in blue; and the hunter sign, of bow and arrow, had been tattooed upon
either cheek.
With his light coppery skin, his high forehead, a large, straight nose
set between his wide cheek bones, his black eyes and his firm, thin
lips, this was the brave Scarouady, friend to the English and to Robert
the Hunter.
Then there was White Thunder or Belt of Wampum, who had a pretty
daughter named Bright Lightning; and old Juskakaka or Green Grasshopper,
whom the English called “Little Billy;” and Guyasuta or Standing Cross,
a famous young warrior; and Aroas or Silver Heels, another Seneca
warrior; and other valiant men, all of whom regarded Tanacharison and
Scarouady as their leaders.
Here to Logstown came the English traders: John Fraser on his way to
his trading house in the Seneca and Delaware town of Venango, sixty
miles northward, where he stored his goods and made guns to sell; and
John Davidson of the Virginia Long Knives, and Captain George Croghan
of Pennsylvania of the east; and others, driving their pack horses
over the mountains and crossing the river in wooden canoes, to stay at
Logstown and to trade beads, paint, powder, lead, blankets and rum for
furs.
And here came Captain Andrew Montour, who was part Huron and part
Seneca and part white, to talk for the Governor of Pennsylvania; and
once in a long time the merry Captain Joncaire, half Seneca, from the
French of Canada. These two were gaily dressed, and spoke the Iroquois
tongue, and were accounted great men.
So that with the Indians in paint, blankets and moccasins, and the
traders in whiskers, fur caps and deer-hide shirts, and speech makers
like Captains Montour and Joncaire, and the women, children and dogs,
Logstown beside the broad, blue Ohio flowing amid forest and meadow,
rich in deer, bear and wild turkey, was a stirring town.
Now this summer Juskakaka and White Thunder with speech belts were sent
to the council to be held with the English at Albany of New York in the
country of the Iroquois council fire.
When they two returned they reported that the French of Canada were
getting ready to seize the Ohio River. The Iroquois spies were certain
of this, and so were the English.
The Six Nations League of the Iroquois were friends of the English, and
enemies of the French. That had long been the case. All the Iroquois
lands from the Alleghany Mountains to the setting sun were open to the
English; “for,” said the Iroquois, “we have conquered it, and it is
yours who are our brothers.”
Therefore, at the big council, the Iroquois agreed to help the English
to keep the French out. The English were to put many more traders into
the Ohio River country, so that the Indians should be fat with goods
and strong to fight.
The Mingos had been directed to talk with the Delawares and the
Shawnees, and ask them to take up the hatchet against the French,
and against the Ottawas and the Potawatomis of the north, who were
allies of the French. But the Delawares and Shawnees of the Ohio were
undecided.
King Shingis of the Delawares spoke fiercely. He was a small man, but
strong and quick, and his eyes glowed hotly. He hated the English, and
wished no white men at all.
“No,” he said. “This is our country. The Delaware are men. They stand
on their own ground. If the French and English desire to fight, let
them fight in their own land or on the big water. If they fight here,
the Indian will be like cloth under a pair of shears and will be cut in
pieces. We ask for nothing but to be let alone. Besides, the English
are stingy. They give little. The French give much. The Swannoks (which
was a name of contempt for the English) fool us with trash and take our
lands and drive us out. The French will leave us our lands and live
among us.”
And so said King Beaver, of the Delawares farther west, in Ohio.
“The Delaware are not women, to be ordered by the Iroquois,” said King
Beaver. “Three times the Iroquois have sold our lands and made us move.
Now this is our land and not a Frenchman nor an Englishman shall have
one foot of it.”
And so said Killbuck, and Kateuskund. Old Shanopin of Shanopin’s-town
said nothing; but the fiery young Cat-a-he-cassa or Blackhoof of the
Shawnees cried angrily:
“What our grandfathers the Delaware say, we say. Onontio is a better
man than the King of the Swannoks, but we wish no white men except
traders in our land.”
The French came. Runners from the Senecas of Venango in the north
panted in to declare that the French of Onontio were descending the
Allegheny River in twenty-three canoes. There were more than two
hundred soldiers and Ottawas under a French captain; and they were
sending Captain Joncaire the half-Seneca ahead, to make things ready.
