THE DROWNED LANDS
For two weeks my small patrol of six remained in the vicinity of the
Sacandaga, scouting even as far as Stony Creek, Silver Lake, and West
River, covering Maxon, too, and the Drowned Lands, but ever hovering
about the Sacandaga, where the great Iroquois War Trail runs through the
dusk of primeval woods.
But never a glimpse of Sir John did we obtain. Which was scarcely
strange, inasmuch as the scent was already stone cold when we first
struck it. And though we could trace the Baronet's headlong flight for
three days' journey, by his dead fires and stinking camp debris, and,
plainer still, by the trampled path made by his men and horses and by
the wheel-marks of at least one cannon, our orders, which were to stop
the War Trail from Northern enemies, permitted no further pursuit.
Yet, given permission, I think I could have come up with him and his
motley forces, though what my six scouts could have accomplished against
nearly two hundred people is but idle surmise. And whether, indeed, we
could have contrived to surprise and capture Sir John, and bring him
back to justice, is a matter now fit only for idlest speculation.
At the end of the first week I sent Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew into
Johnstown to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what we had seen and what we
guessed concerning Sir John's probable route. De Luysnes and Johnny
Silver I stationed on Maxon's honest nose, where the valley of the
Sacandaga and the Drowned Lands lay like a vast map at their feet, while
Nick Stoner and I prowled the silent Iroquois trail or slid like a pair
of otters through the immense desolation of the Drowned Lands, from the
jungle-like recesses of which we could see the distant glitter of
muskets where our garrison was drilling at Fish House, and a white speck
to the southward, which marked the little white and green lodge at
Summer House Point.
We had found a damaged birch canoe near the Stacking Ridge, and I think
it was the property of John Howell, who lived on the opposite side of
the creek a mile above. But his log house stood bolted and empty; and,
as he was a very rabid Tory, we helped ourselves to his old canoe, and
Nick patched it with gum and made two paddles.
In this leaky craft we threaded the spectral Drowned Lands, penetrating
every hidden water-lead, every concealed creek, every lost pond which
glimmered unseen amid cranberry bogs, vast wastes of stunted willow,
pinxter shrubs in bloom, and the endless wilderness of reeds. Nesting
black-ducks rose on clattering wings in scores and scores at our
stealthy invasion; herons and bitterns flapped heavily skyward; great
chain-pike, as long as a young boy, slid like shadows under our dipping
paddles. But we saw no Indians.
Nor was there a sign of any canoe amid the Drowned Lands; not a moccasin
print in swamp-moss or mud; no trace of Iroquois on the Stacking Ridge,
where already wild pigeons were flying among the beech and oak trees,
busy with courtship and nesting.
It was now near the middle of June, but Nick thought that Sir John had
not yet reached Canada, nor was like to accomplish that terrible journey
through a pathless wilderness under a full month.
We know now that he did accomplish it in nineteen days, and arrived with
his starving people in a terrible plight.[4] But nobody then supposed it
possible that he could travel so quickly. Even his own Mohawks never
dreamed he was already so far advanced on his flight; and this was their
vital mistake; for there had been sent from Canada a war party to meet
and aid Sir John; and, by hazard, I was to learn of this alarming
business in a manner I had neither expected nor desired.
[Footnote 4: One of his abandoned brass cannon is--or recently
was--lying embedded in a swamp in the North Woods.]
* * * * *
I was sitting on a great, smooth bowlder, where the little trout stream,
which tumbles down Maxon from the east, falls into Hans Creek. It was a
still afternoon and very warm in the sun, but pleasant there, where the
confluence of the waters made a cool and silvery clashing-noise among
the trees in full new leaf.
Nick had cooked dinner--parched corn and trout, which we caught in the
brook with one of my fish hooks and a red wampum bead from my moccasins
tied above the barb.
And now, dinner ended, Nick lay asleep with a mat of moss over his face
to keep off black flies, and I mounted guard, not because I apprehended
danger, but desired not to break a military rule which had become
already a habit among my handful of men.
I was seated, as I say, on a bowlder, with my legs hanging over the
swirling water and my rifle across both knees. And I was thinking those
vague and dreamy thoughts which float ghost-like through young men's
minds when skies are blue in early summer and life seems but an endless
vista through unnumbered aeons to come.
