to my surprise, black robe expressed a desire to accompany us on our continued journey east.
"i have said all that i have to say concerning what you have told these people about me," he said simply. "but i am sure i should lose favor in god's sight were i to continue my mission on the strength of the heathen superstitions you have aroused."
i pointed out to him that he would probably be exposed to additional dangers in our company after we had crossed the mississippi.
"say, instead, that you will not be exposed to so many dangers if i am with you, monsieur ormerod," he answered. "'tis necessary for my soul's good, as i now realize, that i should return and seek the discipline of my superiors. i have wandered too long alone. my pride hath been unduly stirred. in my heart i have flouted the rules of my order. it is best that i should go to quebec, and submit to the punishment my sins require."
"sins? what sins?" i exclaimed.
"there are sins of the spirit as wicked as sins of the flesh," he returned enigmatically. "whoso thinks himself worthy of martyrdom therein nourishes his own pride. but enough hath been said on this score. i will go with you."
"why?" i asked. "'tis not your wont to profess friendship for my people, père hyacinthe?"
his grim face creased in the rare smile that told of some hidden spring of kindliness, forgotten these many years.
"you are pertinacious—like all heretics. go to! is it forbidden that i should return good for good, as well as for evil?"
and no more could i extract from him. at intervals in the months that followed he would lapse into moods of dour fanaticism, but no matter how long they lasted the day would come when he would smile with childlike humility, and, silent always, contrive to invest himself with gentle friendliness. i do not pretend to understand the transformation of his character; but the fact remains that he was become a different man from the bigot who had accused us on the ohio. he spoke to us only when occasion required; kachina he ignored completely, much to her disgust. but he did his full share of the work, and his prestige sufficed to speed us on our way once the mississippi was behind us.
we had many weary miles to go before we reached the great river, however. awa and his medicine-man and brother chiefs would have had us stay on in the pawnee villages, and opposed our departure with as much ugliness as they dared exhibit to beings of semi-divine origin. but tawannears placated them by explaining that the strong medicine i was going to present to the tribe could only wax to its full robust proportions after i had gone.
this medicine was prepared with many attendant ceremonies and considerable pomp under the seneca's directions. kachina sewed a bag of deerskin, and then, in the presence of all the pawnee notables, i solemnly removed from my neck the bag which guanaea had hung there—the arrow-slit having been repaired by peter—and introduced its open mouth into the throat of the bag kachina had made.
a suitable interval having elapsed, i removed my bag, rehung it about my neck, fastened the neck of the new bag and entrusted it—quite empty—to the chief medicine-man, with strict injunctions never to open it lest the medicine escape. the pawnee were satisfied. they felt capable of whipping any confederacy of near-by tribes, and were convinced that they would never lack for buffalo-meat, horses or warriors. there was nothing they would not do for us. when we finally departed for the east awa and five hundred warriors rode with us and compelled an osage village to supply us with a canoe for use on the mississippi.
we were many days paddling below the mouth of the ohio, with the current against us, both on the father of waters and after we had turned east into the first stream; and indian summer had begun when we reached the mouth of the ouabache. here we expected to part with black robe, but he surprised me again.
"you are yet many weeks' journey from your own country, monsieur ormerod," he said. "and if you continue by water you must paddle against the current all the way. why do you not strike overland direct?"
"because your people and the tribes they control would certainly not approve of it," i answered with a laugh.
"come with me to vincennes," he offered. "i will secure you safe-conduct to jagara."
"are you sure——" i began hesitantly.
"that i can do what i say!" he interrupted. "i have some authority in new france. you may rest confidence in my pledge. i, myself, will attend you so far as jagara. 'tis on my way to montreal and quebec."
i consulted with the others, anticipating tawannears and corlaer would be unwilling to trust him; but both assented promptly.
"black robe is no longer a hater of those who do not believe in his god," responded the seneca to my query as to his changed attitude. "he has learned that we are honest in what we think. he has learned, too, that love is the servant of truth."
"ja," said peter. "andt he remembers der time he was a man before he was a bpriest."
"he is a nasty old ant," declared kachina. "he flaps like a raven. ugh! i hate him!"
we paddled up the ouabache to vincennes, undisturbed by the savages along the river. the french garrison at the trading-post eyed us with suspicion, but made no objection to our presence. on the trip overland to le detroit, the french post on the straits betwixt the huron lake and the lake of the eries, the priest guided us past the scowling scrutiny of tribe after tribe, to whom tawannears' presence was a menacing reminder of their dreaded enemies, the people of the long house. savages, traders, habitants, trappers, soldiers of the lilies, all bowed and stood aside at sight of that gaunt figure, the crippled hand upraised in blessing. under the skirts of his threadbare robe he carried us through the heart of the new empire france was creating below the lakes, saving us i know not how many months of dangerous, roundabout traveling. and from le detroit he escorted us to the fortress at jagara, which the great french soldier-statesman of the wilderness, joncaire, had built to form a bulwark against the iroquois.