They were burying lead plates and nailing up signs at the mouths of
the rivers, seizing the land for Onontio, and driving out the English
traders.
“The English have not yet come to help us,” said Tanacharison, in the
Mingo council. “They should have built a fort with great guns in it,
to turn the French back. Let us hear what these French have to say.
To show that we are not at war we will put up the flags of the two
nations.”
So the King George’s red flag given by the English traders was kept up,
and the white French flag sent last year by Captain Joncaire himself
was put up. Soon Indians from the outside again hurried in. Delawares
of Kittanning up the Allegheny arrived to say that the French had
landed there and had found nobody; and the Shawnees and Delawares
from Shanopin’s-town arrived to say that the French had passed there;
and Mingos and Delawares from fat Queen Allaquippa’s town of the
Monongahela south of the Forks arrived to say that the French were
there.
And the next noon here came, in a canoe paddled by Ottawas but bearing
no soldiers, Captain Joncaire, bringing another French flag.
A swarthy, wrinkled man, was Captain Joncaire; small, lean, quick, dark
but gray-haired, constantly smiling and merry, but exceedingly sharp.
It was only by his smiles and his white teeth that he showed his French
blood. His father was a French officer of Canada, but his mother was a
Seneca and he spoke the Seneca tongue.
Now wearing a blue French soldier coat with captain’s epaulets, and
gaily beaded leggins and moccasins, and a woodsman’s cap on his long
gray hair, and a sword at his belt and a rifle on his back he sprang
ashore at Logstown.
“Greetings to my brothers,” he called, in Seneca. “I am come from your
father Onontio. A greater one than I am is following with presents and
important words. Am I welcome?”
But he was answered with murmurs and black looks. With his Ottawas of
the French he strode on to the council house where Tanacharison would
be waiting for him. He and the chiefs smoked the calumet pipe; then
Tanacharison the Half-King asked:
“What does my brother wish in Shenango?”
“I am come alone,” said Captain Joncaire. “I am a Seneca, I am among
brothers. I come from the French of Onontio, who also are my brothers.
The great Onontio does not like to see two flags floating in this
country which he shares with his red children. He has heard that the
English are crossing the mountains into your country and his, and are
poisoning the minds of his children. So he is sending a company under
a mighty captain down the Beautiful River to talk with his children
the Mingo, the Wyandot, the Delaware, the Shawnee. From Shenango the
captain goes on to scourge home the Miami and the Wyandot further west
who have listened to the false songs of the English. This is French
country; our father Onontio wishes all the Indians to live here at
peace, but he will have no English traders, who are only spies.”
“Is Onontio at war with the English king across the water?” Half-King
asked.
“He is not at war, but his arm is long; it can reach across the water,”
said Captain Joncaire. “You know me as your brother. I live in your
houses. I tell you the truth. You cannot think to stand still and be
the children of the French and of the English both. That is impossible.
The English seek to drive you from your lands; the French seek to hold
your lands for you. Have the French ever stolen land from under your
feet? No! But with the French pulling you one way and the English
pushing you another, you will be torn in two. So now the French are
coming in to hold you on the land, and the English must get out. They
have no right between the mountains and the setting sun.”
“We will talk with the captain sent by Onontio,” said Tanacharison.
When the warriors knew what had been said in the council, Logstown was
much excited. Those Indians who wanted no whites at all were in favor
of killing the ten English traders in town and not letting the French
land. Tanacharison sent the Hunter to tell the traders to be careful
and to stay indoors. Those Indians who wished the English were also
in favor of not letting the French land and bury plates that would
make the country French. The Mingos were for obeying the words of
Tanacharison, and hearing what the captain sent by Onontio had to say,
under the peace flag. So between the warriors of Tanacharison, helped
by Scarouady and White Thunder, and the Delawares and Shawnees of
Shingis and Blackhoof, there was hot talk.
In mid-afternoon the fleet of canoes swept into the bend and bore
down for Logstown. The paddles flashed, guns glistened, and the white
flag with the golden lilies of France streamed in the breeze from the
foremost boat.
Everybody rushed to the high bank, where the canoe landing was. The
muskets and rifles volleyed――Bang! Bang! Crack! Crack!――in salute and
in warning, too, for the bullets splashed the canoes with water.
