Chambers Robert William
The Hidden Children
"Hush, dearest lad," she whispered, tightening her fingers on my sleeve. "All in the world I care for lies in this place where we now stand—or near it. Have I not told you that I must go to Catharines-town? How could I remain behind when every tie I have in all the world was tugging at my heart to draw me hither? You ask me what I can do—what I can hope to accomplish. God knows—but my mother and my lover are here—and how could I stay away if there was a humble chance that I might do some little thing to aid her—to aid you, Euan?
"Why do you scowl at me? Try me, Test me. I am tough as an Indian youth, strong and straight and supple—and as tireless. See—I am not wearied with the trail! I am not afraid. I can do what you do. If you fast I can fast, too; when you go thirsty I can endure it also; and you may not even hope to out-travel me, Euan, for I am innured to sleeplessness, to hunger, to fatigue, by two years' vagabondage—hardened of limb and firm of body, self-taught in self-denial, in quiet endurance, in stealth, and patience. Oh, Euan! Make me your comrade, as you would take a younger brother, to school him in the hardy ways of life you know so well! I will be no burden to you; I will serve you humbly and faithfully; prove docile, obedient, and grateful to the end. And if the end comes in the guise of death—Euan—Euan! Why may I not share that also with you? For the world's joy dies when you die, and my body might as well die with it!"
So eager and earnest her argument, so tightly she clung to my arms, so pleading and sweet her ardent face, upturned, with the tears scarcely dry under her lashes, that I found nought to answer her, and could only look into her eyes—deep, deep into those grey-blue wells of truth—troubled to silence by her present plight and mine.
I could not take her back now, and also keep my tryst with Boyd at Catharines-town. I could not leave her here by this trail, even guarded—had I the guards to spare—for soon in our wake would come thundering the maddened debris of the Chemung battle, pell-mell, headlong through the forests, desperate, with terror leading and fury lashing at their heels.
I laid my hands heavily upon her firm, young shoulders, and strove to think the while I studied her; but the enchantment of her confused my mind, and I saw only the crisp and clustering curls, and clear, young eyes looking into mine, and the lips scarce parted, hanging breathless on my words.
"O boy-girl comrade!" I said in a low, unsteady voice. "Little boy-girl born to do endless mischief in this wide and wind-swept forest world of men! What am I to say to you, who have your will of everyone beneath the sun? Who am I to halt the Starry Dancers, or bar your wayward trail when Tharon himself has hidden you, and the Little People carry to you 'winged moccasins for flying feet as light and swift!' For truly I begin to think it has been long since woven in the silvery and eternal wampum—belt after belt, string twisted around string—that you shall go to Catharines-town unscathed.
"Where she was born returns the rosy Forest Pigeon to her native tree for mating. White-Throat—White-Throat—your course is flown! For this is Amochol's frontier; and by tomorrow night we enter Catharines-town—thou and I, little Lois—two Hidden Children—one hidden by the Western Gate, one by the Eastern Gate's dark threshold, 'hidden in the husks.'…How shall it be with us now, O little rosy spirit of the home-wood? My Indians will ask. What shall I say to them concerning you?"
"All laws break of themselves before us twain, who, having been hidden, are prepared for mating—where we will—and when.... And if the long flight be truly ended—and the home forests guard our secret—and if Tharon be God also—and His stars the altar lights—and his river-mist my veil–" She faltered, and her clear gaze became confused. "Why should your Indians question you?" she asked.
The last ray of the sun reddened the forest, lingered, faded, and went out in ashes. I said:
"God and Tharon are one. Priest and Sagamore, clergyman and Sachem, minister, ensign, Roya-neh—red men or white, all are consecrated before the Master of Life. If in these Indians' eyes you are still to remain sacred, then must you promise yourself to me, little Lois. And let the Sagamore perform the rite at once."
"Betroth myself, Euan?"
