CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL. So far as the policy of this measure was concerned, it might have worked to much advantage; but, unfortunately for the real progress of the country, not a word was said in this famous settlement as to the rate at which the zemindars might assess the ryots on their land; at the same time, the most arbitrary and summary powers were given the former, to enable them to enforce their demands against their unfortunate tenants. It is quite true that the act of settlement provided that an assessment, once made, could not be altered by any zemindar or other landholder-with only one exception, which was on the occasion of an estate changing proprietors. This one exception was quite sufficient for all purposes of extortion. If a zemindar wishes to raise the assessment of his land, he has but to make a pretended sale to some friend or relative, and the screw is at once put on, and, as a matter of course, submitted to; for who has ever heard of a ryot opposing the will of his zemindar? Sometimes, indeed, the labourer will be too poor, or too broken-spirited to work on at a higher rate, in which case he will be at once ejected, to wander homeless and hopeless, with no relief but such scanty charity as neighbours may care to dole out to him. It is not merely in this way that the labouring population of Hindostan are placed at the mercy of a grasping, relentless race of men. Between the great zemindar and the people there is a little army of middlemen, the devourers of other men's substance, who act sometimes as his agents or bailiffs, sometimes as sub-renters, who take the trouble off his hands for a round sum for the year. In these cases, the extortions are generally doubled, for the farmer of the rents for the time being cares far less for the welfare of the ryots on the land than the zemindar. It is difficult for any one who has not resided for some time amongst an agricultural population in British India, to form a right conception of the exactions to which they are exposed, and the utter impossibility of escape for them under the present administration of the laws. The renter has not a want in his household that the villagers are not compelled to supply. Every article of daily consumption-rice, oil, milk, ghee, cotton-all must be found him by the ryots of his district. How heavily this presses upon the half-fed, half-clad people, only those can say who know their utter poverty. The advocates of the present system, and amongst these are to be found many Europeans, maintain that the Indian ryot is a poor degraded creature, incapable of better things, unfit for progress, and reckless of the future. Alas! he has never had a trial, under British rule, of what he is capable, nor of what he might be under a better system. We are not among those who predict a rapid advance of civilisation amongst any Asiatic race, much less amongst the Hindoos, but we believe they might be made a prosperous and thriving people if the whole race of zemindars, putindars, and other middlemen were swept from the face of the land, and the ryots left in possession of the fruit of their daily toil. Wherever European capital has been introduced throughout the Mofussil, and brought in contact with the village population, there a marked improvement is to be seen in their condition. A good deal has been said about the oppression of English indigo-planters: possibly some part of the statements may be correct, but the tyranny of a European is mercy beside the moderation of a Bengalee landholder. Many a hard bargain is doubtless driven by the planter with his ryots, but no one supposes him capable of the cruelties practised by the native renters, to wring the last copper pice or cowrie from the helpless dependent. In India, proof of guilt is at all times difficult to obtain, but doubly so against the wealthy; yet evidence has not been wanting of the most barbarous tortures inflicted by zemindars of the soil upon their dependents, even to the death, and that, too, for not more than There is no physical wretchedness nor abject misery within European limits that can in any way compare with the utter prostration and broken-down degradation of the great bulk of the Bengal ryots. The land how fertile, the climate how favourable, the rivers and canals how enriching for the production of the finest silks, the richest dyes, the most delicate fibres, the most valuable grain that nature has ever enabled man to produce for the markets of the world; and yet, amidst all this abundance of blessings, how miserable the condition of those who should be sharers in the general wealth! A stranger in the land might well mistake an ordinary ryot, in his pristine rags, and dirt, and squalor, for some wandering outcast from a jail, a hospital, or a lunatic asylum. The oriental, of whatever grade, or caste, or calling, has an instinctive love for landed property. If