Frontier and pioneer life -- Québec (Province) -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Short stories
“Your friend Morton is doomed to die by the American soldiers and you
alone can save him.”
“What! Did he not escape? Tell me all.”
Maggie told him what she knew, he listening with impassive countenance.
When she had done, he paused, as if reflecting, and then said curtly,
“I will go with you.” It was now fair daylight, and Maggie saw, to her
dismay, that the mound upon which she had found Hemlock outstretched
was a grave, and that, at the head of it was a stake upon which hung
several scalps, the topmost evidently cut from a recent victim.
Glancing at the radiant eastward sky, the Indian started, and ignoring
the presence of his visitor, fell on his knees on the grave, and
turning his face so as to see the sun when it should shoot its first
beam over the broad lake, which was reflecting the glow of the rosy
clouds that overhung its further point, he communed with the dead.
“I leave thee, Spotted Fawn, for a while, that I may meet those who
did thee hurt and bring back another scalp to satisfy thy spirit. Thy
father’s arm is strong, but it is stronger when he thinks of thee.
Tarry a while before you cross the river and I will finish my task and
join thee in the journey to the hunting-ground; the arm that oft bore
you when a child, will carry you over the waters and rocks. Farewell!
Oh, my child, my daughter, how could you leave me? Tread softly and
slowly, for I will soon leave my lodge of sorrow and see you and clasp
you to my heart.” There was a pause, a groan of unutterable sorrow
escaped his lips, and he sank lifeless upon the grave. Agitated with
deep sympathy, Maggie stepped forward and kneeling beside the Indian
stroked his head and shoulders as if she had been soothing a child.
“Dinna tak on sae, Hemlock. Sair it is to mourn the loved and lost, but
we maun dae our duty in this warl and try to live sae as to meet them
in the warl ayont. He that let the stroke fa’, alane can heal the hurt.
Gin yer daughter is deed, it is only for this life. Her voice will be
the first to welcome you when you cross death’s threshold.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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