"Yes, under the Rite of the Hidden Children. Will you do this—so that my Indians can lay your hands upon their hearts? Else they may turn from you now—perhaps prove hostile."
"I had desired to have you take me from my mother's arms."
"And so I will, in marriage—if she be alive to give you."
"Then—what is this we do?"
"It is our White Bridal."
"Summon the Sagamore," she said faintly.
And so it was done there, I prompting her with her responses, and the mysterious rite witnessed by the priesthood of two nations—Sachem and Sagamore, Iroquois and Algonquin, with the tall lodge-poles of the pines confirming it, and the pale ghost-flowers on the moss fulfilling it, and the stars coming one by one to nail our lodge door with silver nails, and the night winds, enchanted, chanting the Karenna of the Uncut Corn.
And now the final and most sacred symbol of betrothal was at hand; and the Oneida Sachem drew away, and the Yellow Moth and the Night Hawk stood aside, with heads quietly averted, leaving the Sagamore alone before us. For only a Sagamore of the Enchanted Clan might stand as witness to the mystery, where now the awful, viewless form of Tharon was supposed to stand, white winged and plumed, and robed like the Eight Thunders in snowy white.
"Listen, Loskiel," he said, "my younger brother, blood-brother to a Siwanois. Listen, also, O Rosy-Throated Pigeon of the Woods—home from the unseen flight to mate at last!"
He plucked four ghost-flowers, and cast the pale blossoms one by one to the four great winds.
"O untainted winds that blow the Indian corn," he said, "winds of the wilderness, winds of the sounding skies—clean and pure as ye are, not one of you has blown the green and silken blankets loose from these, our Hidden Children, nestling unseen, untouched, unstained, close cradled in a green embrace. Nor wind, nor rain, nor hail, not the fierce heat of many summers have revealed these Hidden Ones, stripped them of the folded verdure that conceals them still, each wrapped within the green leaves of the corn.
"Continue to listen, winds of the sounding skies. Let the Eight White-plumed Thunders listen. An ensign of the Magic Clan bears witness under Tharon. A Sagamore veils his face. Let Tharon hear these children when they speak. Let Tamenund listen!"
Standing straight and tall there in the starlight, he drew his blanket across his eyes. The Oneidas and the Stockbridge did the same.
Slowly, timidly, in compliance with my whispered bidding, the slender, trembling hands of Lois unlaced my throat-points to the shoulder, baring my chest. Then she said aloud, but in a voice scarce audible, I prompting every word:
"It is true! Under the folded leaves a Hidden Youth is sleeping. I bid him sleep awhile. I promise to disturb no leaf. This is the White Bridal. I close what I have scarcely parted. I bid him sleep this night. When—when–"
I whispered, prompting her, and she found her voice, continuing:
"When at his lodge door they shall come softly and lay shadows to bar it, a moon to seal it, and many stars to nail it fast, then, in the dark within, I shall hear the painted quiver rattle as he puts it off; and the antlers fall clashing to the ground. Only the green and tender cloak of innocence shall endure—a little while—then, falling, enfold us twain embraced where only one had slept before. A promised bride has spoken."
She bowed her head, took my hands in hers, laid them lightly on her heart; then straightened up, with a long-drawn, quivering breath, and stood, eyes closed, as I unlaced her throat-points, parting the fawn-skin cape till the soft thrums lay on her snowy shoulders.
"It is true," I whispered. "Under the folded leaves a Hidden Maid lies sleeping. I bid her sleep awhile; I bid her dream in innocence through this White Bridal night. I promise to disturb no leaf that sheathes her. I now refold and close again what I have scarcely touched and opened. I bid her sleep.
"When on my lodge door they nail the Oneida stars, and seal my door with the moon of Tharon, and lay long shadows there to bar it; then I, within the darkness there, shall hear the tender rustle of her clinging husks, parting to cradle two where one alone had slept since she was born."
