A TIMELY RESCUE
Jim Hart sat down in the boat, drew his legs up under his blanket,
shivered as he took a long look down the channel at the cold gray lake,
and said:
"Boys, you know how I wanted to see one of the great lakes; well, I hev
saw, an' hevin' saw I think the look will last me a long time. I think
Injuns wuz right when they put pow'ful spirits on these lakes, ready to
make an end of anybody that come foolin' with thar region. The land fur
me hereafter. Why, I wuz so skeered an' I had to work so hard I didn't
hev time to git seasick."
"But we have to go on the lake again, Jim," said Henry. "This is an
island."
Jim sighed.
Henry looked at the dense forest that enclosed the cove, and he thought
once of exploring the islet even if it were in the night, but the woods
were so thick and they still dripped so heavily with the rain, although
the latter had ceased some time ago, that he resolved to remain by the
boat. Besides it was only an islet anyway, and there was no probability
that it was inhabited.
"I think," he said, "that we'd better fasten our clothes so tightly that
they won't blow away, and sleep in the boat. Two will keep watch, and as
I have had the most rest I'll be sentinel until about one in the
morning, and then Tom can take my place."
The agreement was quickly made. They took down the sail and the wet
blankets, spread them out to dry, while the four, disposing themselves
as best they could, quickly went to sleep. Henry sat in the prow, rifle
across his knees, and thought that, despite dangers passed and dangers
to come, Providence had been very kind to them.
The darkness thinned by and by and a fine moon came out. Beads of water
still stood upon the leaves and boughs, and the moonshine turned them to
silver. The bit of forest seemed to sparkle and in the blue heavens the
great stars sprang out in clusters. The contrast between the night and
the day was startling. Now everything seemed to breathe of peace, and of
peace only. A light wind rose and then the silver beads disappeared from
leaf and bough. But it was a friendly wind and it sang most pleasantly
among the trees. Under its influence the garments of the five would dry
fast, and as Henry looked at them and then down at his comrades, wrapped
in their "togas" he felt an inclination to laugh. But this desire to
laugh was only proof of his mental relaxation, of the ease and
confidence that he felt after great dangers passed.
Certainly his comrades were sleeping well. Not one of them moved, and he
saw the blankets across their chests rising and falling with regularity.
Once he stepped out of the boat and walked down to the entrance of the
channel, whence he looked out upon the surface of the lake. Save for the
islet he saw land nowhere, north, south, east or west. The great lake
stretched away before them apparently as vast as the sea, not gray now,
but running away in little liquid waves of silver in the moonlight.
Henry felt its majesty as he had already felt its might. He had never
before appreciated so keenly the power of nature and the elements.
Chance alone had put in their way this little island that had saved
their lives.
He walked slowly back and resumed his place in the boat. That fine
drying wind was still singing among the trees, making the leaves rustle
softly together and filling Henry's mind with good thoughts. But these
gave way after a while to feelings of suspicion. His was an exceedingly
sensitive temperament. It often seemed to the others--and the wilderness
begets such beliefs--that he received warnings through the air itself.
He could not tell why his nerves were affected in this manner, but he
resolved that he would not relax his vigilance a particle, and when the
time came for him to awaken Tom Ross he decided to continue on guard
with him.
"'Tain't wuth while, Henry," remonstrated Ross. "Nothin's goin' to
happen here on an islan' that ain't got no people but ourselves on it."
"Tom," replied Henry, "I've got a feeling that I'd like to explore this
island."
"Mornin' will be time enough."
"No, I think I'll do it now. I ought to go all over it in an hour. Don't
take me for an Indian when I'm coming back and shoot at me."
"I'd never mistake a Roman senator in his togy for an Injun," replied
Tom Ross grinning.
Henry looked at his clothes, but despite the drying wind they were still
wet.
"I'll have to go as a Roman after all," he said.
He fastened the blanket tightly about his body in the Indian fashion,
secured his belt with pistol, tomahawk and knife around his waist, and
then, rifle in hand, he stepped from the boat into the forest.
"Watch good, Tom," he said. "I may be gone some time."
"You'll find nothin'."
