So the council broke up.White man and red went trooping into town, staring curiously at the guard which was leading the North Wind and his friends to another night of meditation.What their fate would be no man knew.Many thought the tomahawk.
That night the citizens of the little village of Pain Court, as St.Louis was called, might have seen the sky reddened in the eastward.It was the loom of many fires at Cahokia, and around them the chiefs of the forty tribes--all save the three in durance vile--were gathered in solemn talk.
Would they take the bloody belt or the white one? No man cared so little as the Pale Face Chief.When their eyes were turned from the fitful blaze of the logs, the gala light of many candles greeted them.And above the sound of their own speeches rose the merrier note of the fiddle.
The garrison windows shone like lanterns, and behind these Creole and backwoodsman swung the village ladies in the gay French dances.The man at whose bidding this merrymaking was held stood in a corner watching with folded arms, and none to look at him might know that he was playing for a stake.
The troubled fires of the Indians had died to embers long before the candles were snuffed in the garrison house and the music ceased.
The sun himself was pleased to hail that last morning of the great council, and beamed with torrid tolerance upon the ceremony of kindling the greatest of the fires.On this morning Colonel Clark did not sit alone, but was surrounded by men of weight,--by Monsieur Gratiot and other citizens, Captain Bowman and the Spanish officers.
And when at length the brush crackled and the flames caught the logs, three of the mightiest chiefs arose.The greatest, victor in fifty tribal wars, held in his hand the white belt of peace.The second bore a long-stemmed pipe with a huge bowl.And after him, with measured steps, a third came with a smoking censer,--the sacred fire with which to kindle the pipe.Halting before Clark, he first swung the censer to the heavens, then to the earth, then to all the spirits of the air,--calling these to witness that peace was come at last,--and finally to the Chief of the Long Knives and to the gentlemen of dignity about his person.Next the Indian turned, and spoke to his brethren in measured, sonorous tones.He bade them thank that Great Spirit who had cleared the sky and opened their ears and hearts that they might receive the truth,--who had laid bare to their understanding the lies of the English.Even as these English had served the Big Knives, so might they one day serve the Indians.Therefore he commanded them to cast the tomahawk into the river, and when they should return to their land to drive the evil birds from it.And they must send their wise men to Kaskaskia to hear the words of wisdom of the Great White Chief, Clark.He thanked the Great Spirit for this council fire which He had kindled at Cahokia.
Lifting the bowl of the censer, in the eyes of all the people he drew in a long whiff to bear witness of peace.
After him the pipe went the interminable rounds of the chiefs.Colonel Clark took it, and puffed; Captain Bowman puffed,--everybody puffed.
``Davy must have a pull,'' cried Tom; and even the chiefs smiled as I coughed and sputtered, while my friends roared with laughter.It gave me no great notion of the fragrance of tobacco.And then came such a hand-shaking and grunting as a man rarely sees in a lifetime.
There was but one disquieting question left: What was to become of the North Wind and his friends? None dared mention the matter at such a time.But at length, as the day wore on to afternoon, the Colonel was seen to speak quietly to Captain Bowman, and several backwoodsmen went off toward the town.And presently a silence fell on the company as they beheld the dejected three crossing the field with a guard.They were led before Clark, and when he saw them his face hardened to sternness.
``It is only women who watch to catch a bear sleeping,''
he said.``The Big Knives do not kill women.I shall give you meat for your journey home, for women cannot hunt.