Gently I drew the points, closing the cape around her slender throat, knotted the laces, smoothed out the thrums, took her small hands and laid them on my breast.
One by one the stately Indians came to make their homage, bending their war-crests proudly and placing her hands upon their painted breasts. Then they went away in silence, each to his proper post, no doubt. Yet, to be certain, I desired to make my rounds, and bade Lois await me there. But I had not proceeded three paces when lo! Of a sudden she was at my side, laughing her soft defiance at me in the darkness.
"No orders do I take save what I give myself," she said. "Which is no mutiny, Euan, and no insubordination either, seeing that you and I are one—or are like to be when the brigade chaplain passes—if the Tories meddle not with his honest scalp! Come! Honest Euan, shall we make our rounds together? Or must I go alone?"
And she linked her arm in mine and put one foot forward, looking up at me with all the light mischief of the very boy she seemed in her soft rifle-dress and leggins, and the bright hair crisply curling 'round her moleskin cap.
"Have a care of the trees, then, little minx," I said.
"Pooh! Can you not see in the dark?"
"Can you?"
"Surely. When you and I went to the Spring Waiontha, I needed not your lantern light to guide me."
"I see not well by night," I admitted.
"You do see well by night—through my two eyes! Are we not one? How often must I repeat it that you and I are one! One! One! O Loskiel—stealer of hearts, if you could only know how often on my knees I am before you—how truly I adore, how humbly, scarcely daring to believe my heart that tells me such a tale of magic and enchantment—after these barren, loveless years. Mark! Yonder stands the Grey-Feather! Is that his post?"
"Wonder-eyes, I see him not! Wait—aye, you are right. And he is at his post. Pass to the left, little minx."
And so we made the rounds, finding every Indian except the Sagamore at his post. He lay asleep. And after we had returned to our southern ledge of rock, and I had spread my blanket for her and laid my pack to pillow her, I picked up my rifle and rose from my knees.
"And you?" she asked.
"I stand guard across the trail below."
"Why? When all except the Siwanois are watching! The Night Hawk is there. Stretch yourself here beside me and try to sleep. Your watch will come too soon to suit you, or me either, for that matter."
"Do you mean to go on guard with me?"
"Do you dream that I shall let you stand your guard alone, young sir?"
"This is folly, Lois—"
"Euan, you vex me. Lie beside me. Here is sufficient blanket room and pillow. And if you do not sleep presently and let me sleep too, our wits will all be sadly addled when they summon us."
So I stretched myself out beside her and looked up, open eyed, into darkness.
"Sleep well," she whispered, smothering a little laugh.
"Sleep safely, Lois."
"That is why I desired you—so I might sleep safely, knowing myself safe when you are, too. And you are safe only when you are at my side. Do you follow my philosophy?"
I said presently: "This is our White Bridal, Lois. The ceremony completes itself by dawn."
"Save that the Sagamore is but a heathen priest, truly I feel myself already wedded to you, so solemn was our pretty rite.... Dare you kiss me, Euan? You never have. Christians betrothed may kiss each other once, I think."
"Not such as we—if the rite means anything to us."
"Why?"
"Not on the White Bridal night—if we regard this rite as sacred."
"I feel its sacredness. That is why I thought no sin if you should kiss me—on such a night."
She sat up in her blanket; and I sat up, too.
10"Tekasenthos," she said.
11"Chetena, you are laughing!"
12"Neah. Tekasenthos!" she insisted.
"Why?"
"You do not love me," she remarked, kicking off one ankle moccasin.
13"Kenonwea-sasita-ha-wiyo, chetenaha!" I said, laughing.
14"Akasita? Katontats. But is that all of me you love?"
"The other one also."
"The other one also."
15"Neah-wenh-a, O Loskiel. I shall presently slay you and go to sleep."
There fell a silence, then:
"Do you not know in your heart how it is with me?" I said unsteadily.
She lay down, facing me.
