Summer was now waning, the foliage was taking on its autumn hues, and
Indian war parties still surged over the hills and mountains, but the
five avoided them all. On one or two occasions they would have been
willing to stop and fight, but they had bigger work on hand. They had
received from others confirmation of the report that Long Jim had heard
from the hunters, and they were quite sure that a strong force was
advancing to strike the first blow in revenge for Wyoming. Curiously
enough, this body was commanded by a fourth Butler, Colonel William
Butler, and according to report it was large and its leaders capable.
When the avenging force lay at the Johnstown settlement on the Delaware,
it was joined by the five. They were introduced to the colonel by the
celebrated scout and hunter, Tini Murphy, whom they had met several
times in the woods, and they were received warmly.
“I've heard of you,” said Colonel Butler with much warmth, “both from
hunters and scouts, and also from Adam Colfax. Two of you were to have
been tomahawked by Queen Esther at Wyoming.”
Henry indicated the two.
“What you saw at Wyoming is not likely to decrease your zeal against the
Indians and their white allies,” continued Colonel Butler.
“Anyone who was there,” said Henry, “would feel all his life, the desire
to punish those who did it.”
“I think so, too, from all that I have heard,” continued Colonel Butler.
“It is the business of you young men to keep ahead of our column and
warn us of what lies before us. I believe you have volunteered for that
duty.”
The five looked over Colonel Butler's little army, which numbered only
two hundred and fifty men, but they were all strong and brave, and it
was the best force that could yet be sent to the harassed border.
It might, after all, strike a blow for Wyoming if it marched into no
ambush, and Henry and his comrades were resolved to guard it from that
greatest of all dangers.
When the little column moved from the Johnstown settlement, the five
were far ahead, passing through the woods, up the Susquehanna, toward
the Indian villages that lay on its banks, though a great distance above
Wyoming. The chief of these was Oghwaga, and, knowing that it was the
destination of the little army, they were resolved to visit it, or at
least come so near it that they could see what manner of place it was.
“If it's a big village,” said Colonel Butler, “it will be too strong
to attack, but it may be that most of the warriors are absent on
expeditions.”
They had obtained before starting very careful descriptions of the
approaches to the village, and toward the close of an October evening
they knew that they were near Oghwaga, the great base of the Iroquois
supplies. They considered it very risky and unwise to approach in the
daytime, and accordingly they lay in the woods until the dark should
come.
The appearance of the wilderness had changed greatly in the three
months since Wyoming. All the green was now gone, and it was tinted
red and yellow and brown. The skies were a mellow blue, and there was a
slight haze over the forest, but the air had the wonderful crispness and
freshness of the American autumn. It inspired every one of the five with
fresh zeal and energy, because they believed the first blow was about to
be struck.
About ten o'clock at night they approached Oghwaga, and the reports
of its importance were confirmed. They had not before seen an Indian
village with so many signs of permanence. They passed two or three
orchards of apple and peach trees, and they saw other indications of
cultivation like that of the white farmer.
“It ain't a bad-lookin' town,” said Long Jim Hart. “But it'll look
wuss,” said Shif'less Sol, “onless they've laid an ambush somewhar.
I don't like to see houses an' sech like go up in fire an' smoke, but
after what wuz done at Wyomin' an' all through that valley, burnin' is a
light thing.”
“We're bound to strike back with all our might,” said Paul, who had the
softest heart of them all.
“Now, I wonder who's in this here town,” said Tom Ross. “Mebbe
Timmendiquas an' Brant an' all them renegades.”
“It may be so,” said Henry. “This is their base and store of supplies.
Oh, if Colonel Butler were only here with all his men, what a rush we
could make!”
So great was their eagerness that they crept closer to the village,
passing among some thick clusters of grapevines. Henry was in the lead,
and he heard a sudden snarl. A large cur of the kind that infest Indian
villages leaped straight at him.
The very suddenness of the attack saved Henry and his comrades from the
consequences of an alarm. He dropped his rifle instinctively, and seized
the dog by the throat with both hands. A bark following the snarl had
risen to the animal's throat, but it was cut short there. The hands of
the great youth pressed tighter and tighter, and the dog was lifted from
the earth. The four stood quietly beside their comrade, knowing that no
alarm would be made now.
The dog kicked convulsively, then hung without motion or noise. Henry
cast the dead body aside, picked up his rifle, and then all five of them
sank softly down in the shelter of the grapevines. About fifteen yards
away an Indian warrior was walking cautiously along and looking among
the vines. Evidently he had heard the snarl of the dog, and was seeking
the cause. But it had been only a single sound, and he would not look
far. Yet the hearts of the five beat a little faster as he prowled among
the vines, and their nerves were tense for action should the need for it
come.
