Wau-nan-gee or the Massacre at Chicago Part 20

Elmsley proceeded to relate all that he had heard and witnessed a few hours previously.

This singular detail excited not only surprise but pain, especially in Mrs. Headley, whose deep friendship for, and interest in, both husband and wife had already been so strongly exhibited. It is not often that, in the hour of our keenest suffering, we have much sympathy to bestow upon others; but the n.o.ble woman had known the ill-fated Maria too intimately--known her too well--not to feel deep sorrow for the double affliction under which she labored. In the confession, if such it can be called, which he had committed to writing and subsequently transmitted by Wau-nan-gee, as well as in her wild and unconnected language on the day of the fatal occurrence itself, she had alluded to something terrible--an attempt at outrage, but in those vague terms of violated modesty which left the extent only to be surmised. No one of those who knew the contents of her communication, had suspected or presumed the worst, and had it not been for the avowal by Ronayne of his vengeance for the avowed fulfilment of the h.e.l.lish and sacrilegious l.u.s.t of the hideous monster, and the strange admission that fell in her despair from Mrs. Ronayne herself, the secret must have died with themselves.

It was not exactly a subject for discussion, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, and before everyday women; but here not only were the parties cognizant few in number, but actuated by n.o.bler motives than those which would have governed mere worldly and censuring people. Moreover, the nature of their connexion with each other, and with the victims themselves--for it was shown that Ronayne had received his mortal wound from the rifle of the Chippewa--even the atrocity complained of, connected as it was with all the horrors of the past day, not only justified but compelled it.

"She must not be left where she is," gravely remarked Mrs. Headley, after some moments of reflection; "cannot Winnebeg, the good Winnebeg, whom, perhaps, we have taxed too much, be persuaded to bring her to us? Now that the worst has happened she will be far happier--more contented, by sharing our fortunes, whatever they may be, than remaining in the Indian encampment, cut off from every kindred a.s.sociation. What think you, Mrs. Elmsley?"

"Oh, I shall be too delighted to see, and to soothe her sorrow. As a sister, I have ever loved her--as a sister, I love her still."

"Then, a.s.suredly," returned Mrs. Headley, "will she not hesitate to overcome her false delicacy, and to consider herself, what she really is, the victim of misfortune, and not of guilt, when a mother and a sister united look upon her as pure in thought as in the days of her unwedded innocence, and offer her what home may be preserved to themselves."

"Generously, n.o.bly said!" remarked Lieutenant Elmsley, pressing the hand of his wife and looking his feelings as he caught the eye of the last speaker. "I had intended to ask Winnebeg not to simply go himself, but to permit me to accompany him, that I might know her intention and offer her my aid. What I have now heard confirms me in my design. Early to-morrow morning, if he a.s.sents, we shall go over. But here he is himself, with the Indian who is to perform the operation on your arm, Mrs. Headley."

The door opened, and Winnebeg entered, followed by a tall, powerful, good-looking Pottowatomie, who glanced inquisitively around the apartment with the air of one who expects an unpleasant recognition, nor was it apparently without reason, for the moment Mrs. Elmsley beheld him, she uttered an involuntary shriek, and drew back with every manifestation of disgust. The Indian remarked it, and sought to retire, but Mrs. Elmsley, suddenly recollecting herself, and fearing so to offend him as to prevent the aid he had come to render, rose and held out her hand to him, saying, with an attempt at a smile--

"Never mind--although we have fought a hard battle together to-day, it is all over now. Let us be friends. Winnebeg, explain this to him."

Winnebeg did so, when, with a mingled look of astonishment and pleasure, the Pottowatomie warmly returned her pressure. It was the same warrior with whom she had grappled, in the desperation of a last hope, when so opportunely extricated from her perilous position by Black Partridge. As he had the reputation of much expertness in making incisions and removing b.a.l.l.s lodged in the flesh, his attendance had been requested.

