her own; and the +exceeding greatness of his suffering gave her strength. A sudden +revulsion of feeling affected her. She looked up at him with infinite +tenderness. + +"I wish I could take all the pain away from you and bear it myself." + +"It is God's will; we must submit to it." + +"His will!" Her voice was full of rebellion. "Why does he give us such +bitter suffering? Doesn't he care? I thought once that God was good, +but it is all dark now." + +"Hush, you must not think so. After all, it will be only a little +while till we meet in heaven, and there no one can take you from me." + +"Heaven is so far off. The present is all that I can see, and it is as +black as death. Death! it would be sweet to die now with your arms +around me; but to _live_ year after year with him! How can I go to +him, now that I have known you? How can I bear his presence, his +touch?" + +She shuddered there in Cecil's arms. All her being shrunk in +repugnance at the thought of Snoqualmie. + +"Thank God for death!" said Cecil, brokenly. + +"It is so long to wait," she murmured, "and I am so young and +strong." + +His kisses fell on cheek and brow. She drew down his head and put her +cheek against his and clung to him as if she would never let him go. + +It was a strange scene, the mournful parting of the lovers in the +gloom of the forest and the night. To the east, through the black +net-work of leaves and branches, a dull red glow marked the crater of +Mount Hood, and its intermittent roar came to them through the +silence. It was a night of mystery and horror,--a fitting night for +their tragedy of love and woe. The gloom and terror of their +surroundings seemed to throw a supernatural shadow over their +farewell. + +"The burning mountain is angry to-night," said Wallulah, at last. +"Would that it might cover us up with its ashes and stones, as the +Indians say it once did two lovers back in the old time." + +"Alas, death never comes to those who wish for it. When the grace and +sweetness are all fled from our lives, and we would be glad to lie +down in the grave and be at rest, then it is that we must go on +living. Now I must go. The longer we delay our parting the harder it +will be." + +"Not yet, not yet!" cried Wallulah. "Think how long I must be +alone,--always alone until I die." + +"God help us!" said Cecil, setting his teeth. "I will dash my mission +to the winds and fly with you. What if God does forsake us, and our +souls are lost! I would rather be in the outer darkness with you than +in heaven without you." + +His resolution had given way at last. But in such cases, is it not +always the woman that is strongest? + +"No," she said, "you told me that your God would forsake you if you +did. It must not be." + +She withdrew herself from his arms and stood looking at him. He saw in +the moonlight that her pale tear-stained face had upon it a sorrowful +resignation, a mournful strength, born of very hopelessness. + +"God keep you, Wallulah!" murmured Cecil, brokenly. "If I could only +feel that he would shelter and shield you!" + +"That may be as it will," replied the sweet, patient lips. "I do not +know. I shut my eyes to the future. I only want to take myself away +from you, so that your God will not be angry with you. Up there," she +said, pointing, "I will meet you sometime and be with you forever. God +will not be angry then. Now farewell." + +He advanced with outstretched arms. She motioned him back. + +"It will make it harder," she said. + +For a moment she looked into his eyes, her own dark, dilated, full of +love and sadness; for a moment all that was within him thrilled to the +passionate, yearning tenderness of her gaze; then she turned and went +away without a word. + +He could not bear to see her go, and yet he knew it must end thus; he +dared not follow her or call her back. But so intense was his desire +for her to return, so vehemently did his life cry out after her, that +for an instant it seemed to him he _had_ called out, "Come back! come +back!" The cry rose to his lips; but he set his teeth and held it +back. They _must_ part; was it not God's will? The old pain at his +heart returned, a faintness was on him, and he reeled to the ground. + +Could it be that her spirit felt that unuttered cry, and that it +brought her back? Be this as it may, while he was recovering from his +deadly swoon he dimly felt her presence beside him, and the soft cool +touch of her fingers on his brow. Then--or did he imagine it?--her +lips, cold as those of the dead, touched his own. But when +consciousness entirely returned, he was alone in the forest. + +Blind, dizzy, staggering with weakness, he found his way to the camp. +Suddenly, as he drew near it he felt the earth sway and move beneath +him like a living thing. He caught hold of a tree to escape being +thrown to the ground. There came an awful burst of flame from Mount +Hood. Burning cinders and scoria lit up the eastern horizon like a +fountain of fire. Then down from the great canyon of the Columbia, +from the heart of the Cascade Range, broke a mighty thundering sound, +as if half a mountain had fallen. Drowning for a moment the roar of +the volcano, the deep echo rolled from crag to crag, from hill to +hill. A wild chorus of outcries rang from the startled camp,--the +fierce, wild cry of many tribes mad with fear yet breathing forth +tremulous defiance, the cry of human dread mingling with the last +echoes of that mysterious crash. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +QUESTIONING THE DEAD. + + Then he said: "Cold lips and breast without breath, + Is there no voice, no language of death?" + + EDWIN ARNOLD. + + +While Cecil was on his way that evening to seek Wallulah, a canoe with +but a single occupant was dropping down the Columbia toward one of the +many _mimaluse_, or death-islands, that are washed by its waters. + +An Indian is always stealthy, but there was an almost more than Indian +stealthiness about this canoe-man's movements. Noiselessly, as the +twilight deepened into darkness, the canoe glided out of a secluded +cove not far from the camp; noiselessly the paddle dipped into the +water, and the canoe passed like a shadow into the night. + +On the rocky _mimaluse_ island, some distance below the mouth of the +Willamette, the Indian landed and drew his boat up on the beach. He +looked around for a moment, glanced at the red glow that lit the +far-off crest of Mount Hood, then turned and went up the pathway to +the ancient burial hut. + +Who was it that had dared to visit the island of the dead after dark? +The bravest warriors were not capable of such temerity. Old men told +how, away back in the past, some braves had ventured upon the island +after nightfall, and had paid the awful forfeit. They were struck by +unseen hands. Weapons that had lain for years beside the decaying +corpses of forgotten warriors wounded them in the dark. Fleeing to +their canoes in swiftest fear, they found the shadowy pursuit was +swifter still, and were overtaken and struck down, while the whole +island rung with mocking laughter. One only escaped, plunging all torn +and bruised into the river and swimming to the farther shore. When he +looked back, the island was covered with moving lights, and the shrill +echo of fiendish mirth came to him across the water. His companions +were never seen again. A little while afterward the dogs barked all +night around his lodge, and in the morning he was found lying dead +upon his couch, his face ghastly and drawn with fear, as if at some +frightful apparition. + +"He disturbed the _mimaluse tillicums_ [dead people], and they came +for him," said the old medicine men, as they looked at him. + +Since then, no one had been on the island except in the daytime. +Little bands of mourners had brought hither the swathed bodies of +their dead, laid them in the burial hut, lifted the wail over them, +and left upon the first approach of evening. + +Who, then, was this,--the first for generations to set foot on the +_mimaluse illahee_ after dark? + +It could be but one, the only one among all the tribes who would have +dared to come, and to come alone,--Multnomah, the war-chief, who knew +not what it was to fear the living or the dead. + +Startled by the outburst of the great smoking mountains, which always +presaged woe to the Willamettes, perplexed by Tohomish's mysterious +hints of some impending calamity, weighed down by a dread +presentiment, he came that night on a strange and superstitious +errand. + +On the upper part of the island, above reach of high water, the burial +hut loomed dark and still in the moonlight as the chief approached +it. + +Some of the Willamettes, like the Chinooks, practised canoe burial, +but the greater part laid their dead in huts, as did also the +Klickitats and the Cascades. + +The war-chief entered the hut. The rude boards that covered the roof +were broken and decayed. The moonlight shone through many openings, +lighting up the interior with a dim and ghostly radiance. There, +swathed in crumbling cerements, ghastly in shrunken flesh and +protruding bone, lay the dead of the line of Multnomah,--the chiefs of +the blood royal who had ruled the Willamettes for many generations. +The giant bones of warriors rested beside the more delicate skeletons +of their women, or the skeletons, slenderer still, of little children +of the ancient race. The warrior's bow lay beside him with rotting +string; the child's playthings were still clasped in fleshless +fingers; beside the squaw's skull the ear-pendants of _hiagua_ shells +lay where they had fallen from the crumbling flesh years before. + +Near the door, and where the slanting moonbeams fell full upon it, was +the last who had been borne to the death hut, the mother of Wallulah. +Six years before Multnomah had brought her body,--brought it alone, +with no eye to behold his grief; and since then no human tread had +disturbed the royal burial-place. + +He came now and looked down upon the body. It had been tightly +swathed, fold upon fold, in some oriental fabric; and the wrappings, +stiffened by time still showed what had once been a rare symmetry of +form. The face was covered with a linen cloth, yellow now through age +and fitting like a mask to the features. The chief knelt down and drew +away the face-cloth. The countenance, though shrunken, was almost +perfectly preserved. Indeed, so well preserved were many of the +corpses the first white settlers found on these _mimaluse_ islands as +to cause at one time a belief that the Indians had some secret process +of embalming their dead. There was no such process, however,--nothing +save the antiseptic properties of the ocean breeze which daily fanned +the burial islands of the lower Columbia. + +Lovely indeed must the mother of Wallulah have been in her life. +Withered as her features were, there was a delicate beauty in them +still,--in the graceful brow, the regular profile, the exquisitely +chiselled chin. Around the shoulders and the small shapely head her +hair had grown in rich luxuriant masses. + +The chief gazed long on the shrunken yet beautiful face. His iron +features grew soft, as none but Wallulah had ever seen them grow. He +touched gently the hair of his dead wife, and put it back from her +brow with a wistful, caressing tenderness. He had never understood +her; she had always been a mystery to him; the harsh savagery of his +nature had never been able to enter into or comprehend the refined +grace of hers; but he had loved her with all the fierce, tenacious, +secretive power of his being, a power that neither time nor death +could change. Now he spoke to her, his low tones sounding weird in +that house of the dead,--a strange place for words of love. + +"My woman,--mine yet, for death itself cannot take from Multnomah that +which is his own; my bird that came from the sea and made its nest for +a little while in the heart of Multnomah and then flew away and left +it empty,--I have been hungry to see you, to touch your hair and look +upon your face again. Now I am here, and it is sweet to be with you, +but the heart of Multnomah listens to hear you speak." + +He still went on stroking her hair softly, reverently. It seemed the +only caress of which he was capable, but it had in it a stern and +mournful tenderness. + +"Speak to me! The dead talk to the _tomanowos_ men and the dreamers. +You are mine; talk to me; I am in need. The shadow of something +terrible to come is over the Willamette. The smoking mountains are +angry; the dreamers see only bad signs; there are black things before +Multnomah, and he cannot see what they are. Tell me,--the dead are +wise and know that which comes,--what is this unknown evil which +threatens me and mine?" + +He looked down at her with intense craving, intense desire, as if his +imperious will could reanimate that silent clay and force to the mute +lips the words he so desired. But the still lips moved not, and the +face lay cold under his burning and commanding gaze. The chief leaned +closer over her; he called her name aloud,--something that the +Willamette Indians rarely did, for they believed that if the names of +the dead were spoken, even in conversation, it would bring them back; +so they alluded to their lost ones only indirectly, and always +reluctantly and with fear. + +"Come back!" said he, repeating the name he had not spoken for six +years. "You are my own, you are my woman. Hear me, speak to me, you +whom I love; you who, living or dead, are still the wife of +Multnomah." + +No expression flitted over the changeless calm of the face beneath +him: no sound came back to his straining ears except the low +intermittent roar of the far-off volcano. + +A sorrowful look crossed his face. As has been said, there was an +indefinable something always between them, which perhaps must ever be +between those of diverse race. It had been the one mystery that +puzzled him while she was living, and it seemed to glide, viewless yet +impenetrable, between them now. He rose to his feet. + +"It comes between us again," he thought, looking down at her +mournfully. "It pushed me back when she was living, and made me feel +that I stood outside her heart even while my arms were around her. It +comes between us now and will not let her speak. If it was only +something I could see and grapple with!" + +And the fierce warrior felt his blood kindle within him, that not only +death but something still more mysterious and incomprehensible should +separate him from the one he loved. He turned sadly away and passed on +to the interior of the hut. As he gazed on the crumbling relics of +humanity around him, the wonted look of command came back to his brow. +These _should_ obey; by iron strength of will and mystic charm he +would sway them to his bidding. The withered lips of death, or spirit +voices, should tell him what he wished to know. Abjectly superstitious +as was the idea it involved, there was yet something grand in his +savage despotic grasp after power that, dominating all he knew of +earth, sought to bend to his will even the spirit-land. + +The chief believed that the departed could talk to him if they would; +for did they not talk to the medicine men and the dreamers? If so, why +not to him, the great chief, the master of all the tribes of the +Wauna? + +He knelt down, and began to sway his body back and forth after the +manner of the Nootka _shamans_, and to chant a long, low, monotonous +song, in which the names of the dead who lay there were repeated over +and over again. + +"Kamyah, Tlesco, Che-aqah, come back! come back and tell me the +secret, the black secret, the death secret, the woe that is to come. +Winelah, Sic-mish, Tlaquatin, the land is dark with signs and omens; +the hearts of men are heavy with dread; the dreamers say that the end +is come for Multnomah and his race. Is it true? Come and tell me. I +wait, I listen, I speak your names; come back, come back!" + +Tohomish himself would not have dared to repeat those names in the +charnel hut, lest those whom he invoked should spring upon him and +tear him to pieces. No more potent or more perilous charm was known to +the Indians. + +Ever as Multnomah chanted, the sullen roar of the volcano came like an +undertone and filled the pauses of the wild incantation. And as he +went on, it seemed to the chief that the air grew thick with ghostly +presences. There was a sense of breathing life all around him. He felt +that others, many others, were with him; yet he saw nothing. When he +paused for some voice, some whisper of reply, this sense of +hyper-physical perception became so acute that he could almost _see_, +almost _hear_, in the thick blackness and the silence; yet no answer +came. + +Again he resumed his mystic incantation, putting all the force of his +nature into the effort, until it seemed that even those shadowy things +of the night must yield to his blended entreaty and command. But there +came no response. Thick and thronging the viewless presences seemed to +gather, to look, and to listen; but no reply came to his ears, and no +sight met his eyes save the swathed corpses and the white-gleaming +bones on which the shifting moonbeams fell. + +Multnomah rose to his feet, baffled, thwarted, all his soul glowing +with anger that he should be so scorned. + +"Why is this?" said his stern voice in the silence. "You come, but you +give no reply; you look, you listen, but you make no sound. Answer me, +you who know the future; tell me this secret!" + +Still no response. Yet the air seemed full of dense, magnetic life, of +muffled heart-beats, of voiceless, unresponsive, uncommunicative forms +that he could almost touch. + +For perhaps the first time in his life the war-chief found himself set +at naught. His form grew erect; his eyes gleamed with the terrible +wrath which the tribes dreaded as they dreaded the wrath of the Great +Spirit. + +[Illustration: "_Come back! Come back!_"] + +"Do you mock Multnomah? Am I not war-chief of the Willamettes? Though +you dwell in shadow and your bodies are dust, you are Willamettes, and +I am still your chief. Give up your secret! If the Great Spirit has +sealed your lips so that you cannot speak, give me a sign that will +tell me. Answer by word or sign; I say it,--I, Multnomah, your chief +and master." + +Silence again. The roar of the volcano had ceased; and an ominous +stillness brooded over Nature, as if all things held their breath, +anticipating some mighty and imminent catastrophe. Multnomah's hands +were clinched, and his strong face had on it now a fierceness of +command that no eye had ever seen before. His indomitable will reached +out to lay hold of those unseen presences and compel them to reply. + +A moment of strained, commanding expectation: then the answer came; +the sign was given. The earth shook beneath him till he staggered, +almost fell; the hut creaked and swayed like a storm-driven wreck; and +through the crevices on the side toward Mount Hood came a blinding +burst of flame. Down from the great gap in the Cascade Range through +which flows the Columbia rolled the far-off thundering crash which had +so startled Cecil and appalled the tribes. Then, tenfold louder than +before, came again the roar of the volcano. + +Too well Multnomah knew what had gone down in that crash; too well did +he read the sign that had been given. For a moment it seemed as if all +the strength of his heart had broken with that which had fallen; then +the proud dignity of his character reasserted itself, even in the face +of doom. + +"It has come at last, as the wise men of old said it would. The end is +at hand; the Willamettes pass like a shadow from the earth. The Great +Spirit has forsaken us, our _tomanowos_ has failed us. But my own +heart fails me not, and my own arm is strong. Like a war-chief will I +meet that which is to come. Multnomah falls, but he falls as the +Bridge has fallen, with a crash that will shake the earth, with a ruin +that shall crush all beneath him even as he goes down." + +Turning away, his eyes fell on the body of his wife as he passed +toward the door. Aroused and desperate as he was, he stopped an +instant and looked down at her with a long, lingering look, a look +that seemed to say, "I shall meet you ere many suns. Death and ruin +but give you back to me the sooner. There will be nothing between us +then; I shall understand you at last." + +Then he drew his robe close around him, and went out into the night. + + + + +BOOK V. + + +_THE SHADOW OF THE END._ + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE HAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT. + + "We view as one who hath an evil sight," + He answered, "plainly objects far remote." + + CAREY: _Dante_. + + +The night came to an end at last,--a night not soon forgotten by the +Oregon Indians, and destined to be remembered in tale and _tomanowos_ +lore long after that generation had passed away. The sky was thick +with clouds; the atmosphere was heavy with smoke, which, dense and +low-hanging in the still weather, shut out the entire horizon. The +volcano was invisible in the smoky air, but its low mutterings came to +them from time to time. + +The chiefs met early in the grove of council. Multnomah's countenance +told nothing of the night before, but almost all the rest showed +something yet of superstitious fear. Mishlah's face was haggard, his +air startled and uneasy, like that of some forest animal that had been +terribly frightened; and even Snoqualmie looked worn. But the greatest +change of all was in Tohomish. His face was as ghastly as that of a +corpse, and he came into the council walking in a dull lifeless way, +as if hardly aware of what he was doing. Those nearest to him shrank +away, whispering to one another that the seer looked like a dead man. + +Cecil came last. The severe mental conflict of the past night had told +almost fatally on a frame already worn out by years of toil and +sickness. His cheek was pale, his eye hollow, his step slow and +faltering like one whose flame of life is burning very low. The pain +at his heart, always worse in times of exhaustion, was sharp and +piercing. + +He looked agitated and restless; he had tried hard to give Wallulah +into the hands of God and feel that she was safe, but he could not. +For himself he had no thought; but his whole soul was wrung with pain +for her. By virtue of his own keen sympathies, he anticipated and felt +all that the years had in store for her,--the loneliness, the +heartache, the trying to care for one she loathed; until he shrank +from her desolate and hopeless future as if it had been his own. All +his soul went out to her in yearning tenderness, in passionate desire +to shield her and to take away her burden. + +But his resolution never wavered. Below the ebb and flow of feeling, +the decision to make their separation final was as unchanging as +granite. He could not bear to look upon her face again; he could not +bear to see her wedded to Snoqualmie. He intended to make one last +appeal to the Indians this morning to accept the gospel of peace; then +he would leave the council before Wallulah was brought to it. So he +sat there now, waiting for the "talk" to begin. + +The bands gathered around the grove were smaller than usual. Many had +fled from the valley at dawn to escape from the dreaded vicinity of +the smoking mountains; many hundreds remained, but they were awed and +frightened. No war could have appalled them as they were appalled by +the shaking of the solid earth under their feet. All the abject, +superstition of their natures was roused. They looked like men who +felt themselves caught in the grasp of some supernatural power. + +Multnomah opened the council by saying that two runners had arrived +with news that morning; the one from the sea-coast, the other from up +the Columbia. They would come before the council and tell the news +they had brought. + +The runner from the upper Columbia spoke first. He had come thirty +miles since dawn. He seemed unnerved and fearful, like one about to +announce some unheard-of calamity. The most stoical bent forward +eagerly to hear. + +"_The Great Spirit has shaken the earth, and the Bridge of the Gods +has fallen!