Chapter 8: Waraiyageh

Now, a few pleasant days of winter came. The ground dried under comparatively warm winds, and the forest awoke. They heard everywhere the ripple of running water, and wild animals came out of their dens. Tayoga shot a young bear which made a welcome addition to their supplies.

“I hold that there’s nothing better in the woods than young bear,” said Willet, as he ate a juicy steak Robert had broiled over the coals. “Venison is mighty good, especially so when you’re hungry, but you can get tired of it. What say you, Tayoga?”

“It is true,” replied the Onondaga. “Fat young bear is very fine. None of us wants one thing all the time, and we want something besides meat, too. The nations of the Hodenosaunee are great and civilized, much ahead of the other red people, because they plant gardens and orchards and fields, and have grain and vegetables, corn, beans, squash and many other things good for the table.”

“And the Iroquois, while they grow more particular about the table, remain the most valiant of all the forest people. I see your point, Tayoga. Civilization doesn’t take anything from a man’s courage and tenacity. Rather it adds to them. There are our enemies, the French, who are as brave and enduring as anybody, and yet they’re the best cooks in the world, and more particular about their food than any other nation.”

“You always speak of the French with a kind of affection, Dave,” said Robert.

“I suppose I do,” said the hunter. “I have reasons.”

“As I know now, Dave, you’ve been in Paris, can’t you tell us something about the city?”

“It’s the finest town in the world, Robert, and they’ve the brightest, gayest life there, at least a part of ‘em have, but things are not going right at home with the French. They say a whole nation’s fortune has been sunk in the palace at Versailles, and the people are growing poorer all the time, but the government hopes to dazzle ‘em by waging a successful and brilliant war over here. I repeat, though, Robert, that I like the French. A great nation, sound at the core, splendid soldiers as we’re seeing, and as we’re likely to see for a long time to come.”

They pushed on with all speed toward Mount Johnson, the weather still favoring them, making their last camp in a fine oak grove, and reckoning that they would achieve their journey’s end before noon the next day. They did not build any fire that night, but when they rose at dawn they saw the smoke of somebody else’s fire on the eastern horizon.

“It couldn’t be the enemy,” said Willet. “He wouldn’t let his smoke go up here for all the world to see, so near to the home of Colonel William Johnson and within the range of the Mohawks.”

“That is so,” said Tayoga. “It is likely to be some force of Colonel Johnson himself, and we can advance with certainty.”

Looking well to their arms in the possible contingency of a foe, they pushed forward through the woodland, the smoke growing meanwhile as if those who had built the fire either felt sure of friendly territory, or were ready to challenge the world. The Onondaga presently held up a hand and the three stopped.

“What is it, Tayoga?” asked the hunter.

“I wish to sing a song.”

“Then sing it, Tayoga.”

A bird suddenly gave forth a long, musical, thrilling note. It rose in a series of trills, singularly penetrating, and died away in a haunting echo. A few moments of silence and then from a point in the forest in front of them another bird sang a like song.

“They are friends,” said Tayoga, who was the first bird, “and it may be, since we are within the range of the Mohawks, that it is our friend, the great young chief Daganoweda, who replied. I do not think any one else could sing a song so like my own.”

“I’m wagering that it’s Daganoweda and nobody else,” said Willet confidently, and scorning cover now they advanced at increased speed toward the fire.

A splendid figure, tall, heroic, the nose lofty and beaked like that of an ancient Roman, the feather headdress brilliant and defiant like that of Tayoga, came forward to meet them, and Robert saw with intense pleasure that it was none other than Daganoweda himself. Nor was the delight of the young Mohawk chieftain any less--the taciturnity and blank faces of Indians disappeared among their friends--and he came forward, smiling and uttering words of welcome.

“Daganoweda,” said Willet, “the sight of you is balm to the eyes. Your name means in our language, ‘The Inexhaustible’ and you’re an inexhaustible friend. You’re always appearing when we need you most, and that’s the very finest kind of a friend.”

“Great Bear, Tayoga and Dagaeoga come out of the great wilderness,” said Daganoweda, smiling.

“So we do, Daganoweda. We’ve been there a long time, but we were not so idle.”

“I have heard of the fort that was built in the forest and how the young white soldiers with the help of Great Bear, Tayoga and Dagaeoga beat off the French and the savage tribes.”

“I supposed that runners of the Hodenosaunee would keep you informed. Well, the fort is there and our people still hold it, and we are here, anxious to get back into the main stream of big events. Who are at the fire, Daganoweda?”

“Waraiyageh (Colonel William Johnson) himself is there. He was fishing yesterday, it being an idle time for a few days, and with ten of my warriors I joined him last night. He will be glad to see you, Great Bear, whom he knows. And he will be glad to meet Tayoga and Dagaeoga who are to bear great names.”

“Easy, Daganoweda, easy!” laughed Willet.

