The Storm—Buried in the River—Old Shell to the Rescue. Which is
Which and What is What.
The Indians had scarcely left the shore when the storm broke upon them in
all its fury. The canoe had capacity for but six in still water. With its
present cargo, it sank to the gunwale.
The thunder roared, the lightning flashed, and the waves ran mountain
high. Earth, air and water seemed to be striving for the mastery. The
little canoe was tossed about on the surging foam like an egg shell in a
boiling caldron. The occupants realized their danger, yet remained cool
and collected and patiently awaited their doom. At last the Chief said:
We must leave the canoe. Perhaps with none on board but the women it will
float.
There was a small rope attached to one end of the canoe held by a toggle.
He caught this and jumped into the river, followed by the other four.
Amy saw at a glance that she had it in her power to free herself and
escape from the Indians. What could be easier than to pull the toggle and
cast the Indians adrift. Then her conscience checked her.
That would drown them, and that would be murder. But life, liberty and
self-preservation soon overruled conscience. She pulled the toggle and
the Indians were adrift.
Springing to her feet, she applied the paddle, going, where she knew
not—cared not—if she could get away from the savages.
Once, and once only, did she look back, and by the lightning’s flash saw
them struggling in the rolling swell.
Shell was sitting in his cabin door, smoking his pipe, and listening to
the roar of the elements, when a flash of lightning revealed to his view
a canoe making its way to the rift of rocks. At the second glance, he saw
a person manfully working a paddle.
Zounds! That chap, whoever he is, has got good stuff in him. But I guess
he don’t know the points of the compass. That course will carry him on
the rocks. He will be drowned, and the canoe dashed to pieces. It is but
little Old Shell can do, but I will do that little.
Taking a brand from the fire, he lit a pile of pine knots that was piled
on the beach. Suddenly the wind turned to the north east, and this made
the situation of the canoe still more dangerous.
On—on it came—first on the crest of a wave, then hid from sight in the
bottom of the swell.
Pull to the west! Pull to the west! cried Old Shell. But the sound of his
voice was drowned by the incessant slash of the water. Nearer and nearer
the fatal rock is approached. The canoe is raised on the top of the
crest, and as the water recedes, it strikes amidships and is broken into
fragments. The next wave drives the wreck and occupants ashore. Shell
stood ready, and caught them before the undertow could carry them back.
Taking one under each arm, he carried them into his cabin and laid them
down before the fire.
The girls were wet but not seriously injured, and were soon on their feet.
The reader must remember that, although Amy knew that another person had
been added to their number, she had not seen Cora until her face was
revealed by the light of the fire.
The first glance amazed her. She saw in her the likeness of herself as
plainly as if she had looked in a glass.
Cora was equally astonished, and for the time doubted her own identity.
Neither of them seemed to be inclined to speak, or rather each of them
was waiting for the other to say something. This surprised the old man,
who had relit his pipe, and was puffing away in the corner.
He commenced:
I say, gals, I suppose that this is new quarters for you. But, sailors
say “any port in a storm.” But I guess this a safer place than the one
you were being tossed about on out there on the rocks. But you are safe
now, and in the morning I will take you on shore. It was lucky for you
that I was at home, and I did not get home any too soon. If I had stayed
at the Judge’s any longer I could not have got home before morning.
What Judge’s do you mean, my good man? said Cora.
I mean Judge Hasbrook. They had a dance there last night, and the
Admiral’s daughter got lost, strayed or stolen. All the people were
looking for her, but she could not be found. Men on horses were sent out
on every road. The marines were ordered from the ship to scour the woods,
but it was no go. They could not find her. They said that she was a good,
but dare-devil of a girl, and there was no telling what she might do.
Some of the scouts returned and reported that about the middle of the
afternoon, four men, with a black dog was seen about two miles from the
Judge’s house, and they feared the girl had been stolen by them.
Amy could scarcely control her feelings on hearing this, but did not
think it wise to state who she thought the party were.
The girls were now standing in front of the fire drying their clothes.
Girls, said Old Shell, you smoke like musk rats drying in the sun. I
think you had better change your clothes.
I have no others, said Amy.
Nor I, rejoined Cora.
Be easy as two that, replied the old man. I have them, and think they
will fit exactly. I have not always lived alone. I once had daughters
that were as smooth-faced as you are, and as pretty as you appear. I have
their clothes here, (pulling out a large chest.) See if these clothes
will fit.
The girls, both from interest and curiosity, stepped toward the trunk.
Here, said the old man lifting a garment out of the trunk. Here is a
shir—shir—what do you call it? Well, it is a shir-shirt.
The girls blushed, and the old man noticed it.
Here, girls, you go through the trunk. It is so long since I have had
anything to do with women’s-ware, that I have forgotten their names and
how they are worn. There are two red flannel dresses that look exactly
alike. Put them on, and while you are fixing up, I will go out and look
at the river.