The canoes, crowded with the sky-blue coats and the white breeches of
the soldiery, almost stopped; but the French captain bravely stood up
and shouted, in French:
“What is this? Do you fire on your brothers from Onontio? Quit this
foolishness or we will give you ball for ball.”
Tanacharison and Scarouady and Captain Joncaire struck aside the
barrels of the guns, and the warriors ceased firing. The French came
on; they climbed the bank and marched to a piece of higher ground above
the town, nearer the forest, and made camp.
They placed guards around their camp; the head captain sent word to the
chiefs that he wished to meet them in council; and Half-King replied
that he must wait until the chiefs had talked together.
It was another stormy talk. Shingis and Blackhoof were still for war;
they would drive off the French and the English both, and many of the
Mingos were for wiping out these French anyway. But the French were
strong and well guarded in their camp, and Captain Joncaire had friends
who would tell him what was being planned. So although the town was
in a hubbub through most of the night, nothing was done, and in the
morning the council with the French captain, whose name was Céleron,
sat to hear what he would say.
Captain Joncaire translated. The French captain, standing up in his
best uniform, said:
“Onontio your father speaks to you with these words: Through the love
I bear you, my children, I send to you Captain de Céleron to open your
eyes to the schemes of the English against your lands. What they mean
to do will ruin you. They work in secret, but they plan to build houses
upon your lands and settle here and drive you away, if I let them. As
a good father who loves his children and far away keeps them always in
his heart I warn you of the danger that threatens you. The English plan
to rob you of your country, and first they rob you of your minds. They
mean to seize the Ohio which belongs to me; so I have ordered Captain
de Céleron to tell them to go out, and leave Shenango and all other
villages of my children of the Ohio.”
Then Tanacharison answered:
“Our brother from Onontio sees us poor. We are a long way from Onontio.
The goods he sends us are many moons getting here. That our wives and
children may not go cold and hungry we trade with the English, who are
always with us. We ask Onontio to let us trade a little while yet with
the English who have come. They are our guests and it is not right
to put them out. We understand that you are burying lead plates and
nailing up signs to claim this land. We do not know why this is French
land. The English say that it is English land. Where is the Indian
land? We are made poor; and if we do not get goods from the English we
will starve.”
This was a clever speech, which promised nothing. Then the French
captain stood again, and said:
“By the gifts that your father sends you he promises to take care of
his children. Stand firm against the English, and soon your father will
raise a barrier against them and the sky will always be calm over your
heads. This shall be your land to enjoy as you please, if you remain
true children. As for these English now here, I myself will order them
to go back to their own country.”
That he did, after the council. The ten traders agreed to leave, and
the French went on down the Beautiful River, to talk with the Wyandots,
the Shawnees and the Miamis in the west. But the English traders stayed.
Now Logstown was of several minds again. Old King Shingis was satisfied.
“The English are being driven out,” he said. “That is good. The French
speak fair words, and we shall see whether they lie or not. If they
think to settle here, we will drive them out, too, for this is Indian
land. Then we will be rid of all whites.”
George Croghan, who was a great trader from Pennsylvania and had a
store-house in Logstown, came to Tanacharison and said:
“Listen, brother. This is the country of your father Onas.” Onas was
the name for the governor of Pennsylvania. “Pay no attention to the
twitters of the French, for we pay no attention to them. The French
are far, but Onas is near. He it is who sends us over the mountains to
trade with you, and our goods are cheap. But these Virginia men plan to
settle upon your country and you should watch them, or they will try to
buy you with their goods.”
Everybody knew that there was rivalry between the Pennsylvania traders
and the Virginia traders. The traders of Onas claimed the right to
trade, for they said that the Forks of the Ohio and the country near
were Pennsylvania. The Virginians said it all was Virginia.
So Tanacharison went to John Davidson, of the Virginia traders, and
said:
“Is it true that Assaragoa (which was the name for the Governor of
Virginia) plans to build houses and settle the Indian country?”
John Davidson replied:
“It is true that Assaragoa governs all this country from the mountains
to the river, and his traders have the right to trade with you. I think
the men from Onas have been talking to you. It is true, too, that your
Virginia father is going to send men in to clear land and build a house
on this side of the mountains, near the Ohio, and keep the French out.
Then the Indians may live in peace.”
“Who will bring these men in?” asked Tanacharison.
