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Camp-fire and Wigwam, a novel by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 22. An Aboriginal Sermon |
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_ CHAPTER XXII. AN ABORIGINAL SERMON
Hay-uta, like many of his people, had listened to the words of the missionaries--those strange people who underwent hunger, thirst, and suffering that they might preach the Word of Life to those who had never heard of that wonderful Being that died to save a lost world, and who taught that forgiveness, kindness, and love were the duty of every one. Hay-uta, I say, had listened to the words of those people, but only to turn away with a scornful smile, for he was sure the creed was one to which the American Indian could never give his faith. The red man remembered that those priests and missionaries called themselves Christians, and lo! the most skillful warrior upon whom he had ever looked, now stood before him and declared that he too was a Christian. Not only that, but he proved it by his works, for he refused to tear the reeking scalp from the head of his enemy, when that enemy was vanquished! Once more Deerfoot picked the knife of Hay-uta from the ground and handed it (the point toward himself) to the Sauk. The latter accepted it and pushed it back in place behind the girdle that spanned his waist. Then at a signal from Deerfoot he recovered his rifle and tomahawk, as Deerfoot did his hatchet and bow and quiver. Without a word, the two walked the short distance to camp, Hay-uta slightly in the lead. The camp was of the simplest character, consisting of a pile of sticks, leaves, and branches which served as a couch, beside furnishing fuel for the fire when he cooked his food. A long, heavy blanket was partly folded and lying on the heap of branches, where it had served as a pillow for the warrior, who was different from most of his people in using that artificial help to slumber. The water, which is such a necessity for parties halting in the wilderness, was obtained from a tiny stream that trickled down the rocks just beyond, after which it sank out of sight in the mountain to reappear at some point far removed. The wood and undergrowth that surrounded the camp of the Sauk were very close and dense, so that the view in every direction was shut off, unless one should climb the tallest tree and take his survey from that perch. When Hay-uta halted in front of his camp-fire he turned about and extended his hand to Deerfoot. "Will Deerfoot tell Hay-uta about the Great Spirit of the white man?" "He is the Great Spirit of the red man as well as of the white," replied the Shawanoe, seating himself on the ground, where he was opposite the Sauk, who slowly resumed his seat on the pile of sticks and branches. "He loves all his children--him with the face of the night, the Miami, the Huron, the Shawanoe, the Delaware, the Sauk and Fox, the white man, and all those who live far beyond the great water which rolls against the shores of our land. He loves them all, and He hides his face with grief when he sees them quarrel and try to kill each other. If His children will do as He tells them to do, they will be happy in this world and in the hunting grounds where they shall live forever." Hay-uta remembered that this agreed with what he had heard the missionaries say, but he recalled also that there was something more. "Where does the Great Spirit that Deerfoot tells me about live?" The Shawanoe pointed reverently upward. "Far beyond the clouds, the sun, and the stars; He lives there, and there all shall go who do His will. A long time ago, before the white men came across the great water, He sent His Son from Heaven to earth; the Son went about doing good, and died, to save those He loved from sorrow and death." "Deerfoot tells me what the Great Spirit says to him; how does he hear the Great Spirit speak?" Without changing his half-reclining posture, the Shawanoe drew forth his small Bible from the inner pocket of his hunting shirt, the other watching with amazement the action. Opening the sacred volume, he read in his low, musical voice: "'Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. "'Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. "'Blessed are the peace-makers: for they shall be called the children of God. "'Ye have heard that it has been said, thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy: "'But I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.'" Deerfoot read these extracts from the Sermon on the Mount, with which he was so familiar that he could have repeated it all without looking at the printed page. Then raising his eyes to the wondering face of Hay-uta, he added: "Let my brother listen, for these are the words of the Great Spirit, which he speaks to all his children; if they will obey, there shall be no unhappiness in the world: "'_Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets._'" The Sauk warrior was never so stirred in all his life. He had seen white men read from books, and he held a misty idea of how it was done, but he never knew one of his own race who could interpret the meaning of the curious figures made by some incomprehensible means on paper. It was impossible that he should grasp the height and depth of that sublime utterance, which is of itself the very essence of the Christian religion; but they were as clear as sunlight to Deerfoot, who had pondered them many a time since he sat at the feet of good Mrs. Preston, who presented him with the Word of Life. Closing the Book and putting it away, he proceeded to