Читать книгу: «The Prairie Flower: A Tale of the Indian Border», страница 22

"What do you mean, sir?" White Buffalo asked, haughtily.

"I will explain myself, sir," the Count continued, and, turning to Natah Otann, "you will do me the justice to allow that I have scrupulously kept the promise I made you; in spite of the grief and disgust I felt, I did not fail once; you ever found me cold and calm at your side. Is this not so? – answer, sir."

"It is true," Natah Otann replied, coldly.

"Very good, sir; it is now my turn to ask from you the fulfilment of the promises you made me."

"Be a little more explicit, sir," the Chief said. "During the last few hours I have been actor in and witness of so many extraordinary things, that I may possibly have forgotten what I did promise you."

The Count smiled with disdain.

"I expected such trickery," he said, drily.

"You misinterpret my words. I may have forgotten, but I do not refuse to satisfy your just claims."

"Very good; I admit that, so I will remind you of the stipulations made between us."

"I shall be glad to hear them."

"I pledged myself to remain by yourself unarmed during the action, to follow you everywhere, and ever to go in the first rank of the combatants."

"That is true, and it is my duty to allow that you have nobly performed that perilous task."

"Very well; but in doing so I only acted as my honour dictated; you, on your part, pledged yourself whatever the issue of the battle might be, to grant me my liberty, and give me an honourable satisfaction, in reparation for the unworthy treachery of which you rendered me the victim, and the odious part you forced me unconsciously to play."

"Oh, oh!" White Buffalo said, frowning, and striking the table with his fists. "Did you really make such a promise as that, child?"

The Count turned to the old man with a gesture sovereign contempt.

"I believe, sir," he said, "that you are doubting the honour of a gentleman."

"Nonsense, sir," the republican said, with a grin "How can you talk to us of honour and nobility? You forget that we are in the desert, and that you are addressing savage Indians, as you call us. Do we recognize your foolish caste distinctions here? Have we adopted your laws and absurd prejudices?"

"What you treat so cavalierly," the Count sharply retorted, "has hitherto been the safeguard of civilization, and the cause of intellectual progress; but I have nothing to discuss with you; I am addressing myself to your adopted son; let him answer me, yes or no, and I shall then know what remains for me to do."

"Be it so, sir," White Buffalo said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Let my son answer, and, according to his reply, I shall then know what remains for me to do."

"As this affair concerns me alone," Natah Otann interposed, "I should feel mortally offended, my friend, if you interfered in any way in it."

The White Buffalo smiled with contempt, but made no reply. Natah Otann continued —

"I will employ no subterfuges with you, sir; you have spoken the truth; I promised you liberty and satisfaction, and I am prepared to keep my word."

"Oh, oh!" White Buffalo said.

"Silence!" the Chief ordered, peremptorily. "Listen, my friend; prove to these Europeans, so vain and so proud of their so-called civilization, that the Redskins are not the ferocious brutes they imagine them, and that the code of honour is the same among nations who are regarded as the most barbarous. You are free, sir, from this moment, and, if you please, I will myself lead you in safety outside the lines. As for the duel you desire, I am equally ready to satisfy you in any way you may indicate."

"Thank you, sir," the Count answered, with a bow, "I am happy to hear your determination."

"Now that affair is arranged between us, allow me to add a few words."

"I am listening to you, sir."

"Am I in the way?" White Buffalo asked, ironically.

"On the contrary," Natah Otann said, with emphasis, "your presence is at this moment more necessary than ever."

"Ah, ah! what is going to happen?" the old man went on, in a sarcastic tone.

"You will learn," the Chief said, still cold and impassive; "if you will take the trouble to listen to me for five minutes."

"Be it so; speak."

Natah Otann seemed to be collecting himself for a few moments, and said, in a voice which, spite of all his efforts to conceal it, trembled slightly, through some hidden emotion, —

"Owing to events too long to narrate here, and which I would probably possess but slight interest for you, I became the guardian of a child, who is now a charming maiden. This girl, to whom I have ever paid the greatest attention, and whom I love as a father, is known to you; her name is Prairie-Flower."