Calm and composed, although evidently laboring under deep dejection for the loss of her uncle, the horrible mode of whose death had, however, been kept back from her, Mrs. Headley, dressed in the light-textured riding habit in which she had gone forth in the morning, and which, it has already been remarked, set off her finely moulded bust and waist to the best advantage, prepared to submit herself to the operation. As she raised herself up on the ottoman on which she reclined, Mrs. Elmsley cut open the sleeve to the shoulder, thus laying bare one of the most magnificent arms that ever was appended to a woman's body, the dazzling whiteness of whose contour was only dimmed in the fleshy part above, and in the immediate vicinity of the spot where the ball had entered.

At a sign from Captain Headley, the Indian, who had been talking aside with his chief, now approached, but no sooner did he behold the uncovered limb, when, either dazzled by its brilliancy, which to him must have seemed in a great degree superhuman, or shocked that anything so beautiful should have been thus wounded, he suddenly stopped, and while his eyes were as if fascinated, the blood could be seen suddenly to recede from his dark cheek.

"No, father," he said to Winnebeg, "I cannot do it. I cannot cut that arm open--the very thought makes me sick here"--and he pointed to his heart. "I cannot do it."

Although this involuntary homage to the rich, full, and moulded beauty of a limb which was but a sample of the perfection of the whole person, and which in a woman seldom attains its fullest harmony of proportion before the mature age which Mrs. Headley had attained, was not exactly that of the porter who, at an earlier period, solicited the famous d.u.c.h.ess of Gordon to permit him to light his pipe at her ladyship's brilliant eyes, it was certainly conceived in much of a similar spirit, and Mrs. Headley could scarce herself suppress a smile when she remarked the effect upon the Indian.

And yet this man had been one of the foremost in the attack, and at his waist, even then, dangled more scalps than had been taken by any other warrior during the day.

"Well," said Mrs. Headley, on the Pottowatomie continuing resolute in his refusal to touch the wound--"somebody must do this act of charity, for the ball gives me much pain. Mr. McKenzie," she added, with that sort of smile that may be attributed to a person seeking to a.s.sume an air of unconcern even when most disheartened--"you have long been accustomed to use the dissecting knife on the buffalo and the bear: do you not think that you could find the courage necessary for the occasion!"

"Most decidedly; I will make the attempt if you desire it," returned the trader; "but I fear that my surgical apparatus is Very limited indeed. Von Voltenberg having been stripped, all his instruments have, doubtless, been plundered, so it is no use to look for aid there; and the only thing with which I can try my skill is a common but very sharp penknife."

"Try whatever you please," said Mrs. Headley; "only relieve me of this suffering; that which you may inflict cannot possibly be worse"--and unflinchingly extending her arm, she waited for him to begin.

For the first time in his life Mr. McKenzie felt nervous. There was a greater amount of courage required to cut into the delicate flesh, of a woman than even to _kill_ a bear or a buffalo; but as he had promised, he summoned up his resolution and skill to the task.

The Pottowatomie, bedizened with scalps as he was, had remained to witness the cutting out of the ball; and nothing could surpa.s.s the expression of surprise that pervaded his features, as he keenly watched the almost immovability of Mrs. Headley from the moment that the blade of the penknife, dexterously enough handled, entered into the flesh and effected the incision necessary to enable the ball to be removed. When the operation was finished, and the ball produced, he started suddenly to his feet, and uttered a sharp exclamation, denoting approbation of her wonderful courage. He asked, as a favor, to retain the ball as a testimony of her heroism; when Mrs. Headley presented it to him with her own hand. And with this he departed, exulting as though he had taken a new scalp.

This incident, perhaps unimportant in itself, was not without some moment in the results to which it led. On the day following the fort was filled with Indians and their squaws not only endeavoring to a.s.sert their claims to individual prisoners, but infuriated at the losses, seeking a victim to the manes of their deceased relatives.

Among others was an aged squaw, who had lost a favorite son in the battle, and who, having been told by a warrior that he had distinctly seen him killed by a shot from Mrs. Headley's rifle, repaired to the house of Mr. McKenzie, where she knew she then was, bent upon exciting the general sympathy of the warriors in her favor, and obtaining their a.s.sent that she should revenge his death upon the "white squaw."

