The Reckoning

At midnight we halted for an hour. The Oneida ate calmly; Lyn Montour tasted the parched corn, and drank at an unseen spring that bubbled a drear lament amid the rocks. Then we descended into the Drowned Lands, feeling our spongy trail between osier, alder, and willow. Once, very far away, I saw a light, pale as a star, low shining on the marsh. It was the Fish House, and we were near our journey's end—perhaps the end of all journeys, save that last swift trail upward among those thousand stars!

It was near to dawn when we came out upon the marsh; and above, I heard the whir and whimpering rush of wild ducks passing, the waking call of birds, twittering all around us in the darkness; the low undertone of the black water flowing to the Sacandaga.

Over the quaking marsh we passed, keeping the trodden trail, now wading, now ankle-deep in cranberry, now up to our knees in moss, now lost in the high marsh-grass, on, on, through birch hummocks, willows, stunted hemlocks and tamaracks, then on firm ground once more, with the oak-mast under foot, and the white dawn silvering the east, and my horse breathing steam as he toiled on.

Suddenly I was aware of a dark figure moving through the marsh, parallel, and close to me. The Oneida stopped, stared, then drew his blanket around him and sat down at the foot of a great oak.

We had arrived at Thendara! Now, all around us in the dim glade, tall forms moved—spectral shapes of shadowy substance that drifted hither and thither, passing, repassing, melting into the gloom around, until I could scarce tell them from the shreds of marsh fog that rose and floated through the trees around us.

Slowly the heavens turned to palest gold, then to saffron. All about us shadowy throngs arose to face the rising sun. A moment of intense stillness, then a far, faint cry, "Koue!" And the glittering edge of the sun appeared above the wooded heights. Blinding level rays fell on the painted faces of the sachems of the Long House, advancing to the forest's edge; the Oneida strode forward, head erect, and I, with a sign to the girl at my side, followed.

As we walked through the long, dead grass, I, watching sidewise, noted the absence of the Senecas. Was it for them the condolence? Suddenly it struck me that to our side of the circle belonged the duty of the first rites. Who would speak? Not the Oneidas, for there was none, except Little Otter and myself. Who then? The Cayugas?

I shot a side glance among the slowly moving forms. Ah! that was it! A Cayuga sachem led the march.

The circle was already forming. I saw the Senecas now; I saw all the sachems seating themselves in a cleared space where a birch fire smoldered, sweetening the keen morning air with its writhing, aromatic smoke; I saw the Oneida cross proudly to his place on our side; and I seated myself beside him, raising my eyes to the towering figure of Tahtootahoo, the chief sachem and ensign of the great Bear Clan of the Onondaga nation, who stood beside the Cayuga spokesman in whispered conference.

To and fro strode the Cayuga, heavy head bent; to and fro, pacing the circle like a stupefied panther. Once his luminous eyes gleamed on mine, shifted blankly to the Oneida, and thence along the motionless circle of painted faces. Mohawk, Seneca, Onondaga were there, forming half the circle; Oneida, Cayuga, and Tuscarora welded it to a ring. I glanced fearfully from ensign to ensign, but saw no Delaware present; and my heart leaped with hope. Walter Butler had lied to me; the Lenni-Lenape had never sat at this rite; his mongrel clan had no voice here. He had lied.

The pipe had been lighted and was passing in grave silence. I received it from a Tuscarora, used it, and handed it to the Oneida, watching the chief sachem of the Senecas as he arose to deliver his brief address of welcome. He spoke in the Seneca dialect, and so low that I could understand him only with greatest difficulty, learning nothing except that a Seneca Bear was to be raised up to replace a dead chief slain at Sharon.

Then a very old sachem arose and made a sign which was the symbol of travel. We touched hands and waited, understanding the form prescribed. Alas, the mourning Senecas had no longer a town to invite us to; the rite must be concluded where we sat; we must be content with the sky for the roof which had fallen in on the Long House, the tall oaks for the lodge-poles, the east and west for the doors broken down by the invasion.

Solemnly the names of the score and three legendary towns were recited, first those of the Wolf, next of the Tortoise, then of the Bear; and I saw my Wolf-brethren of the four classes of the Mohawks and Cayugas staring at me as I rose when they did and seated myself at the calling of my towns. And, by heaven! I noted, too, that the Tuscaroras of the Grey Wolf and the Yellow Wolf knew their places, and rose only after we were seated. Except for the Onondaga Tortoise, a cleft clan awaits the pleasure of its betters. Even a Delaware should know that much, but Walter Butler was ever a liar, for it is not true that the Anowara or Tortoise is the noble clan, nor yet the Ocquari. It is the Wolf, the Oquacho Clan; and the chiefs of the Wolf come first of all!

Suddenly the sonorous voice of the Seneca broke the silence, pronouncing the opening words of the most sacred rite of the Iroquois people:

"Now to-day I have been greatly startled by your voice coming through the forest to this opening——"

The deep, solemn tones of the ancient chant fell on the silence like the notes of a sad bell. It was, then, to be a double rite. Which nation among the younger brothers mourned a chief? I looked at the Oneida beside me; his proud smile softened. Then I understood. Good God! They were mourning him, him, as though he were already dead!

The Seneca's voice was sounding in my ears: "Now, therefore, you who are our friends of the Wolf Clan——" I scarcely heard him. Presently the "Salute" rolled forth from the council; they were intoning the "Karenna."

