Chapter 9

"With wild surprise, As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, A stupid moment motionless."

THOMSON'S SEASONS.

A couple of hours elapsed before Waqua made his appearance, after disposing of his skins and venison. He had exchanged them for such articles as his savage taste fancied, among which Arundel noticed a small mirror, in a brass frame, hung like a medal on his breast, and a red woollen sash tied around his waist. As the Indian, thus bedecked, entered the room, it was with an increase of dignity becoming one possessed of such splendid ornaments, whereat, however, Arundel found it difficult to repress a smile. But it was important to the maintenance of their new friendship that no such levity should be perceived, which might have aroused the resentment of the savage. Suppressing then the feeling, and regarding his tawny friend with a face of welcome, the young man said:

"You look bravely, Sachem; it is a pity the Indian girls do not see you."

"They will see," said the Indian, "when Waqua returns to his village. Look," he continued, presenting the mirror to Arundel, and, unable to conceal his admiration, "it is a still spring in an open plain."

"You will not be obliged now to leave the wigwam and seek the clear water when you wish to paint your face."

"Waqua thanks the white man," said the Indian, gazing admiringly at himself in the mirror, "for the clear frozen water which he can carry with him wherever he goes. Waqua will never more be alone, for whenever he pleases he may look into the bright frozen water and see a warrior. Let me behold my brother in the wonderful medicine."

He held up the glass to Arundel, and laughed, as he saw the reflection.

"My brother's face is now in the frozen water," he said, "and whenever I look into it, I shall see my brother as well as Waqua."

"And trust me, Waqua, that I will be a true friend unto thee. I do begin to think that the extraordinary liking of the knight for thy race is not misplaced."

"Speaks my brother of Soog-u-gest, of the white chief who lives away from his people in the forest?"

"I speak of the Knight of the Golden Melice, of him whom the Indians call Soog-u-gest, or the eagle. I had left his lodge but a short time when Heaven sent thee to my aid."

"The tall, white chief, men say, is not like other white men. He loves the forest children, and they love him."

"Love begets love, and one noble quality attracts another. But it is my turn, Waqua, to show you hospitality; and to a strong, healthy fellow like you, dinner, methinks, can never come amiss."

The meal which, upon the order of Arundel, was served up, seemed to meet with the unqualified approbation of the Indian. Yet this is an inference derived, not from the manner in which he partook of the repast, but from the quantity which he ate. Although unacquainted with the mode of using a knife and fork, and, therefore, compelled to depend upon the instruments furnished by nature, there was nothing in his conduct that resembled ill-breeding. He accepted, with a grave courtesy, whatever was offered, eating deliberately, and expressing no preference for one thing over another. His entertainer fancied that, from time to time, he cast a stolen glance, as if watching motions in order to accommodate himself to them. However that may be, the young white man was greatly pleased with the untutored politeness of his red companion, and desirous to please him in all respects, did not deny his guest the stimulus of strong water; taking care, nevertheless, that the wine drunk should be in too small quantities to affect him injuriously. Of this, Waqua partook with peculiar zest, and it is fortunate that he had one more prudent than himself to stop him before temperate indulgence became excess. For so great is the delight which the Indian temperament derives from the use of intoxicating drinks, that it is difficult to regulate the appetite. Brought up without much self-control, if civilization be taken as a standard,--regardless of the past, heedless of the future, and mindful only of the present,--the wild child of nature quaffs with eager joy the fire-water, which seems to bring him inspiration, and to extend the bounds of existence.

"Waqua knows," said the savage, holding up his cup at the end of the meal, "that the Great Spirit loves his white children very much, else never would he have given them the dancing fire-water that streams through me like the sun through morning clouds."

"Beware," said Arundel, "that it be not more like the lightning, which marks its path with destruction. But, Waqua, come thou now with me. I saw no red cloth in thy lodge, and there was but little paint in thy pot, and I know where there is plenty."

"My brother is an open hand, and will make Waqua's wigwam as gay as the breast of the Gues-ques-kes-cha."

With these words, the Indian followed Arundel into the street, walking in his tracks, and the two pursued their way in the direction of one of the principal store-houses.