It happened, however, that the n.o.ble woman, feeling great relief from the abstraction of the ball from her left arm the preceding evening, and feeling secure in the pledge entered into by Winnebeg, and confirmed in a measure by his people, had fearlessly mounted her horse, which had been recovered for her, and ridden alone to the baggage wagons for the purpose of procuring some article which, at the moment, she much required. As she was returning, and when near the entrance to the fort, she was met by the vixen, furious with rage and disappointment at not having found her.

Advancing with a cry that might be likened to that of a fiend, she seized the bridle of the horse, and attempted to drag his rider by her habit to the ground--shrieking forth at the same time her determination to have her life who had taken the life of her son.

But Mrs. Headley was not one, as the reader of this by no means fict.i.tious narrative already knows, to be thus intimidated. She possessed too much of the high spirit, the resolute nature of her unfortunate uncle to submit quietly to the outrage, and, moreover, she knew enough of the Indian character to be sensible that it was not by any manifestation of submission that she could hope to escape the threatened danger. Her course was at once taken. She struck the gaunt and shrivelled hag such a violent stroke over her shoulder with the horsewhip of cowhide she held, that the latter was compelled to release her hold; and, as she rushed into the fort, calling on the Indians to revenge her son and kill the white squaw, the latter followed her completely round the square, using her cowhide with a dexterity and an effect, as she leaned over her saddle, that drew bursts of laughter and approval from the warriors eagerly gazing on the scene. At one moment, there was a manifestation of a desire to carry out the wishes of the crone and kill Mrs.

Headley, and several voices were loud in the expression, but suddenly then stood forth the Pottowatomie of the preceding evening, the antagonist of Mrs. Elmsley, who, from his commanding appearance, not less than by the prestige of his bravery imparted by the numerous fresh scalps at his side, soon made himself an object of attention.

None of the chiefs were present.

"The white squaw shall not be killed," he p.r.o.nounced, as he held up his tomahawk authoritatively; "she is brave like a Pottowatomie warrior. See here," holding up first five and then two fingers--"so many b.a.l.l.s have hit her, and yet she is here, on horseback, as if nothing had happened. What Indian would have courage to do that?

Speak!"

"Pwau-na-shig lies," returned the beldam, whom Mrs. Headley had now ceased to punish, yet who, panting from the speed she had used in her flight, was almost inarticulate, thereby provoking the greater ma.s.s of the Indians knowing its cause to increased mirth--"the white squaw has no wounds--where are they--she cannot show them.

If she had wounds she could not sit on her horse; but she has killed my son, and I demand her blood. Let her be given up to my tomahawk."

A loud and confused murmur burst from many of the group, influenced by the words of the last speaker. Mrs. Headley sat her horse with indifference, patting his head gently with the whip, yet looking earnestly towards Pwau-na-shig, upon whom she now altogether relied.

"The mother of Tuh-qua-quod is a foolish old woman, and knows not what she says," vociferated the tall warrior; "do you doubt the word of Pwau-na-shig--see here," and he took from his pouch and held up to view between his finger and thumb the bullet which had been extracted the preceding evening. "That," he said, "I saw taken from her flesh with my own eyes--she did not move--she made no sign, of pain--she was like a warrior's wife; but you shall see what Pwau-na-shig says is true."

He approached Mrs. Headley, who, comprehending his object, shifted her rein to the whip hand, and calmly extended her left arm. Where it had been cut open, the sleeve of her riding habit was fastened from the wrist to the shoulder by narrow dark ribbons, which had been sewn on the previous evening by Mrs. Elmsley, and these the Pottowatomie proceeded to untie; then turned back the sleeve, as well as the snow--white linen of the upper arm, soiled only with her own blood, until the whole was revealed.