"Maybe so; maybe not."
The woods through which Henry now passed were yet wet, and every time he
touched a bough or a sapling showers of little drops fell upon him. The
patch of forest was dense and the trees large. The trees also grew
straight upward, and Henry concluded at once that he would find a
little distance ahead a ridge that sheltered this portion of the island
from the cruel north and northwest winds.
His belief was verified as the rise began within three hundred yards. It
ascended rather abruptly, having a total height of seventy or eighty
feet, and seeming to cross the island from east to west. Standing under
the shadow of a great oak Henry looked down upon the northern half of
the island, which was quite different in its characteristics from the
southern half. A portion of it was covered with dwarfed vegetation, but
the rest was bare rock and sand. There were two or three inlets or
landing places on the low shore. As the moonlight was now good, Henry
saw all over this portion of the island, but he could not detect any
sign of human habitation.
"I suppose Tom is right," he said to himself, "and that there is nothing
to be seen."
But he had no idea of going back without exploring thoroughly, and he
descended the slope toward the north. The way led for a little distance
among the shrub bushes from which the raindrops still fell upon him as
he passed, and then he came into an open space almost circular in shape
and perhaps thirty yards in diameter. Almost in the center of the rock a
spring spouted and flowed away through a narrow channel to the lake. On
the far side of the spring rose four upright stakes in a row about six
feet apart. Henry wondered what they meant and he approached cautiously,
knowing that they had been put there by human hands.
Some drifting clouds now passed and the moonlight shone with a sudden
burst of splendor. Henry was close to the stakes and suddenly he
shuddered in every vein. They were about as high as a man's head, firmly
fastened in the ground, and all of them were blackened and charred
somewhat by fire, although their strength was not impaired. At the base
of every one lay hideous relics. Henry shivered again. He knew. Here
Indians brought their captives and burned them to death, partly for the
sake of their own vengeance and partly to propitiate the mighty spirits
that had their abode in the depths of the great lakes. He was sure that
his comrades and he had landed upon a sacrificial island, and he
resolved that they should depart at the very first light in the morning.
This island which had seemed so fine and beautiful to him suddenly
became ghastly and repellent, but his second thought told him that they
had nothing to fear at present. It was not inhabited. The warriors
merely came here for the burnings, and then it was quite likely that
they departed at once.
Henry examined further. On the bushes beyond the stakes he found amulets
and charms of bone or wood, evidently hung there to ward off evil
spirits, and among these bushes he saw more bones of victims. Then he
noticed two paths leading away from the place, each to a small inlet,
where the boats landed. Calculating by the moon and stars he could now
obtain a general idea of the direction in which they had come and he was
sure that the nearest part of the mainland lay to the west. He saw a
dark line there, and he could not tell whether it was the shore or a low
bank of mist.
Then he made a diligent exploration of all this part of the island,
assuring himself further that it had never been occupied permanently. He
saw at one place the ruins of a temporary brush shelter, used probably
during a period of storm like that of the night before, and on the beach
he found the shattered remains of a large canoe. Henry looked down at
the broken canoe thoughtfully. It may have been wrecked while on its way
with a victim for the stake, and if the warriors had perished it might
have been due to the wrath of the Great Spirit.
He walked slowly back over the ridge through the forest and down to the
boat. Tom saw him coming but said nothing until he stepped into the boat
beside him.
"You stayed a long time," he said, "but I see you've brought nothing
back with you."
"It's true that I've brought nothing with me, but I've found a lot."
"What did you find, Henry?"
"I found many bones, the bones of human beings."
"Men's bones?"
"Yes. I'm sure that it is an island to which Indiana come to burn their
prisoners, and although none are here now--I've looked it all over--I
don't like it. There's something uncanny about it."
"An' yet it's a pretty little islan', too," said Tom Ross, thoughtfully,
"an' mighty glad we wuz to see it yes'day, when we wuz druv before that
howlin' an' roarin' storm, with but one chance in a hundred uv livin'."
"That's so," said Henry. "We owe the island a debt of gratitude if
others don't. I've no doubt that if it were not for this little piece of
land we should have been drowned. Still, the sooner we get away the
better. How have the others been getting on, Tom?"