The Count quivered, and made a gesture in affirmation, but no other reply. Natah Otann continued, —

"As I am entering now on a hazardous expedition, in which I may meet my death, it is impossible for me to watch longer over this girl; it would be painful to me to leave her alone, and without support, among my tribe, if destiny were to cause my plans to fail. I know that she loves you, I entrust her to you frankly and honestly; I have full faith in your honour – will you give to her protection? I know that you will never abuse the trust I offer you; I am only a brutalized Indian, a monster, perhaps, to your civilization; but, believe me, sir, the lessons a great man has consented to give me have not been all lost, and my heart is not so dead, as might be supposed, to finer feelings."

"Good, Natah Otann," White Buffalo said, joyfully; "good, my son. Now I recognize my pupil, and I am proud of you; the man who succeeds in each a victory over self is really born to command others."

"You are satisfied," the Chief answered; "all the better. And you, sir? I await your answer."

"I accept the sacred trust you offer me, sir. I will be worthy of your confidence," the Count answered, with much emotion. "I have no right to judge your actions; but, believe, sir, that whatever may happen, there will be always one man to defend your memory, and proclaim aloud the nobility of your heart."

The Chief clapped his hands, the door opened, and Prairie-Flower appeared, led by an Indian woman.

"Child," Natah Otann said to her, nothing evincing the violence he did to his feelings, "your presence among us is henceforth impossible; this Chief of the Palefaces consents to watch over you for the future; follow him, and if at times you are reminded of your stay with the tribe of the Kenhas, do not curse them or their Chief, for all have been kind to you."

The maiden blushed, the tears rose to her eyes, a nervous tremor agitated her limbs, and, without uttering a word, she took her place by the Count's side. Natah Otann smiled sorrowfully.

"Follow me," he said, "I will escort you out of the camp."

And he went out, accompanied by the two young people.

"We shall soon meet again, I presume, noble Count?" White Buffalo called out, after his countryman.

"I hope so," the latter answered, simply.

Guided by Natah Otann, the Count and his companion left the fort, and entered the prairie, passing through groups of Redskins, who stood back respectfully to make room for them. Their walk was silent; it lasted about half an hour, until the Chief stopped.

"Here you have nothing more to fear," he said; and going to a dense thicket, and pulling back the branches, "Here are two horses I had prepared for you; take also these weapons, perhaps you will need them; and now, if you wish to fight with me, I am ready."

"No," the Count answered, nobly, "any combat is henceforth impossible between us; I can no longer be the enemy of a man whom honour orders me to esteem; here is my hand, I will never lift it against you; I offer it you frankly, and without any afterthought; unfortunately, too deep a hatred divides our two races to prevent us being ere long opposed to each other, but if I fight your brothers, I shall not the less remain personally your friend."

"I ask no more of you," the Chief replied, as he pressed the hand offered him; "farewell! be happy!"

And without adding a word, he turned away, and hurried back by the road he had come; he soon disappeared in the darkness.

"Let us go," the Count said to the maiden, who was pensively watching the departure of the man she had so long loved as a father, and whom now she did not feel strong enough to hate. They mounted and went off, after a parting glance at the scattered fire of the Blackfoot camp.

CHAPTER XXVIII
CONCLUSION

The night was gloomy, cold, and mournful; not a star shone in the sky, and the young people only forced their way with extreme difficulty through the shrubs and creepers, in which their horses' feet were continually caught. They advanced very slowly, for both were too absorbed by the strange situation in which they found themselves, and the extraordinary events of which they had been actors or witnesses, to break the silence they had maintained since leaving the fort. They went on thus for about an hour, when a great noise was suddenly heard in the bushes. Two men rushed to the horses' heads, and, seizing the bridles, compelled them to stop. Prairie-Flower gave a shriek of terror.

"Halloh, brigands!" the Count shouted, as he cocked his pistols, "back, or I fire."

"Do not do so, for goodness sake, sir, for you would run the risk of killing a friend," a voice at once answered, which the Count recognized as the hunter's.

"Bright-eye?" he said, in amazement.