it be but the most miserable corner of the poorest holding, the most wretched hovel that man could take It may be that the Indian shelter in, the Asiatic is still most anxious to be considered as the owner. tenant-farmer dwells in a place that might in Europe be deemed fit only for dogs; it may be that on the limited slip of soil encircling his hovel, a sickly mangotree, a few date-palms, a cluster of plantains, or a knot of sugar-cane, may be seen; it may be that cultivated fields grace the environs in rich luxuriance; but be this as it may, the owner or renter is equally delighted, so that he may feel that he is the possessor of the homestead, the garden, or the field. Of course, there are many grades of ryots, all Besides the mere differing as much in their material position as in men who, or the day-labourer, there are their habits and inclinations. renter holding no land of their own, yet possess a pair of bullocks, a plough, and a kodalie or hoe, with which they undertake to plant and tend the land of others, who are either too idle or too busy to cultivate it themselves, receiving half of the produce for so doing. There are, besides these, many others who hold land either as members of a family in common, or in their individual right, and who hold some appointment or office, whilst they leave others to cultivate for them, receiving, of course, their share of crops. It is scarcely too much to say, perhaps, that in Bengal, if not in the upper provinces, there are very few Hindoos, and not many Mussulmans, who have not a holding of some sort. It would not interest the general reader to be told at what rate per beegah the generality of these tenures are held, nor to hear how the holdings vary in different parts of the country; it may, however, be stated, that the ryot who holds a jumma or tenure equal to fifty When he has paid his rent, his rupees per annum, is supposed to be in a tolerably good position. abwabs or presents, his fees to village chowkedars or watchmen, the interest on borrowed money, the value of his seed, repairs of tools, &c., he may have perhaps twenty rupees left for his year's family expenses, being about one penny a day. It is true, his wants are few in number compared more than one child, the above small sum cannot go far with those of a European labourer; but if he have to supply his household wants. The article of clothing a few earthen vessels and wooden implements, value is indeed almost a superfluity; their cooking utensils, not above a few pice; his agricultural tools, plough, harrow, and hoe, such as they are, of the pattern of the first Pharaohs and Nimrod, may be worth about three rupees, and perhaps cost him a shilling during the year for repairs. As for dress, the slips of dirty cloth about his and his wife's waist are scarcely worthy the name; their value cannot be more than a few pence. What shall we say of his food? Surely he who tills the ground, who rears the bread of millions, cannot want a sufficiency of food. The ryot does not really starve, save in very extreme cases, but he feeds on the merest pittance of the poorest grain and vegetables. Rice is a luxury in many cases: parched grain, millet, and the smaller fish of tanks and streams, with vegetables and roots, make up the ordinary meals of these people. It must be remembered, however, that we speak only of the professional ryot; and even amongst these there are remarkable exceptions of successful industry and agricultural prosperity: these are mostly to be met with near the larger towns and cities; but the bulk of the population must not be judged from them. In the Mofussil of India, one great want is that of roads. Away from the influence of rivers, the tiller of the soil finds it all but impossible to convey his produce to distant marts. Hence arise those fearful famines which have at frequent intervals desolated the land. One district with a failure of grain-crops lacks food, another province commands an abundance of rice; yet, without roads, how can the two effect any exchange. In this way, even in ordinary times, a superabundant crop has so glutted the local market, as to reduce the value of grain to the merest trifle so low as to be unequal to the amount of rent and charges on the land, thus making a curse of a blessing. Rice has been known to fall to one rupee the hundred seers, or one shilling for a hundred pounds-weight; while a hundred miles away it was selling at four and five times that price; yet the owners of the cheap rice could not sell it to the buyers of dear grain, simply because the cost and difficulty of transport was so great. The railway, it is clear, will prove one of the greatest boons to India. With it, famines will be all but impossible, and the fruit of labour on the soil far more certain. We are not amongst those who augur rapid changes and complete reformation amongst the natives of India, from the consequences of recent