Indian Captive (22 page)

“Why have you no man in your lodge?” she asked, suddenly. “If you had a man, you would not have to fell a tree for firewood. You would never have to strip bark and carry it in. You would always have plenty of deer meat to eat; you would never need know hunger.”

The shadow of great grief fell across Earth Woman’s face.

“Once I had many brothers and relatives, but they have all gone to the happy hunting-grounds beyond the sky, where fighting has ceased and hunting is easy; where the summers are not too hot and the winters never too cold.” Earth Woman pointed to the wall. “There hang their bows and arrows and other weapons. My son went away with the warriors last year and never returned. Perhaps in good time the Great Spirit will give me another son to take his place.”

“Who is the Great Spirit?” asked Molly.

“The Great Spirit is Hä-wen-ne-yu,” replied Earth Woman. “He made the world and all that is good. He made the corn and the plants of the earth to grow, to blossom and bear fruit, so we may be happy. His brother is the Evil Spirit, Hä-ne-go-ate-geh. He made the snakes, the mosquitoes, the flies and all poisonous plants. He brings sickness into the world.”

“Oh, yes! I remember now!” cried Molly. “Ma used to tell me something like that at home—only the names of the spirits were different. If you ask the Great Spirit for things, will he give them to you?”

“We try to remember what he has already given,” said Earth Woman. “We thank him for the changing seasons, for the fruits of the earth, for the preservation of our lives. Then we ask that he continue his protecting care over his children. He knows what is good for us.”

“Perhaps then, he will give you a son,” said Molly, “in place of the one you lost.”

“Come, Corn Tassel! Come out at once!” It was Turkey Feather back again, calling. Molly looked at Earth Woman.

“Go and see what he wants,” said the Indian woman. “Blue Jay has fallen asleep on the bed. I will look after him. He makes me think of my son. If he wakes, I will give him this rattle of woven wood splints to play with.”

Molly lifted the deerskin and ran out. With Turkey Feather, she ran swiftly to the river banks, where she heard loud, fierce shouts coming from across the water.

“What is it? Who are they?” she asked.

“The warriors have come!” cried Turkey Feather, shrilly. “The warriors have come! They have returned from a war mission against the Virginia settlements. They are shouting news of their victory.”

On the banks across the river, below the Falling Waters, but within sound of their thundering roar, the returning warriors stopped. They uttered a series of yells to announce their arrival, they shouted the news of losses the party had suffered and the number of captives, scalps, horses and other plunder which they had taken. In loud tones they boasted of the success of their expedition.

As Molly stood with Turkey Feather, her heart began to pound heavily. The thought of more white people being scalped, plundered and taken captive was unendurable. Across the river, standing with the warriors, she saw a white man. His face shone out with glaring whiteness and called to her for help.

“Is it…a white man?” She grasped Turkey Feather tightly by the arm. “Tell me, do you see a white man over there?”

“Oh, yes!” cried Turkey Feather. “One, perhaps more. Victory means white captives—what else could it mean? Don’t you understand? If they are men, they’ll have to run the gauntlet!”

Molly’s heart sank within her. He was right. What else could it mean?

Before the echoes of the warriors’ shouts had died away, Turkey Feather ran to join the crowds. Out from the Indian lodges, men, women and children came pouring. Molly looked at them in horror. Armed with knives, clubs, tomahawks, stones, any sort of weapon, they formed themselves in two long, disorderly lines that reached from the council house almost to the river.

“If they are men, they’ll have to run the gauntlet!” Turkey Feather’s words kept ringing in her ears.

Again she looked across the river. There seemed to be a long delay. An Indian from the village was paddling across, to bid the new arrivals welcome. Beneath a tree Molly saw that the white man’s head was being shaved and across his face, broad streaks of red were painted. She shivered with remembrance.

Then she saw Old Shagbark walking by himself, hastening toward the river. Shagbark, whom she had always thought of as a tall, straight tree in the forest—dependable, a friend to lean upon. Shagbark was her only hope.