The Indian, a Mohawk, came within ten yards of them, but he did not see
the five figures among the vines, blending darkly with the dark
growth, and presently, satisfied that the sound he had heard was of no
importance, he walked in another direction, and passed out of sight.
The five, not daunted at all by this living proof of risk, crept to the
very edge of the clusters of grapevines, and looked upon an open space,
beyond which stood some houses made of wood; but their attention was
centered upon a figure that stood in the open.
Although the distance was too great and the light too poor to disclose
the features, every one of the scouts recognized the figure. It could be
none other than that of Timmendiquas, the great White Lightning of the
Wyandots. He was pacing back and forth, somewhat in the fashion of the
white man, and his manner implied thought.
“I could bring him down from here with a bullet,” said Shif'less Sol,
“but I ain't ever goin' to shoot at the chief, Henry.”
“No,” said Henry, “nor will I. But look, there's another.”
A second figure came out of the dark and joined the first. It was also
that of a chief, powerful and tall, though not as tall as Timmendiquas.
It was Thayendanegea. Then three white figures appeared. One was that of
Braxton Wyatt, and the others they took to be those of “Indian” Butler
and his son, Walter Butler. After a talk of a minute or two they entered
one of the wooden houses.
“It's to be a conference of some kind,” whispered Henry. “I wish I could
look in on it.”
“And I,” said the others together.
“Well, we know this much,” continued Henry. “No great force of the
Iroquois is present, and if Colonel Butler's men come up quickly, we can
take the town.”
“It's a chance not to be lost,” said Paul.
They crept slowly away from the village, not stopping until they reached
the crest of a hill, from which they could see the roofs of two or three
of the Indian houses.
“I've a feeling in me,” said Paul, “that the place is doomed. We'll
strike the first blow for Wyoming.”
They neither slept nor rested that night, but retraced their trail with
the utmost speed toward the marching American force, going in Indian
file through the wilderness. Henry, as usual, led; Shif'less Sol
followed, then came Paul, and then Long Jim, while Silent Tom was the
rear guard. They traveled at great speed, and, some time after daylight,
met the advance of the colonial force under Captain William Gray.
William Gray was a gallant young officer, but he was startled a little
when five figures as silent as phantoms appeared. But he uttered an
exclamation of delight when he recognized the leader, Henry.
“What have you found?” he asked eagerly.
“We've been to Oghwaga,” replied the youth, “and we went all about the
town. They do not suspect our coming. At least, they did not know when
we left. We saw Brant, Timmendiquas, the Butlers, and Wyatt enter the
house for a conference.”
“And now is our chance,” said eager young William Gray. “What if we
should take the town, and with it these men, at one blow.”
“We can scarcely hope for as much as that,” said Henry, who knew
that men like Timmendiquas and Thayendanegea were not likely to allow
themselves to be seized by so small a force, “but we can hope for a good
victory.”
The young captain rode quickly back to his comrades with the news, and,
led by the five, the whole force pushed forward with all possible haste.
William Gray was still sanguine of a surprise, but the young riflemen
did not expect it. Indian sentinels were sure to be in the forest
between them and Oghwaga. Yet they said nothing to dash this hope. Henry
had already seen enough to know the immense value of enthusiasm, and
the little army full of zeal would accomplish much if the chance came.
Besides the young captain, William Gray, there was a lieutenant named
Taylor, who had been in the battle at Wyoming, but who had escaped the
massacre. The five had not met him there, but the common share in so
great a tragedy proved a tie between them. Taylor's name was Robert,
but all the other officers, and some of the men for that matter, who
had known him in childhood called him Bob. He was but little older than
Henry, and his earlier youth, before removal to Wyoming, had been passed
in Connecticut, a country that was to the colonials thickly populated
and containing great towns, such as Hartford and New Haven.
A third close friend whom they soon found was a man unlike any other
that they had ever seen. His name was Cornelius Heemskerk. Holland was
his birthplace, but America was his nation. He was short and extremely
fat, but he had an agility that amazed the five when they first saw it
displayed. He talked much, and his words sounded like grumbles, but
the unctuous tone and the smile that accompanied them indicated to the
contrary. He formed for Shif'less Sol an inexhaustible and entertaining
study in character.
“I ain't quite seen his like afore,” said the shiftless one to Paul.
“First time I run acrost him I thought he would tumble down among the
first bushes he met. 'Stead o' that, he sailed right through 'em, makin'
never a trip an' no noise at all, same ez Long Jim's teeth sinkin' into
a juicy venison steak.”
