Indian Captive (28 page)

“It is not cracked, is it?” asked Molly, breathless.

Earth Woman turned it slowly round in her hands. “I see no crack,” she said, solemnly.

“It has no holes for leaking?” asked Molly, full of fear.

“I see no holes,” said Earth Woman, peering inside.

“It looks a trifle crooked, does it not?” asked Molly, anxiously. “It bulges more on one side than the other, does it not? But when it is a girl’s first pot, that is not a serious matter, is it?”

Earth Woman turned the pot around and looked at it from all sides. “I see no bulges,” she said.

“Will it hold water for boiling corn?” asked Molly, eagerly.

“It will hold water,” said Earth Woman. She put the pot in Molly’s arms. “The pot is beautiful, Corn Tassel!” she said, with a broad smile. “Take it to Red Bird.”

“Corn Tassel has made a cooking-pot!” sang Woodchuck, Star Flower and the other children. “Corn Tassel has made a fine cooking-pot! Oh, let us eat green corn boiled in Corn Tassel’s cooking pot!”

Molly walked in triumph to Red Bird’s lodge, followed by Earth Woman, Beaver Girl and the shouting, laughing children.

Red Bird and her two daughters came out to meet them.

“A cooking-pot for Grandmother Red Bird!” said Molly, holding out the pot. “May the green corn boiled in this pot always lie sweet on the tongue!”

“Ohi!”
cried Red Bird, taking the pot in her hands and smiling broadly. “Corn Tassel has made as fine a pot as Beaver Girl of long experience! Come, we will fill it with green corn to boil. Shining Star has gathered the first ripe corn of the season. We will eat green corn to honor Corn Tassel’s cooking-pot.”

“Ugh!” grunted Squirrel Woman. “A brass kettle is more useful. Earthen pots are foolishness.”

But Molly did not hear. Not since Josiah went away had she felt so happy. Her excited thoughts tumbled over in her mind. Could there ever be any happiness greater than this—the joy of making a beautiful thing with one’s own hands?

“The Great Spirit is happy, too,” whispered Beaver Girl shyly, as if reading the white girl’s thoughts. “He made the beautiful world with his hands and took pleasure in its beauty.”

“Come, Corn Tassel,” said Shining Star. “Come inside the lodge. I have a surprise for you.”

Wondering, Molly and Beaver Girl followed the Indian woman into the lodge. The children waited impatiently outside the door. “Corn Tassel has made a fine cooking-pot,” they sang over and over.

“Hush! Hold thy noisy tongues!” cried Squirrel Woman, angrily.

She pointed across the meadow to the lodge of Chief Burning Sky. “Visitors have arrived. Strange men have come unannounced to the village. A dark cloud lies low on the horizon.”

Red Bird and Squirrel Woman stared uneasily at the Chief’s lodge.

“Pale-faces!” cried Squirrel Woman. “Pale-faces have come.”

In silence, the women and children waited. Gray Wolf came running up, panting.

“Chief Burning Sky says that pale-faces, Englishmen, have come to have secret talk with the Chief and the sachems.”

“Englishmen?” cried Red Bird. “Did he not say Frenchmen?”

Gray Wolf bent over and spoke whispered words in Red Bird’s ear. Then he hurried away. Red Bird and Squirrel Woman talked together in low tones.

The flap was raised and Molly stepped out. The children stared to see her, then clapped their hands and cried out with joy. For she wore a fine new gown, made in Seneca fashion, not of deerskin, but of cloth. Her blue skirt and bright red broadcloth leggings were richly embroidered in bead designs. Her over-dress of flowered calico was fastened down the front with a row of silver brooches.

“Corn Tassel is a Seneca woman now!” cried the children. “Corn Tassel is dressed as fine as Beaver Girl!”

Molly looked down at her new finery with becoming modesty. How beautiful the clothes were! How lovely the bead designs! How kind of Shining Star to do all the work! Just when she had made up her mind to be content with deerskin…

Up came Squirrel Woman and took her roughly by the arm. “Go within! Go within and take off the new gown quickly. Put on deerskin. Then come with me!”

Molly looked up bewildered.

“But the green corn!” cried the children, unhappily. “Corn Tassel was to eat green corn with us.”

“There will be no corn to eat tonight,” said Red Bird, sadly but sternly.

“My pot!” cried Molly, seeing it was no longer in Red Bird’s arms. “What have you done with my pot? Is it cracked? Does it leak? Or is it that it bulges on one side more than the other, that you cook no corn tonight?”

“Come!” commanded Squirrel Woman, irritably. “This is no time for words. We must make haste. Go within. Take off those garments…”

“There is no time,” interrupted Red Bird. “Take her as she is.” She thrust a blanket into Squirrel Woman’s arms. “Go quickly.”

“Is something wrong with my pot that I know nothing about?” cried Molly tearfully. But no one listened.

Away from the lodge strode Squirrel Woman, pulling Molly along behind her. They entered the corn-field, hurrying through the rows. Soon they came to one of the pole platforms.

“But it grows dark!” cried Molly, indignantly. “Kah-kah comes not to steal corn at night.”

The woman tossed the blanket up and pointed to the ladder.

“Shall I search out the ripest corn for Red Bird and bring it in?” asked Molly, hopefully. “The children are waiting to fill the new pot with corn and boil it for a feast. Shining Star said my new gown was in honor of the feast.”

“Climb up!” ordered Squirrel Woman, and when the girl obeyed, she went on: “Stay here. Do not leave this platform until I send for you. Sleep here tonight. I will send food tomorrow. I will send for you when it is time for you to return to the lodge.”