"Sleepin' ez reg'lar an' steady ez clocks. It's wuth while to see
fellers snoozin' away so happy."
Henry smiled. The three, as they lay in the boat, breathing deeply and
unconscious of everything, were certainly a picture of rest.
"How long do you calculate it is to daylight?" asked Henry.
"Not more'n two hours, an' it's goin' to come bright an' clear, an' with
a steady wind that will take us to the south."
"That's good, and I think that you and I, Tom, ought to be getting
ready. This drying wind has been blowing for a long time, and our
clothes should be in condition again. Anyway I'm going to see."
He took down the garments from the bushes, and found that all were quite
dry. Then he and Tom reclothed themselves and laid the apparel for the
other three by their sides, ready for them when they should awake. Tom
puckered up his lips and blew out a deep breath of pleasure.
"It may be mighty fine to be a Roman senator in a togy," he said, "but
not in these parts. Give me my good old huntin' shirt an' leggings.
Besides, I feel a sight more respectable."
Shortly, it was dawn, and the three sleepers awoke, glad to have their
clothes dry again, and interested greatly in Henry's exploration of the
island.
"Jim, you do a little more cooking," said Henry, "and Sol, Tom and I
will go over to the other end of the island again. When we come back
we'll hoist our sail, have breakfast, and be off."
They followed the path that Henry had taken during the night, leaving
Paul and Jim busy with the cooking utensils. The little patch of forest
was now entirely dry, and a great sun was rising from the eastern
waters, tingeing the deep green of the trees with luminous gold. The
lake was once more as smooth and peaceful as if no storm had ever passed
over its surface.
They stopped at the crest of the transverse ridge and saw in the west
the dark line, the nature of which Henry had been unable to decipher by
moonlight. Now they saw that it was land, and they saw, too, another
sight that startled them. Two large canoes were approaching the island
swiftly, and they were already so near that Henry and Shif'less Sol
could see the features of their occupants. Neither of the boats had a
sail. Both were propelled wholly by paddlers--six paddlers to each
canoe--stalwart, painted Indians, bare of shoulders and chest. But in
the center of the first canoe sat a man with arms bound.
"It's a victim whom they are bringing for the stake and the sacrifice,"
said Henry.
"He must be from some tribe in the far North," said Shif'less Sol,
"'cause all the Indian nations in the valley are allied."
"He is not from any tribe at all," said Henry. "The prisoner is a white
man."
"A white man!" exclaimed Shif'less Sol, "an' you an' me, Henry, know
that most o' the prisoners who are brought to these parts are captured
in Kentucky."
"It's so, and I don't think we ought to go away in such a hurry."
"Meanin' we might be o' help?"
"Meaning we might be of help."
Henry watched the boats a minute or two longer, and saw that they were
coming directly for one of the little inlets on the north end of the
island. Moreover, they were coming fast under the long sweep of the
paddles swung by brown and sinewy arms.
"Tom," he said to Ross, "you go back for Paul. Tell Jim to have the sail
up and ready for us when we come, and meanwhile to guard the boat.
That's a white man and they intend to burn him as a sacrifice to Manitou
or the spirits of the lake. We've got to rescue him."
The others nodded assent and Tom hurried away after Paul, while Henry
and Sol continued to watch the oncoming boats. They crept down the slope
to the very fringe of the trees and lay close there, although they had
little fear of discovery, unless it was caused by their own lack of
caution.
The boats reached the inlet, and, for a few moments, they were hidden
from the two watchers, by the bushes and rocks, but they heard the
Indians talking, and Henry was confirmed in his opinion that they did
not dream of any presence besides their own on the island. At length
they emerged into view again, the prisoner walking between two warriors
in front, and Henry gave a start of horror.
"Sol," he said in a whisper, "don't you recognize that gray head?"
"I think I do."
"Don't you know that tall, slender figure?"
"I'm shore I do."
"Sol, that can be nobody but Mr. Silas Pennypacker, to whom Paul and I
went to school in Kentucky."
"It's the teacher, ez shore ez you're born."