"By Jove!" the latter said, "did you fancy, pray, that I had deserted you?"

"My master, my kind master!" the Breton shouted, leaving hold of Prairie-Flower's bridle, and rushing toward the young man.

"Halloh!" the Count continued, after the emotion caused by the first surprise was slightly calmed, "what on earth are you doing here in ambush, like pirates of the prairie?"

"Come to our encampment, Mr. Edward, and we will tell you."

"Very good; but lead the way."

They soon reached the entrance of a natural cavern, where, by the uncertain light of an expiring fire, they perceived a large number of white and half-bred hunters, among whom the Count recognized John Black, his son, his wife, and daughter. The worthy squatter had left the clearing under the charge of his two servants, and fearing lest his wife and daughter might not be in safety during his absence, he asked them to accompany him; and though this offer was somewhat singular, they gladly accepted it. Prairie-Flower immediately took her place by the side of the two ladies.

Bright-eye, the squatter, and above all Ivon, were impatient to learn what had happened to the Count, and how he had succeeded in escaping from the Redskin camp. The Count made no difficulty in satisfying their curiosity; the more so, as he was eager to learn for what reason his friends were ambuscaded so near the camp.

What the hunter had foreseen had really happened; scarce victors over the Americans, and masters of the fort, disunion had set in among the Redskins. Several Chiefs had been dissatisfied at seeing, to their prejudice, Natah Otann, one of the youngest Sachems of the Confederates, claim the profits of the victory, by installing himself, with his tribe, in the fort, which all had captured at such an effusion of blood; a dull discontentment had begun to prevail among them; five or six of the most powerful even spoke, hardly two hours after the victory, of withdrawing with their warriors, and leaving Natah Otann to continue the war as he thought proper with the Whites.

Red Wolf had found but slight difficulty in commencing the work of defection he meditated; thus, at nightfall, he entered the camp with his warriors, and began fanning the flame which at present only smouldered, but which must soon be a burning and devouring fire, owing to the means of corruption the Chief had at his disposal. Of all the destructive agents introduced by Europeans in America, the most effective and terrible is, indubitably, spirits. With the exception of the Comanches, whose sobriety is proverbial, and who have constantly refused to drink anything but the water of their streams, all the Indians are mad for strong liquors. Drunkenness among their primitive race is terrible, and attains the proportions of a furious mania.

Red Wolf, who burned to avenge himself on Natah Otann, and who, besides, blindly obeyed the insinuations of Mrs. Margaret, had conceived an atrocious plan, which only an Indian born was capable of forming. John Black had brought with him into the desert a considerable stock of whiskey. Red Wolf had asked for this, placed it on sledges, and thus entered the camp. The Indians, when they knew the species of merchandize he brought with him, did not hesitate to give him a hearty reception.

The Chief, while indoctrinating them, and representing Natah Otann to them as a man who had only acted from personal motives, and with the intention of satiating his own wild ambition, generously abandoned to them the spirits he had brought with him. The Indians eagerly accepted the present Red Wolf made them, and, without the loss of a moment, took hearty draughts. When Red Wolf saw that the Indians had reached that state of intoxication he desired, he hastened to warn his allies, so that they might attempt a bold coup de main on the spot.

The hunters at once mounted their horses, and proceeded toward the fortress, concealing themselves about two hundred paces from it, so as to be ready for the first signal.

Natah Otann, in crossing the camp after escorting the two young people, perceived the effervescence prevailing among his allies, and several unpleasant epithets struck his ear. Although he did not suppose that the Americans, after the rude defeat they had suffered during the day, were in a condition to assume the offensive immediately, still, his thorough knowledge of his countrymen's character made him suspect treachery, and he resolved to redouble his prudence, in order to avoid a conflict, whose disastrous results would be incalculable for the success of his career. Agitated by a gloomy foreboding, the young Chief hurried on to reach the fort; but at the moment he prepared to enter, after opening the gate, a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, while a rough voice hissed in his ear —

"Natah Otann is a traitor."