The street led directly by the house of the Assistant Spikeman, and, as they passed, the eyes of the young man were busy, as was natural, to discover traces of his mistress. Nor was he doomed to disappointment. As he came opposite, a casement opened, a small white hand was thrust out, and beckoned to him. Thus invited, Arundel stepped within the door, whither he was followed by the savage. In those days, the simple forest children thought there was no harm in asking for a hospitality they were ever ready to grant themselves, and which they considered a duty; nor inasmuch as they never attempted to take away anything by violence, but thankfully accepted whatever was offered to them, were their visits generally discouraged. Indeed, the importance of treating them with indulgence was sedulously inculcated by both elders and magistrates, as being conducive to their own security as well as from higher motives. The expediency of such conduct was so obvious that few were found to disregard it. Hence the Indians, on their visits to the settlement, were accustomed, if they wanted food, or to enter the houses for any other purpose, to step in with the same freedom almost as into their own wigwams. If now and then a circumstance occurred inconsistent with the sacred duty of hospitality, it was not considered as reflecting disgrace upon the whole community, but only on the sordid churl who was the occasion of it, and whose domicile was ever afterwards carefully avoided.

The young man and his dusky companion were met by Prudence, who, while conducting them into a room, whispered:

"Why, Master Miles, who expected to see you? People said you was ever so far away in the woods, living with bears and wolves. Have you got one here?"

"Poh, poh! pretty Prudence, no one hath better reason to look for me than thyself, seeing thy message brought me. As for my copper friend, he is the gentlest savage that ever took a scalp. Do not be frightened, and clap thy hand on thy head: he will none of thine. But thy mistress, where is she?"

"I declare, Master Miles, you have scared almost all the breath out of my body. Oh! how my heart beats! Follow me quick, for I want to get out of the way."

"Waqua will wait for his brother here," said the young man, turning to his follower, whose eyes he noticed were fastened on a full length portrait hanging on the wall; "for which reason," he added "and, during my absence, may make acquaintance ith the venerable ancestor of Master Spikeman, who hath followed his descendant's fortunes across the sea."

He waited for no reply, such was his impatience to see his mistress; but, preceded by Prudence, hastily left the apartment, and was ushered into the presence of the young lady.

One who saw Eveline Dunning would never have wondered that her lover had followed her to the new world. She was one of those charming beings who are irresistibly attractive--whom to behold is to love, and whose presence "clothes the meanest thing in light." Her features were regular, her complexion delicate and brilliant, her eyes blue and sparkling, and her hair of a rich brown. Those blue eyes were commonly calm and soft, though there were times when they could kindle up and flash, and the full red lips became compressed, hinting at an energy of character which required only circumstances to call it forth into exercise. Her person was of the ordinary height, and most perfectly formed, and she moved with a grace which only faultless proportions and high breeding can impart.

"My Eveline, my best and my dearest," said Arundel, imprinting a kiss upon the blushing cheek she nevertheless offered him, even before the considerate Prudence had retired, shutting the door after her, "how blessed am I, once more to breathe the air sweetened by thy breath."

He led her to a seat, and, retaining her hand, sat down by her side.

"And how dearly I love to have thee near me, Miles," she answered; "the perils I make thee encounter for my sake too plainly tell."

"Nay, sweet, the danger is only in thy imagination. Conscious that the right is on our side, we may defy Master Spikeman and all his wicked devices, certain that we shall yet triumph over them."

"Would that I felt thy confidence, but sometimes I am quite sad."

"Dearest Eveline, why thus cast down?" exclaimed Arundel, looking at her anxiously and kissing off a tear. "Has anything happened? What makes thee unhappy? Of what art afraid?"

"Not cast down, not unhappy, not afraid, Miles, but anxious on thy account, and weary of imprisonment. My jailer hath lately dropped some threats respecting thee which have filled me with apprehension, and it was in consequence of my grief thereat, and of something I said, that Prudence, without my knowledge, sent thee a message, as she afterwards told me."

"And I hope thou art not angry with her for being the cause of my present happiness?"

"I feel not like chiding her or any one," answered Eveline, smiling, "but would speak seriously during the few moments we are together. Oh! Miles, I have it from a sure hand, (though thou must not inquire thereafter), that Master Spikeman is endeavoring to poison the minds of the Governor and of the Assistants with false reports against thee, such as that thou art disaffected against the government. Oh! Miles, be prudent; for if anything were to happen to thee it would make me very unhappy."