The old man walked to the head of the island. The storm had ceased, and
the moon was shining brightly. The waves continued to roll over the rift
and dash against the rocks. Something appeared on the rift that had the
appearance of being a human being. On examination, there appeared to be
several of them all huddled in one mass. No signs of life were visible,
and the waves continued to pound their bodies against the rocks.
When the old man returned, he found the girls dressed in red flannel
suits, white aprons, blue stockings and gaudy hats, trimmed with white
and yellow feathers.
By jingo, he exclaimed. If you two girls wasn’t run in the same mould,
then I am no judge of human nature. Gosh darn it! If you don’t look so
much alike that I can’t tell which from which.
You are in error there, my good man. We are no relation. I never saw this
girl until I saw her here, remarked Cora.
How is that you both came on shore in the same boat and at the same time?
That is so. Yet I never saw her before.
Where do you belong, and how did you get in her company. This is a
mysterious mystery that I can’t unriddle. Hang me if I don’t believe that
you are two witches.
Oh no, my good man, we are not witches. I belong on board of the
Reindeer. I am the Admiral’s daughter—the dare-devil of a girl you
described. The one the marines were scouring the country to find. Yes, I
am Cora Powers.
Powers! exclaimed Amy excitedly, but said nothing more, yet thought much.
The old man remained silent a few moments, then said:
How came you in the canoe?
I was carried there by some one. I thought it was Tom and Jack, supposing
that the Lieutenant had told them to throw a blanket over me and carry me
off. For that reason I made no resistance, and lay in his arms quietly as
a babe on its mother’s breast. In fact, I enjoyed it, and when I lay in
the boat, I thought that I would be taken on board of the Reindeer, and
rather enjoyed it, to think how surprised they would be when they learned
that I could not be scared. When I was doused in the water, I took it as
a kind of a sailor baptism, and I don’t know yet what to make of it.
I don’t think, said the old man, that your friends had anything to do
with your departure.
And if they didn’t, who did? asked Cora.
The Indians, replied Amy.
What? Do you mean that I was carried off in the arms of an Indian and
laid in the canoe?
I do, said Amy. I saw it with my own eyes.
Cora was silent for a few moments, then said:
Then I have been stolen by the Indians and didn’t know it. There is no
romance about that, and I am the one who has been fooled. I have a good
notion to faint. I would if there was some one here to prevent my falling.
Young woman, this is no light affair. If they stole you they meant to
take your scalp or make your friends pay well for your ransom. But what
became of them? Are they prowling about now?
Amy turned her face away to hide her confusion, but the old man noticed
it.
I think, he said, that this girl knows more about the Indians than she is
willing to tell. Tell us, girl, where you last saw them.
Amy remained silent, dreading to tell where she last saw them, knowing
that it would lead to other questions.
Speak, as you value your life, said the old man. The storm is over, and
they will soon be down upon us.
Amy replied:
There were five of them, and they belonged to the Stockbridge tribe.
Stockbridge Indians! exclaimed Shell. Then we must expect no mercy, but
must prepare to defend ourselves, rising and seizing his gun that stood
in the corner.
This will stop one or more of them.
Have you another gun? inquired Amy. If so, I will stop another.
Here, said the old man opening a closet, is half a dozen guns, and I will
load them all.
Let me load them, said Amy.
Do you know how?
Amy took up the guns and loaded them in half the time the old man could.
There. I have loaded them all, and if they come, I can shoot them.
Are you the daughter of a hunter? asked old Shell.
I am the daughter of no one, but I know how to load and shoot a gun.
But you have not told us how you came to be in company with the Indians.
Tell us girl, let us know the worst, and then we can act for the best.
Amy replied:
Those Indians stole me from my home on the Shinglekill, and were taking
me to Stockbridge, and just as we were starting to cross the river, they
stole this girl. A storm arose, and the Indians jumped into the river to
lighten the canoe, and that is the last I saw of them.
If they got ashore anywhere, it must have been on this island. I will
take my gun and go out on the raft and look.
And I will take another and go with you, said Amy.
And I will take the rest and shoot them all at once, said Cora.
All parties being armed and equipped for the emergency, they marched for
the spot. It was low water, and the rocks were bare for several hundred
feet above the island.
You wait here, said the old man, and I will climb out on the rocks.
I see the Indians!—I see them! exclaimed Cora excitedly.
Where?
There! pointing.
The old man looked, and saw the same objects that he saw when he was out
before, and raised his gun.
Don’t shoot! They are all dead now. The life has been pounded out of them
on the rocks.
Don’t you believe that, girl. They are only playing possum, and will
go for your scalp at the first opportunity. Some of them may be on the
island now.
I see five, and there were but five. Let us go a little closer said Amy,
starting, and followed by the old man.
At every step the forms of the dusky Indians became more visible.
Careful, girl, careful. We have a treacherous foe to deal with.
We have the dead, and the dead only to deal with, replied Amy. They have
gone to the Indian’s last hunting ground.