Henry's thrill of horror came again. Mr. Pennypacker lived at Wareville,
the home of his own family and Paul's. What had happened? There was the
expedition of the harelipped Bird with his powerful force and with
cannon! Could it be possible that he had swept Wareville away and that
the teacher had been given to the Indians for sacrifice? A terrible
anger seized him and Shif'less Sol, by his side, was swayed by the same
emotion.
"It is he, Sol! It is he!" he whispered in intense excitement.
"Yes, Henry," replied the shiftless one, "it's the teacher."
"Do you think his presence here means Wareville has been destroyed by
Bird?"
"I'm hopin' that it doesn't, Henry."
Shif'less Sol spoke steadily, but Henry could read the fear in his mind,
and the reply made his own fears all the stronger.
"They are going to sacrifice that good old man, Sol," he said.
"They mean to do it, but people sometimes mean to do things that they
don't do."
They remained in silence until Tom returned with Paul, who was excited
greatly when he learned that Mr. Pennypacker was there a prisoner.
"Lie perfectly still, all of you, until the time comes," said Henry.
"We've got to save him, and we can only do it by means of a surprise and
a rush."
The Indians and their prisoner were now not more than a hundred yards
away, having come into the center of the open circle used for the
sacrifice, and they stood there a little while talking. Mr.
Pennypacker's arms were bound, but he held himself erect. His face was
turned toward the South, his home, and it seemed to Henry and
Paul--although it was fancy, the distance being too great to see--that
his expression was rapt and noble as if he already saw beyond this life
into the future. They loved and respected him. Paul had been his
favorite pupil, and now tears came into the eyes of the boy as he
watched. The old man certainly had seen the stakes, and doubtless he had
surmised their purpose.
"What's your plan, Henry?" whispered Shif'less Sol.
"I think they're going to eat. Probably they've been rowing all the
morning and are tired and hungry. They mean after that to go ahead with
their main purpose, but we'll take 'em while they're eating. I hate to
fire on anybody from ambush, but it's got to be done. There's no other
way. We'll all lie close together here, and when the time comes to fire,
I'll give the word."
The Indians sat on the ground after their fashion and began to eat cold
food. Apparently they paid little attention to their prisoner, who stood
near, and to whom they offered nothing. Why should he eat? He would
never be hungry again. Nor need they watch him closely now. They had
left a man with each of the boats, and even if he should run he could
not escape them on the island.
Henry and Paul saw Mr. Pennypacker walk forward a few steps and look
intently at the posts. Then he bowed his gray head and stood quite
still. Both believed that he was praying. Water again rose in Paul's
eyes and Henry's too were damp.
"Boys," whispered Henry, "I think the time has come. Take aim. We'll
pick the four on the left, Sol the first on the end, the second for me,
Tom the third and Paul the fourth. Now, boys, cock your rifles, and take
aim, the best aim that you ever took in your life, and when I say
'Fire!' pull the trigger."
Every man from the covert did as he was directed. When Henry looked down
the sights and picked out the right place on the broad chest of a
warrior, he shuddered a little. He repeated to himself that he did not
like it, this firing from ambush, but there was the old man, whom they
loved, doomed to torture and the sacrifice. His heart hardened like
flint and he cried "Fire!"
Four rifles flashed in the thicket. Two warriors fell without a sound.
Two more leaped away, wounded, and all the others sprang to their feet
with cries of surprise and alarm.
"Up and at 'em!" cried Henry in a tremendous voice. "Cut them to
pieces!"
Drawing their pistols they rushed into the open space and charged upon
the warriors, firing as they came.
The Indians were Wyandots, men who knew little of fear, but the surprise
and the deadly nature of the attack was too much for them. Perhaps
superstition also mingled with their emotions. Doubtless the spirits of
the lake were angry with them for some cause, and the best thing they
could do was to leave it as soon as they could. But one as he ran did
not forget to poise his hatchet for a cast at the prisoner. The Reverend
Silas Pennypacker would have seen his last sun that day had not Henry
noticed the movement and quickly fired his pistol at the uplifted hand.