"The lying varlet! the cozening knave!" exclaimed the young man, indignantly. "So this is the way whereby he designs to accomplish his purpose! But I defy his machinations. I have an advantage over him whereof he knows not."

"What is that, Miles?" inquired Eveline, seeing that he hesitated.

"He, whose the right is, hath every advantage over him in the wrong," answered her lover, rather evasively; "but would that I could persuade thee to cut the Gordian knot and put an end to this torturing suspense, by flying with me, and giving me a lawful right to be thy protector according to the wishes of thy father."

"Cease, Miles, and do not importune me in a matter wherein the impulses of my heart make me but too ready to forget the suggestions of prudence."

"But how long mean you to submit to this unjust violence?"

"I know not. Be assured, however, that nothing but dire necessity shall induce me to take a step, the thought of which burns my cheeks with blushes."

"Do you distrust me, Eveline?" said Arundel, reproachfully.

"No; but it becomes Eveline Dunning; it becomes one whom thou hast thought worthy to be sought for across a stormy ocean; it becomes the descendant of a long line of honorable ancestors; it becomes a woman, whether in the thickly peopled city or in the wilderness, among strangers or with her own kindred, to avoid even the appearance of evil. Much will I endure, and long will I bear my thraldom, before I will allow the thought of such a mode of deliverance to harbor in my mind."

"My judgment tells me thou art right, Eveline, however much my heart rebels; but is there no emergency which can make thee cast off this slavery?"

"None such has arisen, and whatever difficulties may harrass me, I hope to be equal to them."

"And years, long years, may drag along with weary feet, while we are wasting our youth in hopeless sighs over the tyranny of a heartless villain, lingering in this dreary land, where a smile is a vanity and a light heart a crime."

"Does it pain thee so much," inquired Eveline, half reproachfully, "to remain in the wilderness?"

"Nay, lovely one, where thou art is no wilderness, but a paradise. Hither I came, attracted by the love that binds my soul to thine, and this land will I never leave alone. A cabin with thee in these wilds were better than a palace ungraced by thy presence."

"I thank thee, Miles, and thy words strengthen my courage. So long as thou feelest thus, I cannot be unhappy. But shouldst thou ever change; shouldst thou weary of the delays and vexations which thy love for Eveline Dunning doth impose, hesitate not to avow it, and thou shalt be free, though my heart break in bidding thee farewell."

"Eveline, dearest Eveline," cried her lover, catching her to his bosom, "how canst thou speak thus? He who hath found heaven will never voluntarily resign it."

But why pursue a discourse which can have but little interest except for the speakers? The reader will suppose the further conversation which would naturally take place between two young persons in their situation. Owing to the vigilance of Spikeman, it was a long time (so at least it seemed to them) since they had met, and the interview was sweeter for that reason. While the precious moments are flitting by them unheeded, let us return to Waqua.

The Indian was so absorbed in the contemplation of the portrait, that he paid no attention to the jesting observation made by Arundel as he left the room, but continued motionless, gazing fixedly upon it. It represented a man of middle age, of a stern and somewhat forbidding countenance, standing with the open palm of the right hand thrown forward, as if he were addressing the spectator. It was exceedingly well done,--so graceful was the attitude, so boldly stood out the figure, so admirable was the coloring, so illusive the air of life. It was the first portrait that Waqua had seen, and he very naturally mistook it for a living person.

Seeing, as he supposed, a man with eyes fastened on him, standing in an attitude soliciting attention, and as if only waiting until the conversation between those who entered should cease, to address him, Waqua, with instinctive politeness, had stopped, and looking full at the painting, awaited the speech. He was somewhat surprised and scandalized, under the circumstances, at the garrulity of his companions, and, to confess the truth, Arundel sunk considerably in his estimation. However, he made all allowances for the rude manners of the whites and differences of customs, though hardly restrained by such considerations from uttering a rebuke for the others' want of respect to age, and to the master of the house, for whom he took the picture. As, after Arundel and the girl left the apartment, the figure remained standing, with eyes fastened on Waqua, and his hand continually extended, the Indian, considering it an invitation to be seated, sat down in a chair. He expected now to be addressed, and modestly dropping his eyes waited for what should be said. Thus sat Waqua, until, surprised at the continued silence of the other, he raised his eyes, and beheld him still in the same position, with lips partly open, yet emitting no sound. The situation of the Indian now became more and more embarrassing, and he hesitated what course to pursue. Greatly perplexed, he turned the matter over and over, until finally he reached the conclusion that this was a mode of welcome among the white men, and that the politeness of the other kept him silent, in order that the visitor should first take up the word, in which opinion he was confirmed by the sedate and unmoved expression of the face. With such a notion occupying his mind, he rose from his seat, and throwing the beaver robe a little off the right shoulder to allow opportunity for gesticulation, he stood before the picture, and after a moment of grave thought addressed it.