"In my heart I know, beloved above all men! But I am like a child with you—desiring to please, ardent, confused, unaccustomed. And everything you say delights me—and all you do—or refrain from doing—thrills me with content.... It was so true and sweet of you to leave my lips untouched. I adore you for it—but then I had adored you if you had kissed me, also. Always, your decision pleasures me."
After a long while I spoke cautiously. She lay asleep, her lips scarce parted; but in her sleep she seemed to hear my voice, for one arm stole out in the dark and closed around my neck.
And so we lay until the dark forms gliding from the forest summoned me to mount my guard, and Lois awoke with a little sigh, sat upright, then sprang to her feet to face the coming dawn alone with me.
CHAPTER XIX
AMOCHOL
By daybreak we had salted our parched corn, soaked, and eaten it, and my Indians were already freshening their paint. The Sagamore, stripped for battle, barring clout and sporran, stood tall and powerfully magnificent in his white and vermilion hue of war. On his broad chest the scarlet Ghost Bear reared; on his crest the scarlet feathers slanted low. The Yellow Moth was unbelievably hideous in the poisonous hue of a toad-stool; his crest and all his skin glistened yellow, shining like the sulphurous belly of a snake. But the Grey-Feather was ghastly; his bony features were painted like a skull, spine, ribs, and limb-bones traced out heavily in yellowish white so that he seemed a stalking and articulated skeleton as he moved in the dim twilight of the trees. And I could see that he was very proud of the effect.
As for the young and ambitious Night Hawk, he had simply made one murderous symbol of himself—a single and terrific emblem of his entire body, for he was painted black from head to foot like an Iroquois executioner, and his skin glistened as the plumage of a sleek crow shines in the sunlight of a field. Every scalp-lock was neatly braided and oiled; every crown shaven; every knife and war-axe and rifle-barrel glimmered silver bright under the industrious rubbing; flints had been renewed; with finest priming powder pans reprimed; and now all my Indians squatted amiably together in perfect accord, very loquacious in their guarded voices, Iroquois, Mohican, and Stockbridge, foregathering as though there had never been a feud in all the world.
Through the early dusk of morning, Lois had stolen away, having discovered a spring pool to bathe in, the creek water being dark and bitter; and I had freshened myself, too, when she returned, her soft cheeks abloom, and the crisp curls still wet with spray.
When we had eaten, the Sagamore rose and moved noiselessly down the height of land to the trail level, where our path entered the ghostly gloom of the evergreens. I followed; Lois followed me, springing lightly from tussock to rotting log, from root to bunchy swale, swift, silent footed, dainty as a lithe and graceful panther crossing a morass dry-footed.
Behind her trotted in order the Yellow Moth, Tohoontowhee, and lastly the Grey-Feather—"Like Father Death herding us all to destruction," whispered Lois in my ear, as I halted while the Sagamore surveyed the trail ahead with cautious eyes.
As we moved forward once more, I glanced around at Lois and thought I never had seen such fresh and splendid vigor in any woman. Nor had I ever seen her in such a bright and happy spirit, as though the nearness to the long sought goal was changing her every moment, under my very eyes, into a lovelier and more radiant being than ever had trod this war-scarred world.
While we had eaten our hasty morning meal, I had told her what I had learned of the Vale Yndaia; and this had excited her more than anything I ever saw to happen to her, so that her grey eyes sparkled with brilliant azure lights, and the soft colour flew from throat to brow, waxing and waning with every quick-drawn breath.
She wore also, and for the first time, the "moccasins for flying feet"—and ere she put them on she showed them to me with eager and tender pride, kissing each soft and beaded shoe before she drew it over her slender foot. Around her throat, lying against her heart, nestled her father's faded picture. And as we sped I could hear her murmuring to herself:
"Jean Coeur! Jean Coeur! Enfin! Me voici en chemin!"
