Part 9 (1/2)
”What a pity our own people don't show the same wisdom!”
”You are thinking of the great slaughter at Duquesne. Every people has its own ways, and the soldiers have not yet learned those of the forest, but they _will_ learn.”
”At a huge cost!”
”Perhaps there is no other way? You will notice the birds on the bushes on the far side of the stream, Dagaeoga?”
”Aye, I see 'em. They're in uncommon numbers. What a fine lot of fellows with glossy plumage! And some of 'em are singing away as if they lived for nothing else!”
”I see that Dagaeoga looks when he is told to look and sees when he is told to see. The birds are at peace and are enjoying themselves.”
”That is, they're having a sunlight concert, purely for their own pleasure.”
”It is so. They feel joy and know that danger is not present. They are protected by the instinct that Manitou, watching over the least of his creatures, has given to them.”
”Why this dissertation on birds at such a time, Tayoga?”
”Dissertation is a very long word, but I am talking for Dagaeoga's own good. He has learned much of the forest, but he can learn more, and I am here to teach him.”
”Wondrous good of you, Tayoga, and, in truth, your modesty also appeals to me. Proceed with your lesson in woodcraft, although it seems to me that you have chosen a critical time for it.”
”The occasion is most fitting, because it comes out of our present danger. We wish to see the approach of our enemies who will lie down among the gra.s.s and bushes, and creep forward very silently. We will not see them, perhaps, but others will give warning.”
”Oh, you mean that the birds, alarmed by the warriors, will fly away?”
”Nothing else, Dagaeoga.”
”Then why so much circ.u.mlocution?”
”Circ.u.mlocution is another very long word, Dagaeoga. It is the first time that I have heard it used since we left the care of our teacher in Albany. But I came to the solution by a circular road, because I wished you to see it before I told it to you. You did see it, and so I feel encouraged over the progress of my pupil.”
”Thanks, Tayoga, I appreciate the compliment, and, as I said before, your modesty also appeals to me.”
”You waste words, Dagaeoga, but you have always been a great talker.
Now, watch the birds.”
Tayoga laughed softly. The Indian now and then, in his highest estate, used stately forms of rhetoric, and it pleased the young Onondaga, who had been so long in the white man's school, to employ sometimes the most orotund English. It enabled him to develop his vein of irony, with which he did not spare Robert, just as Robert did not spare him.
”I will watch the birds,” said young Lennox. ”They're intelligent, reasoning beings, and I'll lay a wager that while they're singing away there they're not singing any songs that make fun of their friends.”
”Of that I'm not sure, Dagaeoga. Look at the bird with the red crest, perched on the topmost tip of the tall, green bush directly in front of us. I can distinguish his song from those of the others, and it seems that the note contains something saucy and ironic.”
”I see him, Tayoga. He is an impudent little rascal, but I should call him a most sprightly and attractive bird, nevertheless. Observe how his head is turned on one side. If we were only near enough to see his eyes I'd lay another wager that he is winking.”
”But his head is not on one side any longer, Dagaeoga. He has straightened up. If you watch one object a long time you will see it much more clearly, and so I am able to observe his actions even at this distance. He has ceased to sing. His position is that of a soldier at attention. He is suspicious and watchful.”
”You're right, Tayoga. I can see, too, that the bird's senses are on the alert against something foreign in the forest. All the other birds, imitating the one who seems to be their leader, have ceased singing also.”
”And the leader is unfolding his wings.”