“It is a company under a man named Washington,” said John Davidson.
“That is good,” said Tanacharison. “I have heard of Washington, but do
not know him. He is not a chief.”
“He is a soldier captain and a chief,” replied John Davidson.
“We shall see,” said Half-King. “When you go back you tell our Virginia
father to send men and build a house with guns, for the men of Onas do
not say they will build houses.”
Another thing happened right after the council. Robert the Hunter saw
Bright Lightning, White Thunder’s pretty daughter, beckon to him, and
he went to her.
“I found something,” said Bright Lightning. “What shall I do with it? I
am afraid of it.”
She showed it to him, where she had hidden it under some leaves. It was
one of the lead plates brought by the French.
“Where did you get it?”
“From Captain Joncaire. He was playing with me, and when he wasn’t
looking I took it. There were others; so I put this under my blanket,
and he didn’t know. But I’m afraid of it, Hunter. It has evil signs on
it. You are part white. Is this white man’s witchcraft?”
The plate was marked with strange signs that Robert could not read.
In fact, he could not read print, anyway――he never had learned. His
reading was of signs left by animals and birds and men, upon the
ground. So whether these signs were writing in French or English he did
not know. They looked like witchcraft.
“We’ll take it to Tanacharison,” he said. “Tanacharison is wise. Maybe
it ought to be burned.”
They took it to Tanacharison, and Tanacharison examined it. He could
make nothing of it, and none of the English could make anything of
it――for the very good reason that it was written in French. Evidently
this plate was a mischief plate.
“Let us send it to the head council at Onondago,” said Tanacharison.
“They will show it to wise English who will read it, and then we will
know the designs of the French from Onontio.”
White Thunder set off with the plate carefully wrapped in deer skin,
for Onondago of New York.
When he returned he reported that Colonel William Johnson, the great
white Mohawk brother in the Six Nations, had read the plate. The words
on the plate were very bad; wherever these plates were buried they
would blast the land and the Indians would sicken and die. He advised
his brothers of the Ohio to have nothing whatever to do with the
French.
III
THE MINGOS SEND FOR HELP
It was the hunting season again――the month of Fat Deer, when the leaves
were beginning to fall and the flies had been killed by the first
frost. No more French had been seen, but no English had come yet to
build a fort.
The Mingos, the Delawares and Shawnees of Logstown were getting ready
to start out on the hunt and kill meat for winter. Soon there would
be only a few old persons left in Logstown. But Tanacharison spoke to
Robert.
“We have been waiting for the English and their house. The trader
Davidson said that Virginia was sending in men to clear land and build
a house. I do not see them. You know this Washington, who makes lands.
He should be getting near. Do you go with Scarouady and point him out,
that we may tell him to hurry. I will show him a good place for a house
with great guns.”
Now that was better than a regular hunt. Robert set out gladly enough,
with Scarouady the famous warrior, his good friend. He had his ash bow,
powder horn and bullet pouch, his tomahawk and hunting knife; Scarouady
had his English rifle, his powder horn and bullet pouch, his tomahawk
and knife. With flint and steel and with a blanket each they needed
nothing else, although the settlements of the English were two hundred
miles through the mountains and the forests, in the east and south.
They took the Shawnee Trail up to the Forks, and crossed in a canoe
that Scarouady knew of. Then following game trails they struck off for
Virginia, their eyes glancing sharply right and left and down before,
that nothing should be missed. No one could say what the trees and
bushes might conceal.
They had been out two days and nights, when on coming to another hill
Scarouady said:
“Do you go round this side and I will go round that side, and we will
meet. I think we will get a deer or turkey for camp tonight.”
This meant a half circle of ten or twelve miles, but that mattered
little to a hunter and warrior. The time was afternoon; the forest lay
silent, beautiful and wild, with the shadows from the sun stretching
long across the grassy openings, and the air sweet with the drying
leaves.
His bow strung and his arrows loose in his quiver Robert trotted upon
straight-footed moccasins around the hill, and through the timber and
whenever he sighted a little opening he paused, to spy, in hope of
seeing deer or turkey.
The way was not smooth, of course. This was virgin forest, cut by
ravines and cumbered with great fallen trees that made a boy seem very
small. He had traveled almost half around the hill, and was expecting
to meet Scarouady any moment, or at least hear from him, when he
stopped, frozen.