_" + +There was the silence of amazement; then through the tribes passed in +many tongues the wild and wondering murmur, "The Bridge of the Gods +has fallen! The Bridge of the Gods has fallen!" With it, too, went the +recollection of the ancient prophecy that when the Bridge fell the +power of the Willamettes would also fall. Now the Bridge was broken, +and the dominion of the Willamettes was broken forever with it. At +another time the slumbering jealousy of the tribes would have burst +forth in terrific vengeance on the doomed race. But they were dejected +and afraid. In the fall of the Bridge they saw the hand of the Great +Spirit, a visitation of God. And so Willamette and tributary alike +heard the news with fear and apprehension. Only Multnomah, who knew +the message before it was spoken, listened with his wonted composure. + +"It is well," he said, with more than Indian duplicity; "the daughter +of Multnomah is to become the wife of Snoqualmie the Cayuse, and the +new line that commences with their children will give new chiefs to +head the confederacy of the Wauna. The old gives way to the new. That +is the sign that the Great Spirit gives in the fall of the Bridge. +Think you it means that the war-strength is gone from us, that we +shall no longer prevail in battle? No, no! who thinks it?" + +The proud old sachem rose to his feet; his giant form towered over the +multitude, and every eye fell before the haughty and scornful glance +that swept council and audience like a challenge to battle. + +"Is there a chief here that thinks it? Let him step out, let him +grapple with Multnomah in the death-grapple, and see. Is there a tribe +that thinks it? We reach out our arms to them; we are ready. Let them +meet us in battle now, to-day, and know if our hearts have become the +hearts of women. Will you come? We will give you dark and bloody proof +that our tomahawks are still sharp and our arms are strong." + +He stood with outstretched arms, from which the robe of fur had fallen +back. A thrill of dread went through the assembly at the grim +defiance; then Snoqualmie spoke. + +"The heart of all the tribes is as the heart of Multnomah. Let there +be peace." + +The chief resumed his seat. His force of will had wrung one last +victory from fate itself. Instantly, and with consummate address, +Multnomah preoccupied the attention of the council before anything +could be said or done to impair the effect of his challenge. He bade +the other runner, the one from the sea-coast, deliver his message. + +It was, in effect, this:-- + +A large canoe, with great white wings like a bird, had come gliding +over the waters to the coast near the mouth of the Wauna. Whence it +came no one could tell; but its crew were pale of skin like the great +white _shaman_ there in the council, and seemed of his race. Some of +them came ashore in a small canoe to trade with the Indians, but +trouble rose between them and there was a battle. The strangers slew +many Indians with their magic, darting fire at them from long black +tubes. Then they escaped to the great canoe, which spread its wings +and passed away from sight into the sea. Many of the Indians were +killed, but none of the pale-faced intruders. Now the band who had +suffered demanded that the white man of whom they had heard--the white +chief at the council--be put to death to pay the blood-debt. + +All eyes turned on Cecil, and he felt that his hour was come. Weak, +exhausted in body and mind, wearied almost to death, a sudden and +awful peril was on him. For a moment his heart sank, his brain grew +dizzy. How _could_ he meet this emergency? All his soul went out to +God with a dumb prayer for help, with an overwhelming sense of +weakness. Then he heard Multnomah speaking to him in cold, hard +tones. + +"The white man has heard the words of the runner. What has he to say +why his life should not pay the blood-debt?" + +Cecil rose to his feet. With one last effort he put Wallulah, himself, +his mission, into the hands of God; with one last effort he forced +himself to speak. + +Men of nervous temperament, like Cecil, can bring out of an exhausted +body an energy, an outburst of final and intense effort, of which +those of stronger physique do not seem capable. But it drains the +remaining vital forces, and the reaction is terrible. Was it this +flaming-up of the almost burned-out embers of life that animated Cecil +now? Or was it the Divine Strength coming to him in answer to prayer? +Be this as it may, when he opened his lips to speak, all the power of +his consecration came back; physical weakness and mental anxiety left +him; he felt that Wallulah was safe in the arms of the Infinite +Compassion; he felt his love for the Indians, his deep yearning to +help them, to bring them to God, rekindling within him; and never had +he been more grandly the Apostle to the Indians than now. + +In passionate tenderness, in burning appeal, in living force and power +of delivery, it was the supreme effort of his life. He did not plead +for himself; he ignored, put aside, forgot his own personal danger; +but he set before his hearers the wickedness of their own system of +retaliation and revenge; he showed them how it overshadowed their +lives and lay like a deadening weight on their better natures. The +horror, the cruelty, the brute animalism of the blood-thirst, the +war-lust, was set over against the love and forgiveness to which the +Great Spirit called them. + +The hearts of the Indians were shaken within them. The barbarism which +was the outcome of centuries of strife and revenge, the dark and +cumulative growth of ages, was stirred to its core by the strong and +tender eloquence of this one man. As he spoke, there came to all those +swarthy listeners, in dim beauty, a glimpse of a better life; there +came to them a moment's fleeting revelation of something above their +own vindictiveness and ferocity. That vague longing, that indefinable +wistfulness which he had so often seen on the faces of his savage +audiences was on nearly every face when he closed. + +As he took his seat, the tide of inspiration went from him, and a +deadly faintness came over him. It seemed as if in that awful reaction +the last spark of vitality was dying out; but somehow, through it all, +he felt at peace with God and man. A great quiet was upon him; he was +anxious for nothing, he cared for nothing, he simply rested as on the +living presence of the Father. + +Upon the sweet and lingering spell of his closing words came +Multnomah's tones in stern contrast. + +"What is the word of the council? Shall the white man live or die?" + +Snoqualmie was on his feet in an instant. + +"Blood for blood. Let the white man die at the torture-stake." + +One by one the chiefs gave their voice for death. Shaken for but a +moment, the ancient inherited barbarism which was their very life +reasserted itself, and they could decide no other way. One, two, +three of the sachems gave no answer, but sat in silence. They were men +whose hearts had been touched before by Cecil, and who were already +desiring the better life They could not condemn their teacher. + +At length it came to Tohomish. He arose. His face, always repulsive, +was pallid now in the extreme. The swathed corpses on _mimaluse_ +island looked not more sunken and ghastly. + +He essayed to speak; thrice the words faltered on his lips; and when +at last he spoke, it was in a weary, lifeless way. His tones startled +the audience like an electric shock. The marvellous power and +sweetness were gone from his voice; its accents were discordant, +uncertain. Could the death's head before them be that of Tohomish? +Could those harsh and broken tones be those of the Pine Voice? He +seemed like a man whose animal life still survived, but whose soul was +dead. + +What he said at first had no relation to the matter before the +council. Every Indian had his _tomanowos_ appointed him by the Great +Spirit from his birth, and that _tomanowos_ was the strength of his +life. Its influence grew with his growth; the roots of his being were +fed in it; it imparted its characteristics to him. But the name and +nature of his _tomanowos_ was the one secret that must go with him to +the grave. If it was told, the charm was lost and the _tomanowos_ +deserted him. + +Tohomish's _tomanowos_ was the Bridge and the foreknowledge of its +fall: a black secret that had darkened his whole life, and imparted +the strange and mournful mystery to his eloquence. Now that the Bridge +was fallen, the strength was gone from Tohomish's heart, the music +from his words. + +"Tohomish has no voice now," he continued; "he is as one dead. He +desires to say only this, then his words shall be heard no more among +men. The fall of the Bridge is a sign that not only the Willamettes +but all the tribes of the Wauna shall fall and pass away. Another +people shall take our place, another race shall reign in our stead, +and the Indian shall be forgotten, or remembered only as a dim memory +of the past. + +"And who are they who bring us our doom? Look on the face of the white +wanderer there; listen to the story of your brethren slain at the +sea-coast by the white men in the canoe, and you will know. They come; +they that are stronger, and push us out into the dark. The white +wanderer talks of peace; but the Great Spirit has put death between +the Indian and the white man, and where he has put death there can be +no peace. + +"Slay the white man as the white race will slay your children in the +time that is to come. Peace? love? There can be only war and hate. +Striking back blow for blow like a wounded rattlesnake, shall the red +man pass; and when the bones of the last Indian of the Wauna lie +bleaching on the prairie far from the _mimaluse_ island of his +fathers, then there will be peace. + +"Tohomish has spoken; his words are ended, and ended forever." + +The harsh, disjointed tones ceased. All eyes fell again on Cecil, the +representative of the race by which the Willamettes were doomed. The +wrath of all those hundreds, the vengeance of all those gathered +tribes of the Wauna, the hatred of the whole people he had come to +save, seemed to rise up and fall upon him the frail invalid with the +sharp pain throbbing at his heart. + +But that strange peace was on him still, and his eyes, dilated and +brilliant in the extremity of physical pain, met those lowering brows +with a look of exceeding pity. + +Multnomah rose to pronounce sentence. For him there could be but one +decision, and he gave it,--the clinched hand, the downward gesture, +that said, "There is death between us. We will slay as we shall be +slain." + +Cecil was on his feet, though it seemed as if he must fall within the +moment. He fought down the pain that pierced his heart like a knife; +he gathered the last resources of an exhausted frame for one more +effort. The executioners sprang forward with the covering for his eyes +that was to shut out the light forever. His glance, his gesture held +them back; they paused irresolutely, even in the presence of +Multnomah; weak as Cecil was, he was the great white _tomanowos_ +still, and they dared not touch him. There was a pause, an intense +silence. + +"I gave up all to come and tell you of God, and you have condemned me +to die at the torture-stake," said the soft, low voice, sending +through their stern hearts its thrill and pathos for the last time. +"But you shall not bring this blood-stain upon your souls. The hand of +the Great Spirit is on me; he takes me to himself. Remember--what I +have said. The Great Spirit loves you. Pray--forgive--be at peace. +Remember--" + +The quiver of agonizing pain disturbed the gentleness of his look; he +reeled, and sank to the ground. For a moment the slight form shuddered +convulsively and the hands were clinched; then the struggle ceased and +a wonderful brightness shone upon his face. His lips murmured +something in his own tongue, something into which came the name of +Wallulah and the name of God. Then his eyes grew dim and he lay very +still. Only the expression of perfect peace still rested on the face. +Sachems and warriors gazed in awe upon the beauty, grand in death, of +the one whom the Great Spirit had taken from them. Perhaps the iron +heart of the war-chief was the only one that did not feel remorse and +self-reproach. + +Ere the silence was broken, an old Indian woman came forward from the +crowd into the circle of chiefs. She looked neither to the right nor +to the left, but advanced among the warrior-sachems, into whose +presence no woman had dared intrude herself, and bent over the dead. +She lifted the wasted body in her arms and bore it away, with shut +lips and downcast eyes, asking no permission, saying no word. The +charm that had been around the white _shaman_ in life seemed to invest +her with its power; for grim chieftains made way, the crowd opened to +let her pass, and even Multnomah looked on in silence. + +That afternoon, a little band of Indians were assembled in Cecil's +lodge. Some of them were already converts; some were only awakened and +impressed; but all were men who loved him. + +They were gathered, men of huge frame, around a dead body that lay +upon a cougar skin. Their faces were sad, their manner was solemn. In +the corner sat an aged squaw, her face resting in her hands, her long +gray hair falling dishevelled about her shoulders. In that +heart-broken attitude she had sat ever since bringing Cecil to the +hut. She did not weep or sob but sat motionless, in stoical, dumb +despair. + +Around the dead the Indians stood or sat in silence, each waiting for +the other to say what was in the hearts of all. At length the Shoshone +renegade who had so loved Cecil, spoke. + +"Our white brother is gone from us, but the Great Spirit lives and +dies not. Let us turn from blood and sin and walk in the way our +brother showed us. He said, 'Remember;' and shall we forget? I choose +now, while he can hear me, before he is laid in the cold ground. I put +away from me the old heart of hate and revenge. I ask the Great Spirit +to give me the new heart of love and peace. I have chosen." + +One by one each told his resolve, the