Part 19 (1/2)

(Wail.)

”Spring comes to the river, But where, then, art thou?

I'm longing to see thee; I'm wailing for thee.

(Wail.)

”The flowers come forever; I'll meet thee again; I'm longing to see thee-- Time bears me to thee!”

(Wail.)

As Jasper ascended the high bluffs of the lodge where Black Hawk dwelt, he was followed by a number of Indians who came out of their houses of poles and bark, and greeted him in a kindly way. The dark chief met him at the door of the lodge.

”You are welcome, my father. The new moon has bent her bow over the waters, and you have come back. You have kept your promise. I have kept mine. There is the boy.”

An Indian boy of lithe and graceful form came out of the lodge, followed by an old man, who was his uncle. The boy's name was Waubeno, and his uncle's was Main-Pogue. The latter had been an Indian runner in Canada, and an interpreter to the English there. He spoke English well. The boy Waubeno had been his companion in his long journeys, and, now that the interpreter was growing old, remained true to him. The three stood there, looking down on the long mirror of the Mississippi--Black Hawk, Main-Pogue, and Waubeno--and waiting for Jasper to speak.

”I have come to bring you peace,” said Jasper--”not the silence of the hawk or the bow-string, but peace here.”

He laid his hand on his breast, and all the Indians did the same.

”I am a man of peace,” continued Jasper. ”If any one should seek to slay me, I would not do him any harm. I would forgive him, and pray that his blindness might go from his soul, and that he might see a better life.

You welcome me, you are true to me, and, whatever may happen, I will be true to your race.”

The black chief bowed, Main-Pogue, and the boy Waubeno.

”I believe you,” said Black Hawk. ”Your face says 'yes' to your words.

The Indian's heart is always true to a friend. Sit down; eat, smoke the peace-pipe, and let us talk. Sit down. The sky is clear, and the night-bird cries for joy on her wing. Let us all sit down and talk. The river rolls on forever by the graves of the braves of old. Let us sit down.”

The squaws brought Jasper some cakes and fish, and Black Hawk lighted some long pipes and gave them to Main-Pogue and Waubeno.

”I have brought the boy here for you,” said Black Hawk. ”He comes of the blood of the brave. Let me tell you his story. It will shame the pale-face, but let me tell you the story. You will say that the Indian can be great, like the pale-face, when I tell you his story. It will smite your heart. Listen.”

A silence followed, during which a few puffs of smoke curled into the air from the black chief's pipe. He broke his narrative by such silences, designed to be impressive, and to offer an opportunity for thought on what had been said.

Strange as it may seem to the reader, the story that follows is substantially true, and yet nothing in cla.s.sic history or modern heroism can surpa.s.s in moral grandeur the tale that Black Hawk was always proud to tell:

”Father, that is the boy. He knows all the ways from the Great Lakes to the long river, from the great hills to Kaskaskia. You can trust him; he knows the ways. Main-Pogue knows all the ways. Main-Pogue was a runner for the pale-face. He has taught him the ways. Their hearts are like one heart, Main-Pogue's and Waubeno's.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BLACK HAWK TELLS THE STORY OF WAUBENO.]

”His father is dead, Waubeno's. Main-Pogue has been a father to him.

They would die for each other. Main-Pogue says that Waubeno may run with you, if I say that he may run. I say so. Main-Pogue and Waubeno are true to me.

”The boy's father is dead, I said. Who was the father of that boy?--Waubeno, stand up.”

The boy arose, like a tall shadow. There was a silence, and Black Hawk puffed his pipe, then laid it beside his blanket.

”Who was the father of Waubeno? He was a brave, a warrior. He wore the gray plume, and honor to him was more than life. He would not lie, and they put him to death. He was true as the stars, and they killed him.”

There followed another silence.