The rock was reached, and there lay the bloated bodies of the five
Indians. They had caught hold of each other’s hair and around the waist.
Drowning men catch at straws, said the old man.
They had taken hold of each other for protection, and all had drowned in
each other’s embrace.
But where did this rope come from that is wound around them? asked Shell.
Amy kept silent. She knew too well where the rope came from.
Well girls, it is rather early in the morning for a funeral, but I think
we had better bury them now.
Where? asked Cora.
In a sailor’s grave he said. And taking his knife, cut the tangled rope
loose, and one by one, he threw them into the River to be food for the
fishes.
The parties now returned to the house.
Stay here, girls, and keep a good watch, and I will go toward the lower
end of the island. Some of them may have landed lower down. The dog would
swim ashore.
What dog? asked Amy.
The dog that was seen with the Indian that stole this girl, pointing
toward Cora.
Amy felt embarrassed for some moments, and then said:
My good man, I will tell you all I know about the Indians. I have
told you that they stole me at the Shinglekill, in the country of the
Cahoonshees. I had friends who followed me, and with them was my faithful
dog Rolla. It was that party that was seen by the party that went in
search of this girl, and they are all dead. To lighten the canoe, they
took hold of the rope that you saw about their bodies, and jumped
overboard. I pulled the toggle and cast them adrift. You know the rest.
Brave girl, said the old man seizing Amy’s hand. There are five less of
the murderous dogs. I wish that the whole tribe had been tied to that
rope. Girls, I have not always been what I now appear to be. I once had
a wife and a happy home. The first year of our marriage, she became the
mother of twins. They grew up to be young ladies. On my return home
one night, I found my house burned, and my wife and daughters dead
and scalped. The Stockbridge Indians did it. I could not live in that
desolate home where so many things reminded me of former days. I removed
to this island. The clothes you have on and the clothes you see in the
trunk were once worn by those I loved. But the Indians robbed me of all.
Stealing was their business. Years ago they stole an infant on this very
island almost from its mother’s arms, and from that day to this, Captain
Davis has mourned the loss of his child. Rewards have been offered and
search made among all the tribes, but no child found. It probably died
soon after it was stolen, as it had a mark on its breast that would have
led to its discovery if living.
What was the mark? asked Cora and Amy at the same time.
A ship, and the letters C. D. on the top, and E. N. on the bottom. If
you belong on board of the Reindeer, you should have heard them speak of
their child.
I have, repeatedly, replied Cora. And to-morrow we intended to start for
the Delaware Valley in search of him. Lieutenant Wallace was to be in
charge of the searching party.
Amy turned pale and staggered back. That name brought to her recollection
the days of her childhood. Her father, mother, and her home on the
Callicoon.
Both Cora and the old man noticed her emotions, and the struggle she was
making to suppress them.
You are a brave girl, said old Shell, but you haven’t got the timber in
you to stand the strain that you have been subjected to. You had better
go to bed and get some rest, and in the morning I will take you on board
of the Reindeer. Right in there is a good feather bed made by the girls
whose dress you have on. Go in there, and I will watch over you as I
would over them.
The girls retired, and Cora was soon in a deep sleep. Not so with Amy.
Her thoughts were on Walter Wallace. It was plain to her that the child
mentioned by the old man was Charles Drake. That many a time she had
looked at the mark on his breast, and it was just as the old man had
described it. But who was this Lieutenant Wallace that was going to the
Delaware Valley to look for Drake?
Is this my Walter? Oh, wish I knew his first name. This girl at my side
can tell me. I will ask her.
Miss Powers! Miss Powers! Miss Powers.
A-h-a-h—What do you want?
Will you tell me the first name of Lieutenant Wallace who is going to
look for the lost child!
Oh you go to sleep. What have you got to do about that?
I only wanted to know Mr. Wallace’s given name. Tell me that, and then
you can go to sleep again.
And if I refuse, what then?
Then you will be very unlady-like, said Amy.
This stung Cora, and she replied:
His name is Walter Wallace, and he came from a place they call Callicoon.
Amy sprang from the bed and ran into the old man’s room followed by Cora.
Look out for that girl! She is mad—crazy—insane! She is as mad as a march
hare! She wants me to tell her the name of every-body on the ship! Look
at her eyes—see her bosom swell! I tell you she has lost her reason.
Little bird, said the old man, placing his hand on her head and looking
into her eyes, tell me what causes this emotion?
She is mad! replied Cora.
Lady, I am not mad. Amy Powers is not mad, but knows all, and in time
will explain all.
Amy Powers! exclaimed Cora. Is that your name? Was your father’s name
Thomas? and your mother’s name Mary? and did you live on the Callicoon?
So she continued to ask questions, not stopping to give Amy an
opportunity to answer.
Bang!
What is that? asked Amy.
That is the sun-rise gun on the Reindeer, replied the old man.