events, from what is termed the Anglicising of British India. But, on the other hand, we do firmly believe in a gradual and lasting improvement, not by legislative enactments, nor Orders in Council, but by many concurrent means-by the gradual enlightenment of the mass of the people; by the spread of vernacular education through village-schools, thus teaching the ryot what will in time lift him above his present misery, and take him out of the hands of the mahajun and the usurer; by the introduction of better implements, and a better system of agriculture; by a better, a more honest police; by railways and cart-roads helping to bring remote places near, and rendering the value of produce in different districts more equal, and less liable to sudden and disastrous convulsions; above all, by the gradual spread of Christianity, and with it the rooting out of the old leaven of heathenism, with all its accompanying social evils. We are careful to speak of this as a gradual change: those who look for anything like rapid progression will be disappointed. The work of a thousand years cannot be undone in one, nor in ten. As well might we attempt to bleach their skins. It should not be assumed from what we have here written that we consider all ryots as impoverished and oppressed, and fitting objects of compassion. We are well aware of the vicious character of many village communities, of their obstinate idleness, and their As The combined opposition to every lawful authority. for extravagance on particular occasions, such as a marriage, leaving the ryot in debt for years to come, perhaps for a lifetime, that folly can scarcely be spoken of as exceptional; it is unfortunately the rule amongst both good and bad, high and low. Hindoo indifference to all improvement is likewise not the less general. An Asiatic is from habit opposed to any expenditure of labour that does not yield a speedy return, or lead to some immediate perceptible good. These are amongst the most prominent of the ryot's defects, shared in by other classes of the Indian community, but more keenly felt in his own case from the general abjectness of his social position. O CEO LA: A ROMANCE. CHAPTER XXXI.-THE TRAITOR CHIEFS. Soon after, I retired from the mess-table, and strolled out into the stockade. It was now after sunset. Orders had been issued for no one to leave the fort; but, translating these as only applicable to the common soldier, I resolved to sally forth. I was guided by an impulse of the heart. In the Indian camp were the wives of the chiefs and warriors their sisters and children-why not she among the rest? I had a belief that she was there-although, during all that day, my eyes had been wandering in vain search. She was not among those who had crowded around the council: not a face had escaped my scrutiny. I resolved to seek the Seminole camp-to go among the tents of the Micosaucs-there, in all likelihood, I should find Powell-there I should meet with Maumee. There would be no danger in entering the Indian camp-even the hostile chiefs were yet in relations of friendship with us; and surely Powell was still my friend? He could protect me from peril or insults. I felt a longing, to grasp the hand of the young warrior, that of itself would have influenced me to seek the interview. I yearned to renew the friendly confidence of the past-to talk over those pleasant times-to recall those scenes of halcyon brightness. Surely the sterner duties of the chief and war-leader had not yet indurated a heart, once mild and amiable? No doubt the spirit of my former friend was imbittered by the white man's injustice; no doubt I should find him rancorous against our race; he had reasonstill I had no fears that I myself was not an exception to this wholesale resentment. Whatever the result, I resolved to seek him, and once more extend to him the hand of friendship. I was on the eve of setting forth, when a summons from the commander-in-chief called me to his quarters. With some chagrin, I obeyed the order. I found the commissioner there, with the officers of higher rank-the Ringgolds and several other civilians of distinction. On entering, I perceived that they were in 'caucus,' and had just ended the discussion of some plan of procedure. "The design is excellent,' observed General Clinch, addressing himself to the others; but how are Omatla and "Black Dirt "* to be met? If we summon them hither, it may create suspicion: they could not enter the fort without being observed.' 'General Clinch,' said the elder Ringgold-the most cunning diplomatist of the party-if you and So Lusta Hajo was called by the Americans. His full name was Fuchta-Lusta-Hajo, which signifies Black Crazy Clay.' General Thompson were to meet the friendly chiefs outside?' 