OYANEH!
The problem which I must now solve staggered me. How was it possible,
with my little scout of five, to discover McDonald's approach and also
find Sir John's line of communication and penetrate his purpose?
On a leaf of my _carnet_ I made a map which was shaped like an immense
right-angle triangle, its apex Fort Stanwix in the west; its base
Schoharie Creek; the Mohawk River its perpendicular; its hypothenuse my
bee's-flight to Oneida.
The only certain information I possessed was that Sir John and St. Leger
had sailed from Buck Island to Oswego, and from there were marching
somewhere. I guessed, of course, that they were approaching the Mohawk
by way of Oneida Lake; yet, even so, they might have detached McDonald's
outlaws and sent them to Otsego; or they might be coming upon us in full
force from that same direction, with flanking war parties flung out
toward Stanwix to aid their strategy.
One thing, however, seemed almost certain, and that was the direction
their waggons must take from Oneida Lake; for I did not think Sir John
would attempt Otsego in any force after his tragic dose of a pathless
wilderness the year before.
I saw very plainly, however, that I must now give up any attempt to
scout for McDonald's painted demons on the Schoharie until I had
discovered Sir John's objective and traced his line of communications.
And I realized that I must now move quickly.
There were only two logical methods left open to me to accomplish this
hazardous business with my handful of scouts. The easier way was
instantly to face about, secure two good canoes at Schoharie, make
directly for the Mohawk River, and follow it westward by water day and
night.
But the surer way to run across Sir John's trail--and perhaps
McDonald's--was to take to the western forests, follow the hypothenuse
of the great triangle, and, travelling lightly and swiftly northwest,
headed straight for Oneida Lake.
This was what, finally, I decided to attempt as I lay on my blanket
that night; and I was loath to leave the Schoharie and ashamed to turn
tail to McDonald's ragamuffins, when the entire district was in so great
distress, and Brakabeen farms a rat's nest of disloyal families.
But there seemed to be no other way to conduct if I obeyed my orders,
too;--no better method of discovering McDonald and of devising
punishment for him, even though in the meanwhile he should carry fire
and sword through Schoharie,--perhaps menace Schenectady,--perhaps
Albany itself.
No, there was no other choice; and finally I realized this, after a
night passed in agonized indecision, and asking God's guidance to aid my
inexperience in this so terrible a crisis.
At dawn my Indians began to paint.
After we had eaten a bowl of samp I called them around me, shewed them
the map I had made in my _carnet_, told them what I had decided, and
invited opinions from everybody. I added that there now was no time for
any customary formalities of deliberation so dear to all Indians: I told
them that Tharon and God were one; and that our ancestors understood and
approved what we were about to do.
Then I laid a handful of dry sticks upon the ground, pretended that this
was a fire; warmed my hands at it; lighted an imaginary pipe; puffed it
and passed it around in pantomime.
Still employing symbols to reassure these young Oneida warriors
concerning time-honoured formalities which they dared not disregard, I
drew a circle in the air with my finger, cut it twice with an imaginary
horizontal line to indicate a sunrise and a sunset, then turned to
Tahioni and bade him answer my speech of _yesterday_ after a _night's
deliberation_.
The young warrior replied gravely that he and his comrades had
consulted, and were of one mind with me. He said that it was with sorrow
that they turned their backs on McDonald, who was a great villain and
who surely would now be coming to Schoharie to murder and destroy; but
that _it did no good to sever the tail of a snake_. He said that the
fanged head of the Tory Serpent was somewhere east of Oneida Lake; that
if we scouted swiftly and thoroughly in that direction we could very
soon surmise where the poisonous head was about to strike, by
discovering and then observing the direction in which the body of the
serpent was travelling.
One by one I asked my young men for an opinion: the youthful warriors
were unanimous.
Then I turned and gazed fearfully at Thiohero, knowing well enough that
these other adolescents would obey her blindly, and in dread lest her
own dreams should sway her judgment and counsel her to advise us to some
folly. She was their prophetess; there was nothing to do without her
sanction. I could not order these Oneidas; I could only attempt to use
them through their own instincts and personal loyalty to myself.
The early sun gilded the painted body of their sorceress, making of her
clan ensign and the Little Red Foot two brilliant and jewelled symbols.