North, always north we journeyed, moving swiftly on a level runway, or, at fault, checked until the Sagamore found the path, sometimes picking our dangerous ways over the glistening bog, from swale to log, now leaping for some solid root or bunch of weed, now swinging across quicksands, hanging to tested branches by our hands.
Duller grew the light as the foliage overhead became denser, until we could scarce see the warning glimmer of the bog. Closer, taller, more unkempt grew the hemlocks on every hand. In the ghostly twilight we could not distinguish their separate spectral trunks, so close they grew together. And it seemed like two solid walls through which wound a dusky corridor of mud and bitter tasting water.
Then, far ahead a level gleam caught my eye. Nearer it grew and brighter; and presently out of the grewsome darkness of the swamp we stepped into a lovely oval intervale of green ferns and grasses, set with oak trees, and a clear, sweet thread of water dashing through it, and spraying the tall ferns along its banks so that they quivered and glistened with the sparkling drops. And here we saw a little bird flitting—the first we had seen that day.
At the western end of the oval glade a path ran straight away as far as we could see, seeming to pierce the western wall of the hills. The little brook followed at.
As Lois knelt to drink, the Sagamore whispered to me:
"This is the pass to the Vale Yndaia! You shall not tell her yet—not till we have dealt with Amochol."
"Not till we have dealt with Amochol," I repeated, staring at the narrow opening which crossed this black and desolate region like a streak of sunshine across burnt land.
Tahoontowhee examined the trail; nothing had passed since the last rain, save deer and fox.
So I went over to where Lois was bathing her flushed face in the tiny stream, and lay down to drink beside her.
"The water is cold and sweet," she said, "not like that bitter water in the swamp." She held her cupped hands for me to drink from. And I kissed the fragrant cup.
As we rose and I shouldered my rifle, the Grey-Feather began to sing in a low, musical, chanting voice; and all the Indians turned merry faces toward Lois and me as they nodded time to the refrain:
"Continue to listen and hear the truth,
Maiden Hidden and Hidden Youth.
The song of those who are 'more than men'!
16Thi-ya-en-sa-y-e-ken!"
"It is the chant of the Stone Throwers—the Little People!" said Mayaro, laughing. "Ye two are fit to hear it."
"They are singing the Song of the Hidden Children," I whispered to Lois. "Is it not strangely pretty?"
"It is wild music, but sweet," she murmured, "—the music of the Little People—che-kah-a-hen-wah."
"Can you catch the words?"
"Aye, but do not understand them every one."
"Some day I will make them into an English song for you. Listen! 'The Voices' are beginning! Listen attentively to the Chant of 17Ta-neh-u-weh-too!"
The Night Hawk was singing now, as he walked through the sunlit glade, hip-deep in scented ferns and jewel-weed. Two brilliant humming-birds whirled around him as he strode.
A VOICE
"Who shall find my Hidden Maid
Where the tasselled corn is growing?
Let them seek her in Kandaia,
Let them seek her in Oswaya,
Where the giant pines are growing,
Let them seek and be afraid!
Where the Adriutha flowing
Splashes through the forest glade,
Where the Kennyetto flowing
Thunders through the hemlock shade,
Let them seek and be afraid,
From Oswaya To Yndaia,
All the way to Carenay!"
ANOTHER VOICE
"Who shall find my Hidden Son
Where the tasselled corn is growing?
Let them seek my Hidden One
From the Silver Horicon
North along the Saguenay,
Where the Huron cocks are crowing,
Where the Huron maids are mowing
Hay along the Saguenay;
Where the Mohawk maids are hoeing
Corn along the Carenay,
Let them seek my Hidden Son,
West across the inland seas,
South to where the cypress trees
Quench the flaming scarlet flora
Of the painted Esaurora,
Drenched in rivers to their knees!
18Honowehto! Like Thendara!
Let them hunt to Danascara
Back along the Saguenay,
On the trail to Carenay,
Through the Silver Horicon
Till the night and day are one!
Where the Adriutha flowing
Sings below Oswaya glowing.