“These are fine lads, but don’t flatter ‘em too much just yet. They’ve done brave deeds, but before this war is over they’ll have to do a lot more. We’ll go with you and meet Colonel Johnson.”

As they walked toward the fire a tall, strongly built man, of middle years, dressed in the uniform of an English officer, came forward to meet them. His face, with a distinct Irish cast, was frank, open and resolute.

“Ah, Willet, my friend,” he said, extending his hand. “So you and I meet again, and glad I am to hold your fingers in mine once more. A faithful report has come to us of what you did in Quebec, and it seems the Willet of old has not changed much.”

The hunter reddened under his tan.

“It was forced upon me, colonel,” he said.

Colonel William Johnson laughed heartily.

“And he who forced it did not live to regret it,” he said. “I’ve heard that French officers themselves did not blame you, but as for me, knowing you as I do, I’d have expected no less of David Willet.”

He laughed again, and his laugh was deep and hearty. Robert, looking closely at him, thought him a fine, strong man, and he was quite sure he would like him. The colonel glanced at him and Tayoga, and the hunter said:

“Colonel Johnson, I wish to present Tayoga, who is of the most ancient blood of the Onondagas, a member of the Clan of the Bear, and destined to be a great chief. A most valiant and noble youth, too, I assure you, and the white lad is Robert Lennox, to whom I stand in the place of a father.”

“I have heard of Tayoga,” said Colonel Johnson, “and his people and mine are friends.”

“It is true,” said Tayoga, “Waraiyageh has been the best friend among the white people that the nations of the Hodenosaunee have ever had. He has never tricked us. He has never lied to us, and often he has incurred great hardship and danger to help us.”

“It is pleasant in my ears to hear you say so, Tayoga,” said Colonel Johnson, “and as for Mr. Lennox, who, my eyes tell me is also a noble and gallant youth, it seems to me I’ve heard some report of him too. You carried the private letters from the Governor of New York to the Marquis Duquesne, Governor General of Canada?”

“I did, sir,” replied Robert.

“And of course you were there with Willet. Your mission, I believe, was kept as secret as possible, but I learned at Albany that you bore yourself well, and that you also gave an exhibition with the sword.”

It was Robert’s turn to flush.

“I’m a poor swordsman, sir,” he said, “by the side of Mr. Willet.”

“Good enough though, for the occasion. But come, I’ll make an end to badinage. You must be on your way to Mount Johnson.”

“That was our destination,” said Willet.

“Then right welcome guests you’ll be. I have a little camp but a short distance away. Molly is there, and so is that young eagle, her brother, Joseph Brant. Molly will see that you’re well served with food, and after that you shall stay at Mount Johnson as long as you like, and the longer you’ll stay the better it will please Molly and me. You shall tell us of your adventures, Mr. Lennox, and about that Quebec in which you and Mr. Willet seem to have cut so wide a swath with your rapiers.”

“We did but meet the difficulties that were forced upon us,” protested Willet.

Colonel Johnson laughed once more, and most heartily.

“If all people met in like fashion the difficulties that were forced upon them,” he said, “it would be a wondrous efficient world, so much superior to the world that now is that one would never dream they had been the same. But just beyond the hill is our little camp which, for want of a better name, I’ll call a bower. Here is Joseph, now, coming to meet us.”

An Indian lad of about eleven years, but large and uncommonly strong for his age, was walking down the hill toward them. He was dressed partly in civilized clothing, and his manner was such that he would have drawn the notice of the observing anywhere. His face was open and strong, with great width between the eyes, and his gaze was direct and firm. Robert knew at once that here was an unusual boy, one destined if he lived to do great things. His prevision was more than fulfilled. It was Joseph Brant, the renowned Thayendanegea, the most famous and probably the ablest Indian chief with whom the white men ever came into contact.

“This is Joseph Brant, the brother of Molly, my wife, and hence my young brother-in-law,” said Colonel Johnson. “Joseph, our new friends are David Willet, known to the Hodenosaunee as the Great Bear, Robert Lennox, who seems to be in some sort a ward of Mr. Willet, and Tayoga, of the Clan of the Bear, of your great brother nation, Onondaga.”

Young Thayendanegea saluted them all in a friendly but dignified way. He, like Tayoga, had a white education, and spoke perfect, but measured English.

“We welcome you,” he said. “Colonel Johnson, sir, my sister has already seen the strangers from the hill, and is anxious to greet them.”

“Molly, for all her dignity, has her fair share of curiosity,” laughed Colonel Johnson, “and since it’s our duty to gratify it, we’ll go forward.”

Robert had heard often of Molly Brant, the famous Mohawk wife of Colonel, afterward Sir William Johnson, a great figure in that region in her time, and he was eager to see her. He beheld a woman, young, tall, a face decidedly Iroquois, but handsome and lofty. She wore the dress of the white people, and it was of fine material. She obviously had some of the distinguished character that had already set its seal upon her young brother, then known as Keghneghtada, his famous name of Thayendanegea to come later. Her husband presented the three, and she received them in turn in a manner that was quiet and dignified, although Robert could see her examining them with swift Indian eyes that missed nothing. And with his knowledge of both white heart and red heart, of white manner and red manner, he was aware that he stood in the presence of a great lady, a great lady who fitted into her setting of the vast New York wilderness. So, with the ornate manner of the day, he bent over and kissed her hand as he was presented.