Through a pleasant and reflective haze which possessed my mind moved
figures of those I knew or had known--my honoured father, grave,
dark-eyed, deliberate in all things, living for intellectual pleasure
alone;--my dear mother, ardent yet timid, thrilled ever by what was most
beautiful and best in the world, and loving all things made by God.
I thought, too, of my silly kinsman in Paris, Lord Stormont, and how I
had declined his pompous patronage, to carve for myself a career, aided
by the slender means afforded me; and how Billy Alexander did use me
very kindly--a raw youth in a New York school, left suddenly orphaned
and alone.
I thought of Stevie Watts, of Polly, of the DeLancys, Crugers, and other
King's people who had made me welcome, doubtless for the sake of my Lord
Stormont. And how I finally came to know Sir William Johnson, and his
great kindness to me.
All these things I thought of in the golden afternoon, seated by Hans
Creek, my eyes on duty, my thoughts a-gypsying far afield, where I saw,
in my mind's eye, my log house in Fonda's Bush, my new-cleared land, my
neighbors' houses, the dark walls of the forest.
Yet, drifting between each separate memory, glided ever a slender shape
with yellow hair, and young, unfathomed eyes as dark as the velvet on
the wings of that earliest of all our butterflies, which we call the
Beauty of Camberwell.
Think of whom I might, or of what scenes, always this slim phantom
drifted in between the sequences of thought, and vaguely I seemed to see
her yellow hair, and that glimmer which sometimes came into her eyes,
and which was the lovely dawning of her smile.
War seemed very far away, death but a fireside story half forgotten. For
my thoughts were growing faintly fragrant with the scent of apple
blossoms--white and pink bloom--sweet as her breath when she had
whispered to me.
A strange young thing to haunt me with her fragrance--this girl
Penelope--her smooth hands and snowy skin--and her little naked feet,
like whitest silver there in the dew at Bowman's----
Suddenly, thought froze; from the foliage across the creek, scarce
twenty feet from where I sat, and without the slightest sound, stepped
an Indian in his paint.
Like a shot squirrel I dropped behind my bowlder and lay flat among the
shore ferns, my heart so wild that my levelled rifle shook with the
shock of palsy.
The roar of the waters was loud in my ears, but his calm voice came
through it distinctly:
"Peace, brother!" he said in the soft, Oneida dialect, and lifted his
right hand high in the sunshine, the open palm turned toward me.
"Don't move!" I called across the stream. "Lay your blanket on the
ground and place your gun across it!"
Calmly he obeyed, then straightened up and stood there empty handed,
naked in his paint, except for the beaded breadth of deer-skin that fell
from belt to knee.
"Nick!" I called cautiously.
"I am awake and I have laid him over my rifle-sight," came Nick's voice
from the woods behind me. "Look sharp, John, that there be not others
ambuscaded along the bank."
"He could have killed me," said I, "without showing himself. By his
paint I take him for an Oneida."
"That's Oneida paint," replied Nick, cautiously, "but it's war paint,
all the same. Shall I let him have it?"
"Not yet. The Oneidas, so far, have been friendly. For God's sake, be
careful what you do."
"Best parley quick then," returned Nick, "for I trust no Iroquois. You
know his lingo. Speak to him."
I called across the stream to the Indian: "Who are you, brother? What is
your nation and what is your clan, and what are you doing on the
Sacandaga, with your face painted in black and yellow bars, and fresh
oil on your limbs and lock?"
He said, in his quiet but distinct voice: "My nation is Oneida; my clan
is the Tortoise; I am Tahioni. I am a young and inexperienced warrior.
No scalp yet hangs from my girdle. I come as a friend. I come as my
brother's ally. This is the reason that I seek my brother on the
Sacandaga. Hiero! Tahioni has spoken."
And he quietly folded his arms.
He was a magnificent youth, quite perfect in limb and body, and as light
of skin as the Mohawks, who are often nearly white, even when pure
breed.
He stood unarmed, except for the knife and war-axe swinging from
crimson-beaded sheaths at his cincture. Still, I did not rise or show
myself, and my rifle lay level with his belly.