Where the sunset of Kandaia
Paints the meadows of Yndaia,
Let them seek my Hidden Son
'Till the sun and moon are one!"
19TE-KI-E-HO-KEN
20"Nai Shehawa! She lies sleeping,
Where the green leaves closely fold her!
He shall wake first and behold her
Who is given to his keeping;
He shall strip her of her leaves
Where she sleeps amid the sheaves,
Snowy white, without a stain,
Nothing marred of wind or rain.
So from slumber she shall waken,
And behold the green robe shaken
From his shoulders to her own!
21Ye-ji-se-way-ad-kerone!"
The pretty song of the Hidden Children softened to a murmur and died out as our trail entered the swamp once more, north of the oval glade. And into its sombre twilight we passed out of the brief gleam of sunshine. Once more the dark and bitter water coiled its tortuous channel through the slime; huge, gray evergreens, shaggy and forbidding, towered above, closing in closer and closer on every side, crowding us into an ever-narrowing trail.
But this trail, since we had left the sunny glade, had become harder under foot, and far more easy to travel; and we made fast time along it, so that early in the afternoon we suddenly came out into that vast belt of firm ground and rocky, set with tremendous oaks and pines and hemlocks, on the northern edge of which lies Catharines-town, on both banks of the stream.
And here the stream rushed out through this country as though frightened, running with a mournful sound into the northern forest; and the pines were never still, sighing and moaning high above us, so that the never ceasing plaint of wind and water filled the place.
And here, on a low, bushy ridge, we lay all day, seeing in the forest not one living thing, nor any movement in that dim solitude, save where the grey and wraith-like water tossed a flat crest against some fallen tree, or its dull and sullen surface gleamed like lead athwart the valley far ahead.
My Indians squatted, or sprawled prone along the ridge; Lois lay flat on her stomach beside me, her chin resting on her clasped hands. We talked of many things that afternoon—of life as we had found it, and what it promised us—of death, if we must find it here in these woods before I made her mine. And of how long was the spirit's trail to God—if truly it were but a swift, upward flight like to the rushing of an arrow already flashing out of sight ere the twanging buzz of the bow-string died on the air. Or if it were perhaps a long, slow, painful journey through thick night, toilsome, blindly groping, wings adroop trailing against bruised heels. Or if we two must pass by hell, within sight and hearing of the thunderous darkness, and feel the rushing wind of the pit hot on one's face.
Sometimes, like a very child, she prattled of happiness, which she had never experienced, but meant to savour, wedded or not—talked to me there of all she had never known and would now know and realize within her mother's tender arms.
"And sometimes, Euan, dreaming of her I scarce see how, within my heart, I can find room for you also. Yet, I know well there is room for both of you, and that one without the other would leave my happiness but half complete.... I wonder if I resemble her? Will she know me—and I her? How shall we meet, Euan—after more than a score of years? She will see my moccasins, and cry out! She will see my face and know me, calling me by name! Oh, happiness! Oh, miracle! Will the night never come!"
"Dear maid and tender! You should not build your hopes too high, so that they crush you utterly if they must fall to earth again."
"I know. Amochol may have slain her. We will learn all when you take Amochol—when God delivers him into your hands this night.... How will you do it, Euan?"
"Take him, you mean?"
"Aye."
"We lie south, just outside the fire-ring's edge. Boyd watches them from the north. His signal to us begins the business. We leap straight for the altar and take Amochol at its very foot, the while Boyd's heavy rifles deal death on every side, keeping the others busy while we are securing Amochol. Then we all start south for the army, God willing, and meet our own people on the high-ridge east of us."
"But Yndaia!"
"That we will scour the instant we have Amochol."
"You promise?"
"Dearest, I promise solemnly. Yet—I think—if your mother lives—she may be here in Catharines-town tonight. This is the Dream Feast, Lois. I and my Indians believe that she has bought her life of Amochol by dreaming for them. And if this be true, and she has indeed become their Prophetess and Interpreter of Dreams, then this night she will be surely here to read their dreams for them."
