Indian Captive (29 page)

She looked up into the face of the man who wore the suit and she saw him smiling at her like a friend. She looked down at her handsome’ cloth garments which so short a time ago had seemed so beautiful. Now they were hateful to her sight. She was ashamed of her bright red leggings, ashamed of her Indian moccasins and she tried to hide them beneath her skirt.

“Ah! A pale-face! So I thought!” said the man in English. “Don’t be afraid, child. I only wish to talk to you.”

Molly did not like the man’s smile. His eyes were cold gray and his face looked hard. She turned away, frightened. She remembered the pole platform and Squirrel Woman’s words, forbidding her to leave it. She was sorry now she had come. She could find no English words to say. Her tongue was sealed. She must hurry back to the corn-field. She twisted and pulled, trying to free herself from the man’s tight grasp.

“Ah!” cried Captain Morgan, chuckling. “A little wildcat already! An untamed savage, growing up like a wild beast in the forest! Does she bite and scratch, too?”

He turned to Chief Burning Sky. “She has lost her childhood’s speech, no doubt. How long has she been here?”

“Twelve moons, more or less,” answered Burning Sky, with a show of indifference.

“So short a time? But time enough, with so young a child, to blot out all memory of home and family. Time enough to cause her to forget her native tongue—the Indians would see to that.” Captain Morgan turned again to the Chief. “The little white flower is drooping,” he said, slowly. “The wilderness path is too rough for her tender feet. Will you not send her back to her native soil?”

“By the River Genesee, the soil is black and rich,” said Burning Sky, with sternness in his voice. “A plant is nourished by the soil it feeds on, by the winds that blow, the rains that fall and the sun that shines. The little white flower has put her roots down deep. She takes nourishment and strength from the same sun, rain and wind that give life to the Senecas. If she were transplanted again, she would wither and die.”

“I wonder how much she has forgotten,” said the Englishman. Then he added, as if to himself: “If only I could make her speak…” He stared at the girl as he might have stared at a hard green bud waiting for it to unfold and open.

“Our Father Which art in Heaven…”
he began, slowly, then he kept on to the end of the prayer which every English-speaking child could say by heart.

The words were enough. They were enough to unlock all the doors of memory. After the first sentence, Molly began to tremble. Then she looked up and followed each movement of the man’s lips to the end. She ran to him swiftly and knelt at his knees.

“Ma used to say that over and over,” she cried out in English. “Oh tell me, sir, what does it mean? I can’t seem to remember any more. They make me talk always in Indian. I’ve had no one to talk to in English since Josiah went away…” Like a hard rainstorm pelting the dry earth the words came pouring, then as quickly died away.

In the back of the room, Molly saw the other white men and Burning Sky’s sachems staring at her and she could not bear it.

“I thought so,” said Captain Morgan. “I knew she was English.” He pulled a handful of gold pieces from his pocket. He held them out to Chief Burning Sky.

“How much do you want for her?” he asked bluntly. “Any ransom that you may name I will gladly pay.”

Not till then did Molly know that the Englishman wanted to take her away. In the back of the room Old Shagbark was standing. She hated the Englishman’s smile. She wanted to run to the safety of Shagbark’s arms—Old Shagbark who could always be trusted.

“I’ll take her to Fort Niagara,” she heard the Englishman saying. “I shall give her a good home and every advantage. She will be happier among people of her own kind.”

Chief Burning Sky rose up. Like a tall, strong oak tree, braced against the storm, he stood.

“The Senecas do not sell or exchange captives,” he said in a hard, cold voice. “After adoption, the captive is a full-blooded Seneca. To surrender this child would be to give up an Iroquois to the English. It is indeed a noble privilege to be chosen an Iroquois by adoption. She is flesh of our flesh and blood of our blood. We will part with our hearts sooner than with this child.”

“May I not speak to her family?” asked Captain Morgan.

“It would be of no use,” replied Burning Sky. “They took her to replace their son who died on the Pennsylvania frontier. They love her as they loved him. They will never give her up.”

Chief Burning Sky and Captain Morgan walked out of the council house, each followed by his men.

“I must go,” cried Molly, trying to free herself from the man’s hand.

Then Squirrel Woman appeared from nowhere. Squirrel Woman saw the white girl captive in the midst of the men who had met for secret counsel. With scowling looks, she descended upon Molly and pulled her to one side.

“She won’t hurt you, will she?” demanded the Englishman.

The words were the same as those spoken by the man in blue at Fort Duquesne. Why did the pale-faces always doubt the Indians and suspect them of cruelty and unkindness? Didn’t they know that a captive was treated the same as an Indian child? Didn’t they know how kind the Indians were to their own people?

Molly looked from Squirrel Woman’s scowling face into the Englishman’s friendly one, but she could find no English words to say. And even if she could find the words, she wondered if she could make him understand.

With a feeling of happy relief, she walked away with the Indian woman, ready for whatever punishment might come.

“D
ON’T CATCH THAT LITTLE
fish by mistake!” cried Molly. “He wouldn’t taste good for supper.”

“I won’t!” answered Turkey Feather.

Molly watched Blue Jay swim. He was a real boy already. How well he deserved his new name, Blue Trout, for he slipped through the water as easily as a fish. From the very first moment when Turkey Feather put him in deep water, keeping his hand under his chest, Blue Trout had begun to paddle with his hands and kick out with his feet. Now he swam alone, for all the world like a little trout.

“He’ll soon be shooting fish like you,” said Molly.

“It won’t be long!” cried Turkey Feather.

