Oonomoo the Huron, Edward Sylvester Ellis [books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

mound could not be seen until it was closely approached. A Shawnee Indian might have encamped beside it, without once having his suspicion awakened in regard to its nature. This was the retreat and home of Oonomoo, the friendly Huron, where his wife, Fluellina, and son, Niniotan, dwelt, which was regularly visited by him, and where he frequently spent days, enjoying the sweets of home. No living person besides these three knew of its existence. It stood upon this vast island in the midst of this swamp, almost inaccessible to approach, and where no one would have dreamed of looking for the dwelling place of a human being. The surrounding waters were as cold and clear as crystal, and were swarming with the choicest fish. Abundance of game was upon the land, and, what might seem curious, considering the location of the island, its air possessed an extraordinary degree of salubrity.

The mound was but a mere shell, the interior of which was lined with luxurious furs and skins, and furnished with every convenience and comfort that the fancy of a warrior's wife might covet. Within, too, were numerous presents, such as rifles, knives, pistols, beads and picture-books which had been given Oonomoo by his numerous white friends. In addition there was a magnificent gold watch—a gift from a wealthy lady, whose life the Huron had saved several years before. Hearing that he had a young wife, she sent the present to her, and it had hung within their "wigwam" ever since. Its use was understood, and it was regularly wound and attended to with great care.

Fluellina, the wife of Oonomoo, was also a Huron, who had been educated at one of the Moravian missionary stations in the West, and was a professing Christian. She was a mild, dove-eyed creature, a number of years younger than her husband, whom she loved almost to adoration, and for whom she would not have hesitated to lay down her life at any moment. She had had another child—a boy, born two years before Niniotan, but he had died when but six years of age, and was buried in the clear depths of the water which surrounded his home.

Regularly every month, Fluellina, accompanied by her son, visited a Moravian missionary who dwelt with his family on the site of the once flourishing station of Gnadenhutten, where, in 1782, was enacted one of the darkest episodes in American history. It was here the infamous monster, Colonel Williamson, murdered the one hundred Moravian Indians—a crime for which it seems a just God would have smitten him and his followers to the earth. Here this faithful Huron woman and her son received instruction in holy things from the aged missionary—a white man who alone knew the relation which she bore to the famous Huron, Oonomoo, and who never betrayed it to his dying day. By this means, her regular visits were rendered safe and free from the annoyance of being watched—an exemption she never could have had, had any one else suspected the truth.

Fluellina succeeded in inducing her husband to visit this missionary on several occasions, when he proved an attentive listener to the aged disciple of God. He took in every doctrine and subscribed to every truth except one—that of loving his enemies. He believed he never could love the Shawnees—they who had first caused his father to be broken of his chiefdom, and then had murdered his mother. He had sworn eternal hatred against them, and in the interior of his lodge hung such an incredible number of their scalps that we decline to name it—knowing that we should be suspected of trifling with the credulity of our readers. He had never taken the scalp of a white man, and would promise never to harm any being except the Shawnees; but, toward them his feelings must be those of the deadliest enmity.

The sublime truths of the great Book of books, its glorious promises, and its awful mysteries, thrilled the soul of the Huron to its center, and many a time when wandering alone through the great, solemn forests, he felt his spirit expanding within him, until his eyes overflowed, and he, the mighty, scarred warrior, wept like a child. The sweet instruction, too, of the gentle Fluellina had not been lost entirely upon him. It was owing to these that for a year he had not taken the scalp of a Shawnee, though he had been sorely tempted and had slain more than one. He could not yet bring himself to the point of letting them go free altogether.

With this somewhat lengthy parenthesis, we will now return to the present visit of the Huron to his island home.

Oonomoo was about to pass into the interior of the lodge, when a light exclamation caught his ear. As he turned his head, Fluellina came bounding to his arms. However stoical and indifferent the North American Indian may appear in the presence of his companions or of white men, it is a mistake to suppose that he is wanting either in the ordinary affections of humanity, or in those little demonstrations of love so peculiar to our own race. Deep in the woods, when alone with their families, they throw off restraint and are warriors no more—but men. The little child is dandled on the knee, or sported with upon the grass, and the proud mother receives her share of her husband's caresses. Great as may be the glory of the savage in the hunt and chase, his happiness in the bosom of his own family is unsurpassed by any other enjoyment which ever falls to his lot.

Fluellina received the embrace of her husband with a radiant countenance, and she seemed overflowing with joy as she looked up in his own glowing face. Taking her fondly by the hand, he led her a few yards away, where he seated her upon a half-imbedded rock and placed himself beside her. A glance at the two would have shown that there was no considerable difference in their ages. The wife could not have been over thirty at the most, and she looked much younger, while the husband was perhaps thirty-five. His square, massive chest was covered with scars—eloquent evidences of his bravery, for he had never received a wound in the back. His face, usually so stern and dignified, was now softened, and the bright, metallic glitter of eye was changed to the sparkle of gladness.