"Will we see her before you begin the attack?"
"Little Lois, how can I tell you such things? We are to creep up close to the central fire—as close as we dare."
"Will there be crowds of people there?"
"Many people."
"Warriors?"
"Not many. They are with Hiokatoo and Brant. There will be hunters and Sachems, and the Cat-People, and the Andastes pack, and many women. The False Faces will not be there, nor the Wyoming Witch, nor the Toad Woman, because all these are now with Hiokatoo and Walter Butler. For which I thank God and am very grateful."
"How shall I know her in this fire-lit throng?" murmured Lois, staring ahead of her where the evening dusk had now veiled the nearer trees with purple.
Before I could reply, the Sagamore rose from his place on my left, and we all sprang lightly to our feet, looked to our priming, covered our pans, and trailed arms.
"Now!" he muttered, passing in front of me and taking the lead; and we all filed after him through the open forest, moving rapidly, almost on a run, for half a mile, then swung sharply out to the right, where the trees grew slimmer and thinner, and plunged into a thicket of hazel and osier.
"I smell smoke," whispered Lois, keeping close to me.
I nodded. Presently we halted and stood in silence, minute after minute, while the purple dusk deepened swiftly around us, and overhead a few stars came out palely, as though frightened.
Then Mayaro dropped noiselessly to the ground and began to crawl forward over the velvet moss; and we followed his example, feeling our way with our right hands to avoid dry branches and rocks. From time to time we paused to regain our strength and breathe; and the last time we did so the aromatic smell of birch-smoke blew strong in our nostrils, and there came to our ears a subdued murmur like the stirring of pine-tops in a steady breeze. But there were no pines around us now, only osier, hazel, and grey-birch, and the deep moss under foot.
"A house!" whispered the Yellow Moth, pointing.
There it stood, dark and shadowy against the north. Another loomed dimly beyond it; a haystack rose to the left.
We were in Catharines-town.
And now, as we crawled forward, we could see open country on our left, and many unlighted houses and fields of corn, dim and level against the encircling forest. The murmur on our right had become a sustained and distinct sound, now swelling in the volume of many voices, now subsiding, then waxing to a dull tumult. And against the borders of the woods, like a shining crimson curtain shifting, we could see the red reflection of a fire sweeping across the solid foliage.
With infinite precautions, we moved through the thicket toward it, the glare growing yellower and more brilliant as we advanced. And now we remained motionless and very still.
Massed against the flare of light were crowded many people in a vast, uneven circle ringing a great central fire, except at the southern end. And here, where the ring was open so that we could see the huge fire itself, stood a great, stone slab on end, between two round mounds of earth. It was the altar of Amochol, and we knew it instantly, where it stood between the ancient mounds raised by the Alligewi.
The drums had not yet begun while we were still creeping up, but they began now, muttering like summer thunder, the painted drummers marching into the circle and around it twice before they took their places to the left of the altar, squatting there and ceaselessly beating their hollow sounding drums. Then, in file, the eight Sachems of the dishonoured Senecas filed into the fiery circle, chanting and timing their slow steps to the mournful measure of their chant. All wore the Sachem's crest painted white; their bodies were most barbarously striped with black and white, and their blankets were pure white, crossed by a single blood-red band.
What they chanted I could not make out, but that it was some blasphemy which silently enraged my Indians was plain enough; and I laid a quieting hand on the Sagamore's shaking arm, cautioning him; and he touched the Oneidas and the Stockbridge, one by one, in warning.
Opposite us, the ruddy firelight played over the massed savages, women, children, and old men mostly, gleaming on glistening eyes, sparkling on wampum and metal ornaments. To the right and left of us a few knives and hatchets caught the firelight, and many multi-coloured plumes and blankets glowed in its shifting brilliancy.