The bullet pierced the Indian's palm, the tomahawk was dashed from his
hand, and with a howl of pain he sped after the others who were flying
for the boats.
Henry and his comrades did not pursue. They knew that they must act with
all speed, as the Wyandots would quickly recover from their panic, and
come back in a force that was still two to one. A single sweep of his
knife and his old schoolmaster's arms were free. Then he shouted in the
dazed man's ears:
"Come, Mr. Pennypacker, we must run for it! Don't you see who we are?
Here's Paul Cotter, and I'm Henry Ware, and these are Sol Hyde and Tom
Ross! We've got a boat on the other side of the island and the sooner we
get there the better!"
He snatched up a rifle, powder horn and bullet pouch from one of the
fallen warriors and thrust them in the old man's hands. Mr. Pennypacker
was still staring at them in a dazed manner, but at last the light broke
through.
"Oh, my boys! my brave boys!" he cried. "It is really you, and you have
saved me at the eleventh hour! I had given up all hope, but lo! the
miracle is done!"
Henry took him by the arm, and obeying the impulse he ran with them
through the wood. Already Henry heard shouts which indicated to him that
the Wyandots had turned, and, despite his anxiety about Wareville, he
asked nothing of Mr. Pennypacker for the present.
"You lead the way, Paul," he cried. "Jim, of course, has the boat ready
with the sail up and the oars in place. We'll be out on the lake in a
few minutes, Mr. Pennypacker. There, do you hear that? The Wyandots are
now in full pursuit!"
A long piercing cry came from the woods behind them. It was the Wyandot
leader encouraging his warriors. Henry knew that they would come fast,
and Mr. Pennypacker, old and not used to the ways of the wilderness,
could go but slowly. Although Long Jim was sure to be ready, the
embarkation would be dangerous. It was evident that Mr. Pennypacker,
extremely gaunt and thin, was exhausted already by a long march and
other hardships. Now he labored heavily, drawing long breaths.
"Those fellows will be on us in a minute or two, Sol," Henry whispered
to the shiftless one, "unless we burn their faces."
"I reckon we're able to do the burnin'," replied Shif'less Sol.
Henry, Tom and Sol dropped to a walk, and in a few moments stopped
altogether. Paul, with Mr. Pennypacker by his side, kept on for the boat
as fast as the old man's strength would allow. Henry caught a glimpse of
a figure running low in the thicket and fired. A cry came back, but he
could not tell whether the wound was mortal. Shif'less Sol fired with a
similar result. Two or three bullets were sent back at them, but none
touched. Then the three, keeping themselves hidden resumed their flight.
They reckoned that the check to the Wyandots would give Paul, with Mr.
Pennypacker, time to reach the boat before the warriors could come
within range of the latter.
The three now ran very swiftly, and, in a few minutes, were at the edge
of the inlet, where the boat lay, just in time to see Paul pick up the
old schoolmaster, who had fallen with exhaustion, and lift him into the
boat. The three sprang in after them.
"We'll watch with the rifles, Sol," exclaimed Henry. "The rest of you
row until we're outside, when the sail can do most of the pulling."
It was quick work now and skillful. Mr. Pennypacker, scarcely able to
draw a breath, lay like a log in the bottom of the boat, but in less
than a half minute after the three leaped on board they were gliding
down the inlet. Before they reached the open lake the Indians appeared
among the trees and began to shout and fire. But they were in such
haste that nothing was struck except the boat, which did not mind.
Silent Tom, who had restrained his fire, now sent a bullet that struck
the mark and the warriors rushed to cover. Then they were out of the
inlet, the fine wind filled the sail, and away they sped toward the
south.
The warriors appeared at the edge of the water while the boat's crew
were still within range, but when Henry and the shiftless one raised
their rifles they shrank back. They had tested already the quality of
their foes, and they did not like it. When they reappeared from the
shelter of the trees the boat was out of range. Nevertheless they fired
two or three shots that spattered on the water, waved their tomahawks
and shouted in anger. Shif'less Sol stood up in the boat and shouted
back at them:
"Keep cool, my red brethren, keep cool! We have escaped and you see that
we have! So do not waste good bullets which you may need another time!