'I 'Exactly so,' interrupted the commissioner. have been thinking of that. I have sent a messenger to Omatla, to inquire if he can give us a secret meeting. It will be best to see them outside. The man has returned-I hear him.' At this moment, a person entered the room, whom I recognised as one of the interpreters who had officiated at the council. He whispered something to the commissioner, and then withdrew. 'All right, gentlemen!' exclaimed the latter, as the interpreter went out; 'Omatla will meet us within the hour. Black Dirt will be with him. They have named the "Sink" as the place. It lies to the north of the fort. We can reach it without passing the camp, and there will be no risk of our being observed. Shall we go, general?' 'I am ready,' replied Clinch, taking up his cloak, and throwing it over his shoulders; but, General Thompson,' said he, turning to the commissioner, 'how about your interpreters? Can they be intrusted with a secret of so much importance?' The commissioner appeared to hesitate. 'It might be imprudent,' he replied at length, in a half-soliloquy. 'Never mind then-never mind,' said Clinch; I think we can do without them. Lieutenant Randolph,' continued he, turning to me, 'you speak the Seminole tongue fluently?' 'Not fluently, general; I speak it, however.' 'You could interpret it fairly.' "Yes, general; I believe so.' 'Very well then; that will do. Come with us!' Smothering my vexation, at being thus diverted from my design, I followed in silence-the commissioner leading the way, while the general, disguised in cloak and plain forage-cap, walked by his side. We passed out of the gate, and turned northward around the stockade. The tents of the Indians were upon the south-west, placed irregularly along the edge of a broad belt of 'hommocky' woods that extended in that direction. Another tract of hommock lay to the north, separated from the larger one by savannas and open forests of pine-timber. Here was the 'Sink.' It was nearly half a mile distant from the stockade; but in the darkness we could easily reach it without being observed from any part of the Seminole camp. We soon arrived upon the ground. The chiefs were before us. We found them standing under the shadows of the trees by the edge of the pond. My duty now began. I had little anticipation that it was to have been so disagreeable. 'Ask Omatla what is the number of his peoplealso those of Black Dirt, and the other chiefs who are for us.' 'Back to his town.' 'Most of them gone with him.' For some moments the two generals communicated together in a half-whisper. They were apart from me: I did not hear what they said. The information just acquired was of great importance, and seemed not to discontent them. 6 'Any other chief likely to be absent to-morrow?' they asked, after a pause. 'Only those of the tribe of "redsticks."'* 'No-he is here-he will remain.' 'Ask them if they think Oçeola will be at the council to-morrow.' From the eagerness with which the answer was expected, I could perceive that this was the most interesting question of all. I put it directly. 'What!' exclaimed the chiefs, as if astonished at the interrogatory. The Rising Sun! He is sure to be present: he will see it out!' 'Good!' involuntarily ejaculated the commissioner, and then turning to the general, he once more addressed him in a low tone. This time, I overheard what passed between them. It seems, general, as if Providence was playing into our hands. My plan is almost sure to succeed. A word will provoke the impudent rascal to some rudeness-perhaps worse-at all events, I shall easily find a pretext for shutting him up. Now that Onopa has drawn off his following, we will be strong enough for any contingency. The hostiles will scarcely outnumber the friendlies, so that there will be no chance of the rascals making resistance.' 'Oh! that we need not fear.' "Well with him once in our power, the opposition will be crushed-the rest will yield easily-for, beyond doubt, it is he that now intimidates and hinders them from signing." "True,' replied Clinch in a reflective tone; 'but how about the government, eh? Will it endorse the act, think you?' 'It will it must-my latest dispatch from the President almost suggests as much. If you agree to act, I shall take the risk.' 'Oh, I place myself under your orders,' replied the commander-in-chief, evidently inclined to the commissioner's views, but still not willing to share the responsibility. 'It is but my duty to carry out the will of the executive. I am ready to co-operate with you.' 'Enough then-it shall be done as we have designed it. Ask the chiefs,' continued the speaker addressing himself to me, 'ask them, if they have any fear of signing to-morrow.' 'No-not of the signing, but afterwards.' I put the question as commanded. "They dread an attack from the hostile party "Tell them that ten thousand dollars shall be given to the friendly chiefs, on their arrival in the west, to be shared among them as they deem best-that this sum is independent of the appropriation to the whole tribe.' 