Kitabı oku: «Menotah: A Tale of the Riel Rebellion», sayfa 19

CHAPTER XI
THE HEART'S PEACE

Once more out to the lonely forest.

Those dark trees of death, the ever-sighing pines, tossed their solemn heads in unquiet motion; boughs chafed one against the other with moaning sound; the wind passed with dreary murmur through hanging clusters, causing at times the skulls and other grisly trophies of the death tree to scrape with horrid fitfulness one against the other. It was late night, and the moon shone with extraordinary brightness, while frost needles quivered along the silvery air. Even the dead leaves, carpeting thickly the open spaces, glittered radiantly with Nature's diamonds, while the soil became crisp and grey. Above the distant trees might be seen the shivering spindles of the Aurora. These crept up the sky with strange undecided movement, then retreated with a shudder, to again advance.

In that unutterably weird conflict of lights, the white walls of the fort were dimly visible. For long a dull yellow gleam poured from the single window, casting a tremulous shaft across the open, a sickly beam of light, in the heart of which trembled the frost crystals. Suddenly a dark shadow passed unsteadily, the light disappeared, the window grew black, night settled closely round the log walls.

Even then, at another mean dwelling, situated some way along the faintly defined trail, a feeble ray appeared. The crazy door was partially open, while a slow wood fire burnt within, the smoke winding its way from a hole in the grass roof. At the threshold stood a figure, strangely bent, gazing out on the white night. He seemed to have no feeling of the biting cold, though the weak hands were blue and shrivelled, and the grey face pinched with grief, hideous also with embittered age. Those bleared eyes saw little, his tottering knees could scarce support the withered frame, no thickness of clothing might furnish life warmth to the parched limbs. He was like the dead branch of a tree, which has been snapped from the parent trunk and lies rotting upon the ground, to be broken by the feet of those passing.

The trembling jaws moved faster. The dry lips parted to form the words of his customary evening salutation to the Spirit. Sounds fell from the almost powerless tongue, murmurs which could not disturb the soft sighing of the keen, frost-laden wind.

'I live,' he gasped, 'and I shall live, for the gods have forgotten me. They have left me here to decay and not to die, to fall limb from limb, while breath remains in the body, and the heart within stirs feebly. They are all gone, those with whom I lived. The men who sprang up with me have passed through the fire. Those who were born when I was already old have gone to the shadow land, white-headed and full of years. But I live. The god passes me as one not worth the taking.

'What happiness is there in life? Memory has gone from me, and I have none to call friend. Nor do I love any, be it man or god. She for whom I lived is traitor. My affection has changed to the bitterness of hatred, and all that lies upon my tongue is a curse. Where is the beauty of life?

'The God of the white men would not listen to my prayers, perchance He had not the power, and to the voice of my pleading was He dumb. Now have I come back to the gods of my fathers, the great gods, who are at least as powerful. Yet from them I receive no answer, nor does any message stir within me through the night. Perchance there are no gods. Perchance the world is ruled by evil passion and cruel might.'

Dry leaves rustled beneath footsteps. But the useless ears were closed to all sounds from without.

'I live,' he repeated, clutching with claw-like hand the corner of his blanket. 'Life is mine, but I need it not. Long have I lived to gather much wisdom. Ay, and I shall live.'

Along, in the full light of the white moon, came the figure of a woman, upright and stern. She gazed neither to the right nor left, but kept the eyes, cold as the crystals that cut her face, fixed upon the winding path that trailed away in front. She was scantily clad, her head uncovered, save for the wild beauty of luxuriant hair; her feet were bare, and crushed, without feeling, the frost-covered leaves. Hanging from her shoulders was a trembling, frightened bundle. A child, shivering with the cold, wondering at his mother's sternness; a child, who touched her icy cheek with tiny fingers, who cried again and again the one love-word which had always before that night brought to him some response, —

'Mother! Oh, mother!'

She was insensible, alike to the wailing of her child and the sharpness of frost bite. Up to the hut door she came, until her cloak almost swept against the crouched figure, yet without sign of recognition, with no turn of the head. But the Ancient knew her. As she approached and struck his vision, he crept feebly back, gathering his blanket more closely round him, lest it should suffer contamination by touch. As she passed, unheeding that the last friend had forsaken her, he collected his failing energies, spat after her, raised his hands with malediction, and spoke bitter words of execration. All this effort might have been spared the feeble frame, for she trod on through the night with no heed to his curses, regardless even of his presence.