'twas here we said good-by, in the woods on the edge of the glacis, sloping up to the stone walls of the fort. in the distance we heard the subdued roar of the mighty falls. on the walls of the fort stood the white-coated sentinels of france. at our feet commenced a tenuous trail, the northern approach to the western door of the long house.
black robe gave tawannears the iroquois salute of parting. he pressed peter's hand. on kachina he bestowed his blessing.
"there is a place on christ's bosom for you, my daughter," he said in the seneca dialect, which she had mastered.
she scowled back at him in a way that must have compelled a man with a sense of humor to laugh.
"we are not christians," tawannears stated proudly. "the gods of our people are good enough for us. have they not reunited us in the face of death—and beyond!"
the priest sighed and drew me to one side.
"do you ever pray, monsieur ormerod?" he asked.
"i have done so."
"forget not one louis joseph marie de kerguezac. he is dead, monsieur, although he lives. i pray you, forget him not. he needs your prayers, ay, heretic or not, he needs them! so, too, i fear doth one hyacinthe, of the order of jesus, a hard man, who hath wreaked harm under cover of saintliness. ah, god, how little do we know what we do!"
"hard you have been in times past, father," i replied, "but i bear testimony you have redeemed yourself in my eyes—albeit i hold i, nor any other man, may judge you after what you have suffered for your faith."
he considered this, crucifix in hand.
"who can say!" he said at length. "i have lived over-much self-centered. never trust yourself too far, monsieur ormerod. man is—man! you, too, have suffered. therefore you will know that suffering is worth while—so long as you do not seek satisfaction in it. you, monsieur, went forth to forget a woman—near four years ago, was it not? have you—forgotten?"
'twas my turn to think.
"not forgotten," i decided, stirred, but not resentful. "yet the pain is dead. say, rather, reconciled to loss."
his face was contorted with agony.
"four years, and reconciled! monsieur ormerod, i have striven to forget for twenty years, and the pain still burns my soul! i chose the wrong way, the wrong way!"
he turned and stumbled from the forest, hands outthrust before him, as he walked blindly toward the fort.
"the wrong way! the wrong way!"
they were the last words i heard him speak. months later, in new york, the news came from quebec that the famous père hyacinthe, called far and wide the apostle to the savages, was serving a disciplinary sentence as scullery servant in the headquarters of the order of jesus.
on the afternoon of the second day after leaving jagara we were challenged by an out-flung party of seneca wolves, watchers of the door, who made the forest aisles ring with their whoops of joy when they recognized tawannears, clamoring for the story of our wanderings. but at his first question joy was turned to sadness, for they gave us the sorry tidings that donehogaweh, the guardian of the door, lay at the point of death from a gangrened wound that had festered about the barbed head of a miami arrow, shot into his shoulder during his last punitive raid.
we forgot all else in our haste to reach deonundagaa in time to see the royaneh before his end; and there remained a lingering splash of color in the western sky as we trotted out of the forest, crossed the gardens and entered the village streets lined by the long ganasotes and thronged with mourning people. they exclaimed with amazement at sight of corlaer's vast bulk and tawannears' familiar figure. an irregular column formed at our heels, warriors who strove for a word with members of our escort, gossiping women and children who babbled and shrieked amongst themselves.
so we came to the open space by the council lodge. beside its entrance donehogaweh lay on a pallet of skins, in compliance with his request to pass in the outer air. a group of royanehs and chiefs sat about him, sternly watching, their sympathy unspoken, their faces emotionless. guanaea hovered over him, equally silent, but unable to restrain the sorrow that was revealed in her eyes and trembling lips. 'twas her cry of astonishment gave him the first intimation of our coming. he turned his great head, with its gray-streaked scalp-lock, and his fever-bright eyes dwelt upon us almost unbelievingly.
"is it indeed you, oh, my sister's son?" he asked weakly. "do i see with you otetiani, the white son of my old age, and corlaer of the fat belly? or do evil dreams taunt me again?"
"we are here, oh, my uncle," answered tawannears kneeling by the pallet and drawing kachina down beside him.
"and who is the maiden with you?"
"she is your daughter."
"my daughter? not——"
guanaea emitted a little shriek and ran closer.
"gahano?" questioned the dying royaneh.
the group of chiefs bent forward, startled out of their stoical self-control. guanaea knelt beside tawannears and kachina, her eyes boring into the girl's face.
"yes, she is gahano," said tawannears. "tawannears and his white brothers have been to the land of lost souls, which is beyond the sunset. they have passed the barriers of haniskaonogeh. they have ventured upon the altar of hawenneyu. they have crossed the mountains at the end of the world, where all is ice and snow. they have traversed dayedadogowar, the great home of the winds. and in the land of lost souls they had speech with ataentsic and jouskeha, as is told in the traditions of our people, and the lost soul of gahano came from a pumpkin shell and danced, and we took her and fled to our own country."