I said, in as good Oneida as I could muster:
"Young Oneida warrior, I have listened to what you have had to say. I
have heard you patiently, oh Tahioni, my brother of the great Oneida
nation who wears an _Onondaga name_!" For Tahioni means _The Wolf_ in
Onondaga dialect.
There was a silence, broken by Nick's low voice from somewhere behind
me: "Shall I shoot the Onondaga dog?"
"Will you mind your business?" I retorted sharply.
The Oneida had smiled slightly at my sarcasm concerning his name; his
eyes rested on the rock behind which I lay snug, stock against cheek.
"I am Tahioni," he repeated simply. "My mother's clan is the Onondaga
Tortoise."
Which explained his clan and name, of course, if his father was Oneida.
"I continue to listen," said I warily.
"Tahioni has spoken," he said; and calmly seated himself.
For a moment I remained silent, yet still dared not show myself.
"Is my brother alone?" I asked at last.
"Two Oneida youths and my adopted sister are with me, brother."
"Where are they?"
"They are here."
"Let them show themselves," said I, instantly bitten by suspicion.
Two young men and a girl came calmly from the thicket and stood on the
bank. All carried blanket and rifle. At a sign from Tahioni, all three
laid their blankets at their feet and placed their rifles across them.
One, a stocky, powerful youth, spoke first:
"I am Kwiyeh.[5] My clan is the Oneida Tortoise."
The other young fellow said: "Brother, I am Hanatoh,[6] of the Oneida
Tortoise."
[Footnote 5: The Screech-Owl.]
[Footnote 6: The Water-Snake.]
Then they calmly seated themselves.
I rose from my cover, my rifle in the hollow of my left arm. Nick came
from his bed of juniper and stood looking very hard at the Oneidas
across the stream.
Save for the girl, all were naked except for breech-clout, sporran, and
ankle moccasins; all were oiled and in their paint, and their heads
shaven, leaving only the lock. There could be no doubt that this was a
war party. No doubt, also, that they could have slain me very easily
where I sat, had they wished to do so.
There was, just below us, a string of rocks crossing the stream. I
sprang from one to another and came out on their bank of the creek; and
Nick followed, leaping the boulders like a lithe tree-cat.
The Oneidas, who had been seated, rose as I came up to them. I gave my
hand to each of them in turn, until I faced the girl. And then I
hesitated.
For never anywhere, among any nation of the Iroquois Confederacy, had I
seen any woman so costumed, painted, and accoutred.
For this girl looked more like a warrior than a woman; and, save for her
slim and hard young body's shape, and her full hair, must have passed
for an adolescent wearing his first hatchet and his first touch of war
paint.
She, also, was naked to the waist, her breasts scarce formed. Two braids
of hair lay on her shoulders, and her skin was palely bronzed and smooth
in its oil, as amber without a flaw.
But she wore leggins of doe-skin, deeply fringed with pale green and
cinctured in at her waist, where war-axe and knife hung on her left
thigh, and powder horn and bullet pouch on her right. And over these she
wore knee moccasins of green snake-skin, the feet of which were
deer-hide sewn thick with scarlet, purple, and greenish wampum, which
glistened like a humming-bird's throat.
I said, wondering: "Who is this girl in a young warrior's dress, who
wears a disk of blue war-paint on her forehead?"
But Nick pulled my arm and said in my ear:
"Have you heard of the little maid of Askalege? Yonder she stands, thank
God! For the Oneida follow their prophetess; and the Oneida are with us
in this war if she becomes our friend!"
I had heard of the little Athabasca girl, found in the forest by
Skenandoa and Spencer, and how she grew up like a boy at Askalege, with
the brave half-breed interpreter, Thomas Spencer; and how it was her
delight to roam the forests and talk--they said--to trees and beasts by
moonlight; how she knew the language of all things living, and could
hear the tiny voices of the growing grass! Legends and fairy tales, but
by many believed.
Yet, Sir William had seen the child at Askalege dancing in the stream of
sparks that poured from Spencer's smithy when the Oneida blacksmith
pumped his home-made bellows or struck fire-flakes from the cherry-red
iron.