“I've heard tell,” said Long Jim, who also contemplated the prodigy,
“that big, chunky, awkward-lookin' things are sometimes ez spry ez you.
They say that the Hipperpotamus kin outrun the giraffe across the sands
uv Afriky, an' I know from pussonal experience that the bigger an'
clumsier a b'ar is the faster he kin make you scoot fur your life. But
he's the real Dutch, ain't he, Paul, one uv them fellers that licked the
Spanish under the Duke uv Alivy an' Belisarry?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Paul, who did not consider it necessary to
correct Long Jim's history, “and I'm willing to predict to you, Jim
Hart, that Heemskerk will be a mighty good man in any fight that we may
have.”
Heemskerk rolled up to them. He seemed to have a sort of circular
motion like that of a revolving tube, but he kept pace with the others,
nevertheless, and he showed no signs of exertion.
“Don't you think it a funny thing that I, Cornelius Heemskerk, am here?”
he said to Paul.
“Why so, Mr. Heemskerk?” replied Paul politely. “Because I am a
Dutchman. I have the soul of an artist and the gentleness of a baby. I,
Cornelius Heemskerk, should be in the goot leetle country of Holland
in a goot leetle house, by the side of a goot leetle canal, painting
beautiful blue china, dishes, plates, cups, saucers, all most beautiful,
and here I am running through the woods of this vast America, carrying
on my shoulder a rifle that is longer than I am, hunting the red Indian
and hunted by him. Is it not most rediculous, Mynheer Paul?”
“I think you are here because you are a brave man, Mr. Heemskerk,”
replied Paul, “and wish to see punishment inflicted upon those who have
committed great crimes.”
“Not so! Not so!” replied the Dutchman with energy. “It is because I am
one big fool. I am not really a big enough man to be as big a fool as I
am, but so it is! so it is!” Shif'less Sol regarded him critically, and
then spoke gravely and with deliberation: “It ain't that, Mr. Heemskerk,
an' Paul ain't told quite all the truth, either. I've heard that the
Dutch was the most powerfullest fightin' leetle nation on the globe;
that all you had to do wuz to step on the toe uv a Dutchman's wooden
shoe, an' all the men, women, an' children in Holland would jump right
on top o' you all at once. Lookin' you up an' lookin' you down, an'
sizin' you up, an' sizin you down, all purty careful, an' examinin' the
corners O' your eyes oncommon close, an' also lookin' at the way you set
your feet when you walk, I'm concludin' that you just natcherally love a
fight, an' that you are lookin' fur one.”
But Cornelius Heemskerk sighed, and shook his head.
“It is flattery that you give me, and you are trying to make me brave
when I am not,” he said. “I only say once more that I ought to be in
Holland painting blue plates, and not here in the great woods holding on
to my scalp, first with one hand and then with the other.”
He sighed deeply, but Solomon Hyde, reader of the hearts of men, only
laughed.
Colonel Butler's force stopped about three o'clock for food and a little
rest, and the five, who had not slept since the night before, caught
a few winks. But in less than an hour they were up and away again. The
five riflemen were once more well in advance, and with them were Taylor
and Heemskerk, the Dutchman, grumbling over their speed, but revolving
along, nevertheless, with astonishing ease and without any sign of
fatigue. They discovered no indications of Indian scouts or trails, and
as the village now was not many miles away, it confirmed Henry in his
belief that the Iroquois, with their friends, the Wyandots, would not
stay to give battle. If Thayendanegea and Timmendiquas were prepared
for a strong resistance, the bullets of the skirmishers would already be
whistling through the woods.
The waning evening grew colder, twilight came, and the autumn leaves
fell fast before the rising wind. The promise of the night was dark,
which was not bad for their design, and once more the five-now the seven
approached Oghwaga. From the crest of the very same hill they looked
down once more upon the Indian houses.
“It is a great base for the Iroquois,” said Henry to Heemskerk, “and
whether the Indians have laid an ambush or not, Colonel Butler must
attack.”
“Ah,” said Heemskerk, silently moving his round body to a little higher
point for a better view, “now I feel in all its fullness the truth that
I should be back in Holland, painting blue plates.”
Nevertheless, Cornelius Heemskerk made a very accurate survey of the
Iroquois village, considering the distance and the brevity of the time,
and when the party went back to Colonel Butler to tell him the way was
open, he revolved along as swiftly as any of them. There were also many
serious thoughts in the back of his head.
At nine o'clock the little colonial force was within half a mile of
Oghwaga, and nothing had yet occurred to disclose whether the Iroquois
knew of their advance. Henry and his comrades, well in front, looked
down upon the town, but saw nothing. No light came from an Indian
chimney, nor did any dog howl. Just behind them were the troops in loose
order, Colonel Butler impatiently striking his booted leg with a switch,
and William Gray seeking to restrain his ardor, that he might set a good
example to the men.