preach his sermon to the Sauk warrior. Deerfoot assumed the sitting position, and used both hands in his frequent gestures. Hay-uta reclined on his side, supporting himself on one elbow, while he fixed his eyes on his teacher and drank in every word. "The Great Spirit made all people--the white, the red, the black man, and him whose face is the color of the breast of Deerfoot's hunting shirtfor there are men whose skins are yellow, and others who are brown. He wishes them to live like brothers, but they do not. More of the pale faces are evil than good; they use the red men ill, and the red man loves to fight his enemies, but they grieve the Great Spirit. Let Hay-uta pray to the Great Spirit; let him never lie down or rise without talking to Him; let him stay his hand when it would strike a blow in anger; let him forgive his foes; let him seek to do the will of the Great Spirit, and a sweet peace shall fill his heart, such as he never knew before. Let my brother do that; let him tell the good news to his friends; let him listen to the words of the missionaries and talk to his people. "The father of Deerfoot was a chief of the Shawanoes, who loved to fight; Deerfoot when a child was a wildcat in his hate of his enemies and of the pale faces; but the Great Spirit whispered in his ear, and he became another being. It was the Great Spirit who told him just now that danger threatened him. Hay-uta knows that Deerfoot could have slain him had he wished to do so; but he never wished him ill; he first showed him he was his master, that Hay-uta might listen to his words; will my brother forget what Deerfoot has said to him?" Every being, whether groping in the night of barbarism or walled in by the skepticism of an advanced civilization, has felt at one time or another, an irrestrainable longing to draw aside the veil which shuts out the great hereafter, and solve the mystery of the life that is to come. Many a time is the heart stirred to its uttermost depths by the chastening hand of affliction, or when gazing on the glories of the stars and firmament, or when listening to the meanings of the vast deep, the soft sighing of the winds in the forest, or the lisping prayer of infancy. No proof of the immortality of the soul can equal that of its very yearning for immortality, and dim, strange, half-heard whisperings of the Beyond become voices more convincing than all the scientific scoffing and brilliant ridicule of those whose learning carries them beyond the trusting faith of childhood, and stops just short of the grandeur of the light of perfect knowledge. When Deerfoot addressed his question to the Sauk warrior, the latter did not answer, but continued gazing into his face as though he heard not the words, and his thoughts were far away. The Shawanoe was wise enough to suspect the truth, and refrained from repeating the question. He, too, held his peace, and for several minutes the strange scene lasted. The two Indians looked at each other without speaking. Meanwhile the afternoon was drawing to a close, and darkness was creeping through the forest. The camp-fire had burned so low that it gave out no light, and the figures of the warriors began to grow indistinct. Deerfoot felt that he had sowed the seed, and he had only to wait for it to bear fruit. He arose, and stepping closer to the fire, stirred it until it gave forth a flame which lit up the surrounding gloom. Still Hay-uta remained motionless and silent. Perhaps it has not escaped the notice of the reader that when the Sauk stood with folded arms before his conqueror, and asked him to bury his knife in his heart, he said that the son of the pale face would point the finger of scorn at him. Deerfoot noticed the curious words, and he felt that the moment had come when he should learn their full meaning. "Where is the village of my brother?" he asked in his gentle way. The Sauk aroused himself and slowly rose to his feet. Glancing through the firelight at his questioner, he pointed to the west. "Two suns' journey away is the home of Hay-uta. There are his squaw and pappoose. He left them two suns ago to hunt for the scalps of his enemies; but he will hunt no more; he will go home, and on his way will think of the words that Deerfoot has said to him." "It is well he should do so; but my brother spoke of the son of the pale face. Why is he in the village of the Sauks?" "He was brought there in the last moon; the Sauks found two pale faces in the woods." "Where is the other?" "Some of the Sauks took him by another path; Hay-uta knows not where he is." "Was harm done him?" "Hay-uta cannot answer." "Tell me of the pale face that is in the village of the Sauks with my brother." The warrior, assisted by the questions of Deerfoot, who kept down the deep interest he felt, told all he knew. When he had finished, as the reader may well suspect, Deerfoot was sure he had gained most important knowledge. He was satisfied beyond all doubt that the prisoner in the village of the Sauks was Jack Carleton, whom he had set out to find, and for whom he feared he would have to hunt for many moons before learning whether he was alive or dead. Suddenly the Sauk rose to his feet and stood in the attitude of listening, as though he had caught some signal. Deerfoot knew he was mistaken, for had it been otherwise, he too would have noticed it. "Hay-uta bids his brother good bye," was the abrupt exclamation of the warrior, who caught up his blanket and, without another word, passed from sight in the wood, leaving the astonished Deerfoot alone. _ |
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