So he crawled weakly into the hut and closed the door.

But she kept on her course, dead to the present, forgetful of the past, conscious only of the immediate future. Her body brushed apart silver-lined bush, scattered the light hoar frost from dried grass stalks, and still she gazed before her, still she clasped the trembling child without word or sign. For her, joy had been spent; now even grief was a thing of the past. Behind her lay darkness, one stern resolution lay in front – then darkness again.

She came to a rugged rock, half covered with clinging bush. Here memory may have stirred the cold mind, for she paused, allowing her eyes to rest for a moment upon the black, glistening surface. Here had she stood on the evening previous to the fight; here had she chanted the happy song of pure heart joy, provoking the envy of all else that was beautiful in nature; here had Antoine admonished her of dangers impending, here also had that advice been laughed away. Through the forest, to the left, spread the river pool, where she had been wont to lie on summer afternoons to admire the beauty that smiled at her from the peaceful waters. That pool now flashed beneath the weird lights; the rock on which she had so often stretched her young body was still to be found unchanged. But what picture would that mirror now reveal. Where was the face of beauty, the lips curling into laughter, the eyes dancing with joy light, the smiles that had once dimpled the waves, and the soft features moulded into perfect lines of grace? Where? Ah, where? Vanished – departed – melted.

Gone. Gone for ever. So the dead leaves rained thickly from the cold trees, while icy winds moaned, and earth shivered at the approach of winter. For the brightest colours must fade, and everything living must see decay.

She departed from that spot, yet burying at each step some blissful memory of youth, and took the trail that led to the river. Soon the rush and roar of the swollen torrent beat dully upon her ears. At dreaded intervals the fitful thunder of the great rapids came trembling along the way. Still the set countenance remained unaltered, nor was there a word of comfort for the sobbing child.

Presently she broke from the last bushes and stood upon the brink. A wide stretch of river spread before her, burning and flashing beneath the gorgeous light of the moon. On the opposite shore, dreary pines tossed their dark heads and beckoned her to come. Far down the rushing stream were faint appearances of threatening rocks and a white foam line. Such were indications of the angry rapids. Here the waters boiled round jagged rock fragments, and light spray was hurled high into frosty air. Here roared and shrieked against the pale stars the Niagara of the Great Saskatchewan.

She stood upon the crumbling rock edge for many weary minutes, fearfully watching the turbulent waters, the wavering mind filled with many a strange perplexing doubt. Immediately beneath, rising and falling on the gentle waves beneath the bank, appeared a canoe, rasping upon the rock and lightly secured by a birch fibre to a willow branch overhanging the stream. At the bottom of the frail craft lay a single paddle. But this gleaming object, and nothing besides.

Presently she spoke aloud to her sole companions – the icy winds and unknown powers of Nature.

'It is all so long ago, and yet this is but the second winter of time. I have lived through it, and now must face the end. None may tell me where I am going. This I myself know – I cannot be punished more than I have suffered, I cannot suffer more than I have been already punished.'

The auroral lights crept trembling along the sky. Behind her the bushes shook drearily.

'If there be no happiness in the world whither I am going, there can at least be no greater sorrows.'

She was now in that complete solitude for which she had craved. Alone, entirely alone, with none to see, none to pity. The bar of race cut her off from the rest of the world, and upon her weak shoulders lay the sin of others. This was the weight which might now be shaken off.

Again she cast her unfathomable glance upon the foaming river, and gazed at the fragile canoe, which rocked restlessly from side to side.

The dregs of the life cup were bitter indeed. Her own people hated her. On her approach they had crept away, with hidden faces. She was a pestilence when she stirred abroad. For she had dared to break the great oath, to cast dishonour again upon her tribe, to insult the dead father's memory. This was a crime which might not be pardoned. So her gods also had turned away, for she had broken their highest laws of right and duty. Vengeance had been placed in her hands – more, forced upon her, and yet – yet she had not strength, she lacked courage, to strike with that fearful weapon when it thus lay within her grasp. For that, also, she must suffer.