She stood lithely upright, one smooth knee nestling to the other, her
feet in their ankle moccasins planted parallel and close together, and
her body all glistening like a gold dragon-fly.
From her painted cincture hung her war-sporran,--a narrow cascade of
pale blue wampum barred with scarlet and lined with winter weasel.
Hatchet and knife swung from either hip; powder-horn and bullet-wallet
dangled beneath her arm-pits. A war bow and a quiver full of scarlet
arrows hung at her back. Her hair, shoulder-short and glossy-thick, was
bound above the brows by a tight scarlet circlet. From this, across her
left ear, sagged a heron's feather.
Never had I beheld such wild and supple grace in any living thing save
only in a young panther clothed in the soft, dun-gold of her wedding
fur.
"Thiohero," I said, "little sister to whom has been given an instinct
more delicate than ours, and senses more subtle, and a wisdom both human
and superhuman,--you who listen when the forest trees talk one to
another under the full moon's lustre,--you who understand the speech of
our lesser comrades that fly through the air paths on bright wings, or
run through the dusky woodlands on four furry feet--you who speak
secretly with the mighty dead; who whisper and laugh with fairies and
little people and stone-throwers; who with your magic drum can make
worn-out and cast-off moccasins dance; whose ancestress ate live coals
to frighten away the Flying Heads; whose forefathers destroyed the
Stonish Giants; _we Oneidas of the clan of the Little Red Foot_ are now
of one mind concerning the war-trail we ought to take and follow to the
end!
"_Little sister_; we desire to know your opinion. _Hiero!_"
Then the Little Maid of Askalege folded her arms, looking me intently in
the eyes.
"_Brother_, and my Captain," she said very quietly, "a year ago I told
you that you should come from Howell's house _in scarlet_. And it was
so.
"And while you lay at Summer House a Caughnawaga woman, with yellow
hair, washed the scarlet from your body.
"And there came a day when, we met under apple-trees in green
fruit--this Yellow Haired woman and I. And, stopping, we confronted each
the other; and looked deeply into one another's minds.
"_Brother_: when I discovered that Yellow Hair was in love with you I
became angry. But when I discovered that this young woman also _was a
sorceress_, then I became afraid.
"_Brother_: there was a vision in her mind, and I also beheld the scene
she gazed at.
"_Brother_: we saw a battle in the North, and men in strange uniforms,
and cannon smoke. And we _both_ were looking upon _you_; and upon a
shape near you, which stood wrapped to the head in white garments.
"_Brother_: I do not know what that shape may have been which stood
robed in white like a Chief of the Eight Plumed Ones.
"But at that moment we both understood--the Yellow Haired one and
I--that you must surely travel to this place we gazed at.
"So it makes no difference where you decide to go; all trails lead to
that appointed place; and you shall surely come there at the hour
appointed, though you travel the world over and across before you shall
at last arrive.
"_Brother_: we Oneida, of the Allied Clan of the Little Red Foot, are
now of one mind with our elder brother. He is our chief and Captain. He
has spoken as an Oneida to Oneidas. We understand. We thank him for his
love offered. We thank him for his kinship offered. We accept; and, in
our turn, we offer to our elder brother and Captain our love and our
kinship. We take him among us as an Oneida.
"At this our fire--for alas! no fire shall burn again at Onondaga, nor
at Oneida Lake, nor at The Wood's Edge, nor at Thendara--I, Thiohero,
Sorceress of Askalege, and _Oyaneh_, salute an Oneida chief and Sachem.
Hail Royaneh!"
"Hai! Royaneh!" shouted the young warriors in rising excitement.
The girl come to me slowly, stooped and tore from the ground a strand of
club-moss. Then, straightening up, she lifted her arms and held the
chaplet of moss over my head,--symbol of the chief's antlers.
"O nen ti eh o ya nen ton tah ya qua wen ne ken...."
Her young voice faltered, broke:
"Tah o nen sah gon yan nen tah ah tah o nen ti ton tah ken yahtas!" she
added in a strangled voice: "Now I have finished. Now show me the
_man_!"
"He is here!" cried the excited Oneidas. "He wears the antlers!"
Tahioni stretched out his hand; it was trembling when he touched the red
foot sewed on my hunting shirt.
"What is his name, O Thiohero, whom you have raised up among the Oneida?