And above all keep your tempers! Wise men always do! Farewell!"
It is not likely that they understood the words of the shiftless one,
but certainly the derisive gestures that he made as he sat down were not
lost upon them.
"Sol, can't you ever be serious?" said Henry to his comrade.
"Be serious? O' course I kin at the right time," replied the shiftless
one, "but what's the use o' bein' serious now? Haven't we rescued
ourselves an' the schoolmaster, too? Ain't we in a boat with a sail that
kin leave the two boats o' them warriors far behind, an' ain't we got a
bee-yu-ti-ful day to sail over a bee-yu-ti-ful lake? So what's the use
o' bein' serious? The time fur that wuz ten minutes ago."
It was evident that the Wyandots considered pursuit useless or that they
feared the Kentucky rifles, as they gathered in a group on the beach and
watched the flying boat recede.
"Didn't I tell you it wuzn't wuth while to be serious now, Henry?" said
Shif'less Sol. "We're hevin' the easiest kind o' a time an' them
warriors standin' thar on the shore look too funny for anything. I wish
I could see their faces. I know they would look jest like the faces o'
wolves, when somethin' good had slipped from between their teeth."
Paul and Henry were busy reviving Mr. Pennypacker. They threw fresh
water from the lake over his face and poured more down his throat. As
they worked with him they noted his emaciated figure. He was only a
skeleton, and his fainting even in so short a flight was no cause for
wonder. Gradually he revived, coughed and sat up.
"I fell," he said. "It was because I was so weak. What has happened? Are
we not moving?"
His eyes were yet dim, and he was not more than half conscious.
"You are with us, your friends. You remember?" said Henry. "We rescued
you at the place of the stakes, and we all got away unhurt. We are in a
boat now sailing over Lake Erie."
"And I saved you a rifle and ammunition," said Paul. "Here they are,
ready for you when you land."
Mr. Pennypacker's dim eyes cleared, and he gazed at the two youths in
wonder and affection.
"It is a miracle--a miracle!" he said. Then he added, after a moment's
pause: "To escape thus after all the terrible things that I have seen!"
Henry shivered a little, and then he asked the fateful questions.
"And what of Wareville, Mr. Pennypacker? Has it been destroyed? Do
Paul's people and mine still live? Have they been taken away as
captives? Why were you a prisoner?"
The questions came fast, then they stopped suddenly, and he and Paul
waited with white faces for the answers.
"Wareville is not destroyed," replied Mr. Pennypacker. "An English
officer named Bird, a harelipped man, came with a great force of
Indians, some white men and cannon. They easily took Martin's and
Ruddle's stations and all the people in them, but they did not go
against Wareville and other places. I think they feared the power of the
gathering Kentuckians. I was at Martin's Station on a visit to an old
friend when I was captured with the others. Bird and his army then
retreated North with the prisoners, more than three hundred in number,
mostly women and children."
The old man paused a moment and put his hands over his face.
"I have seen many terrible things," he resumed, "and I cannot forget
them. They said that we would be taken to Detroit and be held as
prisoners there, but it has been a long and terrible march, many
hundreds of miles through the wilderness, and the weak ones--they were
many--could not stand it. They died in the wilderness, often under the
Indian tomahawk, and I think that less than half of them will reach
Detroit."
The old schoolmaster paused, his voice choked with emotion, and every
one of the five muttered something deep and wrathful under his breath.
"I did the best I could," he resumed. "I helped whenever they let me,
but the hardships were so great and they permitted us so little rest
that I wasted away. I had no more than the strength of a little child.
At last the warriors whom you saw took me from the others and turned to
the east. We went through the woods until we came to the great lake. A
terrible storm came up, but when it died we embarked in two boats and
went to the island on which you found me. I did not know the purpose for
which I was intended until I saw the stakes with those ghastly relics
about them. Then I made up my mind to bear it as best I could."
"You were to be made a burnt offering to the spirits of the lakes," said
Henry. "Thank God we came in time. We go now to warn of another and
greater expedition, led by Timmendiquas, the famous chief of the
Wyandots."