I said: "Are you sure, Nick? For never have I seen an Indian maid play
boy in earnest."
"She is the little witch-maid of Askalege--their prophetess," he
repeated. "I saw her once at Oneida Lake, dancing on the shore amid a
whirl of yellow butterflies at their strawberry feast. God send she
favours our party, for the Oneidas will follow her."
I turned to the girl, who was standing quietly beside a young silver
birch-tree.
"Who are you, my sister, who wear a little blue moon on your brow, and
the dress and weapons of an adolescent?"
"Brother," she said in her soft Oneida tongue, "I am an Athabascan of
the Heron Clan, adopted into the Oneida nation. My name is Thiohero,[7]
and my privilege is Oyaneh.[8] Brother, I come as a friend to liberty,
and to help you fight your great war against your King.
[Footnote 7: The River-reed.]
[Footnote 8: The noble or honourable one. The feminine of Royaneh, or
Sachem, in the Algonquin.]
"Brother, I have spoken," she concluded, with lowered eyes.
Surprised and charmed by this young girl's modesty and quiet speech, but
not knowing how to act, I thanked her as I had the young men, and
offered her my hand.
She took it, lifted her deep, wide eyes unabashed, looked me calmly and
intelligently in the face, and said in English:
"My adopted father is Thomas Spencer, the friend to liberty, and Oneida
interpreter to your General Schuyler. My adopted uncle is the great
war-chief Skenandoa, also your ally. The Oneida are my people. And are
now become your brothers in this new war."
"Your words make our hearts light, my sister."
"Your words brighten our sky, my elder brother."
Our clasped hands fell apart. I turned to Tahioni:
"Brother, why are you in battle-paint?" I demanded.
At that the eyes of the Oneida youths began to sparkle and burn; and
Tahioni straightened up and struck the knife-hilt at his belt with a
quick, fierce gesture.
"Give me a name that I may know my brother," he said bluntly. "Even a
tree has a name." And I flushed at this merited rebuke.
"My name is John Drogue, and I am lieutenant of our new State Rangers,"
said I. "And this is my comrade, Nicholas Stoner, of Fonda's Bush, and
first sergeant in my little company."
"Brother John," said he, "then listen to this news we Oneidas bring from
the North: a Canada war-party is now on the Iroquois trail, looking for
Sir John to guide them to the Canadas!"
Taken aback, I stared at the young warrior for a moment, then,
recovering composure, I translated for Nick what he had just told me.
Then I turned again to Tahioni, the Wolf:
"Where is this same war-party?" I demanded, still scarce convinced.
"At West River, near the Big Eddy," said he. "_They have taken scalps._"
"Why--why, then, it _is_ war!" I exclaimed excitedly. "And what people
are these who have taken scalps in the North? Are they Caniengas?"
"Mohawks!" He fairly spat out the insulting term, which no friendly
Iroquois would dream of using to a Canienga; and the contemptuous word
seemed to inflame the other Oneidas, for they all picked up their rifles
and crowded around me, watching my face with gleaming eyes.
"How many?" I asked, still a little stunned by this reality, though I
had long foreseen the probability.
"Thirty," said the girl Thiohero, turning from Nick, to whom she had
been translating what was being said in the Oneida tongue.
Now, in a twinkling, I found myself faced with an instant crisis, and
must act as instantly.
I had two good men on Maxon, the French trapper, Johnny Silver and
Benjamin De Luysnes; Nick and I counted two more. With four Oneida, and
perhaps Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew--if we could pick them up on the
Vlaie--we would be ten stout men to stop this Mohawk war-party until the
garrisons at Summer House Point and Fish House could drive the impudent
marauders North again.
Turning to Thiohero, I said as much in English. She nodded and spoke to
the others in Oneida; and I saw their eager and brilliant eyes begin to
glitter.
Now, I carried always with me in the bosom of my buckskin shirt a
_carnet_, or tablet of good paper, and a pencil given me years ago by
Sir William.
And now I seated myself on a rock and took my instruments and wrote:
"Hans Creek, near
Maxon Brook,
June 13th, 1776.
