FRIENDS IN TIME OF NEED
THERE was really nothing that could be done.
In a choice between two evils, Bob Armstrong could always be depended
on to take that which seemed the less. To go on down the flood was a
dreadful outlook; and almost anything was to be preferred to facing
the unknown perils of the river, especially in the pitch darkness that
prevailed.
The sound of the paddles drew constantly nearer. Then they heard
voices, as if those in the canoe were asking each other whence it could
be that they had heard that last shout for help.
To the astonishment of the floating boys the words came in English,
though evidently one of the speakers was an Indian who had apparently
learned the tongue of the palefaces.
"Oh! it's Pat O'Mara, I do believe!" exclaimed Sandy, in his amazement
speaking loud enough for his voice to carry some distance away; for
immediately, even before Bob could add any words of his own to the
declaration, there came a hail out of the gloom.
"Avast there! Be ye the Arrmstrong byes I'm afther hearin' out on this
roarin', tearin' flood this night?"
"Yes, yes, that's who it is, Pat; and precious glad to hear the sound
of your voice, because we need help the worst way!" cried Sandy, always
impulsive.
"All right, we'll be wid yees in a jiffy, depind on it," came the
answer from a point close at hand. "Give us another few digs at the
paddle, chief, an', by the same token, we'll soon be alongside, so we
will."
A minute later the anxious boys began to detect some moving object,
as they strained their eyes to see. Then this turned out to be a long
canoe, in which two persons were sitting, the one in the stern using
a paddle with that grace and dexterity which only an Indian could
exhibit, just as Bob had wisely said.
Sandy craned his head forward to see better through the darkness.
Doubtless there must have been something familiar about the movements
of this paddler, for he certainly did not have enough light to
recognize his features, or even the feather that adorned his scalplock.
"Surely that must be Blue Jacket!" he ejaculated, with a thrill of
delight, as well as surprise noticeable in his quivering voice.
"Uh! that so, Sandy," came in a voice he knew almost as well as he did
that of his brother.
"What luck!" cried Sandy. "To think that such good friends should
happen to be on the river this night of all times, when we are in such
sore need."
Perhaps, had Bob Armstrong been asked his opinion, he might have
declared that it was something much higher than mere luck that brought
about such a happy conclusion to their adventure. Bob was a much
more serious fellow than his younger brother, and imbibed some of
the sentiments that influenced his gentle mother. To him there was
something especially Providential in this coming of help when the two
boys were in so great need, just as there had been in the falling of
the dead tree just as the panthers were about to attack them.
Quickly the canoe worked up alongside the log, to which both the Irish
trapper and his native companion fastened a firm grip.
"Come aboord, and be sinsible," said Pat O'Mara, who was one of the
oldest friends the Armstrong family had; and whom they had known away
back in Old Virginia, before the thought of daring the perils of the
unknown wilderness had ever entered David Armstrong's mind. "Sure,
'tis a mighty poor sort av a craft ye do be havin', if I might make so
bowld."
"But it was better than nothing," said Sandy, as he carefully placed
his musket in the canoe before even thinking of attempting to get
aboard himself.
Bob did not make a single move until he had seen his brother safely
over the side. Indeed, to judge from his actions, one might be inclined
to think that he even kept himself in readiness to clutch Sandy, should
the other manage to slide down the side of the log into the water,
instead of gaining a lodgment in the boat. Then Bob copied the other's
actions, his precious gun being first made secure before he would think
of himself.
It was rather a ticklish business leaving the log, and entering the
canoe that, being made of birch bark, was so light in build that it
careened under the passage of the boys, and might have tipped over had
not both Pat and the young Shawanee brave leaned far to the opposite
side while the embarkation was taking place.
"Good-bye, old log!" said Sandy, now in an exultant frame of mind that
contrasted strangely with his recent gloomy spirits. "We hope you will
have a good voyage down to the great Mississippi. Tell them that,
perchance, the Armstrong boys will be navigating that way to see some
of the wonders they have so long been hearing about. You were a pretty
fair kind of a log, though we are not sorry to part with you."
Already was the paddle, in the expert hands of Blue Jacket, busily
employed in sending the craft toward the southern shore of the swollen
river. Pat O'Mara had his share of curiosity, and he was not the one to
keep silent when desirous of knowing the true facts.
"Sure, 'tis a quare thing to be findin' the two av yees adrift on a
tree out on this high water," he started to say; "and, by the same
token, if yees have no objection, 'tis mesilf wud like to know how the
same came about."
"That is easy enough to tell, Pat," burst out Sandy. "Of course, you
mustn't think we started from the shore, to cross over on an old log.
It was just an accident, and that's all. My paddle broke under the
strain; and, when this log came whirling down on our boat, Bob alone
could not get it out of the way. So it was upset, and we were lucky
enough to scramble aboard, guns and all."
The Irish trapper was loud in his exclamations of wonder.
"It do bate iverything how ye two lads always manage to chate the
ould Reaper whin he thinks he has ye in the hollow av his hand," he
declared. "I warrant ye that nine out av tin min would have at laste
taken a dip in the water afore crawling aboord the log; and, be the
powers, ye do not same to be wit at all, at all."
"We were wondering how we could manage to get ashore, so as to head for
home," Sandy went on to say, "when Bob thought of a way. Just when we
heard your answer to our last shout we were about to fasten our guns
and clothing to the log, slip overboard, and, by swimming, push it
toward the shore."
"A cliver ijee, by me troth," remarked Pat, who was a great admirer of
both young pioneers; of Bob on account of his steady ways and quick
mind in emergencies, and of Sandy because he had a winning, sunny
disposition, which appealed especially to the genial, roving Irish
trapper. "But, afther all, 'tis just as will that Blue Jacket and
mesilf came upon the sane at the time we did, since 'tis a wet back
ye'd be havin', not to spake of many miles more to thramp back home.