'It is good,' simultaneously grunted the chiefs, when the proposition was explained to them. 'Does Omatla and his friends think, that all the chiefs will be present to-morrow?' 'No-not all.' 'Which of them are likely to be absent?' "The mico-mico will not be there.' 'Ha! Is Omatla sure of that?' 'What would they have us do?' 'Omatla says, if you will permit him and the other head-chiefs to go on a visit to their friends at Tallahassee, it will keep them out of danger. They can stay there till the removal is about to take place. They give their promise that they will meet you at Tampa, or elsewhere, whenever you summon them.' The two generals consulted together-once more in whispers. This unexpected proposal required consideration. Omatla added: "If we are not allowed to go to Tallahassee, we A name given to the Micosaues, from their custom of 'Sure. Onopa's tents are struck: he has already setting up red poles in front of their houses when going to war. left the ground.' 'Whither has he gone?' A similar custom exists among other tribes; hence the name cannot, we dare not, stay at home; we must come under the protection of the fort.' About your going to Tallahassee, replied the commissioner, we shall consider it, and give you an answer to-morrow. Meanwhile, you need not be under any apprehension. This is the war-chief of the whites; he will protect you.' 'Yes,' said Clinch, drawing himself proudly up. 'My warriors are numerous and strong. There are many in the fort, and many more on the way. You have nothing to fear.' 'It is good!' rejoined the chiefs. If troubles arise, we shall seek your protection; you have promised it -it is good.' 'Ask the chiefs,' said the commissioner, to whom a new question had suggested itself- ask them if they know whether Holata Mico will remain for the council of to-morrow?' 'We cannot tell now. Holata Mico has not declared his intention. We shall soon know it. If he design to stay, his tents will stand till the rising of the sun; if not, they will be struck before the moon goes down. The moon is sinking-we shall soon know whether Holata Mico will go or stay.' 'The tents of this chief are not within sight of the fort?' 'No-they are back among the trees.' 'Can you send word to us?' 'Yes, but only to this place; our messenger would be seen entering the fort. We can come back here ourselves, and meet one from you.' 'True-it is better so,' replied the commissioner, apparently pleased with the arrangement. A few minutes passed, during which the two generals communicated with each other in whispers, while the chiefs stood apart, silent and immobile as a pair of statues. The commander-in-chief at length broke silence: 'Lieutenant! you will remain upon the ground till the chiefs return. Get their report, and bring it direct to my quarters.' Salutations were exchanged; the two generals walked off on the path that led to the fort, while the chiefs glided silently away in the opposite direction. I was left alone. CHAPTER XXXII. SHADOWS IN THE WATER. Alone with my thoughts, and these tainted with considerable acerbity. More than one cause contributed to their bitterness. My pleasant purpose thwarted my heart aching for knowledge-for a renewal of tender ties-distracted with doubtswearied with protracted suspense. In addition to these, my mind was harassed by other emotions. I experienced disgust at the part I had been playing. I had been made the mouthpiece of chicanery and wrong; aiding conspiracy had been the first act of my warlike career; and although it was not the act of my own will, I felt the disagreeableness of the duty-a sheer disgust in its performance. Even the loveliness of the night failed to soothe me. Its effect was contrary: a storm would have been more congenial to my spirit. And it was a lovely night. Both the earth and the air were at peace. Here and there, the sky was fleeced with white cirrhi, but so thinly, that the moon's disk, passing behind them, appeared to move under a transparent gauze-work of silver, without losing one ray of her effulgence. Her light was resplendent in the extreme; and, glancing from the glabrous leaves of the great laurels, caused the forest to sparkle, as though beset with a million of mirrors. To add to the effect, fire flies swarmed under the shadows of the trees, their bodies lighting up the dark aisles with a mingled coruscation of red, blue, and gold-now flitting in a direct line, now curving, or waving upward and downward, as though moving through the mazes of some intricate cotillon. In the midst of this glittering array, lay the little tarn, shining, too, but with the gleam of plated glassa mirror in its framework of fretted gild. The atmosphere was redolent of the most agreeable perfumes. The night was cool enough for human comfort, but not chill. Many of the flowers refused to close their corollas-for not all of them were brides of the sun. The moon had its share of their sweets. The sassafras and