"To the Officer comm{d'ng} ye
Garrison at ye Summer House
on Vlaie,
"Sir:
"I am to acquaint you that this day, about two o'clock, afternoon,
arrived in my camp four Oneidas who give an account that a Mohawk
War Party is now at ye Big Eddy on West River, headed south.
"By the same intelligence I am to understand that this War Party
_has taken scalps_.
"Sir, anybody familiar with the laws and customs of the Iroquois
Confederacy understands what this means.
"Murder, or mere slaying, when not accompanied by such mutilation,
need not constitute an act of war involving nation and Confederacy
in formal declaration.
"But the taking of a single scalp means only one thing: that the
nation whose warrior scalps an enemy approves the trophy and
declares itself at war with the nation of the victim.
"I am aware, sir, that General Schuyler and Mr. Kirkland and others
are striving mightily in Albany to placate the Iroquois, and that
they still entertain such hope, although the upper Mohawks are gone
off with Brant, and Guy Johnson holds in his grasp the fighting men
of the Confederacy, save only the Oneida, and also in spite of
news, known to be certain, that Mohawk Indians were in battle-paint
at St. John's.
"Now, therefore, conscious of my responsibility, and asking God's
guidance in this supreme moment, lest I commit error or permit hot
blood to confuse my clearer mind, I propose to travel instantly to
the West River with my scout of four Rangers, and four Oneidas, and
ask of this Mohawk War Party an explanation in the name of the
Continental Congress and His Excellency, our Com{'nder} in Chief.
"Sir, I doubt not that you will order your two garrisons to prepare
for immediate defense, and also to support my scout on the
Sacandaga; and to send an express to Johnstown as soon as may be,
to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what measures I propose to take to
carry out my orders which are _to stop the Sacandaga trail_.
"This, sir, it is my present endeavour to do.
"I am, sir, with all respect,
"Yr most obedient
"John Drogue, L{ieut} Rangers."
When I finished, I discovered that Nick and the Oneidas had fastened on
their blanket-packs and were gathered a little distance away in animated
conversation, the little maid of Askalege translating.
Nick had fetched my pack; I strapped it, picked up my rifle, and walked
swiftly into the woods; and without any word from me they fell into file
at my heels, headed west for Fish House and the fateful river.
My scout of six moved very swiftly and without noise; and it was not an
hour before I caught sight of a Continental soldier on bullock guard,
and saw cattle among low willows.
The soldier was scared and bawled lustily for his mates; but among them
was one of the Sammons, who knew me; and they let us through with little
delay.
Fish House was full o' soldiers a-sunning in every window, and under
them, on the grass; and here headquarters guards stopped us until the
captain in command could be found, whilst the gaping Continentals
crowded around us for news, and stared at our Oneidas, whose quiet
dignity and war paint astonished our men, I think. To the west and
south, and along the river, I saw many soldiers in their shirts,
a-digging to make an earthwork; and presently from this redoubt came a
Continental Captain, out o' breath, who listened anxiously to what news
I had gathered, and who took my letter and promised to send it by an
express to Summer House Point.
A quartermaster's sergeant asked very civilly if I desired to draw
rations for my scout; and I drew parched corn, salt, dried fish, jerked
venison, and pork from the brine, for ten men; and Nick and I and my
Oneidas did divide between us the burthen.
"The dogs!" he kept repeating in a confused way--"the dirty dogs, to
take our scalps! And I pray God your painted Oneidas yonder may do the
like for them!"
I saw a horse saddled and a soldier mount and gallop off with my letter.
That was sufficient for me; I gave the Continental Captain the officers'
salute, and looked around at my men, who had made a green fire for me on
the grass in front of the house.
It was smoking thickly, now, so I took a soldier's watch-coat by the
skirts, glanced up at Maxon Ridge, then, flinging wide the garment above
the fire, kept it a-flutter there and moved it up and down till the
jetted smoke mounted upward in great clots, three together, then one,
then three, then one.
Presently, high on Maxon, I saw smoke, and knew that Johnny Silver
understood. So I flung the watch-coat to the soldier, turned, and walked
swiftly along the river bank, where sheep grazed, then entered the
forest with Nick at my heels and the four Oneidas a-padding in his
tracks.