“What do you think, Mr. Ware?” asked Colonel Butler.
“I think we ought to rush the town at once.”
“It is so!” exclaimed Heemskerk, forgetting all about painting blue
plates.
“The signal is the trumpet; you blow it, Captain Gray, and then we'll
charge.”
William Gray took the trumpet from one of the men and blew a long,
thrilling note. Before its last echo was ended, the little army rushed
upon the town. Three or four shots came from the houses, and the
soldiers fired a few at random in return, but that was all. Indian
scouts had brought warning of the white advance, and the great chiefs,
gathering up all the people who were in the village, had fled. A
retreating warrior or two had fired the shots, but when the white men
entered this important Iroquois stronghold they did not find a single
human being. Timmendiquas, the White Lightning of the Wyandots, was
gone; Thayendanegea, the real head of the Six Nations, had slipped away;
and with them had vanished the renegades. But they had gone in haste.
All around them were the evidences. The houses, built of wood, were
scores in number, and many of them contained furniture such as a
prosperous white man of the border would buy for himself. There were
gardens and shade trees about these, and back of them, barns, many of
them filled with Indian corn. Farther on were clusters of bark lodges,
which had been inhabited by the less progressive of the Iroquois.
Henry stood in the center of the town and looked at the houses misty
in the moonlight. The army had not yet made much noise, but he was
beginning to hear behind him the ominous word, “Wyoming,” repeated more
than once. Cornelius Heemskerk had stopped revolving, and, standing
beside Henry, wiped his perspiring, red face.
“Now that I am here, I think again of the blue plates of Holland,
Mr. Ware,” he said. “It is a dark and sanguinary time. The men whose
brethren were scalped or burned alive at Wyoming will not now spare the
town of those who did it. In this wilderness they give blow for blow, or
perish.”
Henry knew that it was true, but he felt a certain sadness. His heart
had been inflamed against the Iroquois, he could never forget Wyoming or
its horrors; but in the destruction of an ancient town the long labor
of man perished, and it seemed waste. Doubtless a dozen generations of
Iroquois children had played here on the grass. He walked toward the
northern end of the village, and saw fields there from which recent corn
had been taken, but behind him the cry, “Wyoming!” was repeated louder
and oftener now. Then he saw men running here and there with torches,
and presently smoke and flame burst from the houses. He examined the
fields and forest for a little distance to see if any ambushed foe might
still lie among them, but all the while the flame and smoke behind him
were rising higher.
Henry turned back and joined his comrades. Oghwaga was perishing. The
flames leaped from house to house, and then from lodge to lodge. There
was no need to use torches any more. The whole village was wrapped in
a mass of fire that grew and swelled until the flames rose above the
forest, and were visible in the clear night miles away.
So great was the heat that Colonel Butler and the soldiers and scouts
were compelled to withdraw to the edge of the forest. The wind rose and
the flames soared. Sparks flew in myriads, and ashes fell dustily on the
dry leaves of the trees. Bob Taylor, with his hands clenched tightly,
muttered under his breath, “Wyoming! Wyoming!”
“It is the Iroquois who suffer now,” said Heemskerk, as he revolved
slowly away from a heated point.
Crashes came presently as the houses fell in, and then the sparks would
leap higher and the flames roar louder. The barns, too, were falling
down, and the grain was destroyed. The grapevines were trampled under
foot, and the gardens were ruined. Oghwaga, a great central base of the
Six Nations, was vanishing forever. For four hundred years, ever since
the days of Hiawatha, the Iroquois had waxed in power. They had ruled
over lands larger than great empires. They had built up political and
social systems that are the wonder of students. They were invincible in
war, because every man had been trained from birth to be a warrior, and
now they were receiving their first great blow.
From a point far in the forest, miles away, Thayendanegea, Timmendiquas,
Hiokatoo, Sangerachte, “Indian” Butler, Walter Butler, Braxton Wyatt,
a low, heavybrowed Tory named Coleman, with whom Wyatt had become very
friendly, and about sixty Iroquois and twenty Tories were watching a
tower of light to the south that had just appeared above the trees. It
was of an intense, fiery color, and every Indian in that gloomy band
knew that it was Oghwaga, the great, the inviolate, the sacred, that was
burning, and that the men who were doing it were the white frontiersmen,
who, his red-coated allies had told him, would soon be swept forever
from these woods. And they were forced to stand and see it, not daring
to attack so strong and alert a force.
