The "talk" was conducted by means of the services of an interpreter, an
Indian, who stood behind the great chiefs and recited, now in Cherokee
and now in English, and always with a wooden, expressionless accent, as
if he were a talking machine and understood not a word for which he
furnished the equivalent, in deference to the great company not
permitting his mind to take part in the deeper significance of the ideas
they interchanged. He kept his eyes fixed upon the blank wall opposite,
and effaced his individuality as far as possible. But after the first
sentences of merely formal greeting, the wooden clapper of the
interpreter's tongue vibrated back and forth with Cherokee only, for the
Indian chiefs said nothing to be rendered into English. Silent and
stony they sat, looking neither to the right nor left, unmoved by
urgency, stolid to remonstrance, and only when Demeré with a flash of
fire suggested that Governor Lyttleton of South Carolina, or General
Amherst the new "head-man," who was now commander-in-chief of the army,
would soon take fierce measures to retaliate these enormities, there was
a momentary twinkle in the crafty eyes of Oconostota, and he spoke
briefly. The interpreter woodenly repeated:--
"I can well believe you, for after an English treaty we have fraud and
then force and at last bloodshed."
Stuart, the sombre red shadow of the terra-cotta walls hardly dulling
the glare of his red uniform, sat looking out, quite placid and
self-poised, through the open portal at the scattered huts of the town,
at the occasional passing of an Indian's figure, at Chilhowee Mountain
in the middle distance, densely green with the dark lush growths of
summer, and beyond at the domes of the Great Smoky range, a soft velvet
blue against the hard turquoise blue of the sky. The object, however, on
which his eyes fixed most intently was the bright spot of color of the
orderly's red coat, like a buoy, one might say, against the glimmering
river, in the foreground, as he rested on his oars in the glow of the
sunset, while the little boat swung idly in the shallows.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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