bay trees were in blossom, and dispensed their odours around, that, mingling with the aroma of the aniseed and orange, created a delicious fragrance in the air. There was stillness in the atmosphere, but not silence. It is never silent in the southern forest by night. Tree-frogs and cicadas utter their shrillest notes after the sun has gone out of sight, and there is a bird that makes choice melody during the moonlight hours-the famed mimic of the American woods. One, perched upon a tall tree that grew over the edge of the pond, appeared trying to soothe my chafed spirit with his sweet notes. I heard other sounds-the hum of the soldiery in the fort, mingling with the more distant noises from the Indian camp. Now and then some voice louder than the rest, in oath, exclamation, or laughter, broke forth to interrupt the monotonous murmur. How long should I have to wait the return of the chiefs? It might be an hour, or two hours, or more? I had a partial guide in the moon. They said that Holata would depart before the shining orb went down, or not at all. About two hours, then, would decide the point, and set me free. I had been standing for half the day. I cared not to keep my feet any longer; and, choosing a fragment of rock near the water's edge, I sat down upon it. My eyes wandered over the pond. Half of its surface lay in shadow; the other half was silvered by the moonbeams, that, penetrating the pellucid water, rendered visible the white shells and shining pebbles at the bottom. Along the line where the light and darkness met, were outlined several noble palms, whose tall stems and crested crowns appeared stretching away towards the nadir of the earth-as though they belonged to another and brighter firmament beneath my feet. The trees, of which these were but the illusory images, grew upon the summit of a ridge, which, trending along the western side of the pond, intercepted the rays of the moon. I sat for some time gazing into this counterpart of heaven's canopy, with my eyes mechanically tracing the great fan-like fronds. All at once, I was startled at perceiving a new image upon the aqueous reflector. A form, or rather the shadow of one, suddenly appeared among the trunks of the palms. It was upright, and evidently human, though of magnified proportions-beyond doubt, a human figure, yet not that of a man. The small head, apparently uncovered, the gentle rounding of the shoulders, the soft undulation of the waist, and the long, loose draping which reached nearly to the ground, convinced me that the shadow was that of a woman. When I first observed it, it was moving among the stems of the palm-trees; presently it stopped, and for some seconds remained in a fixed attitude. It was then I noted the peculiarities that distinguish the sex. My first impulse was to turn round, and, if possible, get sight of the figure that cast this interesting shadow. I was myself on the western edge of the pond, and the ridge was behind me. Facing round, I could not see the summit nor yet the palms. Rising to my feet, I still could not see them: a large live oak, under which I had seated myself, intercepting my view. I stepped hastily to one side, and then both the outline of the ridge and the palm-trees were before my eyes; but I could see no figure, neither of man nor woman. I scanned the summit carefully, but no living thing was there; some fronds of the saw-palmetto, standing along the crest, were the only forms I could perceive. I returned to where I had been seated; and, placing myself as before, again looked upon the water. The palm shadows were there, just as I had left them; but the image was gone. There was nothing to be astonished at. I did not for a moment believe myself under any delusion. Some one had been upon the ridge-a woman, I supposed-and had passed down under the cover of the trees. This was the natural explanation of what I had seen, and of course contented me. At the same time, the silent apparition could not fail to arouse my curiosity; and instead of remaining seated, and giving way to dreamy reflections, I rose to my feet, and stood looking and listening with eager expectation. Who could the woman be? An Indian, of course. It was not probable that a white woman should be in such a place, and at such an hour. Even the peculiar outlines of the shadow were not those that would have been cast, by one habited in the garb of civilisation : beyond a doubt, the woman was an Indian. What was she doing in that solitary place, and alone? These questions were not so easily answered; and yet there was nothing so remarkable about her presence upon the spot. To the children of the forest, time is not as with us. The hours of the night are as those of the day-often the hours of action or enjoyment. She might have many a purpose in being there. She might be on her way to the pond for water-to take a bath; or it might be some impassioned maiden, who, under the