The woman stood still for a moment, without speaking. As Molly watched her, she noticed a strange expression on her face. She was not cross or angry—she was troubled. Wondering, Molly watched her go.

The night was long and the pole floor hard, with only a blanket for softness. Molly stretched out, thinking of her fine, new cloth garments and of the pot she had made, but her pleasure in them had been spoiled. For several hours she tossed and turned, then, lulled by the rustling of the corn, she fell asleep. When she awoke, she was surprised to find that in spite of her discomfort, morning had come. Lame and sore, she climbed down from the platform.

The new pot must be sitting on the fire, filled now with fresh green corn. She could see the children crowding round. The thought of it made her very hungry, but she remembered Squirrel Woman’s words and decided it would be wise to obey.

But why should she stay all alone in the corn-field? Why should she stay alone and starve? She pulled off an ear of corn, stripped it and nibbled the soft, milky grains. She remembered seeing strangers before Chief Burning Sky’s lodge when she came outdoors wearing her new gown. Surely the strangers were gone by now. The sun rose higher and higher till she knew it was long past midday.

Why should she be hidden away from strangers? If they were pale-faces, she must see and talk to them. Yes, it was because they were pale-faces that Squirrel Woman had brought her here. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
What if someone had come to take her home? What if they came and she never knew it? What if the Indians kept her hidden and sent them away again? These
alarming thoughts spurred her onward, as she ran pell-mell back to the village. She must find the pale-faces and talk to them. Now, at last she knew why the women had rushed so to hide her.

Straight to the council house she ran, and there heard voices. No, she was not too late. They had not gone. Panting and breathless, she stood beside the building and listened. Then all her courage oozed away. She was afraid to talk to the pale-faces, but at least she would listen. Down she dropped on the grass and hugged her knees with her arms. A man was talking in Indian. She knew by the way he said his words that he was a pale-face.

“The expedition of three thousand British and Indians was organized by General Pridieux at Fort Ontario,” the voice was saying, “but the General died before victory. Sir William Johnson, his second in command, stormed the enemy positions and captured the fort on July 25th. Fort Niagara, like Fort Duquesne, is now in the hands of the English. The French are finished. The French have gone forever. The English will take Quebec next.”

The words brought back to Molly a sharp memory of Old Fallenash, the white trader. “When the English take Fort Niagara,” he had said, “I’ll have to run fast to save my hide.”

Where was Fallenash now? Was he gone forever? Had he been killed by the English at his trading-post on Buffalo Greek? Molly put her hand on the string of glass beads about her neck, the beads which the kind trader had given her.

After a pause, Molly heard Chief Burning Sky speaking, slowly measuring each word: “Many moons ago, there was a time when there were no pale-faces in the land of the Iroquois. Then were the people happy and content. The first pale-faces who came were the French traders and hunters. We gave them our skins and furs and they gave us steel hatchets, tomahawks, paint and tobacco. We made them our friends, not knowing what friendship with the pale-faces would lead to. The Indians were happy until the pale-faces began to change their way of life. Now, the Indian wants cloth to wear in place of deerskin garments, blankets to take the place of fur robes, brass kettles in place of earthen pots and fire-arms for bows and arrows. Worst of all, the pale-face brings fire-water…Can he who pours down our throats water that burns like fire, be called friend?”

“Sir William Johnson wishes earnestly to make friends with the Iroquois,” replied the Englishman. “Sir William has made a home in the forest with the Mohawks. He has married a Mohawk wife. He understands the Iroquois and looks to them for help. The Iroquois and the English together can accomplish great things. Will not the Senecas help?”

“The Senecas are not yet ready to speak,” answered Burning Sky. “Since my sachems have decided that the matter is important enough for a Council of the People of the Long House, I have asked this runner to be ready. He will take this wampum message to the Cayugas, the Onondagas, the Oneidas and the Mohawks. If the subject interests all and they are agreeable, a meeting of the League of the Iroquois will be held.”

“They will decide to come over to us, of course,” said Captain Morgan, in a casual tone.

“No man knows what they will decide,” said Burning Sky. “The French are old friends of long standing, who are badly in need of help. The English are new friends, bringing sweet words and fair promises. Sachems, warriors and chiefs from each nation of the Iroquois will come and speak from the fulness of their hearts. After all sides of the question have been discussed, the council will decide whether we shall help the French or the English.”

“Let the swift runner say to the Chiefs that the matter is urgent!” cried Captain Morgan.

“No matter is so important that, it should be decided in haste,” replied Chief Burning Sky. “The greater the matter, the more need for cool counsel, for slow and careful deliberation.”

Molly saw the runner, bare except for a waist cloth and moccasins, with knife at his belt and wampum in hand, dash out of the door of the council house. His feet, like flying wings, seemed never to touch the ground as he started off on his long journey over hill, stream and valley.

There were no more words. Molly wondered if the talk was over. Still thinking of Old Fallenash, she walked to the front of the building. Perhaps the Englishman would know where he had gone. She would ask him as he went out the door.

The flap was up, the door was open wide. Holding tightly to the door-post, Molly leaned over and peeped inside.

“What!” the Englishman’s voice cried out in surprise.” A blond Indian? An Indian with yellow hair?”

Hastily Molly turned and dashed off. But she was too late. The strong arm of a serving-man took her by the shoulder and marched her back into the council house. Then she forgot about old Fallenash.

She saw a white man, dressed not in blue like the man at Fort Duquesne, but in a bright red soldier’s uniform. She had never seen a red so red before. She could not take her eyes off it. But at last she did.