They sat there in the darkness among the trees, and watched the column
of fire grow and grow until it seemed to pierce the skies. Timmendiquas
never said a word. In his heart, Indian though he was, he felt that
the Iroquois had gone too far. In him was the spirit of the farseeing
Hiawatha. He could perceive that great cruelty always brought
retaliation; but it was not for him, almost an alien, to say these
things to Thayendanegea, the mighty war chief of the Mohawks and the
living spirit of the Iroquois nation.
Thayendanegea sat on the stump of a tree blown down by winter storms.
His arms were folded across his breast, and he looked steadily toward
that red threatening light off there in the south. Some such idea as
that in the mind of Timmendiquas may have been passing in his own. He
was an uncommon Indian, and he had had uncommon advantages. He had not
believed that the colonists could make head against so great a kingdom
as England, aided by the allied tribes, the Canadians, and the large
body of Tories among their own people. But he saw with his own eyes the
famous Oghwaga of the Iroquois going down under their torch.
“Tell me, Colonel John Butler,” he said bitterly, “where is your great
king now? Is his arm long enough to reach from London to save our town
of Oghwaga, which is perhaps as much to us as his great city of London
is to him?”
The thickset figure of “Indian” Butler moved, and his swart face flushed
as much as it could.
“You know as much about the king as I do, Joe Brant,” he replied. “We
are fighting here for your country as well as his, and you cannot say
that Johnson's Greens and Butler's Rangers and the British and Canadians
have not done their part.”
“It is true,” said Thayendanegea, “but it is true, also, that one must
fight with wisdom. Perhaps there was too much burning of living men at
Wyoming. The pain of the wounded bear makes him fight the harder, and
it, is because of Wyoming that Oghwaga yonder burns. Say, is it not so,
Colonel John Butler?”
“Indian” Butler made no reply, but sat, sullen and lowering. The Tory,
Coleman, whispered to Braxton Wyatt, but Timmendiquas was the only one
who spoke aloud.
“Thayendanegea,” he said, “I, and the Wyandots who are with me, have
come far. We expected to return long ago to the lands on the Ohio, but
we were with you in your village, and now, when Manitou has turned his
face from you for the time, we will not leave you. We stay and fight by
your side.”
Thayendanegea stood up, and Timmendiquas stood up, also.
“You are a great chief, White Lightning of the Wyandots,” he said, “and
you and I are brothers. I shall be proud and happy to have such a mighty
leader fighting with me. We will have vengeance for this. The power of
the Iroquois is as great as ever.”
He raised himself to his full height, pointing to the fire, and the
flames of hate and resolve burned in his eyes. Old Hiokatoo, the most
savage of all the chiefs, shook his tomahawk, and a murmur passed
through the group of Indians.
Braxton Wyatt still talked in whispers to his new friend, Coleman,
the Tory, who was more to his liking than the morose and savage Walter
Butler, whom he somewhat feared. Wyatt was perhaps the least troubled
of all those present. Caring for himself only, the burning of Oghwaga
caused him no grief. He suffered neither from the misfortune of friend
nor foe. He was able to contemplate the glowing tower of light with
curiosity only. Braxton Wyatt knew that the Iroquois and their allies
would attempt revenge for the burning of Oghwaga, and he saw profit for
himself in such adventures. His horizon had broadened somewhat of late.
The renegade, Blackstaffe, had returned to rejoin Simon Girty, but he
had found a new friend in Coleman. He was coming now more into touch
with the larger forces in the East, nearer to the seat of the great war,
and he hoped to profit by it.
“This is a terrible blow to Brant,” Coleman whispered to him. “The
Iroquois have been able to ravage the whole frontier, while the rebels,
occupied with the king's troops, have not been able to send help to
their own. But they have managed to strike at last, as you see.”
“I do see,” said Wyatt, “and on the whole, Coleman, I'm not sorry.
Perhaps these chiefs won't be so haughty now, and they'll soon realize
that they need likely chaps such as you and me, eh, Coleman.”
“You're not far from the truth,” said Coleman, laughing a little, and
pleased at the penetration of his new friend. They did not talk further,
although the agreement between them was well established. Neither did
the Indian chiefs or the Tory leaders say any more. They watched the
tower of fire a long time, past midnight, until it reached its zenith
and then began to sink. They saw its crest go down behind the trees,
and they saw the luminous cloud in the south fade and go out entirely,
leaving there only the darkness that reined everywhere else.