The Chief turned, as if a serpent had stung him, and wheeling his heavy axe round his head, dealt a terrible blow at this bold speaker; but the latter avoided the stroke by springing on one side, and raising his axe in his turn, he directed a blow, which the Sachem parried with the handle of his weapon, and then the two men rushed on each other. There was something singularly startling in this desperate combat between two men dumb as shadows, and in whom their fury was only revealed by the hissing of their breath.

"Die, dog!" Natah Otann suddenly said, his axe crashing through the skull of his adversary, who rolled on the ground, with a yell of agony. The Chief bent over him.

"Red Wolf," he shouted, "I suspected it."

Suddenly an almost imperceptible sound in the grass reminded him of the critical situation in which he was; he made a prodigious bound back, entered the fort, and bolted the gate after him. It was high time; he had scarce disappeared, ere some twenty warriors, rushing in pursuit of him, ran their heads against the gate, stifling cries of rage and deception. But the alarm had been given, the general combat was evidently about to begin.

Natah Otann, immediately on entering the fort, perceived, with a groan, that this victory, which he had so dearly bought, was on the point of slipping from him. The Kenhas had done within the fort what the other Blackfeet, incited by Red Wolf, had effected on the prairie.

After the capture of the fortress they spread in every direction, and the spirits did not long escape their search; they had rolled the barrels into the square, and tapped them, availing themselves of the White Buffalo being asleep, and the absence of Natah Otann, the only two men whose influence would have been great enough to have kept them in subordination. A frightful orgy had then commenced – an Indian orgy, with all its incidents of murder and massacre. As we have said, drunkenness in the Redskins is madness carried to the last paroxysm of fury and rage; there had been a frightful scene of carnage, at the end of which the Indians had fallen on the top of one another, and gone to sleep in the midst of the confusion.

"Oh!" the Chief muttered, in despair. "What is to be done with such men?"

Natah Otann rushed, into the room where he had left White Buffalo; the old Chief was quietly sleeping in an easy chair.

"Woe! woe!" the young man yelled, as he rushed toward him, and shook him vigorously, to rouse him.

"What is the matter?" the old man asked, opening his eyes, and sitting up. "What news have you?"

"That we are lost!" the Chief replied.

"Lost!" the White Buffalo said, "what is happening then?"

"The six hundred men we had here are drunk, the rest of our confederates are turning against us, and the only thing left to us is to die."

"Let us die then, but as brave men," the old man said, rising.

He asked Natah Otann for details, which he soon gave him.

"The situation is grave, but all is not lost, I hope," he said; "let us collect the few men still capable of fighting, and make head against the storm."

At this moment a tremendous fusillade was heard, mingled with war cries and shouts of defiance.

"The final struggle has commenced!" Natah Otann exclaimed.

"Forwards!" the old Chief said.

They rushed out. The situation was most critical. Major Melville, taking advantage of the intoxication of his keepers, had broken out of his prison at the head of some twenty Americans, and boldly charged the Redskins, while the hunters outside tried to scale the barricades.

The Indians of the prairie, ignorant of Red Wolf's death, and believing they were carrying out his plans, advanced, in a compact body, on the fort, with the intention of carrying it. Natah Otann had to contend against the enemies without and those within; but he did not despair; his energy seemed to increase with peril; he was everywhere at once; encouraging some, rebuking others, and imparting some of his own nerve to all. At his voice, many of his warriors sprang up, and joined him; then the battle was organized, and became regular.

Still the hunters, excited by the Count and Bright-eye, redoubled their efforts; climbing on each other's backs, they reached the top of the palisades, which they wished to scale. The Americans, though themselves surprised, when they expected to surprise their enemies, fought with indescribable fury, returning instantly to the attack in spite of the bullets that decimated them, and seemed resolved to fall to the last man, rather than give way an inch.

During the two hours that night still lasted, the fight was maintained without any decided advantage on either side; but when the sun appeared on the horizon, matters changed at once. In the darkness it was impossible for the Indians to recognize the enemies against whom they were fighting; but so soon as the gloom was dissipated, they saw, combating in the first rank of their enemies, and pitilessly cutting down the Redskins, the man on whom they counted most, whom their chiefs and medicine men had announced to them as their leader to victory, who would render them invincible. Then they hesitated, disorder broke out among them, and, in spite of the efforts made by Chiefs, they gave way.