swarthy faces lighting up, the +stern lips saying unwonted words of love. Dim and misty, the dawn had +come to them; reaching out in the dark, they had got hold of the hand +of God and felt that he was a Father. One would have said that their +dead teacher lying there heard their vows, so calm and full of peace +was the white still face. + +That night the first beams of the rising moon fell on a new-made grave +under the cottonwoods, not far from the bank of the river. Beneath it, +silent in the last sleep, lay the student whose graceful presence had +been the pride of far-off Magdalen, the pastor whose memory still +lingered in New England, the evangelist whose burning words had +thrilled the tribes of the wilderness like the words of some prophet +of old. + +Beside the grave crouched the old Indian woman, alone and forsaken in +her despair,--the one mourner out of all for whom his life had been +given. + +No, not the only one; for a tall warrior enters the grove; the +Shoshone renegade bends over her and touches her gently on the +shoulder. + +"Come," he says kindly, "our horses are saddled; we take the trail up +the Wauna to-night, I and my friends. We will fly from this fated +valley ere the wrath of the Great Spirit falls upon it. Beyond the +mountains I will seek a new home with the Spokanes or the Okanogans. +Come; my home shall be your home, because you cared for him that is +gone." + +She shook her head and pointed to the grave. + +"My heart is there; my life is buried with him. I cannot go." + +Again he urged her. + +"No, no," she replied, with Indian stubbornness; "I cannot leave him. +Was I not like his mother? How can I go and leave him for others? The +roots of the old tree grow not in new soil. If it is pulled up it +dies." + +"Come with me," said the savage, with a gentleness born of his new +faith. "Be _my_ mother. We will talk of him; you shall tell me of him +and his God. Come, the horses wait." + +Again she shook her head; then fell forward on the grave, her arms +thrown out, as if to clasp it in her embrace. He tried to lift her; +her head fell back, and she lay relaxed and motionless in his arms. + +Another grave was made by Cecil's; and the little band rode through +the mountain pass that night, toward the country of the Okanogans, +without her. + +And that same night, an English exploring vessel far out at sea sailed +southward, leaving behind the unknown shores of Oregon,--her crew +never dreaming how near they had been to finding the lost wanderer, +Cecil Grey. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE MARRIAGE AND THE BREAKING UP. + + Remembering love and all the dead delight, + And all that time was sweet with for a space. + + SWINBURNE. + + +After Cecil had been borne from the council-grove, the Indians, +rousing themselves from the spell of the strange scene they had just +witnessed, looked around for Tohomish the seer. He was gone. No one +could remember seeing him go, yet he was missing from his accustomed +place, and never was he seen or heard of more. Upon his fate, lost in +the common ruin that engulfed his race, the legend casts no ray of +light. It is certain that the fall of the Bridge, with which his life +was interwoven, had a disastrous effect upon him, and as he said, that +the strength of his life was broken. It is probable that the +orator-seer, feeling within himself that his power was gone, crept +away into the forest to die. Perhaps, had they searched for him, they +would have found him lying lifeless upon the leaves in some dense +thicket or at the foot of some lonely crag. + +Whatever his fate, the Indians never looked upon his face again. + +Multnomah made no comment on the death of Cecil, or on the prophecy of +Tohomish, so much at variance with his own interpretation of the fall +of the Bridge. Whatever he had to say was evidently held in reserve +for the closing talk with which he would soon dismiss the council. + +"You shall see Multnomah's daughter given to Snoqualmie, and then +Multnomah will open his hand and make you rich." + +So said the war-chief; and a runner was dispatched with a summons to +Wallulah. In a little while a band of Indian girls was seen +approaching the grove. Surrounded by the maidens, as if they were a +guard of honor, came Wallulah, all unconscious of the tragedy that had +just been enacted. + +Among the chiefs they passed, and stopped before Multnomah. As they +paused, Wallulah looked around for Cecil in one quick glance; then, +not seeing him, she cast down her eyes despondingly. Multnomah rose +and beckoned Snoqualmie to him. He came forward and stood beside the +war-chief. The Indian girls stepped back a little, in involuntary awe +of the two great sachems, and left Wallulah standing alone before +them. + +Her face wore a patient look, as of one who is very worn and weary, +tired of the burdens of life, yet going forward without hope, without +thought even, to other and still heavier burdens. She was clad in a +soft oriental fabric; her hair fell in luxuriant tresses upon her +shoulders; her flute hung at her belt by a slender chain of gold. + +There was something unspeakably sad and heart-broken in her +appearance, as she stood there, a listless, dejected figure, before +those two grim warriors, awaiting her doom. + +Multnomah took her hand; the fingers of the other were clasped around +her beloved flute, pressing it closely, as if seeking help from its +mute companionship. The chief gave her hand into Snoqualmie's; a +shudder passed through her as she felt his touch, and she trembled +from head to foot; then she controlled herself by a strong effort. +Snoqualmie's fierce black eyes searched her face, as if looking +through and through her, and she flushed faintly under their +penetrating gaze. + +"She is yours," said the war-chief. "Be kind to her, for though she is +your wife she is the daughter of Multnomah." So much did the Indian +say for love of his child, wondering at her strange, sad look, and +feeling vaguely that she was unhappy. She tried to withdraw her +fingers from Snoqualmie's clasp the moment her father was done +speaking. He held them tightly, however, and bending over her, spoke +in a low tone. + +"My band starts for home at mid-day. Be ready to go when I send for +you." + +She looked up with startled, piteous eyes. + +"To-day?" she asked in a choked voice. + +"To-day," came the abrupt reply; too low for the others to hear, yet +harsh enough to sting her through and through. "Do you think +Snoqualmie goes back to his _illahee_ and leaves his woman behind?" + +Her spirit kindled in resentment. Never had the chief's daughter been +spoken to so harshly; then all at once it came to her that he +_knew_,--that he must have followed Cecil and witnessed one of their +last interviews. Jealous, revengeful, the Indian was her master now. +She grew pale to the lips. He released her hand, and she shrank away +from him, and left the council with her maidens. No one had heard the +few half-whispered words that passed between them but those who stood +nearest noticed the deadly pallor that came over her face while +Snoqualmie was speaking. Multnomah saw it, and Snoqualmie caught from +him a glance that chilled even his haughty nature--a glance that said, +"Beware; she is the war-chief's daughter." + +But even if he had known all, Multnomah would have sacrificed her. His +plans must be carried out even though her heart be crushed. + +Now followed the _potlatch_,--the giving of gifts. At a signal from +the war-chief, his slaves appeared, laden with presents. Large heaps +of rich furs and skins were laid on the ground near the chiefs. The +finest of bows and arrows, with gaily decorated quivers and store of +bow-strings, were brought. Untold treasure of _hiagua_ shells, money +as well as ornament to the Oregon Indians, was poured out upon the +ground, and lay glistening in the sun in bright-colored masses. To the +Indians they represented vast and splendid wealth. Multnomah was the +richest of all the Indians of the Wauna; and the gifts displayed were +the spoil of many wars, treasures garnered during forty years of +sovereignty. + +And now they were all given away. The chief kept back nothing, except +some cases of oriental fabrics that had been saved from the wreck when +Wallulah's mother was cast upon the shore. Well would it have been for +him and his race had they been given too; for, little as they dreamed +it, the fate of the Willamettes lay sealed up in those unopened cases +of silk and damask. + +Again and again the slaves of Multnomah added their burdens to the +heaps, and went back for more, till a murmur of wonder rose among the +crowd. His riches seemed exhaustless. At length, however, all was +brought. The chief stood up, and, opening his hands to them in the +Indian gesture for giving, said,-- + +"There is all that was Multnomah's; it is yours; your hands are full +now and mine are empty." + +The chiefs and warriors rose up gravely and went among the heaps of +treasure; each selecting from furs and skins, arms and _hiagua_ +shells, that which he desired. There was no unseemly haste or +snatching; a quiet decorum prevailed among them. The women and +children were excluded from sharing in these gifts, but +provisions--dried meats and berries, and bread of _camas_ or Wappatto +root--were thrown among them on the outskirts of the crowd where they +were gathered. And unlike the men, they scrambled for it like hungry +animals; save where here and there the wife or daughter of a chief +stood looking disdainfully on the food and those who snatched at it. + +Such giving of gifts, or _potlatches_, are still known among the +Indians. On Puget Sound and the Okanogan, one occasionally hears of +some rich Indian making a great _potlatch_,--giving away all his +possessions, and gaining nothing but a reputation for disdain of +wealth, a reputation which only Indian stoicism would crave. +Multnomah's object was not that so much as to make, before the +dispersal of the tribes, a last and most favorable impression. + +When the presents were all divided, the chiefs resumed their places to +hear the last speech of Multnomah,--the speech that closed the +council. + +It was a masterpiece of dignity, subtility, and command. The prophecy +of Tohomish was evaded, the fall of the Bridge wrested into an omen +propitious to the Willamettes; and at last his hearers found +themselves believing as he wished them to believe, without knowing how +or why, so strongly did the overmastering personality of Multnomah +penetrate and sway their lesser natures. He particularly dwelt on the +idea that they were all knit together now and were as one race. Yet +through the smooth words ran a latent threat, a covert warning of the +result of any revolt against his authority based on what plotting +dreamers might say of the fall of the Bridge,--a half-expressed +menace, like the gleam of a sword half drawn from the scabbard. And he +closed by announcing that ere another spring the young men of all the +tribes would go on the war-path against the Shoshones and come back +loaded with spoil. And so, kindling the hatred of the chiefs against +the common enemy, Multnomah closed the great council. + +In a little while the camp was all astir with preparation for +departure. Lodges were being taken down, the mats that covered them +rolled up and packed on the backs of horses; all was bustle and +tumult. Troop after troop crossed the river and took the trail toward +the upper Columbia. + +But when the bands passed from under the personal influence of +Multnomah, they talked of the ominous things that had just happened; +they said to each other that the Great Spirit had forsaken the +Willamettes, and that when they came into the valley again it would be +to plunder and to slay. Multnomah had stayed the tide but for a +moment. The fall of the ancient _tomanowos_ of the Willamettes had a +tremendous significance to the restless tributaries, and already the +confederacy of the Wauna was crumbling like a rope of sand. Those +tribes would meet no more in peace on the island of council. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +AT THE CASCADES. + + Wails on the wind, fades out the sunset quite, + And in my heart and on the earth is night. + + PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. + + +The main body of Snoqualmie's followers crossed to the north bank of +the Columbia and took the trail leading up the river toward the inland +prairies. But Snoqualmie and Wallulah went by canoe as far as the now +ruined Bridge of the Gods. There were three canoes in their train. +Snoqualmie and Wallulah occupied the first; the other two were laden +with the rich things that had once made her lodge so beautiful. It +stood all bare and deserted now, the splendor stripped from its rough +bark walls even as love and hope had been reft from the heart of its +mistress. Tapestries, divans, carpets, mirrors, were heaped in the +canoes like spoil torn from the enemy. + +The farewell between Wallulah and her father had been sorrowful. It +was remembered afterward, by those who were witnesses of it, that the +war-chief had shown a tenderness unusual with him, that he had seemed +reluctant to part with his daughter, and that she had clung to him, +pale and tearful, as if he were her last hope on earth. + +When Snoqualmie took her hand to lead her away, she shuddered, +withdrew her fingers from his clasp, and walked alone to the canoe. +He entered after her: the canoe-men dipped their paddles into the +water, and the vessel glided away from the island. + +She sat reclining on a heap of furs, her elbows sunk in them, her +cheek resting on her hand, her eyes turned back toward her island +home. Between it and her the expanse of waters grew ever broader, and +the trail the canoe left behind it sparkled in a thousand silvery +ripples. The island, with its green prairies and its stately woods, +receded fast. She felt as she looked back as if everything was +slipping away from her. Lonely as her life had been before Cecil came +into it, she had still had her music and her beautiful rooms in the +bark lodge; and they seemed infinitely sweet and precious now as she +recalled them. Oh, if she could only have them back again! And those +interviews with Cecil. How love and grief shook the little figure as +she thought! How loathingly she shrunk from the presence of the +barbarian at her side! And all the time the island receded farther and +farther in the distance, and the canoe glided forward like a merciless +fate bearing her on and on toward the savagery of the inland desert. + +Snoqualmie sat watching her with glittering, triumphant eyes. To him +she was no more than some lovely animal of which he had become the +owner; and ownership of course brought with it the right to tantalize +and to torture. A malicious smile crossed his lips as he saw how +sorrowfully her gaze rested on her old home. + +"Look forward," he said, "not back; look forward to your life with +Snoqualmie and to the lodge that awaits you in the land of the +Cayuses." + +She started, and her face flushed painfully; then without looking at +him she replied,-- + +"Wallulah loves her home, and leaving it saddens her." + +A sparkle of vindictive delight came into his eyes. + +"Do the women of the Willamette feel sad when they go to live with +their husbands? It is not so with the Cayuse women. They are glad; +_they_ care for the one they belong to. They love to sit in the sun at +the door of the wigwam and say to the other women, 'My man is brave; +he leads the war party; he has many scalps at his belt. Who is brave +like my man?'" + +Wallulah shuddered. He saw it, and the sparkle of malice in his eyes +flashed into sudden anger. + +"Does the young squaw tremble at these things? Then she must get used +to them. She must learn to bring wood and water for Snoqualmie's +lodge, too. She must learn to wait on him as an Indian's wife ought. +The old wrinkled squaws, who are good for nothing but to be beasts of +burden, shall teach her." + +There came before her a picture of the ancient withered hags, the +burden-bearers, the human vampires of the Indian camps, the vile in +word and deed, the first to cry for the blood of captives, the most +eager to give taunts and blows to the helpless; were they to be her +associates, her teachers? Involuntarily she lifted her hand, as if to +push from her a future so dreadful. + +"Wallulah will bring the wood and the water. Wallulah will work. The +old women need not teach her." + +"That is well. But one thing more you must learn; and that is to hold +up your head and not look like a drooping captive. Smile, laugh, be +gay. Snoqualmie will have no clouded face, no bent head in his +lodge." + +She looked at him imploringly. The huge form, the swarthy face, seemed +to dominate her, to crush her down with their barbarian strength and +ferocity. She dropped her eyes again, and lay there on the furs like +some frightened bird shrinking from the glance of a hawk. + +"I will work; I will bear burdens," she repeated, in a trembling tone. +"But I cannot smile and laugh when my heart is heavy." + +He watched her with a half angry, half malicious regard, a regard that +seemed ruthlessly probing into every secret of her nature. + +She knew somehow that he was aware of her love for Cecil, and she +dreaded lest he should taunt her with it. Anything but that. He knew +it, and held it back as his last and most cruel blow. Over his bronzed +face flitted no expression of pity. She was to him like some delicate +wounded creature of the forest, that it was a pleasure to torture. So +he had often treated a maimed bird or fawn,--tantalizing it, delighted +by its fluttering and its pain, till the lust of torture was gratified +and the death-blow was given. + +He sat regarding her with a sneering, malicious look for a little +while; then he said,-- + +"It is hard to smile on Snoqualmie; but the white man whom you met in +the wood, it was not so with him. It was easy to smile and look glad +at him, but it is hard to do so for Snoqualmie." + +Wallulah shrunk as if he had struck her a blow; then she looked at him +desperately, pleadingly. + +"Do not say such cruel things. I will be a faithful wife to you. I +will never see the white man again." + +The sneering malice in his eyes gave way to the gleam of exultant +anger. + +"Faithful! You knew you were to be my woman when you let him put his +arms around you and say soft things to you. Faithful! You would leave +Snoqualmie for him now, could it be so. But you say well that you will +never see him again." + +She gazed at him in terror. + +"What do you mean? Has anything happened to him? Have they harmed +him?" + +Over the chief's face came the murderous expression that was there +when he slew the Bannock warrior at the torture stake. + +"Harmed him! Do you think that he could meet you alone and say sweet +things to you and caress you,--you who were the same as my squaw,--and +I not harm him? He is dead; I slew him." + +False though it was, in so far as Snoqualmie claimed to have himself +slain Cecil, it was thoroughly in keeping with Indian character. White +captives were often told, "I killed your brother," or, "This is your +husband's scalp," when perhaps the person spoken of was alive and +well. + +"Dead!" + +He threw his tomahawk at her feet. + +"His blood is on it. You are Snoqualmie's squaw; wash it off." + +Dead, dead, her lover was dead! That was all she could grasp. +Snoqualmie's insulting command passed unheeded. She sat looking at the +Indian with bright, dazed eyes that saw nothing. All the world seemed +blotted out. + +"I tell you that he is dead, and I slew him. Are you asleep that you +stare at me so? Awaken and do as I bid you; wash your lover's blood +off my tomahawk." + +At first she had been stunned by the terrible shock, and she could +realize only that Cecil was dead. Now it came to her, dimly at first, +then like a flash of fire, that Snoqualmie had slain him. All her +spirit leaped up in uncontrollable hatred. For once, she was the +war-chief's daughter. She drew her skirts away from the tomahawk in +unutterable horror; her eyes blazed into Snoqualmie's a defiance and +scorn before which his own sunk for the instant. + +"You killed him! I hate you. I will never be your wife. You have +thrown the tomahawk between us; it shall be between us forever. +Murderer! You have killed the one I love. Yes, I loved him; and I hate +you and will hate you till I die." + +The passion in her voice thrilled even the canoe-men, and their paddle +strokes fell confusedly for an instant, though they did not +understand; for both Wallulah and Snoqualmie had spoken in the royal +tongue of the Willamettes. He sat abashed for an instant, taken +utterly by surprise. + +Then the wild impulse of defiance passed, and the awful sense of +bereavement came back like the falling of darkness over a sinking +flame. Cecil was gone from her, gone for all time. The world seemed +unreal, empty. She sunk among the furs like one stricken down. +Snoqualmie, recovering from his momentary rebuff, heaped bitter +epithets and scornful words upon her; but she neither saw nor heard, +and lay with wide, bright, staring eyes. Her seeming indifference +maddened him still more, and he hurled at her the fiercest abuse. She +looked at him vaguely. He saw that she did not even know what he was +saying, and relapsed into sullen silence. She lay mute and still, with +a strained expression of pain in her eyes. The canoe sped swiftly on. + +One desolating thought repeated itself again and again,--the thought +of hopeless and irreparable loss. By it past and present were blotted +out. By and by, when she awoke from the stupor of despair and realized +her future, destined to be passed with the murderer of her lover, what +then? But now she was stunned with the shock of a grief that was mercy +compared with the awakening that must come. + +They were in the heart of the Cascade Mountains, and a low deep roar +began to reach their ears, rousing and startling all but Wallulah. It +was the sound of the cascades, of the new cataract formed by the fall +of the Great Bridge. Rounding a bend in the river they came in sight +of it. The mighty arch, the long low mountain of stone, had fallen in, +damming up the waters of the Columbia, which were pouring over the +sunken mass in an ever-increasing volume. Above, the river, raised by +the enormous dam, had spread out like a lake, almost submerging the +trees that still stood along the former bank. Below the new falls the +river was comparatively shallow, its rocky bed half exposed by the +sudden stoppage of the waters. + +The Indians gazed with superstitious awe on the vast barrier over +which the white and foaming waters were pouring. The unwonted roar of +the falls, a roar that seemed to increase every moment as the swelling +waters rushed over the rocks; the sight of the wreck of the mysterious +bridge, foreshadowing the direst calamities,--all this awed the wild +children of the desert. They approached the falls slowly and +cautiously. + +A brief command from Snoqualmie, and they landed on the northern side +of the river, not far from the foot of the falls. There they must +disembark, and the canoes be carried around the falls on the shoulders +of Indians and launched above. + +The roar of the Cascades roused Wallulah from her stupor. She stepped +ashore and looked in dazed wonder on the strange new world around her. +Snoqualmie told her briefly that she must walk up the bank to the +place where the canoe was to be launched again above the falls. She +listened mutely, and started to go. But the way was steep and rocky; +the bank was strewn with the debris of the ruined bridge; and she was +unused to such exertion. Snoqualmie saw her stumble and almost fall. +It moved him to a sudden and unwonted pity, and he sprang forward to +help her. She pushed his hand from her as if it had been the touch of +a serpent, and went on alone. His eyes flashed: for all this the +reckoning should come, and soon; woe unto her when it came. + +The rough rocks bruised her delicately shod feet, the steep ascent +took away her breath. Again and again she felt as if she must fall; +but the bitter scorn and loathing that Snoqualmie's touch had kindled +gave her strength, and at last she completed the ascent. + +Above the falls and close to them, she sat down upon a rock; a slight, +drooping figure, whose dejected pose told of a broken heart. + +Before her, almost at her feet, the pent-up river was widened to a +vast flood. Here and there a half-submerged pine lifted its crown +above it; the surface was ruffled by the wind, and white-crested waves +were rolling among the green tree-tops. She looked with indifference +upon the scene. She had not heard that the Bridge had fallen, and was, +of course, ignorant of these new cascades; and they did not impress +her as being strange. + +Her whole life was broken up; all the world appeared shattered by the +blow that had fallen on her, and nothing could startle her now. She +felt dimly that some stupendous catastrophe had taken place; yet it +did not appear unnatural. A strange sense of unreality possessed her; +everything seemed an illusion, as if she were a shadow in a land of +shadows. The thought came to her that she was dead, and that her +spirit was passing over the dim ghost trail to the shadow-land. She +tried to shake off the fancy, but all was so vague and dreamlike that +she hardly knew where or what she was; yet over it all brooded the +consciousness of dull, heavy, torturing pain, like