Then the Indian and Tory leaders rose and silently marched northward. It
was nearly dawn when Henry and his comrades lay down for the rest that
they needed badly. They spread their blankets at the edge of the open,
but well back from the burned area, which was now one great mass of
coals and charred timbers, sending up little flame but much smoke. Many
of the troops were already asleep, but Henry, before lying down, begged
William Gray to keep a strict watch lest the Iroquois attack from
ambush. He knew that the rashness and confidence of the borderers,
especially when drawn together in masses, had often caused them great
losses, and he was resolved to prevent a recurrence at the present
time if he could. He had made these urgent requests of Gray, instead of
Colonel Butler, because of the latter's youth and willingness to take
advice.
“I'll have the forest beat up continually all about the town,” he said.
“We must not have our triumph spoiled by any afterclap.”
Henry and his comrades, wrapped in their blankets, lay in a row almost
at the edge of the forest. The heat from the fire was still great, but
it would die down after a while, and the October air was nipping. Henry
usually fell asleep in a very few minutes, but this time, despite his
long exertions and lack of rest, he remained awake when his comrades
were sound asleep. Then he fell into a drowsy state, in which he saw
the fire rising in great black coils that united far above. It seemed to
Henry, half dreaming and forecasting the future, that the Indian spirit
was passing in the smoke.
When he fell asleep it was nearly daylight, and in three or four hours
he was up again, as the little army intended to march at once upon
another Indian town. The hours while he slept had passed in silence, and
no Indians had come near. William Gray had seen to that, and his best
scout had been one Cornelius Heemskerk, a short, stout man of Dutch
birth.
“It was one long, long tramp for me, Mynheer Henry,” said Heemskerk,
as he revolved slowly up to the camp fire where Henry was eating his
breakfast, “and I am now very tired. It was like walking four or five
times around Holland, which is such a fine little country, with the
canals and the flowers along them, and no great, dark woods filled with
the fierce Iroquois.”
“Still, I've a notion, Mynheer Heemskerk, that you'd rather be here, and
perhaps before the day is over you will get some fighting hot enough to
please even you.”
Mynheer Heemskerk threw up his hands in dismay, but a half hour later
he was eagerly discussing with Henry the possibility of overtaking some
large band of retreating Iroquois.
Urged on by all the scouts and by those who had suffered at Wyoming,
Colonel Butler gathered his forces and marched swiftly that very morning
up the river against another Indian town, Cunahunta. Fortunately for
him, a band of riflemen and scouts unsurpassed in skill led the way, and
saw to it that the road was safe. In this band were the five, of course,
and after them Heemskerk, young Taylor, and several others.
“If the Iroquois do not get in our way, we'll strike Cunahunta before
night,” said Heemskerk, who knew the way.
“It seems to me that they will certainly try to save their towns,” said
Henry. “Surely Brant and the Tories will not let us strike so great a
blow without a fight.”
“Most of their warriors are elsewhere, Mynheer Henry,” said Heemskerk,
“or they would certainly give us a big battle. We've been lucky in the
time of our advance. As it is, I think we'll have something to do.”
It was now about noon, the noon of a beautiful October day of the North,
the air like life itself, the foliage burning red on the hills, the
leaves falling softly from the trees as the wind blew, but bringing with
them no hint of decay. None of the vanguard felt fatigue, but when they
crossed a low range of hills and saw before them a creek flowing down
to the Susquehanna, Henry, who was in the lead, stopped suddenly and
dropped down in the grass. The others, knowing without question the
significance of the action, also sank down.
“What is it, Henry?” asked Shif'less Sol.
“You see how thick the trees are on the other side of that bank. Look
a little to the left of a big oak, and you will see the feathers in the
headdress of an Iroquois. Farther on I think I can catch a glimpse of
a green coat, and if I am right that coat is worn by one of Johnson's
Royal Greens. It's an ambush, Sol, an ambush meant for us.”
“But it's not an ambush intended for our main force, Mynheer Henry,”
said Heemskerk, whose red face began to grow redder with the desire for
action. “I, too, see the feather of the Iroquois.”
“As good scouts and skirmishers it's our duty, then, to clear this force
out of the way, and not wait for the main body to come up, is it not?”
asked Henry, with a suggestive look at the Dutchman.
“What a goot head you have, Mynheer Henry!” exclaimed Heemskerk. “Of
course we will fight, and fight now!”
“How about them blue plates?” said Shif'less Sol softly. But Heemskerk
did not hear him.
They swiftly developed their plan of action. There could be no earthly
doubt of the fact that the Iroquois and some Tories were ambushed on
the far side of the creek. Possibly Thayendanegea himself, stung by the
burning of Oghwaga and the advance on Cunahunta, was there. But they
were sure that it was not a large band.
The party of Henry and Heemskerk numbered fourteen, but every one was a
veteran, full of courage, tenacity, and all the skill of the woods.