The handsome, symmetrical arms of Fluellina were bare to the shoulder, and Oonomoo held one in his broad palm, closing and opening upon the plump flesh and delicate muscle, with as much admiration as though he were still her young and ardent lover. They sat thus, gazing into each other's face for several moments without speaking, so full seemed their hearts. Finally Oonomoo seated himself upon the ground at the feet of Fluellina and leaned his head over upon her lap. This was what she wished, and she had maneuvered in that delicate manner peculiar to her sex, by which the desire of the lover is awakened without his suspecting the true cause.

Unfastening the bindings of his hair, she parted it carefully and drew her fingers slowly through and through it until it glistened like satin. She did not speak, for she had no desire to disturb the languor which she knew it cast over her husband. As his head drooped, she sustained it and gradually ceased, until he slept.

Oonomoo awoke in a short time, and reseated himself by the side of his wife.

"Where is Niniotan?" he asked, looking around him.

"He is dressing the meat of the deer which he slew this morning. Shall I call him?"

"No, I am not yet tired of my Fluellina."

The happy wife replied by placing her warm cheek against his, and holding it there a moment.

"Oonomoo has no wounds upon him," said she, raising her head and looking at his breast and shoulders.

"But he has been in danger."

"No scalps hang at his girdle."

"And none shall ever hang there again."

"Not the scalp of the Shawnee?"

"No," replied the Huron, in a voice as deep and solemn as a distant peal of thunder.

Fluellina looked at her husband a moment, with her face lit up by a strange expression. Then, as she read the determination impressed upon his countenance, and knew the sacredness with which he regarded his pledged word, she sunk down on her knees, and clasping her hands, turned her dark, soulful eyes to heaven and uttered the one exclamation:

"Great Spirit, I thank thee!"

The kneeling Indian woman, her face radiant with a holy happiness, the stern warrior, his dark countenance lighted up as he gazed down upon her as if the long obscured sun had once more struggled from behind the clouds—these two silent figures in the green wood of their island home formed a picture touchingly beautiful and sublime.

Who can picture the glory that illuminated the soul of the Huron warrior, the divine bliss that went thrilling through his very being, as he uttered this vow, and felt within him the consciousness that never, never again would he be overcome by the temptation to tear the scalp from the head of his enemy, the vengeful Shawnee.

"When has Fluellina seen the Moravian missionary?" he asked, as she reseated herself beside him.

"But a short time since. He inquired of Oonomoo."

"Oonomoo will visit him soon."

"Can he not go with Fluellina to-day?"

"When the sun is yonder," replied the Huron, pointing to a place which it would reach in about half an hour, "he must go, and when the sun sinks in the west, he must be many miles from here."

"When will he return again?"

"He cannot tell. He goes to befriend the white man and maid who is in the hands of the Shawnees."

"Fluellina will wait and will pray for Oonomoo and for them."

"Oonomoo will pray for himself, and his arm will be strong, for he fights none but warriors."

"And Niniotan will grow up like him; he will be a brave warrior who, I pray, will take no scalp from the head of his foe."

"What think the missionary of Niniotan?"

"He finds that the blood of Oonomoo flows strong in his veins. His eye burns, and his breast pants when he hears of the great deeds his father has performed, and he prays that he may go with him upon the war-path."

"He shall accompany him shortly. He can aim the rifle, and his feet are like those of the deer. He shall be a man whose name shall make the Shawnee warriors tremble in their lodges."

"Shall he be a merciful warrior?" asked Fluellina, looking up in the face of the Huron.

"Like his father, shall he be. He shall slay none but men in rightful combat, and no scalp shall ever adorn his lodge. He must drink in the words of the Moravian missionary."

"He does, but his heart is young. He will be valiant and merciful, but he longs to emulate the deeds of Oonomoo—his father."

"I will teach him to emulate what Oonomoo will do, not what he has done."

"He counts the scalps that hang in our lodge, and wonders why they do not increase. He gazes long and often upon those which you tore years ago from the heads of the two chiefs, and I know he burns to gain a trophy for himself."

"Has Fluellina the choicest food these forests can afford?"

"The eye of Niniotan is sure, and his mother never wants."

"He must not wander from the island, else his young arm may be overpowered by the Shawnees or Miamis. They would know he was the son of Oonomoo, and through the son murder the father and mother."

"Fluellina loves but three—Oonomoo, Niniotan, and," she added, reverentially raising her eyes to heaven, "the Great Spirit who is so kind to her."

"And Oonomoo loves him," added the Huron, in his deep, bass voice. "In the hunting-grounds beyond the sun, he and Fluellina and Niniotan will again live together on some green island in the forest, where the buffalo and deer wander in bands of thousands."

"And where Delaware, Mingo, Chippewa, Miami, Ottawa, Pottawatomie, Shawnee, Huron, and the white man shall be brothers, and war against each other no more."

The Huron made no reply, for the words of his wife had awakened a train of reflection to which he had been a stranger. The thought that all the Indians, every tribe that had lived since the foundation of the world—those who were now the most implacable enemies to each other, the French, English and Americans—the thought of these living together in the Spirit Land in perfect brotherhood and good-will, was