Darkness was everywhere in the world, yet she was about to plunge into a greater gloom. Who would be there, on that shadow way, to meet the broken spirit and bid it rest? Not the father, not even Muskwah. They were surely in the bright joyland, which must be eternally forbidden to her.

Perchance – how impossible a hope, yet how soothing – there might be another God of Whom she knew nothing. There might be a God so merciful as to care even for those who had not called upon Him during life, so compassionate as to pity one who had been deceived and betrayed. Ah, if there was such a God to receive her, to take her up in His arms, to breathe upon the dead heart and give it life again, how joyous would be the act of immortality!

She bowed her head, and moved slowly forward.

'It is time. Time for the great sleep; time for the peace. Only one little struggle, one quick gasp as the eternal change takes place, one stifling moment of agony, then I shall be as many are and all must be. For to this end must we come, and what lies beyond none may clearly tell.'

She crept down the steep bank. The child lay upon her back, stiff with cold, scarcely owning strength to cry. She swept through the willows and entered the canoe. The next instant she had cast off the clinging birch fibre. With one bold stroke of the paddle the light skiff darted toward mid-stream.

Another, then another, until the centre of the mighty river was reached. Here the waves sobbed round the paper-like keel, leaping aside in bars of burnished silver. The moon, reddened by the tints of the northern lights, poured forth a flood of radiance; the grim Spirit of the Waters uplifted pale arms and cried, 'Come.'

Swiftly the current pulled the canoe round towards the abyss; rapidly it floated down between the steep banks and gloomy line of forest waving on each side; down, until the white mass of foam became a snow mountain; down to the rugged rocks, where black jaws were dripping with flying spray; down, still down, towards the gate of Eternity.

She knelt, with paddle grasped firmly in both hands. Before her wailed the child. The baby lips found strength to release faint sounds. Again that tremulous cry beat upon the freezing air, —

'Mother! Oh, mother!'

Then she bent forward, to gaze earnestly upon the dark eyes, the small, round cheeks, the curling hair clustering over the little brow, the delicate shaping of the limbs. Soon she spoke again, —

'We will go together, child, for you are all mine. We may not be parted. I brought you into this world in a moment of horror; so now we will leave it together. You shall clasp my neck and lay your soft cheek against mine. You shall nestle to the bosom that has nurtured you. Then shall you endure no pang, for I will bear the pain for both. Quietly and painlessly you shall fall asleep, as you were wont to do upon my knee. Sleep, until you wake in a fair world on a flowery grass plain, beneath the full light of the sun. It may be so; yet it may be still darkness. It may be that when you drop to sleep in yonder waters – that waking will never come.'

Swifter grew the flight of the canoe, more furious the hungry roar ahead.

'Oh, son! Child of my body! Best of my flesh! Could you but know what a service I am rendering you, if you could look back, even as I can, you would raise your head in blessing and call me merciful. I am saving you. I am lifting from you the awful burden of life. I am taking you from the trouble and the treachery, which would surely break your spirit if you lived. 'Tis only a few more minutes now, then all will lie in the past, and we shall join the unknown. Ah, you do not know, you cannot understand that. You cannot feel yourself standing on the last ledge of life, before that black chasm which is the end of motion. You do not know that the gate is about to clash behind us, driving us forth into darkness. Or is it light? That we may soon tell. We may know then, also, whether there is a God Who gazes upon mortal suffering with the eye of pity.'

The foaming line was now awfully close; the roar of the waters beat upon her soul; feather-like spray, caught by the wind, lashed her resolute face.

Then she raised the paddle on high, before casting it far into the turbulent flood. Fascinated by this gleaming guide, she watched it floating away in front, dancing merrily upon the silver-tipped waves.

'So I cast away my life.'

No mortal effort could now snatch them from the inevitable end. Still down they drifted, nearer – closer to the frightful Niagara of tumult and death. Once again she bent, to gather in her arms the sobbing child. She twined the tiny arms round her neck; she nestled the cold cheek against his; she clasped him close to her heaving breast, and waited for the end.