And 'tis also will that ye are off the river before this same night is
many hours older."
Bob noticed that there was a peculiar significance to these last words
of their old friend, who had been many times tried, and found as true
as steel.
"What brings you and Blue Jacket here, and on your way to our cabin,
as I reckon you are from the way you head across the river?" he asked,
desirous of drawing the other out, and learning what new peril now
threatened the little settlement on the southern bank of the Ohio.
More than once had Pat brought news of the coming of Indians on the
warpath, so that the pioneers had learned to look upon him as their
best guardian. As he was forever roaming the great forests, sometimes
in the company of such noted men as Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton or
Harrod the surveyor, Pat was in a position to pick up intelligence
that could be obtained by no one else. (Note 4.)
And so Bob wondered whether it could be something of this character
that was now causing him to hasten to the relief of the struggling
settlement.
"Sure, 'twas by sheer accident that we came togither," the trapper
observed, as he bent his supple body quickly to one side, so as to
better balance the frail canoe, which at that instant was being
buffeted about in a swirl of waters, not unlike a miniature whirlpool.
"An', whin I larned that the chief was aven thin on his way to warrn
the white settlers as fast as he could go, I made up me mind to
accompany him. So that's how it happens we wor abroad on the river jist
at the same time ye naded hilp so bad. Troth, as Sandy jist said, 'twas
a lucky thing all around."
"But, Pat," Bob continued, "of what danger was Blue Jacket about to
warn our people? Have the Indians again taken to the warpath, after
their professions of peace, and after saying that the hatchet was
buried ever so deep?"
"Sure, there be always danger av that same," remarked the other,
grimly; "but, on this occasion, 'tis a peril av another color
intirely. The flood is bearin' down upon yees like a race horse, and,
befoor the dawn av another day, it may be the risin' water wull be
afther swapin' away some av the cabins in the settlement!"
"Oh! but how could Blue Jacket learn about that, when it must be many
miles up the river, and coming much faster than any Indian could run?"
demanded Sandy.
"Ye must know," went on the Irish trapper, impressively, "that these
rid hathen have a way av communicatin' news by manes av smoke signals
in the day time, and fires at night. From hill to hill, many miles
away, they sind these smokes; and, so I've been towld at laist, the
missage can be carried as much as a hundred miles in less time than it
wud take a horse to run tin."
"Yes, that is something I knew about, but had forgotten," admitted
Sandy.
"And this flood, does it come from the last rain, or has there been
what I heard my father call a cloud-burst?" asked Bob, anxiously; for
his thoughts were upon the little community some miles up the river,
which had already grappled with more perils than the settlers had ever
dreamed could be met with in this new country.
"That I do not chanct to know, me bye," replied Pat. "'Tis enough to
learn that the flood is comin' tearin' along down the river, and that
the water will rise in a way niver known before. The Injuns are wild
with alarrm. Their ould medicine-min do be on the rampage, and kape
tillin' thim they do be sufferin' from the anger av the Great Spirit,
becase av their allowin' the white trispassers till remain on the
sacred land that was given till their ancestors long years ago. It all
manes hapes av trouble for the pioneers, from Boonesborough till Fort
Washington, and all the way along the Ohio."
"I can see the shore again," called out Sandy at this moment; for,
while he had been listening with deep anxiety to what the trapper said,
at the same time his keen young eyes had been on the watch to detect
the first signs of land ahead.
A minute later, and Sandy again broke out with an exclamation, and this
time there was a note of wonder, not unmixed with anxiety, in his voice.
"Look! there is a fire burning on the shore below, and just about
where we will come to the land!" he cried out.
"And I can see one or two white men beside it; yes, with an Indian
also," added Bob, who had as sharp vision as his brother.
"And they must hear us talking, for they have jumped to their feet, and
seem to be looking this way. Can it be some of our friends from above,
brother?" asked the younger boy, eagerly.
"I do not think so," Bob answered. "They are not in the broad firelight
now; but, from the glimpse I had, I took them to be woodrangers like
Pat here, and some of the others we know."
"Oh! perhaps, then, it may be Boone and Kenton themselves," remarked
Sandy, who had secretly always admired the forest ranger, Kenton, and
aspired to follow in the footsteps of the daring young man, when he
grew older.
"Well, we shall soon know," Bob went on, "for Blue Jacket is heading
straight in to that point where they have built their fire, as though
he means to land on the lower side, where the current does not run so
fiercely."
Already they were in less turbulent waters, for, near the shore, the
river did not attain anything like the swiftness that marked the middle
of the stream. Under the skillful guidance of the sturdy young Shawanee
brave, whose name, although not very well known just then, was fated
later on to be on the lips of every settler who had built a cabin in
the wilderness along the Ohio, the canoe presently came against the
shore.
Sandy, as usual, was the first to jump on to the bank; but he was
careful to take his gun along with him. The Irish trapper quickly
reached his side, and then came Bob, and the dusky Blue Jacket, who
certainly could never be accused of being a talkative fellow, though
capable of expressing himself freely on occasion.
As if instinctively they allowed the young Shawanee to lead the
way toward the burning campfire, because the presence of an Indian
would seem to indicate that he might be better able to conduct
the intercourse with the strangers; for already Bob and Sandy had
discovered that the two white men were totally unknown to them.
Besides, since it was Blue Jacket's canoe, he seemed to be conducting
the expedition to the settlement, the others having just been taken on
as he happened to come across them.
But Bob Armstrong felt a new uneasiness creep over him when he heard
the Irish trapper mutter something half under his breath, and caught
the one significant word:
"Traitor!"