the dumb agony that +comes to us in fevered sleep, burdening our dreams with a black +oppressing weight of horror. + +Her hand, hanging listlessly at her side, touched her flute, which was +still suspended from her belt by the golden chain. She raised it to +her lips, but only a faint inharmonious note came from it. The music +seemed gone from the flute, as hope was gone from her heart. To her +overwrought nerves, it was the last omen of all. The flute dropped +from her fingers; she covered her face with her hands, and the hot +tears coursed slowly down her cheeks. + +Some one spoke to her, not ungently, and she looked up. One of the +canoe-men stood beside her. He pointed to the canoe, now launched near +by. Snoqualmie was still below, at the foot of the falls, +superintending the removal of the other. + +Slowly and wearily she entered the waiting canoe and resumed her seat. +The Indian paddlers took their places. They told her that the chief +Snoqualmie had bidden them take her on without him. He would follow in +the other canoe. It was a relief to be free from his presence, if only +for a little while; and the sadness on her face lightened for a moment +when they told her. + +A few quick paddle-strokes, and the boat shot out into the current +above the cascades and then glided forward. No, _not_ forward. The +canoe-men, unfamiliar with the new cataract, had launched their vessel +too close to the falls; and the mighty current was drawing it back. A +cry of horror burst from their lips as they realized their danger, and +their paddles were dashed into the water with frenzied violence. The +canoe hung quivering through all its slender length between the +desperate strokes that impelled it forward and the tremendous suction +that drew it down. Had they been closer to the bank, they might have +saved themselves; but they were too far out in the current. They felt +the canoe slipping back in spite of their frantic efforts, slowly at +first, then more swiftly; and they knew there was no hope. + +The paddles fell from their hands. One boatman leaped from the canoe +with the desperate idea of swimming ashore, but the current instantly +swept him under and out of sight; the other sat motionless in his +place, awaiting the end with Indian stolidity. + +The canoe was swept like a leaf to the verge of the fall and downward +into a gulf of mist and spray. As it trembled on the edge of the +cataract, and its horrors opened beneath her, Wallulah realized her +doom for the first time; and in the moment she realised it, it was +upon her. There was a quick terror, a dreamlike glimpse of white +plunging waters, a deafening roar, a sudden terrible shock as the +canoe was splintered on the rocks at the foot of the fall; then all +things were swallowed up in blackness, a blackness that was death. + +Below the falls, strong swimmers, leaping into the water, brought the +dead to land. Beneath a pine-tree that grew close by the great +Columbia trail and not far from the falls, the bodies were laid. The +daughter of Multnomah lay in rude state upon a fawn-skin; while at her +feet were extended the brawny forms of the two canoe-men who had died +with her, and who, according to Indian mythology, were to be her +slaves in the Land of the Hereafter. Her face was very lovely, but its +mournfulness remained. Her flute, broken in the shock that had killed +her, was still attached to her belt. The Indians had placed her hand +at her side, resting upon the flute; and they noticed in superstitious +wonder that the cold fingers seemed to half close around it, as if +they would clasp it lovingly, even in death. Indian women knelt beside +her, fanning her face with fragrant boughs of pine. Troop after +troop, returning over the trail to their homes, stopped to hear the +tale, and to gaze at the dead face that was so wonderfully beautiful +yet so sad. + +All day long the bands gathered; each stopping, none passing +indifferently by. At length, when evening came and the shadow of the +wood fell long and cool, the burials began. A shallow grave was +scooped at Wallulah's feet for the bodies of the two canoe-men. Then +chiefs--for they only might bury Multnomah's daughter--entombed her in +a cairn; being Upper Columbia Indians, they buried her, after the +manner of their people, under a heap of stone. Rocks and bowlders were +built around and over her body, yet without touching it, until the sad +dead face was shut out from view. And still the stones were piled +above her; higher and higher rose the great rock-heap, till a mighty +cairn marked the last resting-place of Wallulah. And all the time the +women lifted the death-wail, and Snoqualmie stood looking on with +folded arms and sullen baffled brow. At length the work was done. The +wail ceased; the gathering broke up, and the sachems and their bands +rode away, Snoqualmie and his troop departing with them. + +Only the roar of the cascades broke the silence, as night fell on the +wild forest and the lonely river. The pine-tree beside the trail +swayed its branches in the wind with a low soft murmur, as if lulling +the sorrow-worn sleeper beneath it into still deeper repose. And she +lay very still in the great cairn,--the sweet and beautiful +dead,--with the grim warriors stretched at her feet, stern guardians +of a slumber never to be broken. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +MULTNOMAH'S DEATH-CANOE. + + Gazing alone + To him are wild shadows shown. + Deep under deep unknown. + + DANTE ROSSETTI. + + +If Multnomah was grieved at his daughter's death, if his heart sunk at +the unforeseen and terrible blow that left his empire without an heir +and withered all his hopes, no one knew it; no eye beheld his woe. +Silent he had ever been, and he was silent to the last. The grand, +strong face only grew grander, stronger, as the shadows darkened +around him; the unconquerable will only grew the fiercer and the more +unflinching. But ere the moon that shone first on Wallulah's new-made +cairn had rounded to the full, there was that upon him before which +even his will bowed and gave way,--death, swift and mysterious. And it +came in this wise. + +We have told how at the great _potlatch_ he gave away his all, even to +the bear-skins from his couch, reserving only those cases of Asiatic +textures never yet opened,--all that now remained of the richly laden +ship of the Orient wrecked long ago upon his coast. They were opened +now. His bed was covered with the magnificent fabrics; they were +thrown carelessly over the rude walls and seats, half-trailing on the +floor; exquisite folds of velvet and damask swept the leaves and +dust,--so that all men might see how rich the chief still was, though +he had given away so much. And with his ostentation was mixed a secret +pride and tenderness that his dead wife had indirectly given him this +wealth. The war-chief's woman had brought him these treasures out of +the sea; and now that he had given away his all, even to the bare +poles of his lodge, she filled it with fine things and made him rich +again,--she who had been sleeping for years in the death-hut on +_mimaluse_ island. Those treasures, ere the vessel that carried them +was wrecked, had been sent as a present from one oriental prince to +another. Could it be that they had been purposely impregnated with +disease, so that while the prince that sent them seemed to bestow a +graceful gift, he was in reality taking a treacherous and terrible +revenge? Such things were not infrequent in Asiatic history; and even +the history of Europe, in the middle ages, tells us of poisoned masks, +of gloves and scarfs charged with disease. + +Certain it is that shortly after the cases were opened, a strange and +fatal disease broke out among Multnomah's attendants. The howling of +medicine-men rang all day long in the royal lodge; each day saw +swathed corpses borne out to the funeral pyre or _mimaluse_ island. +And no concoction of herbs,--however skilfully compounded with stone +mortar and pestle,--no incantation of medicine-men or steaming +atmosphere of sweat-house, could stay the mortality. + +At length Multnomah caught the disease. It seemed strange to the +Indians that the war-chief should sicken, that Multnomah should show +any of the weaknesses of common flesh and blood; yet so it was. But +while the body yielded to the inroad of disease, the spirit that for +almost half a century had bent beneath it the tribes of the Wauna +never faltered. He lay for days upon his couch, his system wasting +with the plague, his veins burning with fever, holding death off only +by might of will. He touched no remedies, for he felt them to be +useless; he refused the incantations of the medicine-men; alone and in +his own strength the war-chief contended with his last enemy. + +All over the Willamette Valley, through camp and fishery, ran the +whisper that Multnomah was dying; and the hearts of the Indians sunk +within them. Beyond the mountains the whisper passed to the allied +tribes, once more ripe for revolt, and the news rang among them like a +trumpet call; it was of itself a signal for rebellion. The fall of the +magic Bridge, the death of Wallulah, and the fatal illness of +Multnomah had sealed the doom of the Willamettes. The chiefs stayed +their followers only till they knew that he was dead. But the grand +old war-chief seemed determined that he would not die. He struggled +with disease; he crushed down his sufferings; he fought death with the +same silent, indomitable tenacity with which he had overthrown the +obstacles of life. + +In all his wasting agony he was the war-chief still, and held his +subjects in his grip. To the tribes that were about to rebel he sent +messages, short, abrupt, but terrible in their threat of +vengeance,--messages that shook and awed the chiefs and pushed back +invasion. To the last, the great chief overawed the tribes; the +generation that had grown up under the shadow of his tyranny, even +when they knew he was dying, still obeyed him. + +At length, one summer evening a few weeks after the burial of +Wallulah, there burst forth from the war-chief's lodge that peculiar +wail which was lifted only for the death of one of the royal blood. No +need to ask who it was, for only _one_ remained of the ancient line +that had so long ruled the Willamettes; and for him, the last of his +race, was the wail lifted. It was re-echoed by the inmates of the +surrounding lodges; it rang, foreboding, mournful, through the +encampment on Wappatto Island. + +Soon, runners were seen departing in every direction to bear the fatal +news throughout the valley. Twilight fell on them; the stars came out; +the moon rose and sunk; but the runners sped on, from camp to camp, +from village to village. Wherever there was a cluster of Willamette +lodges, by forest, river, or sea, the tale was told, the wail was +lifted. So all that night the death-wail passed through the valley of +the Willamette; and in the morning the trails were thronged with bands +of Indians journeying for the last time to the isle of council, to +attend the obsequies of their chief, and consult as to the choice of +one to take his place. + +The pestilence that had so ravaged the household of Multnomah was +spread widely now; and every band as it departed from the camp left +death behind it,--aye, took death with it; for in each company were +those whose haggard, sickly faces told of disease, and in more than +one were those so weakened that they lagged behind and fell at last +beside the trail to die. + +The weather was very murky. It was one of the smoky summers of Oregon, +like that of the memorable year 1849, when the smoke of wide-spread +forest fires hung dense and blinding over Western Oregon for days, and +it seemed to the white settlers as if they were never to breathe the +clear air or see the sky again. But even that, the historic "smoky +time" of the white pioneers, was scarcely equal to the smoky period of +more than a century and a half before. The forest fires were raging +with unusual fury; Mount Hood was still in course of eruption; and all +the valley was wrapped in settled cloud. Through the thick atmosphere +the tall firs loomed like spectres, while the far-off roar of flames +in the forest and the intermittent sounds of the volcano came weirdly +to the Indians as they passed on their mournful way. What wonder that +the distant sounds seemed to them wild voices in the air, prophecying +woe; and objects in the forest, half seen through the smoke, grotesque +forms attending them as they marched! And when the bands had all +gathered on the island, the shuddering Indians told of dim and shadowy +phantoms that had followed and preceded them all the way; and of +gigantic shapes in the likeness of men that had loomed through the +smoke, warning