Nor was it long in coming upon them. The canoe quivered as the great waves lashed and licked the frail sides. The paddle struck upon a black-jawed rock, glanced off quickly, hung trembling for a second on that unutterable brink, shone like a mirror in the moonlight – then disappeared. Below, the savage elements sucked it in, roared lustily, then tossed their white crests with fresh shrieks for other victims.

The livid-faced woman saw, and shuddered for the first time on that awful journey.

'It has shown me the way; I must follow.'

The canoe swung sullenly round, then darted like a bird towards destruction. It struck also upon the black rock, where spray flew high in clouds. Round again, gradually quickening in speed. Sideways it floated to the awful white line which marked eternity.

Her heart seemed to have ceased its feeble beat; the breath stifled her with hot gasps. Sky, river, forest had vanished, blotted out by a raging sea of red flames, boiling and hissing blood-like before her eyes. Memory came back on the torrent of that grim flood. The past lay outspread before the mind. Every small detail shot forth in sharp relief, each careless action writhed from the seething atmosphere of her horror and imagination.

'This is Death! How awful a thing it is.'

The cold winds snatched the foam from the waves, and tossed it above rock masses in furious revelry. The canoe had reached that awful line which marked the extinction of two lives. It shuddered upon the fearful brink. It hovered, like a bird of prey, before making the fatal plunge beneath. It trembled, and groaned again with the angry buffetings. It succumbed to the irresistible force, to the mighty, unseen hand drawing it down, down – and then – ah, then —

At the foot of the great rapids black rocks glistened in the moonlight; foam-flecked waves darted up to beat the air; angry waters rolled and tossed like wind-swept snow heaps, crying forth with the deep voice of thunder. Ice crystals still danced and shivered in the biting wind.

A blood-red gleam slowly fought its way from the north, ascending the heavens to dye the shafts of the auroral light a bright rose colour.

On either side of the river, black pines swayed beneath the eternal whisperings of the forest. The grim hand of winter slowly fringed the sombre tresses with silvery beauty.

The colours were black and silver, with red above. The blending of the first two made the complexion of mourning. Is not the last the colour of life's mystery? Red gold, red blood, red flush of shame, red blush of love. What else is there in life worth taking?

Onward rushed the Great Saskatchewan, with a sobbing and murmuring, while loose shingle hissed and rattled upon the shore, and leafless bushes swept the waters. Then the ice lord crept from drear confines of the Arctic, with the great chains in his white hand. Soon would he fasten down those clamouring waves to a long silence.

So, to this day, no Indian lands at that point, nor stretches his tent near the rocky ledge which faces the great rapids. And the name of the place is still called, Menotah-toopah– the passing place of the heart which knew not sorrow.

GLOSSARY

Bandy – Flow of language

Brace of bullets – Pair of aces

Bulldog – A large horse-fly possessing formidable jaws

Bummers – Idle loafers

Chores – Odd jobs

Corked – Greatly surprised

Coyotes – Prairie wolves

Craps – Dice

Croak off – Die

Cut didoes – To excessively enjoy, or make a fool of, oneself

Diddle – Get the better of

Dosh – Money

Gall – Impudence

Goldam – A local expletive

Goldeye – A small, highly edible fish, common in the Saskatchewan

Good – Physically well and strong

Heelhi-Manitou – The good, or great, Spirit

Hopping – Dying

Jag (Jamboree) – A drunken spree

Kanikanik (spelt in various other ways) – The red willow

Megrims – The 'blues'

Moonhead – Madman

Mosquito hawk – A large species of dragon fly

Muskegs – Moss swamps

Mutchi-Manitou – The lesser, or evil, Spirit

Nitchies – Natives

Quirk – Laugh

Raddled – Drunk

Razzle-witted – Crazy

Scrapping – Fighting or quarreling

Shaganappi – A rough, native-bred horse

Sharpshooters – Cigars

Shin plasters – Dollar bills, i. e., money

Slick – Easy, pleasant, etc.

Snuff out – Die

Spoiling – Extremely anxious

Suds – State of depression

Totem – Every man is descended from some animal. This animal is known as the Totem. Thus one man's Totem may be a buffalo, another's a beaver, and so on

Truck – Miscellaneous articles

Twitter – Hurry

Wasayap – An Indian maid of old mythology

Waterlogged – Done for, beaten, etc.

Worth shucks – Not worth anything at all

THE END