Who mourn a great man dead?"
A deep silence fell among them; for what their prophetess had done meant
that she must have knowledge that a great man and chief among the Oneida
lay dead somewhere at that very moment.
Slowly the girl turned her head from one to another; a veiled look
drowned her gaze; the young men were quivering in the imminence of a
revelation based upon knowledge which could be explained only by
sorcery.
Then the Little Maid of Askalege took a dry stick from the pretended
fire, crumbled it, touched her lips with the powder in sign of personal
and intimate mourning.
"Spencer, Interpreter and Oneida Chief, shall die this week in battle,"
she said in a dull voice.
A murmur of horror and rage, instantly checked and suppressed, left the
Oneidas staring at their prophetess.
"Therefore," she whispered, "I acquaint you that we have chosen this
young man to take his place; we lift the antlers; we give him the same
name,--Hahyion!"[38]
[Footnote 38: Haghriron, of the Great Rite, in the Canienga dialect.]
"Haih! Hahyion!" shouted the Oneidas with up-flung hands.
I was dumb. I could not speak. I dared not ask this girl why and by what
knowledge she presumed to predict the death of Spencer, and to raise me
up in his place and give me the same name.
In spite of me her magic made me shudder.
But now that I was truly an Oneida, and in absolute authority, I must
act quickly.
"Come, then," said I in a shaky voice, "we People of the Rock must march
on the Gates of Sunset. If my fate lies there, why then I am due to die
in that place!... Make ready, Oneidas!"
The Screech-owl found a hollow under a windfall; and here we hurriedly
hid our heavier baggage.
Then, when all had completed painting the Little Red Foot on their
bellies, I stepped swiftly ahead of them and turned northwest.
"March," I said in a low voice.
We travelled as the honey-bee flies, and as rapidly while the going was
good en route; but to cover this great triangle of forests we were
obliged to use the tactics of hunting wolves and, from some given point,
circle the surrounding country, in hopes of cutting the hidden British
trail we sought.
This delayed us; but it was the only way. And, like trained hunting
dogs, we even quartered and cut up the wilderness, halting and
encircling Cherry Valley on the second day out, because I knew how
familiar was Walter Butler with that region and with the people who
inhabited it, and suspected that he might be likely to lead his first
attack over ground he knew so well.
Ah, God!--had I known then what all the world knows now! And I erred
only in guessing at the time of Cherry Valley's martyrdom, not in
estimating the ferocious purpose of young Walter Butler.
* * * * *
On the afternoon of our second day out from Schoharie, while we were
still beating up the bush of the Cherry Valley district, I left my
Indians and went alone down into the pretty settlement in quest of
information and also to renew our scanty stock of provisions. I found
the lovely place almost deserted, save for a few old men of the exempts
working on a sort of fort around Colonel Clyde's house, and a few women
and children who had not yet gone off to Schenectady or Albany.
I stopped at the house of the Wells family. John Wells, the father of my
friend Bob, had been one of the Judges of the Tryon County courts,
sitting on the bench with old John Butler, who now was invading us, with
Sir John, in arms.
Bob was away on military duty, but there were in the house his mother,
his wife, his four little children, his brother Jack, and Janet, his
engaging sister whom I had admired so often at the Hall, and who was
beloved like a daughter by Sir William.
I shall never forget the amazement of these delightful and kindly people
when I appeared at their door in Cherry Valley, nor their affectionate
hospitality when they learned my purpose and my errand.
A sack of provisions was immediately provided me; their kindness and
courtesy seemed inexhaustible, although even now the shadow of terror
lay over Cherry Valley. Their young men under Colonels Clyde and
Campbell had gone to join Herkimer; they were utterly destitute of
defense against McDonald or Sir John if Schoharie were invaded, or if
Stanwix fell, or if Herkimer gave way before St. Leger.
They asked news of me very calmly, and I told them all I had learned and
something of the sinister rumours which now were current in the Mohawk
and Schoharie Valleys.
They, in their turn, knew nothing positive of Sir John, but had heard
that he was marching on Stanwix with St. Leger and Brant, and that a
thousand savages were with them.