I laid my hand on the Oneida's wrist; his pulse was calm, nor did it quicken by a beat as the long roll of the dead was called:

"Continue to listen,
Thou who wert ruler,
Hiawatha!
Continue to listen,
Thou who wert ruler:
That was the roll of you—
You who began it—
You who completed
The Great League!—
Continue to listen,
Thou who wert ruler:
That was the roll of you–"

The deep cadence of the chanting grew to a thunderous sound; name after name of the ancient dead was called, and the thrilling response swelled, culminating in a hollow shout. Then a pause, and the solemn tones of a single voice intoning the final words of gloom.

For ten full minutes there was not a sound except the faint snapping of the smoking birch twigs. Then up rose the chief sachem of the Cayugas, cast aside his blanket, faced the circle, dark, lean arm outstretched; and from his lips flowed the beautiful opening words of the Younger Nations:

"Yo o-nen o-nen wen-ni-teh onen–"

"Now—now this day—now I come to your door where you mourn.... I will enter your door and come before the ashes and mourn with you there. And these words will I speak to comfort you!"

The music of the voice thrilled me:

"To the warriors, to the women, and also to the children; and also to the little ones creeping on the ground, and also to those still tied to the cradle-board.... This we say, we three brothers....

"Now another thing we will say, we younger brothers. You mourn. I will clear the sky for you so that you shall not behold a cloud. And also I give the sun to shine upon you, so that you can look peacefully upon it when it goes down. You shall see it when it is going. Yea, ye shall look peacefully upon it when it goes down....

"Now another thing we say, we younger brothers. If any one should fall, then the antlers shall be left on the grave....

"Now another thing we say, we younger brothers. We will gird the belt on you with the quiver, and the next death will receive the quiver whenever you shall know that there is death among us, when the fire is made and the smoke is rising. This we say and do, we three brothers.

"Now I have finished. Now show me the man!"

Slowly the Oneida rose from my side and crossed the circle. Every eye was on him; he smiled as he halted, sweeping the throng with a tranquil glance. Then, drawing his blanket about him he stepped from the sanctuary of the council-ring out into the forest; and after him glided a Mohawk warrior, with face painted black, in token of his terrific office.

A dead silence fell upon the council.

The pulse was drumming in ears and throat when I arose; and, as the Mohawk executioner slipped noiselessly past me, I seized him by the clout-belt, and, summoning every atom of strength, hurled him headlong at my feet, so that he lay stunned and like one dead.

A roar of astonishment greeted me; a score of voices cried out savagely on my violation of the fire.

"It is you who violate it!" I answered, trembling with fury; "you who dare pronounce the sentence of death without consulting the four classes of the Oneida!"

A Mohawk sachem arose, casting his scarlet robes at his feet, and pointed at me, hissing: "Where are the Oneida classes? I dare you to tell us where the ensigns hide! Where are they? Speak!"

"Here!" I said, tearing my cape open. "Read that sign, O Canienga! I answer for the four classes of my nation, and I say that Oneida shall go free! Now let him who dare accuse me stand forth. It is a Wolf of Tharon who has spoken!"

Absolute silence greeted me. I had risked all on the hazard.

The executioner had staggered to his feet again, and now stood outside the circle leaning against a young oak-tree, half stunned, mechanically rubbing the twigs and dead leaves from the sticky black paint that masked his visage. I wheeled on him and bade him remain where he was until the council's will was made known; then I walked into the circle; and when they cried out that I had no franchise, I laughed at them, challenging them to deny me my right to stand here for the entire Oneida nation.

For there was nothing now to do but to carry the desperate enterprise through or perish. I dared not stop to consider; to attempt to remember precedents. I turned on the Mohawks haughtily, demanding that privilege which even they could not refuse; I claimed clan-brotherhood from every Wolf in the Long House; and when the council accorded it, I spoke:

"Now I say to you, O you wise men and sachems, that this Oneida shall not die, because the four classes speak through my mouth! Who is there to give me the lie? Why are your eight score Oneidas absent—the eight score who still remain in the Long House? Surely, brothers, there are sachems among them? Why are they not here? Do you fear they might not agree to the punishment of the Oneida nation?"

I folded my arms and stared at the Mohawks.

"Clan ties are close, national ties closer, but strongest and closest of all, the six iron links that form the Great League! Why do you punish now? How can you punish now? Is it well to break the oldest League law to punish those who have broken the law of the League?"

A Mohawk sachem answered in a dozen stinging words that the League itself was broken; but ere he could finish I stopped him with a gesture.

Then, summoning all my powers, I burst out into a passionate protest, denying that the Great League was broken, glorying in its endurance, calling on every nation to uphold it. And instantly, although not a muscle moved nor a word was uttered, I felt that I had the council with me, that my passion was swaying them, that what I asserted they believed. I laughed at the neutrality of the Tuscaroras, at the half-hearted attitude of the Onondagas; I made light of the rebellion of the greater portion of the Oneida nation.

"It is a passing fancy, a whim. The battle-breeze from this white man's war has risen to a tempest, unroofing the Long House, scattering you for the moment, creating a disorder, inciting a passion foreign to the traditions of the Iroquois. I tell you to let the tempest pass and blame no one, neither Tuscarora, Onondaga, nor Oneida. And when the storm has died out, let the Six Nations gather again from their hiding-places and build for the Long House a new roof, and raise new lodge-poles, lest the sky fall down and the Confederacy lie in ashes forever!"