The Count, having at his side Bright-eye, the squatter and his son, and Ivon, made a frightful butchery of the Indians; he was avenging himself for the treachery of which they had made him their victim, and, at each stroke, cut them down like corn ripe for the sickle. The Count at length reached the gate of the fort; but there he came in contact with a band of picked warriors, commanded by White Buffalo, who was effecting his retreat in good order, and without turning his back, closely pursued by Major Melville, who was already almost master of the interior of the fortress. There was a moment, we will not say of hesitation, but of truce between the hostile bands; each of them understood that the fate of the battle depended on the defeat of the other.

Suddenly Natah Otann made his appearance, mad with grief and rage; brandishing in one hand his totem, he guided with his knees a magnificent steed, with which he had already ridden several times into the thickest of the enemies' ranks, in the vain hope of reanimating the courage of his men, and turning the current of the action. Horse and rider were bathed in blood and perspiration; the shadow of death already brooded over the Chiefs contracted face; but his forehead still shone with enthusiasm. His eyes seemed to flash forth lightning, and his hand wielded an axe, the very handle of which dripped gore. Some twenty devoted warriors followed him, wounded like himself, but resolved, like him, not to survive defeat.

On reaching the front of the American line, Natah Otann stopped; his eyebrows were contracted, a nervous smile played round his lips; and, rising in his stirrups, he bent a fascinating glance around.

"Blackfeet, my brothers," he shouted, in a strident voice, "as you know not how to conquer, learn at least from me how to die!"

And burying his spurs in the flanks of his steed, which shrieked with pain, he rushed on the Americans, followed by a few warriors who had sworn not to abandon him. This weak band, devoted to death, was engulfed in the ranks of the hunters, when it entirely disappeared; for a few minutes there was a sullen contest, a horrible butchery, an ebb and flow of courage impossible to describe, a Titanic struggle of fifteen half naked men against three hundred; gradually the agitation ceased, the calm returned, and the ranks of the hunters were reformed. The Blackfeet heroes were dead, but they had a sanguinary funeral, for one hundred and twenty Americans had fallen, burying their enemies under their corpses.

White Buffalo's band alone resisted; but, attacked in the rear by Major Melville, and in front by the Count, its last hour had struck: still the collision was rude, the Indians resisted obstinately, and made the whites purchase their victory dearly; but, attacked on all sides at once, and falling helplessly under the unerring bullets of the white men, disorder entered their ranks, they disbanded, and the rout commenced.

One man alone remained calm and impassive on the field of battle. It was White Buffalo, leaning on his long sword; with pallid brow and haughty look, he still defied the enemies he could no longer combat.

"Surrender!" Bright-eye shouted, as he rushed upon him; "surrender, or I will shoot you like a dog."

The Chief smiled disdainfully, and made no reply. The implacable hunter seized his rifle by the barrel, and whirled it round his head. The Count seized him sharply by the arm.

"Stay, Bright-eye," he said.

"Let the man alone," White Buffalo said, coldly.

"I do not wish him to kill you," the young man replied.

"I suppose you wish to kill me yourself, noble Count of Beaulieu," he said, in a cutting voice.

"No, sir," the young man said, with disdain; "throw down your weapons; I spare your life."

The exile gave him a withering glance. "Instead of telling me to throw down my weapons," he said, ironically, "why do you not try to take them from me."

"Because I pity your age and your grey hair,"

"Pity? confess rather, O noble Count, that you are afraid."

At this insult the young man trembled, and his face became livid. The Americans formed a circle round the two men, and anxiously awaited what was going to happen.

"Put an end to this!" Major Melville exclaimed, "kill that mad brute."

"One moment, sir, I beg; let me settle this affair,"

"As you wish it, air, act as you think proper."

"You desire a duel then?" the Count said, addressing White Buffalo, who still stood perfectly calm.

"Yes," he answered, through his clenched teeth, "a duel to the death! two principles, and not two men, will contend here. I hate your race, and you hate mine."