them back with outstretched arms. Ominous and unknown +cries had come to them through the gloom; and the spirits of the dead +had seemed to marshal them on their way, or to oppose their +coming,--they knew not which. + +So, all day long, troop after troop crossed the river to the island, +emerging like shadows from the smoke that seemed to wrap the +world,--each with its sickly faces, showing the terrible spread of the +pestilence; each helping to swell the great horror that brooded over +all, with its tale of the sick and dead at home, and the wild things +seen on the way. Band after band the tribes gathered, and when the sun +went down the war-chief's obsequies took place. + +[Illustration: _Multnomah's Death-canoe._] + +It was a strange funeral that they gave Multnomah, yet it was in +keeping with the dark, grand life he had lived. + +A large canoe was filled with pitch and with pine-knots,--the most +inflammable materials an Oregon forest could furnish. Upon them was +heaped all that was left of the chief's riches, all the silks and +velvets that remained of the cargo of the shipwrecked vessel lost upon +the coast long before. And finally, upon the splendid heap of +textures, upon the laces and the damasks of the East, was laid the +dead body of Multnomah, dressed in buckskin; his moccasins on his +feet, his tomahawk and his pipe by his side, as became a chief +starting on his last journey. + +Then as night came on, and the smoky air darkened into deepest gloom, +the canoe was taken out into the main current of the Columbia, and +fire was set to the dry knots that made up the funeral pyre. In an +instant the contents of the canoe were in a blaze, and it was set +adrift in the current. Down the river it floated, lighting the night +with leaping flames. On the shore, the assembled tribe watched it in +silence, mute, dejected, as they saw their great chief borne from them +forever. Promontory and dusky fir, gleaming water and level beach, +were brought into startling relief against the background of night, as +the burning vessel neared them; then sank into shadow as it passed +onward. Overhead, the playing tongues of fire reddened the smoke that +hung dense over the water, and made it assume distorted and fantastic +shapes, which moved and writhed in the wavering light, and to the +Indians seemed spectres of the dead, hovering over the canoe, reaching +out their arms to receive the soul of Multnomah. + +"It is the dead people come for him," the Willamettes whispered to one +another, as they stood upon the bank, watching the canoe drift farther +and farther from them, with the wild play of light and shadow over it. +Down the river, like some giant torch that was to light the war-chief +along the shadowy ways of death, passed the burning canoe. Rounding a +wooded point, it blazed a moment brilliantly beside it, and as it +drifted to the farther side, outlined the intervening trees with fire, +till every branch was clearly relieved against a flaming background; +then, passing slowly on beyond the point, the light waned gradually, +and at last faded quite away. + +And not till then was a sound heard among the silent and impassive +throng on the river-bank. But when the burning canoe had vanished +utterly, when black and starless night fell again on wood and water, +the death-wail burst from the Indians with one impulse and one +voice,--a people's cry for its lost chief, a great tribe's lament for +the strength and glory that had drifted from it, never to return. + + * * * * * + +Among a superstitious race, every fact becomes mingled more or less +with fable; every occurrence, charged with fantastic meanings. And +there sprang up among the Indians, no one could tell how, a prophecy +that some night when the Willamettes were in their direst need, a +great light would be seen moving on the waters of the Columbia, and +the war-chief would come back in a canoe of fire to lead them to +victory as of old. + +Dire and awful grew their need as the days went on; swift and sweeping +was the end. Long did the few survivors of his race watch and wait for +his return,--but never more came back Multnomah to his own. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +AS WAS WRIT IN THE BOOK OF FATE. + + A land of old upheaven from the abyss + By fire, to sink into the abyss again, + Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt. + + TENNYSON. + + +And now our tale draws to a close. There remains but to tell how the +last council was held on Wappatto Island; how Mishlah the Cougar, +chief of the Mollalies, died; and how the prophecy of the Bridge was +fulfilled. + +The morning after the obsequies of Multnomah, the chiefs met in the +grove where the great council of the tribes had been held only a few +weeks before. The leaves, which had been green and glossy then, were +turning yellow and sickly now in the close hot weather. All Nature +seemed full of decay. + +The chiefs were grouped before the vacant seat of Multnomah; and the +Willamette tribe, gathered from canyon and prairie and fishery, looked +on, sole spectators of the proceedings,--for none of the allies were +present. The ravages of the pestilence had been terrible. Many +warriors were missing from the spectators; many chiefs were absent +from the council. And there were some present from whom the others +shrunk away, whose hot breath and livid faces showed that they too +were stricken with the plague. There were emaciated Indians among the +audience, whose gaunt forms and hollow eyes told that they had dragged +themselves to the council-grove to die. The wailing of the women at +the camp, lamenting those just dead; the howling of the medicine-men +in the distance, performing their incantations over the sick; the +mysterious sounds that came from the burning forest and the +volcano,--all these were heard. Round the council the smoke folded +thick and dark, veiling the sun, and shutting out the light of heaven +and the mercy of the Great Spirit. + +The chiefs sat long in silence, each waiting for the other to speak. +At length arose a stately warrior famous among the Willamettes for +wisdom and prudence. + +"We perish," said the chief, "we melt away before the breath of the +pestilence, like snow before the breath of the warm spring wind. And +while we die of disease in our lodges, war gathers against us beyond +the ranges. Even now the bands of our enemies may be descending the +mountains, and the tomahawk may smite what the disease has spared. +What is to be done? What say the wise chiefs of the Willamettes? +Multnomah's seat is empty: shall we choose another war-chief?" + +A pale and ghastly chief rose to reply. It was evident that he was in +the last extremity of disease. + +"Shall we choose another war-chief to sit in Multnomah's place? We +may; but will he be Multnomah? The glory of the Willamettes is dead! +Talk no more of war, when our war-strength is gone from us. The Bridge +is fallen, the Great Spirit is against us. Let those who are to live +talk of war. It is time for us to learn how to die." + +He sunk flushed and exhausted upon the ground. Then rose an aged +chief, so old that it seemed as if a century of time had passed over +him. His hair was a dirty gray, his eyes dull and sunken, his face +withered. He supported himself with tremulous bony hands upon his +staff. His voice was feeble, and seemed like an echo from the +long-perished past. + +"I am old, the oldest of all the Willamettes. I have seen so many +winters that no man can count them. I knew Multnomah's father. I went +forth to battle with his father's father; and even before that I knew +others, warriors of a forgotten time. Or do I dream? I know not. The +weight of the time that I have lived is very heavy, and my mind sinks +under it. My form is bowed with the burden of winters. Warriors, I +have seen many councils, many troubles, but never a trouble like this. +Of what use is your council? Can the words of wise men stay disease? +Can the edge of the tomahawk turn back sickness? Can you fight against +the Great Spirit? He sent the white man to tell us of our sins and +warn us to be better, and you closed your ears and would not listen. +Nay, you would have slain him had not the Great Spirit taken him away. +These things would not have come upon us had you listened to the white +_shaman_. You have offended the Great Spirit, and he has broken the +Bridge and sent disease upon us; and all that your wisdom may devise +can avail naught to stay his wrath. You can but cover your faces in +silence, and die." + +For a moment the council was very still. The memory of the white +wanderer, his strong and tender eloquence, his fearless denunciation, +his loving and passionate appeal, was on them all. _Was_ the Great +Spirit angry with them because they had rejected him? + +"Who talks of dying?" said a fierce warrior, starting to his feet. +"Leave that to women and sick men! Shall we stay here to perish while +life is yet strong within us? The valley is shadowed with death; the +air is disease; an awful sickness wastes the people; our enemies rush +in upon us. Shall we then lie down like dogs and wait for death? No. +Let us leave this land; let us take our women and children, and fly. +Let us seek a new home beyond the Klamath and the Shasta, in the South +Land, where the sun is always warm, and the grass is always green, and +the cold never comes. The spirits are against us here, and to stay is +to perish. Let us seek a new home, where the spirits are not angry; +even as our fathers in the time that is far back left their old home +in the ice country of the Nootkas and came hither. I have spoken." + +His daring words kindled a moment's animation in the despondent +audience; then the ceaseless wailing of the women and the panting of +the sick chiefs in the council filled the silence, and their hearts +sank within them again. + +"My brother is brave," said the grave chief who had opened the +council, "but are his words wise? Many of our warriors are dead, many +are sick, and Multnomah is gone. The Willamettes are weak; it is +bitter to the lips to say it, but it is true. Our enemies are strong. +All the tribes who were once with us are against us. The passes are +kept by many warriors; and could we fight our way through them to +another land, the sickness would go with us. Why fly from the disease +here, to die with it in some far-off land?" + +"We cannot leave our own land," said a dreamer, or medicine-man. "The +Great Spirit gave it to us, the bones of our fathers are in it. It is +_our_ land," he repeated with touching emphasis. "The Willamette +cannot leave his old home, though the world is breaking up all around +him. The bones of our people are here. Our brothers lie in the +death-huts on _mimaluse_ island;--how can we leave them? Here is the +place where we must live; here, if death comes, must we die!" + +A murmur of assent came from the listeners. It voiced the decision of +the council. With stubborn Indian fatalism, they would await the end; +fighting the rebels if attacked, and sullenly facing the disease if +unmolested. Now a voice was heard that never had been heard in accents +of despair,--a voice that was still fierce and warlike in its +resentment of the course the council was taking. It was the voice of +Mishlah the Cougar, chief of the Mollalies. He, too, had the plague, +and had just reached the grove, walking with slow and tottering steps, +unlike the Mishlah of other days. But his eyes glittered with all the +old ferocity that had given him the name of Cougar. Alas, he was but a +dying cougar now. + +"Shall we stay here to die?" thundered the wild chief, as he stood +leaning on his stick, his sunken eyes sweeping the assembly with a +glance of fire. "Shall we stand and tremble till the pestilence slays +us all with its arrows, even as a herd of deer, driven into a deep +gulch and surrounded, stand till they are shot down by the hunters? +Shall we stay in our lodges, and die without lifting a hand? Shall +disease burn out the life of our warriors, when they might fall in +battle? No! Let us slay the women and children, cross the mountains, +and die fighting the rebels! Is it not better to fall in battle like +warriors than to perish of disease like dogs?" + +The chief looked from face to face, but saw no responsive flash in the +eyes that met his own. The settled apathy of despair was on every +countenance. Then the medicine-man answered,-- + +"_You_ could never cross the mountains, even if we did this thing. +Your breath is hot with disease; the mark of death is on your face; +the snake of the pestilence has bitten you. If we went out to battle, +you would fall by the wayside to die. Your time is short. To-day you +die." + +The grim Mollalie met the speaker's glance, and for a moment wavered. +He felt within himself that the words were true, that the plague had +sapped his life, that his hour was near at hand. Then his hesitation +passed, and he lifted his head with scornful defiance. + +"So be it! Mishlah accepts his doom. Come, you that were once the +warriors of Multnomah, but whose hearts are become the hearts of +women; come and learn from a Mollalie how to die!" + +Again his glance swept the circle of chiefs as if summoning them to +follow him,--then, with weak and staggering footsteps, he left the +grove; and it was as if the last hope of the Willamettes went with +him. The dense atmosphere of smoke soon shut his form from view. +Silence fell on the council. The hearts of the Indians were dead +within them. Amid their portentous surroundings,--the appalling signs +of the wrath of the Great Spirit,--the fatal apathy which is the curse +of their race crept over them. + +Then rose the medicine-man, wild priest of a wild and debasing +superstition, reverenced as one through whom the dead spoke to the +living. + +"Break up your council!" he said with fearful look and gesture. +"Councils are for those who expect to live! and you!