Apparently as much struck by the brilliancy and symmetry of the limb as Pwau-na-shig himself had been, the warriors--even those who had been most clamorous in support of the demand of the old squaw--were now unanimous in their low expressions of admiration; nor was this sentiment at all lessened when, following from the wrist the rich contour of the swelling arm, it finally rested upon the wound she herself had divested of its slight drapery. The incision made by the penknife of Mr. McKenzie, at least three, inches in length, had a.s.sumed a slight character of inflammation, and contrasting as it did with the astounding whiteness of every other portion of the limb, gave it the appearance of being much more severe than it really was. But it was not the wound alone that enlisted the feelings of the Indians in favor of Mrs.

Headley. Connected with that was the coolness she had evinced throughout the whole affair from the persevering flogging of the harridan, who sought her scalp, to the graceful unconcern with which she sat her horse when she must have known that it was then a question under discussion whether her life should be taken or not. This, with the fact of the wound which they then saw, and their no longer doubt of the existence of many others, were undeniable evidences of her heroism, and at that moment Mrs. Headley was regarded by these wild people with a higher respect than she had ever commanded in the palmiest days of her husband's influence with the race.

"No kill him," said Pwau-na-shig, exultingly, as he remarked the effect produced on his companions--"white chiefs wife good warrior."

"No, no kill him," answered another voice, in broken English also.

"Dam fine squaw--wish had him wife--get brave papoose."

A general expression of a.s.sent came from the band, when Mrs. Headley, whose sleeve had again been rudely tied by Pwau-na-shig, fearing that if she remained longer another reaction might take place, pressed the hand of the Indian with a warmth of grat.i.tude that brought the strong fire into his eye and the warm blood into his cheek, turned her horse's head, and cantered out of the fort, followed by the wild ravings of the beldam, who tore her long and matted grey hair and stamped her feet in fury at the disappointment.

In a few minutes she was again at the door of Mr. McKenzie, and alighted in the arms of her husband, who, alarmed at her long absence, was in the act of leaving the house in search of her when she arrived.

"There come Elmsley and Winnebeg, but unaccompanied," remarked Captain Headley, when, in reply to his inquiry as to the cause of her long absence, she said she would tell him later. "I fear that they have been unable to prevail upon Maria to leave the new home of her election."

"I am sorry for it," gravely returned his wife. "I must say her choice is not exactly what I should have expected; but here they are--we shall soon know. Well, Mr. Elmsley," she added, as that officer ascended the veranda, followed by Winnebeg, "what news do you bring of the truant?"

"I scarcely know whether to consider it good or bad," returned the lieutenant, with an air of disappointment; "but I have not seen Mrs. Ronayne. There seems to have been more method than madness in her language to Wau-nan-gee of yesterday, for this morning she departed with him to Detroit."

"Indeed," remarked Mrs. Headley; "you surprise me, Mr. Elmsley; but does she perform that long journey on foot?"

"No; Winnebeg ascertained from his wife that she was mounted on her own horse, and that Wau-nan-gee, having visited and returned from. Hardscrabble during the night with a couple of trunks, she had made up two large packages, which were tied to the back of her saddle, while the youth strapped two others similarly prepared with provisions, behind his own pony. Thus provided, and Wau-nan-gee with his rifle on his shoulder and otherwise well armed, they set out at daybreak.

"Poor Maria! what your eventful destiny will be, heaven only knows,"

sighed Mrs. Headley; "for not only the road but the course you pursue is one beset with danger. But our lots are now cast in different channels, and we have need of attention to ourselves.

Come in, Winnebeg, while I relate to you the somewhat narrow escape I have again had from the tomahawk since you left this morning."

"Good G.o.d! what do you mean?" simultaneously exclaimed the two officers. Winnebeg stared and looked as if he did not fully comprehend.

"Oh! quite an adventure, I can a.s.sure you; and who do you think was my devoted knight-errant?"

"What a subject to jest about, Ellen!" remarked her husband, half reprovingly. "To whom do you allude?"

"Only the tall warrior who tried so desperately to get your wife's scalp, Mr. Elmsley."

"What, Pwau-na-shig?"

"The same. You cannot imagine what a conquest I have made; but let us go in--the story is too good not to be told to all, and I presume both Mrs. Elmsley and her father are in."

"They are," said Captain Headley, as the lieutenant gave his arm to conduct her into the house.