"Be it so."

The Count took two sabres from the hands of the men nearest him, and threw one at the exile's feet. The latter stooped to pick it up, but as he rose again, Ivon aimed a pistol at him, and blew out his brains.

The young man turned furiously on his servant.

"Wretched fellow," he shouted, "what have you done?"

"Kill me, if you will, sir," the Breton replied, simply, "but indeed it was stronger than myself, I was so frightened."

"Come, come," the Major said, interposing, "you must not be angry with the poor fellow, he fancied he was acting for the best, and for my part I think he was."

The incident had no other result; the exile died on the spot, taking with him the secret of his name.

While this scene was taking place in the courtyard of the fort, John Black, who was anxious to reassure his wife and daughter, went to look for them; but though he went through all the rooms and outbuildings of the fort, where he had concealed them for a few minutes previously, he could not possibly find them anywhere.

The poor squatter returned, with lengthened face and despair in his soul, to announce to the Major the disappearance of his wife and daughter, probably carried off by the Indians. Without losing a moment, the Major ordered a dozen hunters to go in search of the ladies; but just as the band was about to start, they arrived, accompanied by Bright-eye and two American hunters. Margaret and her daughter were with them. So soon as Prairie-Flower perceived the Count, she uttered a cry of joy, and rushed toward him.

"Saved!" she exclaimed.

But all at once she blushed, trembled, and went in confusion to seek refuge by her mother's side. The Count went up, took her hand, and pressed it tenderly.

"Prairie-Flower," he said to her, softly, "do you no longer love me now that I am free?"

The maiden raised her head, and looked at him for a moment with tear-laden eyes.

"Oh! ever, ever!" she answered.

"Look, daughter," Mrs. Black said to poor Diana.

"Mother," she replied, in a firm voice, "did I not tell you that I should forget him?"

The squatter's wife shook her head, but made no further remark. The Indians had fled without leaving a man, and a few hours later the fort returned to its old condition.

The winter passed away without any fresh incident, for the rude lesson given the Indians had done them good. Prairie-Flower, recognized by her uncle, remained at Fort Mackenzie. The girl was sorrowful and pensive; she often spent long hours leaning over the parapets, with her eyes fixed on the prairie and the forests, which were beginning to reassume their green dress. Her mother and the Major, who were so fond of her, could not at all understand the gloomy melancholy that preyed upon her. When pressed to explain what she suffered from, she replied, invariably, that there was nothing the matter with her.

One day, however, her face brightened up, and her joyous smile reappeared. Three travellers arrived at the fort. They were the Count, Bright-eye, and Ivon; they were returning from a long excursion in the Rocky Mountains. As soon as he arrived, the Count went up to the maiden, and took her hand, as he had done three months before.

"Prairie-Flower," he asked her once again, "do you no longer love me?"

"Oh! yes, and for ever!" the poor child answered, gently, for she had grown timid since she gave up her desert life.

"Thank you," he said to her; and, turning to the Major and his sister, who were looking at each other anxiously, he added, without loosing the hand he held, – "Major Melville, and you, Madam, I ask you for this lady's hand."

A week later the marriage was solemnized; the squatter and his family were present. And a month previously, Diana had married James. Still, when the "yes" was uttered, she could not suppress a sigh.

"You see, Ivon, that you are never killed by the Indians – and here is a proof of it," Bright-eye said to the Breton, on leaving the chapel.

"I am beginning to believe it," the latter made answer, "but no matter, my friend, I shall never get accustomed to this frightful country; it makes me so afraid."

"The old humbug!" the Canadian muttered; "he will never alter."

And now, to satisfy certain curious readers who like to know everything, we will add the following in the shape of a postscript.

A few months after the 9th Thermidor, several members of the Convention, in spite of the part they played on that day, were not the less transported to French Guyana. Two of them – Collot D'Herbois and Billaud Varenne – succeeded in escaping from Sinnamori, and buried themselves in the deserts, where they endured horrible sufferings. Collot D'Herbois succumbed, and we have told his comrade's fate.

THE END