They had supreme confidence in their ability to beat the best of the
Iroquois, man for man, and they carried the very finest arms known to
the time.
It was decided that four of the men should remain on the hill. The
others, including the five, Heemskerk, and Taylor, would make a circuit,
cross the creek a full mile above, and come down on the flank of the
ambushing party. Theirs would be the main attack, but it would be
preceded by sharpshooting from the four, intended to absorb the
attention of the Iroquois. The chosen ten slipped back down the hill,
and as soon as they were sheltered from any possible glimpse by the
warriors, they rose and ran rapidly westward. Before they had gone far
they heard the crack of a rifle shot, then another, then several from
another point, as if in reply.
“It's our sharpshooters,” said Henry. “They've begun to disturb the
Iroquois, and they'll keep them busy.”
“Until we break in on their sport and keep them still busier,” exclaimed
Heemskerk, revolving swiftly through the bushes, his face blazing red.
It did not take long for such as they to go the mile or so that they
intended, and then they crossed the creek, wading in the water breast
high, but careful to keep their ammunition dry. Then they turned and
rapidly descended the stream on its northern bank. In a few minutes they
heard the sound of a rifle shot, and then of another as if replying.
“The Iroquois have been fooled,” exclaimed Heemskerk. “Our four good
riflemen have made them think that a great force is there, and they have
not dared to cross the creek themselves and make an attack.”
In a few minutes more, as they ran noiselessly through the forest, they
saw a little drifting smoke, and now and then the faint flash of rifles.
They were coming somewhere near to the Iroquois band, and they practiced
exceeding caution. Presently they caught sight of Indian faces, and now
and then one of Johnson's Greens or Butler's Rangers. They stopped and
held a council that lasted scarcely more than half a minute. They all
agreed there was but one thing to do, and that was to attack in the
Indian's own way-that is, by ambush and sharpshooting.
Henry fired the first shot, and an Iroquois, aiming at a foe on the
other side of the creek, fell. Heemskerk quickly followed with a shot as
good, and the surprised Iroquois turned to face this new foe. But they
and the Tories were a strong band, and they retreated only a little.
Then they stood firm, and the forest battle began. The Indians numbered
not less than thirty, and both Braxton Wyatt and Coleman were with them,
but the value of skill was here shown by the smaller party, the one
that attacked. The frontiersmen, trained to every trick and wile of
the forest, and marksmen such as the Indians were never able to become,
continually pressed in and drove the Iroquois from tree to tree. Once or
twice the warriors started a rush, but they were quickly driven back by
sharpshooting such as they had never faced before. They soon realized
that this was no band of border farmers, armed hastily for an emergency,
but a foe who knew everything that they knew, and more.
Braxton Wyatt and his friend Coleman fought with the Iroquois, and Wyatt
in particular was hot with rage. He suspected that the five who had
defeated him so often were among these marksmen, and there might be a
chance now to destroy them all. He crept to the side of the fierce old
Seneca chief, Hiokatoo, and suggested that a part of their band slip
around and enfold the enemy.
Old Hiokatoo, in the thick of battle now, presented his most terrifying
aspect. He was naked save the waist cloth, his great body was covered
with scars, and, as he bent a little forward, he held cocked and ready
in his hands a fine rifle that had been presented to him by his good
friend, the king. The Senecas, it may be repeated, had suffered terribly
at the Battle of the Oriskany in the preceding year, and throughout
these years of border were the most cruel of all the Iroquois. In this
respect Hiokatoo led all the Senecas, and now Braxton Wyatt used as he
was to savage scenes, was compelled to admit to himself that this was
the most terrifying human being whom he had ever beheld. He was old, but
age in him seemed merely to add to his strength and ferocity. The path
of a deep cut, healed long since, but which the paint even did not hide,
lay across his forehead. Others almost as deep adorned his right cheek,
his chin, and his neck. He was crouched much like a panther, with his
rifle in his hands and the ready tomahawk at his belt. But it was the
extraordinary expression of his eyes that made Braxton Wyatt shudder. He
read there no mercy for anything, not even for himself, Braxton Wyatt,
if he should stand in the way, and it was this last fact that brought
the shudder.
Hiokatoo thought it a good plan. Twenty warriors, mostly Senecas and
Cayugas, were detailed to execute it at once, and they stole off toward
the right. Henry had suspected some such diversion, and, as he had been
joined now by the four men from the other side of the creek, he disposed
his little force to meet it. Both Shif'less Sol and Heemskerk had caught
sight of figures slipping away among the trees, and Henry craftily drew
back a little. While two or three men maintained the sharpshooting
in the front, he waited for the attack. It came in half an hour, the
flanking force making a savage and open rush, but the fire of the white
riflemen was so swift and deadly that they were driven back again. But
they had come very near, and a Tory rushed directly at young Taylor.
