Wacousta : a tale of the Pontiac conspiracy — Volume 2Richardson, Major (John)
General
Wacousta : a tale of the Pontiac conspiracy — Volume 2
Richardson, Major (John)
Pontiac's Conspiracy, 1763-1765 -- Fiction
"It is a compliment to the honour of our flag," observed the governor,
"which it must be our interest to encourage. If, as you say, Erskine,
the man is really endowed with generosity, the result of this affair
will assuredly call it forth."
"If it prove otherwise, sir," was the reply, "we must only attribute
his perseverance to the influence which that terrible warrior of the
Fleur de lis is said to exercise over his better feelings. By the by, I
see nothing of him among this flag of truce party. It could scarcely be
called a violation of faith to cut off such a rascally renegade. Were
he of the number of those advancing, and Valletort's rifle within my
reach, I know not what use I might not be tempted to make of the last."
Poor Erskine was singularly infelicitous in touching, and ever
unconsciously, on a subject sure to give pain to more than one of his
brother officers. A cloud passed over the brow of the governor, but it
was one that originated more in sorrow than in anger. Neither had he
time to linger on the painful recollections hastily and confusedly
called up by the allusion made to this formidable and mysterious being,
for the attention of all was now absorbed by the approaching Indians.
With a bold and confiding carriage the fierce Ponteac moved at the head
of his little party, nor hesitated one moment in his course, until he
got near the brink of the ditch, and stood face to face with the
governor, at a distance that gave both parties not only the facility of
tracing the expression of each other's features, but of conversing
without effort. There he made a sudden stand, and thrusting his spear
into the earth, assumed an attitude as devoid of apprehension as if he
had been in the heart of his own encampment.
"My father has understood my sign," said the haughty chief. "The
warriors of a dozen tribes are far behind the path the Ottawa has just
travelled; but when the red skin comes unarmed, the hand of the Saganaw
is tied behind his back."
"The strong hold of the Saganaw is his safeguard," replied the
governor, adopting the language of the Indian. "When the enemies of his
great father come in strength, he knows how to disperse them; but when
a warrior throws himself unarmed into his power, he respects his
confidence, and his arms hang rusting at his side."
"The talk of my father is big," replied the warrior, with a scornful
expression that seemed to doubt the fact of so much indifference as to
himself; "but when it is a great chief who directs the nations, and
that chief his sworn enemy, the temptation to the Saganaw may be
strong."
"The Saganaw is without fear," emphatically rejoined the governor; "he
is strong in his own honour; and he would rather die under the tomahawk
of the red skin, than procure a peace by an act of treachery."
The Indian paused; cold, calm looks of intelligence passed between him
and his followers, and a few indistinct and guttural sentences were
exchanged among themselves.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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