A group of boys waded in the shallow waters at the river side. Turkey Feather was shooting small fish with his bow and arrow, while Chipmunk and Woodchuck reached down under the stones to the places where the fish lay hidden and pulled them out with their hands.

“Soon Blue Jay will be shooting with a boy’s bow and arrow!” said Molly.

“But he’ll have to wait many moons before he gets a man’s,” added Turkey Feather.

“And after that, in no time at all, he’ll grow up to be a great hunter and a warrior!” cried Molly.

Two canoes came silently round the bend in the river. They were paddled by Shining Star and Squirrel Woman and were loaded with children.

“Where are you going?” called Turkey Feather.

“To the hills to pick huckleberries,” answered Shining Star. “We want Corn Tassel. Do you boys want to go, too?”

Turkey Feather looked at the other boys, who shook their heads. “Let the girls pick berries,” they shouted. “We like fishing and swimming and diving better.” “Besides,” added Turkey Feather, “we are to bring plenty of fish home for cooking.”

“Wait until I catch Blue Trout,” called Molly.

She walked into the shallow water, picked up the dripping baby, as squirmy and wiggly as an eel, and held him tight in her arms. Then she waded to Shining Star’s canoe.

“I will pick berries, too!” cried Blue Trout, happily.

After going a short distance, the canoes turned into a smaller creek and wound about among cat-tails and rushes. Passing a marshy meadow, they soon came to higher land, where rough, broken hills covered with small trees and low brush, came down to meet the stream. Here the women beached their canoes on the shore and, with the children, stepped out.

Star Flower cried at once, “I will take Lazy Duck, Beaver Girl and Gray Mouse. We will fill our baskets more quickly than all the rest of you put together.”

“Very well,” answered Molly, looking at the little girls—Storm Cloud, Pine Bough and Red Leaf.

“Follow the creek,” said Shining Star. “Do not wander away from the sound of flowing water. If you go too far into the hills and underbrush, you may not be able to find your way back again.” She passed out baskets and the children quickly scattered.

Picking up her large splint basket and another smaller one, Molly started out. The little girls followed along behind with Blue Jay, chattering contentedly. They walked across the boggy shore, then up on the drier hillside, where clumps of barberry, hardhack, and sweet fern grew in a tangle of undergrowth. Here rose up huge huckleberry bushes, loaded with sun-ripened blue, berries.

“All day we shall stay, Little Trout,” said Molly happily.

As the burden strap fell loosely across her palm, she looked down at it. Its beauty never failed to please her. Diagonal stripes of yellow, red and blue in delicate moose-hair covered the forehead portion. “Red for the falling leaves,” she murmured to herself, “blue for the sky, and yellow for Corn Tassel’s hair—all woven together with kindness.” Molly looked at the burden strap’s beautiful workmanship, and love for Earth Woman, Shagbark, and Turkey Feather flooded her heart. She placed the big basket on her back and the strap across her forehead.

“Come, children!” she cried. “We must hurry and fill our baskets. We must not let Star Flower beat us.”

Thick and full the berries grew in clusters. Molly held her basket under and with swift, careful movements, stripped them off the bushes and watched them fall.

When the small splint basket was full she emptied it into the larger one on her back.

Faithfully, little Blue Trout followed at her heels. He picked berries, too, and brought them to Molly. One by one he dropped them from his chubby brown hand into the small basket, laughing and chuckling with glee. Storm Cloud, Pine Bough and Red Leaf ran back and forth picking busily. A short distance away, Molly could see the two women working and farther still, Star Flower and the other girls.

As the sun rose higher and the hot hillside grew hotter, the children’s chatter grew fainter. Farther and farther off they wandered. Molly worked fast. Her thoughts were as busy as her hands, for whenever her hands had work to do, her thoughts could travel far away—back to Marsh Creek Hollow.

For a time she did not miss Blue Trout’s bubbling words. She did not miss his help in the filling of her basket, or the sight of his chubby, bare body marching back and forth on two sturdy legs. There were berries like these on a hillside near Marsh Creek. Each year at mid-summer, she and Betsey went together to pick them. Would she ever pick berries with Betsey again?

“Corn Tassel! Corn Tassel!”

It was Storm Cloud calling, in a voice of sudden distress.

Swiftly Molly came back from dreaming and ran to the place where the small Indian girl, with a black frown on her face, was standing. But before Molly could ask a question, she saw Blue Jay and her heart leaped into her throat. He was still her baby, Blue Jay. No matter how old he grew and what splendid names he earned, to Molly he would always be Blue Jay.

A sharp, rattling sound pierced her ear and made her tremble from head to toe. She gasped, for she saw the small, straight, brown-backed baby walking straight into danger. There, not four feet away, ahead in his path, lay a deadly snake, its tail held erect in the circle of its coiled body. Its sharp eye gleamed with wicked ugliness in the head held low in front of the S-curved neck, as the angry reptile prepared to strike. The rattles vibrated again. Molly shivered with fear.

“So coils the forked-tongue, whose bite is like the sting of bad arrows…” Earth Woman’s words came back to her clearly. “The heedless man will close his eyes in sleep, unless quickly he obtains help of our brother, the ash tree…” But he must not strike, he shall not strike, thought Molly.

On the ground at her feet lay a large stone. Quickly she picked it up. Overtaking Blue Jay in a few steps, she threw it, swift and sure, with all the force of her strength, with all the power of her love for the Indian baby. “His eyes shall not close in sleep …his eyes shall not close…he shall live to be a great warrior…”