The route he was taking had been crossed by fresh moccasin prints,
heading toward where Scarouady should be.
Robert studied the prints in the leafy mould. They were not plain
enough to read; they might be Delaware, might be Mingo, might be
Ottawa, and might be enemy moccasins. At any rate his business was to
follow them until he found Scarouady, or else where they were going,
and what the owners were doing.
So he looked and listened, and he took after the moccasins, as if he
were a dog trailing. The trail led on and on, winding among the giant
trees and skirting the parks. He kept his ears open and his eyes fixed,
with little darts side to side; and the trail was so fresh that it made
his heart thump. Something told him that these were stranger moccasins.
Where was Scarouady?
Then an Indian leaped at him from behind a tree.
Robert was quick. This was no Scarouady, and was no joke. Even as he
ducked and leaped, himself, and the Indian crashed by, he glimpsed a
bushy head and black and yellow paint, and he knew that the Indian was
from the south――likely a Cherokee or Catawba again. And away he ran,
like a rabbit, full speed into the forest, with the Indian hard after.
Robert the Hunter was swift, but the Indian was swift, too. Whenever
the Hunter looked behind he saw the fellow coming, with great bounds,
his tomahawk raised and a grin on his painted face. He was a slender,
light-skinned man, with thick hair. Yes, it was a Cherokee, and a
warrior. He did not shoot, or throw his tomahawk; evidently he wished
to catch this boy alive.
The Hunter had no notion of being caught and carried south. He did not
take the time to fit an arrow to his bow; that would be later when he
was winded and had turned at bay behind a tree of his own. He simply
ran, with the Cherokee in close pursuit. His throat grew dry, and his
breath grew short as he doubled and dodged, but he could not shake the
Cherokee off.
It was a hot race. Robert looked behind again. The long-legged Cherokee
had gained on him. They had run a mile, as it seemed to Robert.
Now another fallen tree trunk barred his way. He gave a leap and a
scramble, and landed plump into a growling furry body, which whirled
upon him, while smaller bodies scampered right and left.
He ducked back just in time. This was a mother bear with two late cubs,
half grown. And she barred the way. The Cherokee was coming. The mother
bear, bristling, sniffed at Robert, then sniffed the air beyond him,
and the Cherokee could be heard. Then the Hunter chuckled, and crouched
low, under the log. He was to see some fun. The mother bear paid little
attention to him, for he was quiet; but just as the Cherokee sprang
through the screen of branches above the log she rose, and his great
leap landed him into her arms.
Wah! What a noise, of bear and Cherokee language and of threshing and
wrestling! The Cherokee stabbed with the knife, the mother bear bit and
struck; and Robert crawled away and ran again, laughing.
Hark! That was a rifle report――Scarouady’s rifle ringing among the
trees. The Hunter well knew the sharp bark of Scarouady’s gun. When
that gun spoke, it signaled either meat or scalp. He paid no more
attention to the bear-and-man fight, but ran for the place from which
Scarouady’s rifle had sounded.
As he ran he fitted an arrow to his bow-string. The rifle had sounded
near. Now he heard the rifle again, and the scalp yell of the Mingo――a
long, shrill yell, the Indian hurrah! Next he had arrived at a little
dip in the forest, where the glade opened to thinner trees and low
brush. Guns banged, but not at him. Just before him were several
Indians, hiding behind trees, and firing and whooping; and across, from
behind a log, upon which lay a dead Indian, a long rifle barrel was
thrust out, between branches, threatening these nearer Indians.
The dead Indian had been scalped. Behind that rifle barrel was
Scarouady. By their paint and head-dresses, these nearer Indians were
Cherokees; and Scarouady was in a tight place. He could not run back to
the forest; he would soon be surrounded.
The Hunter knew what to do. He gave the Mingo war whoop, and drawing
the arrow to the head he let fly. A Cherokee yelped and leaped, with
the arrow jutting from his left arm. Robert whooped again, his bow
twanged, the arrow hissed and quivered in a tree, for attacked from
the rear the four Cherokees had bolted away into the forest as if they
thought that a whole company of Mingos were upon them.
Scarouady sprang up and threw his hatchet after. He whooped with
triumph, and then he laughed.
“Is that you, Hunter?”