"Waqua," he said, "is a young man, and ashamed to speak first in the presence of his elder; but the customs of the white men are very different from those of their red brethren, and perhaps among his white brothers the young men speak first that their folly may appear. Because he thinks his white brother desires him to speak, he will make a very little speech."

"The silent chief (so he called the picture, not knowing what other name to use) knows that Waqua is a friend, because he sees him in company with the white man who went away with the chief's daughter with the strawberry lips. Waqua only asks the hospitality of the silent chief, and permission to remain in his lodge till his friend returns."

Thus having spoken, Waqua gathered up his robe upon his shoulder, and awaited a reply.

But in vain. Still the figure preserved silence, and maintained the same immovable attitude, gazing on him with eyes from which there was no escaping, and which seemed to pierce into his soul. The uneasiness of Waqua increased. He felt no fear, but a confusion of thought which threatened to obscure entirely his faculties. The idea crossed his mind that the man was dumb, but that accounted only for the silence. Why the immobility? If he were dumb, at least he could walk, for well-formed limbs were visible. But the man was quite still, not even winking, only fastening his eyes steadfastly on his own. To the excited imagination of the Indian, the eyes began to assume a deeper sternness, and he found it more and more difficult to withdraw his own. Suddenly, a thought darted through his mind, which made him shiver all over, and spring from his seat. The idea of fascination caused the start. He had more than once beheld the black snake extended on the ground, charming, with his glittering eyes the anguished bird which, with fainter and fainter screams, striving to delay a fate it could not escape, kept flying round and round in constantly diminishing circles, until it fell into the jaws of the destroyer. The same fatal influence he had seen exercised upon rabbits and other small game, the prey of the snake, and he did not doubt that a like fascination was attempted to be practiced on himself, and that the man was a conjurer. The thought threw him into a rage, and he determined to take vengeance for the insult. Drawing, therefore, his tomahawk from his girdle and brandishing it over his head, he exclaimed,

"Waqua is a warrior, and not a bird to be made weak by a white medicine."

But before the enraged Indian could cast the weapon from his hand, he felt his arm suddenly arrested, and, turning, beheld the laughing face of Prudence Rix.

"Stop, stop!" cried the girl, hardly able to speak for merriment; "what are you going to do? It is not a man, but only a painting."

It is not probable that the Indian perfectly comprehended the explanation of Prudence, who, in spite of her affected fears, had been, without his knowledge, an amused spectator of his conduct; but her interposition had the effect to prevent any violence, especially, as upon looking again at the portrait, he felt no longer the awe which had oppressed him, and therefore knew that the charm had lost its power. He lowered the tomahawk to his side, and addressed himself to her.

"What white man ever entered the wigwam of Waqua and was not invited to a seat on his mat? Who can say that Waqua fastened his eyes on him like a snake?"

"But see," said the girl, advancing to the portrait, and passing her hand over its surface; "it is nothing but a cunning painting. Come and satisfy thyself."

Waqua complied, in part, with Prudence's invitation, feeling some contempt for a man who would permit such an indignity and advancing to the picture regarded it with keen and inquisitive glances. He refused, however, to touch the figure, until Prudence, taking his hand in hers, placed it on the canvas. But no sooner did he feel the flat surface, than, uttering a cry of astonishment, he leaped backward, almost overturning Prudence in his haste, keeping his eyes on the picture, and ejaculating twice or thrice the expression, "Ugh!"

"What a simple savage thou art," exclaimed Prudence, "I tell thee it cannot bite. It can neither hear nor see, and thou art a man to be scared by it!"

The Indian felt the taunt, conveyed quite as much in the tone as in the words, and without replying, but as if to show that he was above the feeling of fear, holding the tomahawk in one hand, he passed the other over the whole surface, as far as he could reach, winding up the achievement with eyes wild with wonder, and snorting out divers astonished "ughs!"