The Tory, like Taylor, had come from Wyoming, and he had been one of
the most ruthless on that terrible day. When they were less than a dozen
feet apart they recognized each other. Henry saw the look that passed
between them, and, although he held a loaded rifle in his hand, for some
reason he did not use it. The Tory fired a pistol at Taylor, but the
bullet missed, and the Wyoming youth, leaping forth, swung his unloaded
rifle and brought the stock down with all his force upon the head of his
enemy. The man, uttering a single sound, a sort of gasp, fell dead, and
Taylor stood over him, still trembling with rage. In an instant Henry
seized him and dragged him down, and then a Seneca bullet whistled where
he had been.
“He was one of the worst at Wyoming-I saw him!” exclaimed young Taylor,
still trembling all over with passion.
“He'll never massacre anybody else. You've seen to that,” said Henry,
and in a minute or two Taylor was quiet. The sharpshooting continued,
but here as elsewhere, the Iroquois had the worst of it. Despite their
numbers, they could not pass nor flank that line of deadly marksmen who
lay behind trees almost in security, and who never missed. Another Tory
and a chief, also, were killed, and Braxton Wyatt was daunted. Nor did
he feel any better when old Hiokatoo crept to his side.
“We have failed here,” he said. “They shoot too well for us to rush
them. We have lost good men.” Hiokatoo frowned, and the scars on his
face stood out in livid red lines.
“It is so,” he said. “These who fight us now are of their best, and
while we fight, the army that destroyed Oghwaga is coming up. Come, we
will go.”
The little white band soon saw that the Indians were gone from their
front. They scouted some distance, and, finding no enemy, hurried back
to Colonel Butler. The troops were pushed forward, and before night they
reached Cunahunta, which they burned also. Some farther advance was
made into the Indian country, and more destruction was done, but now the
winter was approaching, and many of the men insisted upon returning home
to protect their families. Others were to rejoin the main Revolutionary
army, and the Iroquois campaign was to stop for the time. The first blow
had been struck, and it was a hard one, but the second blow and third
and fourth and more, which the five knew were so badly needed, must
wait.
Henry and his comrades were deeply disappointed. They had hoped to go
far into the Iroquois country, to break the power of the Six Nations, to
hunt down the Butlers and the Johnsons and Brant himself, but they could
not wholly blame their commander. The rear guard, or, rather, the forest
guard of the Revolution, was a slender and small force indeed.
Henry and his comrades said farewell to Colonel Butler with much
personal regret, and also to the gallant troops, some of whom were
Morgan's riflemen from Virginia. The farewells to William Gray, Bob
Taylor, and Cornelius Heemskerk were more intimate.
“I think we'll see more of one another in other campaigns,” said Gray.
“We'll be on the battle line, side by side, once more,” said Taylor,
“and we'll strike another blow for Wyoming.”
“I foresee,” said Cornelius Heemskerk, “that I, a peaceful man, who
ought to be painting blue plates in Holland, will be drawn into danger
in the great, dark wilderness again, and that you will be there with
me, Mynheer Henry, Mynheer Paul, Mynheer the Wise Solomon, Mynheer the
Silent Tom, and Mynheer the Very Long James. I see it clearly. I, a man
of peace, am always being pushed in to war.”
“We hope it will come true,” said the five together.
“Do you go back to Kentucky?” asked William Gray.
“No,” replied Henry, speaking for them all, “we have entered upon this
task here, and we are going to stay in it until it is finished.”
“It is dangerous, the most dangerous thing in the world,” said
Heemskerk. “I still have my foreknowledge that I shall stand by your
side in some great battle to come, but the first thing I shall do when
I see you again, my friends, is to look around at you, one, two, three,
four, five, and see if you have upon your heads the hair which is now so
rich, thick, and flowing.”
“Never fear, my friend,” said Henry, “we have fought with the warriors
all the way from the Susquehanna to New Orleans and not one of us has
lost a single lock of hair.”
“It is one Dutchman's hope that it will always be so,” said Heemskerk,
and then he revolved rapidly away lest they see his face express
emotion.
The five received great supplies of powder and bullets from Colonel
Butler, and then they parted in the forest. Many of the soldiers looked
back and saw the five tall figures in a line, leaning upon the muzzles
of their long-barreled Kentucky rifles, and regarding them in silence.
It seemed to the soldiers that they had left behind them the true sons
of the wilderness, who, in spite of all dangers, would be there to
welcome them when they returned.