secret shadows of this secluded grove, was keeping assignation with her lover. A pang, like a poisoned arrow, passed through my heart: Might it be Maümee?' The unpleasantness which this conjecture caused me is indescribable. I had been all day the victim of dire suspicions, arising principally from some halfdozen words, casually dropped from the lips of a young officer, and which I had chanced to overhear. They had reference to a beautiful girl among the Indians, apparently well known at the fort; and I noticed that the tone of the young fellow was that of one either triumphant or boasting. I listened attentively to every word, and watched not only the countenance of the speaker, but those of his auditory -to make out in which of the two categories I should place him. His vanity appeared to have had some sacrifice made to it-at least by his own statement; and his listeners, or most of them, agreed to concede to him the happiness of a bonne fortune. There was no name given-no hint that would enable me to connect the subject of the conversation with that of my own thoughts; but that the girl was an Indian, and a 'beauty,' were points, that my jealous heart almost accepted as sufficient for identification. jectures that sprang into my thoughts on beholding that mirrored form. The pain was of short duration; almost instantaneous was the relief. A shadowy figure was seen gliding around the edge of the pond; it emerged into the open moonlight, not six paces from where I stood. I had a full and distinct view of it. It was a woman-an Indian woman. It was not Maümee. CHAPTER XXXIII. HAJ-EWA. I saw before me a woman of middle age-somewhere between thirty and forty-a large woman, who once possessed beauty-beauty that had been abused. She was the wreck of a grand loveliness, whose outlines could not be effaced-like the statue of some Grecian goddess, broken by Vandal hands, but whose very fragments are things of priceless value. Not that her charms had departed. There are men who affect to admire this ripe maturity; to them, she would have been a thing of peerless splendour. Time had made no inroad upon those large rounded arms, none upon the elliptical outlines of that noble bust. I could judge of this-for it was before my eyes, in the bright moonlight, nude, from neck to waist, as in the hour of infancy. Alone the black hair, hanging in wild dishevelment over the shoulders, formed a partial shrouding. Nor had time laid a finger upon this: amidst all that profusion of rich raven clusters, not a strand of silver could be detected. Time could not affect, nor had it, that fine facial outline. The moulding of the chin; the oval of those lips; the aquiline nose, with its delicate spirally curved nostril; the high, smooth front; the eye-the eye-what is it? why that unearthly flash? that wild unmeaning glance? Ha! that eye- Merciful heavens! the woman is mad! Alas! it was true-she was mad. Her glance would have satisfied even a casual observer, that reason was no longer upon its throne. But I needed not to look at her eye; I knew the story of her misfortunes, of her wrongs. It was not the first time I had looked upon that womanly form-more than once I had stood face to face with Haj-Ewa,* the mad queen of the Micosaucs. Beautiful as she was, I might have felt fear at her presence-still worse than fear, I might have been terrified or awed-the more so on perceiving that her necklace was a green serpent; that the girdle around her waist, that glittered so conspicuously in the light of the moon, was the body of an enormous rattlesnake, living and writhing! Yes, both were alive-the smaller serpent wound about her neck, with its head resting upon her bosom; the more dangerous reptile knotted around her waist, its vertebrated tail hanging by her side, while its head, held in her hand, and protruding through her fingers, exhibited a pair of eyes that scintillated like diamonds. On the head of Haj-Ewa was no other covering than that which nature had provided for it; but those thick black clusters afforded ample protection against sun and storm. On her feet she wore moccasins, but these were hidden by the long 'hunna' that reached to the ground. This was the only garment she wore. It was profusely adorned with beads and embroidery-with the bright plumage of the green parroquet-the skin of the summer-duck, and the fur I might easily have become satisfied. A word, a of various wild animals. It was fastened round her simple question, would have procured me the know-waist, though not by the girdle already described. ledge I longed for; and yet I dared not say that * Literally, crazy wife,' from Hajo, crazy, and Ewa or word. I preferred passing long hours-a whole day Awah, wife. Philologists have remarked the resemblance of -upon the rack of uncertainty and suspicion. Thus, then, was I prepared for the painful con this Muscogee word to the Hebraic name of the mother of mankind. |