The next moment she stood beside him. He bent his ear and listened. “The white man!” Breathless, she managed to speak, pointing with her finger. “You helped a white girl captive once. Oh, won’t you help a white man now? You know so many English words, words that he could understand. …”

Shagbark frowned. “You know not what you ask,” he answered gruffly. “No one can save him, not even Shagbark. Only by the gauntlet can a male captive be adopted into the tribe. Every male must run the gauntlet. If he is not strong enough to bear it, then he is not worthy of being a Seneca and he must die. He must look out for himself. Waste not your pity on him.”

“What
is
the gauntlet?” begged Molly.

“Gauntlet!” Shagbark looked down at the girl before him. His hand reached out and rested for a moment on her pale yellow hair. “Oh, may you never know!” The words sprang out from lips unguarded.

“Go back! Go back to Red Bird’s lodge at once! I command you!” His voice was angry now. It was the first time he had ever spoken to Corn Tassel in anger. “This is no place for a white girl. Go back to your lodge and stay!”

“Oh, be kind to him as once you were kind to me!” Molly’s blue eyes did the pleading while her trembling lips formed the words.

She watched Old Shagbark advance more slowly toward the river. Then she ran back. She stopped at Earth Woman’s lodge and picked up Blue Jay.

“It’s the warriors!” she explained in haste. “They’ve returned with captives. Shagbark said I must go back to Red Bird’s lodge.”

“Shagbark knows best,” said Earth Woman. The girl’s white face frightened her. “Go! Make haste! Don’t leave the lodge tonight.”

Shining Star stood waiting at the door. Molly handed Blue Jay to her and watched her hurry off. Then she threw herself upon her bed. She found her corn-husk baby, her little white woman, and held it to her lips. She tried to drown out the shouting by covering up her ears.

In came Squirrel Woman, panting with haste.

“Come, Corn Tassel!” she cried. “The warriors have returned from battle. The day will be spent in feasting and rejoicing. It is the highest kind of frolic ever celebrated by the Senecas. Come, we must not be late.”

Molly drew back into her corner, filled with fear. The shouting of the angry crowd gathered on the river bank swelled high above the woman’s words.

“You are now an Indian, you are no longer a white girl!” cried Squirrel Woman. “You cannot remain forever a weakling. Come and see the white prisoner run the gauntlet! Your backbone of soft willow must be stiffened to oak.”

“Oh, I don’t want to go!” cried Molly. “Please don’t make me go.”

While her daughter spoke, Red Bird had been standing by, silent. Red Bird, whose voice was as gentle as the south wind, who was never known to raise it in anger. Red Bird spoke and her voice burned like fire.

“Daughter,” she cried, “how can you be so cruel? Have you no heart of kindness in your breast? How can you think of going to the feast and watching the suffering of the unfortunate prisoner? How can you bear to listen to his cries and groans? Corn Tassel has lately been a prisoner herself. Torn away from her loving family, she has been brought from the light of freedom to the darkness of captivity. Like a flower transplanted to new soil, she wilted first and drooped. Now she has just begun to take heart again. Once more she lifts up her head to sunshine. You, Squirrel Woman, wish to open all her wounds and make them bleed afresh. You wish to speed her on her way to the happy fields of the blessed.

“I had thought that you, my daughter, were acquainted with better wisdom. But since it is not so, then I must plainly speak. With war, we women have nothing to do. It is the duty of our husbands and brothers to defend us. Their hearts beat with fierce pride when they overcome our enemies. Oh, stay then, my daughter! Learn the ways of wisdom. Let our warriors, not our women, carry out the customs of war.”

But the words of fire did not touch the heart of Squirrel Woman. “They have brought a handsome young pale-face!” she cried, in excitement. “He is very handsome, but his pretty, proud face won’t save him from the gauntlet. His face will not look pretty when he has finished his run.” Squirrel Woman rushed to the door and was gone.