“Madam,” he said, “it is a great pleasure to us to meet Colonel Johnson here in the forest, but we have the unexpected and still greater pleasure of meeting his lady also.”

Colonel Johnson laughed, and patted Robert on the shoulder.

“Mr. Willet has been whispering to me something about you,” he said. “He has been telling me of your gift of speech, and by my faith, he has not told all of it. You do address the ladies in a most graceful fashion, and Molly likes it. I can see that.”

“Assuredly I do, sir,” said she who had been Molly Brant, the Mohawk, but who was now the wife of the greatest man in the north country. “Tis a goodly youth and he speaks well. I like him, and he shall have the best our house can offer.”

Colonel Johnson’s mellow laugh rang out again.

“Spoken like a woman of spirit, Molly,” he said. “I expected none the less of you. It’s in the blood of the Ganeagaono and had you answered otherwise you would have been unworthy of your cousin, Daganoweda, here.”

The young Mohawk chieftain smiled. Johnson, who had married a girl of their race, could jest with the Mohawks almost as he pleased, and among themselves and among those whom they trusted the Indians were fond of joking and laughter.

“The wife of Waraiyageh not only has a great chief for a husband,” he said, “but she is a great chief herself. Among the Wyandots she would be one of the rulers.”

The women were the governing power in the valiant Wyandot nation, and Daganoweda could pay his cousin no higher compliment.

“We talk much,” said Colonel Johnson, “but we must remember that our friends are tired. They’ve come afar in bad weather. We must let them rest now and give them refreshment.”

He led the way to the light summer house that he had called a bower. It was built of poles and thatch, and was open on the eastern side, where it faced a fine creek running with a strong current. A fire was burning in one corner, and a heavy curtain of tanned skins could be draped over the wide doorway. Articles of women’s apparel hung on the walls, and others indicating woman’s work stood about. There were also chairs of wicker, and a lounge covered with haircloth. It was a comfortable place, the most attractive that Robert had seen in a long time, and his eyes responded to it with a glitter that Colonel Johnson noticed.

“I don’t wonder that you like it, lad,” he said. “I’ve spent some happy hours here myself, when I came in weary or worn from hunting or fishing. But sit you down, all three of you. I’ll warrant me that you’re weary enough, tramping through this wintry forest. Blunt, shove the faggots closer together and make up a better fire.”

The command was to a white servant who obeyed promptly, but Madame Johnson herself had already shifted the chairs for the guests, and had taken their deerskin cloaks. Without ceasing to be the great lady she moved, nevertheless, with a lightness of foot and a celerity that was all a daughter of the forest. Robert watched her with fascinated eyes as she put the summer house in order and made it ready for the comfort of her guests. Here was one who had acquired civilization without losing the spirit of the wild. She was an educated and well bred woman, the wife of the most powerful man in the colonies, and she was at the same time a true Mohawk. Robert knew as he looked at her that if left alone in the wilderness she could take care of herself almost as well as her cousin, Daganoweda, the young chief.

Then his gaze shifted from Molly Brant to her brother. Despite his youth all his actions showed pride and unlimited confidence in himself. He stood near the door, and addressed Robert in English, asking him questions about himself, and he also spoke to Tayoga, showing him the greatest friendliness.

“We be of the mighty brother nations, Onondaga and Mohawk, the first of the great League,” he said, “and some day we will sit together in the councils of the fifty sachems in the vale of Onondaga.”

“It is so,” said Tayoga gravely, speaking to the young lad as man to man. “We will ever serve the Hodenosaunee as our fathers before us have done.”

“Leave the subject of the Hodenosaunee,” said Colonel Johnson cheerily. “I know that you lads are prouder of your birth than the old Roman patricians ever were, but Mr. Willet, Mr. Lennox and I were not fortunate enough to be born into the great League, and you will perhaps arouse our jealousy or envy. Come, gentlemen, sit you down and eat and drink.”

His Mohawk wife seconded the request and food and drink were served. Robert saw that the bower was divided into two rooms the one beyond them evidently being a sleeping chamber, but the evidences of comfort, even luxury, were numerous, making the place an oasis in the wilderness. Colonel Johnson had wine, which Robert did not touch, nor did Tayoga nor Daganoweda, and there were dishes of china or silver brought from England. He noticed also, and it was an unusual sight in a lodge in the forest, about twenty books upon two shelves. From his chair he read the titles, Le Brun’s “Battles of Alexander,” a bound volume of The Gentleman’s Magazine, “Roderick Random,” and several others. Colonel Johnson’s eyes followed him.