--the dead call +you to them. Choose no chief, for who will be left for him to rule? +You talk of plans for the future. Would you know what that future will +be? I will show you; listen!" He flung up his hand as if imposing +silence; and, taken by surprise, they listened eagerly, expecting to +hear some supernatural voice or message prophetic of the future. On +their strained hearing fell only the labored breathing of the sick +chiefs in the council, the ominous muttering of the far-off volcano, +and loud and shrill above all the desolate cry of the women wailing +their dead. + +"You hear it? That death-wail tells all the future holds for you. +Before yonder red shadow of a sun"--pointing to the sun, which shone +dimly through the smoke--"shall set, the bravest of the Mollalies will +be dead. Before the moon wanes to its close, the Willamette race will +have passed away. Think you Multnomah's seat is empty? The Pestilence +sits in Multnomah's place, and you will all wither in his hot and +poisonous breath. Break up your council. Go to your lodges. The sun of +the Willamettes is set, and the night is upon us. Our wars are done; +our glory is ended. We are but a tale that old men tell around the +camp-fire, a handful of red dust gathered from _mimaluse_ +island,--dust that once was man. Go, you that are as the dead leaves +of autumn; go, whirled into everlasting darkness before the wind of +the wrath of the Great Spirit!" + +He flung out his arms with a wild gesture, as if he held all their +lives and threw them forth like dead leaves to be scattered upon the +winds. Then he turned away and left the grove. The crowd of warriors +who had been looking on broke up and went away, and the chiefs began +to leave the council, each muffled in his blanket. The grave and +stately sachem who had opened the council tried for a little while to +stay the fatal breaking up, but in vain. And when he saw that he could +do nothing, he too left the grove, wrapped in stoical pride, sullenly +resigned to whatever was to come. + +And so the last council ended, in hopeless apathy, in stubborn +indecision,--indecision in everything save the recognition that a doom +was on them against which it was useless to struggle. + +And Mishlah? He returned to his lodge, painted his face as if he were +going to battle, and then went out to a grove near the place where the +war-dances of the tribe were held. His braves followed him; others +joined them; all watched eagerly, knowing that the end was close at +hand, and wondering how he would die. + +He laid aside his blanket, exposing his stripped body; and with his +eagle plume, in his hair and his stone tomahawk in his hand, began to +dance the war-dance of his tribe and to chant the song of the battles +he had fought. + +At first his utterance was broken and indistinct, his step feeble. But +as he went on his voice rang clearer and stronger; his step grew +quicker and firmer. Half reciting, half chanting, he continued the +wild tale of blood, dancing faster and faster, haranguing louder and +louder, until he became a flame of barbaric excitement, until he +leaped and whirled in the very madness of raging passion,--the Indian +war-frenzy. + +But it could not last long. His breath came quick and short; his words +grew inarticulate; his eyes gleamed like coals of fire; his feet +faltered in the dance. With a final effort he brandished and flung his +tomahawk, uttering as he did so a last war-cry, which thrilled all who +heard it as of old when he led them in battle. The tomahawk sunk to +the head in a neighboring tree, the handle breaking off short with the +violence of the shock; and the chief fell back--dead. + +Thus passed the soul of the fierce Mollalie. For years afterward, the +tomahawk remained where it had sunk in the tree, sole monument of +Mishlah. His bones lay unburied beneath, wasted by wind and rain, till +there was left only a narrow strip of red earth, with the grass +springing rankly around it, to show where the body had been. And the +few survivors of the tribe who lingered in the valley were wont to +point to the tomahawk imbedded in the tree, and tell the tale of the +warrior and how he died. + +Why dwell longer on scenes so terrible? Besides, there is but little +more to tell. The faithless allies made a raid on the valley; but the +shrouding atmosphere of smoke and the frightful rumors they heard of +the great plague appalled them, and they retreated. The pestilence +protected the Willamettes. The Black Death that the medicine-men saw +sitting in Multnomah's place turned back the tide of invasion better +than the war-chief himself could have done. + +Through the hot months of summer the mortality continued. The valley +was swept as with the besom of destruction, and the drama of a +people's death was enacted with a thousand variations of horror. When +spring came, the invaders entered the valley once more. They found it +deserted, with the exception of a few wretched bands, sole survivors +of a mighty race. They rode through villages where the decaying mats +hung in tatters from the half-bare skeleton-like wigwam poles, where +the ashes had been cold for months at the camp-fires; they rode by +fisheries where spear and net were rotting beside the canoe upon the +beach. And the dead--the dead lay everywhere: in the lodges, beside +the fisheries, along the trail where they had been stricken down while +trying to escape,--everywhere were the ghastly and repulsive forms. + +The spirit of the few survivors was broken, and they made little +resistance to the invaders. Mongrel bands from the interior and the +coast settled in the valley after the lapse of years; and, mixing with +the surviving Willamettes, produced the degenerate race our own +pioneers found there at their coming. These hybrids were, within the +memory of the white man, overrun and conquered by the Yakimas, who +subjugated all the Indians upon Wappatto Island and around the mouth +of the Willamette in the early part of the present century. Later on, +the Yakimas were driven back by the whites; so that there have been +three conquests of the lower Willamette Valley since the fall of the +ancient race,--two Indian conquests before the white. + +The once musical language of the Willamettes has degenerated into the +uncouth Chinook, and the blood of the ancient race flows mixed and +debased in the veins of abject and squalid descendants; but the story +of the mighty bridge that once spanned the Columbia at the Cascades is +still told by the Oregon Indians. Mingled with much of fable, overlaid +with myth and superstition, it is nevertheless one of the historic +legends of the Columbia, and as such will never be forgotten. + + * * * * * + +One word more of Cecil Gray, and our tale is done. + +The Shoshone renegade, who resolved at Cecil's death to become a +Christian, found his way with a few followers to the Flat-Heads, and +settled among that tribe. He told them of what he had learned from +Cecil,--of the Way of Peace; and the wise men of the tribe pondered +his sayings in their hearts. The Shoshone lived and died among them; +but from generation to generation the tradition of the white man's God +was handed down, till in 1832 four Flat-Heads were sent by the tribe +to St. Louis, to ask that teachers be given them to tell them about +God. + +Every student of history knows how that appeal stirred the heart of +the East, and caused the sending out of the first missionaries to +Oregon; and from the movement then inaugurated have since sprung all +the missions to the Indians of the West. + +Thus he who gave his life for the Indians, and died seemingly in vain, +sowed seed that sprung up and bore a harvest long after his death. And +to-day, two centuries since his body was laid in the lonely grave on +Wappatto Island, thousands of Indians are the better for his having +lived. No true, noble life can be said to have been lived in vain. +Defeated and beaten though it may seem to have been, there has gone +out from it an influence for the better that has helped in some degree +to lighten the great heartache and bitterness of the world. Truth, +goodness, and self-sacrifice are never beaten,--no, not by death +itself. The example and the influence of such things is deathless, and +lives after the individual is gone, flowing on forever in the broad +life of humanity. + + * * * * * + +I write these last lines on Sauvie's Island--the Wappatto of the +Indians,--sitting upon the bank of the river, beneath the gnarled and +ancient cottonwood that still marks the spot where the old Columbia +trail led up from the water to the interior of the island. Stately and +beautiful are the far snow-peaks and the sweeping forests. The woods +are rich in the colors of an Oregon autumn. The white wappatto blooms +along the marshes, its roots ungathered, the dusky hands that once +reaped the harvest long crumbled into dust. Blue and majestic in the +sunlight flows the Columbia, river of many names,--the Wauna and +Wemath of the Indians, the St. Roque of the Spaniards, the Oregon of +poetry,--always vast and grand, always flowing placidly to the sea. +Steamboats of the present; batteaux of the fur traders; ships, Grey's +and Vancouver's, of discovery; Indian canoes of the old unknown +time,--the stately river has seen them all come and go, and yet holds +its way past forest and promontory, still beautiful and unchanging. +Generation after generation, daring hunter, ardent discoverer, silent +Indian,--all the shadowy peoples of the past have sailed its waters as +we sail them, have lived perplexed and haunted by mystery as we live, +have gone out into the Great Darkness with hearts full of wistful +doubt and questioning, as we go; and still the river holds its course, +bright, beautiful, inscrutable. It stays; _we go_. Is there anything +_beyond_ the darkness into which generation follows generation and +race follows race? Surely there is an after-life, where light and +peace shall come to all who, however defeated, have tried to be true +and loyal; where the burden shall be lifted and the heartache shall +cease; where all the love and hope that slipped away from us here +shall be given back to us again, and given back forever. + +_Via crucis, via lucis._ + + + + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's note: + + Variations in the spelling of the Molalla Indian tribe have been + retained. + + Missing or extra quotation marks and minor inconsistencies of + punctuationwere silently corrected. However, punctuation has not + been changed to comply with modern standards. Inconsistency in + hyphenation also has been retained. + + Footnotes have been renumbered consecutively and placed at the end + of each chapter. + + Illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not + in the middle of a paragraph. + + All missing page numbers were intentionally omitted in the original + publication. + + Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved as printed in the + original book except for the following changes: + + List of Illustrations: Multomah's changed to Multnomah's + (Multnomah's Death-canoe) + + Page 137: that changed to than (No one knows this better than + Multnomah.) + + Page 261: or changed to on (To the funeral pyre on _mimaluse_ + island.) + + Illustration facing page 264: Multomah's changed to Multnomah's + (Multnomah's Death-canoe) + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS*** + + +******* This file should be named 28815.txt or 28815.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/8/1/28815 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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