Gauntlet! The same threatening word again. What was it? How could it change a captive’s face? If no one would tell her what it was, Molly must go out and see. Red Bird’s back was turned. Busy with her cooking-pots beside the smoldering fire, she did not hear the girl creep out the door and go. Was Red Bird’s the only kind heart in the village? Was Red Bird the only Indian woman who, on a day like this, stayed in her lodge because she had kindness in her heart?

Molly found a place in the thick bushes near Earth Woman’s lodge, which stood not far from the log council house. There she could watch without being seen. She saw that the warriors had forded the river in a shallow place and brought their captive over. The Indians, restless with waiting, grew more angry and revengeful, thinking of all the wrongs done to them by the pale-faces. It was Shagbark, Molly saw, who held the white captive back. Then, when the crowd’s zeal had begun to slacken, he bent forward as if to speak, and gave him a push.

Molly saw the white man give a startled look and go. This was the gauntlet. He was running now, like the swiftness of the wind, like the swiftness of a hunted animal. The angry Indians, shrieking and yelling, waited for him to come, and when he came, they pelted him on all sides with cruel cuts and blows. But with apparent ease and bold indifference, he dodged from side to side. When a tomahawk grazed his ear, he merely bent his head and watched it fall and hit the ground. When Shagbark joined the others and threw pieces of rotten pumpkin, the white man laughed aloud with the Indians. No ordinary white captive was this—so said the Indians on all sides.

Molly saw him closer now. He was not a man at all, but a youth of about eighteen years. He was younger and stronger than Nicholas Porter and in his eyes there was no look of dulness, but a bright gleam of fighting courage. The Indians were right. He was no ordinary white captive—he who laughed aloud while running the gauntlet!

At the door of the council house, a group of savage Indians quickly gathered. No captive should have it too easy, they meant to see to that. With tomahawks uplifted they waited, but the white boy did not come to meet them. To the surprise of all he turned and dashed round the side of the council house. As swift as a running deer, he crashed through the thicket of bushes and ran straight into Earth Woman’s lodge.

Molly reached the lodge almost as soon as the white boy did. It took her only a second to rush in from the sheltering bushes. Beside the fire stood, two Indian women, Red Bird and Earth Woman—no, three, for behind them was Shining Star. Molly saw the women catch the white boy in their arms and, swift as flashing lightning, cover him with blankets and whisk him out of sight. Had the Great Spirit sent the terrified young man to their kind breasts for safety? It was all over in a moment. Then the women stood and looked at each other trembling and at the white girl who now stood there beside them.

Footsteps came and angry Indian voices shouted loudly at the door. Earth Woman found her voice and answered. Her quiet words sent the men away again.

The women waited calmly. After a long time they raised the white boy up, all bruised and bleeding, and concealing him from view with a covering of blankets, led him to the safety of the house of council.

For all the rest of the day and evening, Molly stayed with the women in Earth Woman’s lodge. As night approached, great fires were kindled in the open space in front of the long houses and feasting, dancing and frolicking took place. The women of the village, headed by Panther Woman, secreted all the men’s weapons, to prevent injury to themselves. Long into the night the frolic lasted, then the fires died away and the rioting Indians fell down asleep.

The white boy remained at the council house during the night and through the following day. A meeting of the council was held at which it was decided that he had endured the gauntlet with Fortitude and was to be given to Earth Woman to replace her dead son. In a fitting ceremony he was adopted as a full-blooded Seneca of the Hawk clan of his mother and was given the name
Running Deer.
In the evening, weak and ill, suffering from the loss of blood, he was brought back to Earth Woman’s lodge.

“The Great Spirit has given you a son,” said Molly, “in place of the one you lost. Now you will have a man in your lodge again.”

“The Great Spirit’s kindness is so great, it cannot be measured,” replied Earth Woman.

Molly came often to the lodge to inquire about the white boy, but a high fever had set in and he was too ill to see or speak to her. Each day she came, eager for the sight of his pale white face, for the exchange of English words, and each day, disappointed, went away.