"she is different from the gahano i bore," protested guanaea, breaking the dead silence that ensued, whilst the blazing eyes of the old royaneh probed the faces of the pair beside him.
kachina peered sideways at her a thought mutinously, but held her peace, failing any sign from tawannears.
donehogaweh feebly nodded his head.
"she would look different," he announced. "who would not look different after death? shall i look the same an hour hence? yes, she is different—and yet like the gahano who was. and in truth did you find the land of lost souls, tawannears?"
'twas corlaer who answered, speaking with a resonant ease that so oddly became him when using an indian dialect instead of english.
"it was all exactly as foretold in the legends," he said. "this maiden had come there direct from the custody of the great spirit. she was delivered in charge of him who was jouskeha. ataentsic was not willing to give her up, but jouskeha aided us and we took her by force, the great spirit aiding us."
that was a long speech for the dutchman. i felt myself called upon to support him.
"if that was not the land of lost souls," i declared, "then the legends of the hodenosaunee are a mockery."
"yo-hay!" cried donehogaweh, and he heaved himself to his haunches. "welcome back to my lodge, gahano, although you go from it to——"
he choked and fell dead.
"woe! woe!" wept guanaea. "the pine-tree is fallen! the light is clouded. in my lodge now all is darkness and despair!"
tawannears caught her hand.
"but see, you who are almost my mother," he said. "i have brought back to you the daughter who was lost to you. we will be son and daughter to you in your loneliness."
guanaea would not be comforted.
"who am i to scorn the generosity of hawenneyu?" she cried. "who am i to doubt the deeds of great warriors? i am only a woman, only a mother whose offspring left her, only a widow whose man went ahead of her into the land of shadows. yet i cannot take this new gahano to my breast. she is not to me as the child i suckled or the maiden whose waywardness i curbed. nay, i can only mourn. i am an old woman. i have outlived my time! i will cover my face and sit by the ashes of the fire and weep!"
she threw her robe around her head and tottered away to the lodge she had shared with donehogaweh, attended by the old women of her clan.
ganeodiyo, senior royaneh of the senecas, stooped over and closed the eyes of his dead colleague, then rose.
"tawannears has spent many moons upon a twisting trail," he said. "he and his white brothers have made us proud of them. they have done what no other warriors have done. there was a stain upon the women of their tribe, but they have wiped it off. it is well! our eyes are dazzled by the splendor of their achievement. our ears do not hear distinctly, for the cries of the enemies they vanquished. the face of the maiden they have recovered seems strange to us, but we shall grow accustomed to her again. her feet will seek out the ways she knew of old. all will be as it was before. she will seem as though she had never departed.
"na-ho!"
"peter," i said, when we were alone together in the guest-chamber of the ganasote of the bachelors of the wolf clan, "have we done well to lie?"
he regarded me with twinkling eyes.
"lie?"
"yes, lie," i insisted. "have we not lent our countenance to an essential falsehood?"
he meditated.
"ja, we liedt—maype," he admitted finally. "dot is, we saidt dot what tawannears saidt was so—andt dot's no lie."
"how?"
"you pelief dot tawannears peliefs what he says?"
"yes."
"he wouldt die if he fought idt was not true." corlaer spoke with extraordinary vehemence for him. "you nefer knew a man who worshiped der trut' more than tawannears. what he says he saw andt didt is true—isn't it?"
"yes."
"andt what you don't pelief is true is dot 'lost souls' pusiness, eh?"
"yes."
"but tawannears peliefs idt is true—don't he?"
"yes, yes, peter. i've already said so."
"what is a lie, then, eh? you t'ink der lost souls is—funny-pusiness. tawannears t'inks idt is gospel. now, who is lying—you or tawannears?"
"but——"
"nein, nein! not so quick. tawannears knew what he was looking for, eh? andt you didt not. why shouldt you say dot tawannears is lying any more than you? you saw what tawannears saidt dot you wouldt see. he was right in dot, eh?"
"yes, but——"
"so idt is," continued peter inexorably. "tawannears peliefs what he saidt. you do not. if anybody lies, you lie. idt is your lie, not tawannears'. but how can you be sure tawannears is wrong?"
"the girl kachina—guanaea——"
"kachina looks like gahano. andt it is like donehogaweh saidt—if she has peen deadt, how can she look der same? nein!"
"but guanaea!" i insisted.
"she is a woman, andt women are funny beoble. she nefer liked gahano pefore."
"and what do you think, yourself, peter?"
"i pelief what tawannears says. idt is goodt for him to pelief idt. idt hurts nopody, eh? so i pelief. ja, dot's goodt!"