My sojourn at the Wells house was brief; the family was evidently very
anxious but not gloomy; even the children smiled courageously when I
made my adieux; and my dear little friend, Janet, led me by the hand to
the edge of the brush-field, through which I must travel to regain the
forest, and kissed me at our parting.
On the wood's edge, I paused and looked back at the place called Cherry
Valley, lying so peacefully in the sunshine, where in the fields grain
already was turning golden green; and fat cattle grazed their pastures;
and wisps of smoke drifted from every chimney.
That is my memory of Cherry Valley in the sunny tranquillity of late
afternoon, where tasseled corn like ranks of plumed Indians, covered
vale and hillock; and clover and English grass grew green again after
the first haying; and on some orchard trees the summer apples glimmered
rosy ripe or lush gold among the leaves;--ah, God!--if I could have
known what another year was to bring to Cherry Valley!
There was no sound in the still settlement except a dull and distant
stirring made by the workmen sodding parapets on the new and unfinished
fort.
From where I stood I could see the Wells house, and the little children
at play in the dooryard; and Peter Smith, a servant, drawing water, who
one day was to see his master's family in their blood.
I could make out Colonel Campbell's house, too, and the chimney of
Colonel Clyde's house; and had a far glimpse of the residence of the
Reverend Mr. Dunlop, the aged minister of Cherry Valley.
From a gilded weather-cock I was able to guess about where Captain
M'Kean should reside; and Mr. Mitchell's barn I discovered, also. But
M'Kean and his rangers must now be marching with Herkimer's five
regiments to meet the hordes of St. Leger.
The sun sank blood-red behind the unbroken forests, and the sky over
Cherry Valley seemed to be all afire as I turned away and entered the
twilight of the woods, lugging my sack of provisions on my back.
That night my Indians and I lay within rifle-shot of the Mohawk River;
and at dawn we made a crow-flight of it toward Oneida Lake; and found
not a trace of Sir John or of anybody in that trackless wilderness; and
so camped at last, exhausted and discouraged.
On the fourth day, toward sunset, the Screech-owl, roaming far out on
our western flank, returned with news of a dead and stinking fire in the
woods, and fish heads rotting in it; and he thought the last ember burnt
out some four days since.
He took us to it in the dark, and his was a better woodcraft than I
could boast, who had been Brent-Meester, too. At dawn we examined the
ashes, but discovered nothing; and we were eating our parched corn and
discussing the matter of the fire when, very far away in the west, a
shot sounded; and in that same second we were on our feet and listening
like damned men for the last trumpet.
My heart made a deadened rataplan like a muffled drum, and seemed to
deafen me, so terribly intent was I.
Tahioni stretched out like a panther sunning on a log; and laid his ear
flat against the earth. Seconds grew to minutes; nobody stirred; no
other sound came from the westward.
Presently I turned and signalled in silence; my Indians crawled
noiselessly to their allotted intervals, extending our line north and
south; then, trailing my rifle, I stole forward through an open forest,
beneath the ancient and enormous trees of which no underbrush grew in
the eternal twilight.
Nothing stirred. There were no animals here, no birds, no living
creature that I could hear or see,--not even an insect.
Under our tread the mat of moist dead leaves gave back no sound; the
silence in this dim place was absolute.
We had been creeping forward for more than an hour, I think, before I
discovered the first sign of man in that spectral region.
I was breasting a small hillock set with tall walnut trees, in hopes of
obtaining a better view ahead, and had just reached the crest, and,
lying flat, was lifting my head for a cautious survey, when my eye
caught a long, wide streak of sunlight ahead.
My Indians, too, had seen this tell-tale evidence which indicated either
a stream or a road. But we all knew it was a road. We could see the
sunshine dappling it; and we crawled toward it, belly dragging, like
tree-cats stalking a dappled fawn.
Scarce had we come near enough to observe this road plainly, and the
crushed ferns and swale grasses in the new waggon ruts, when we heard
horses coming at a great distance.
Down we drop, each to a tree, and lie with levelled pieces, while slop!
thud! clink! come the horses, nearer, nearer; and, to my astonishment
and perplexity, from the _east_, and travelling the wrong way.
I cautioned my Oneidas fiercely against firing unless I so signalled
them; we lay waiting in an excitement well nigh unendurable, while
nearer and nearer came the leisurely sound of the advancing horses.
And now we saw them!--three red-coat dragoons riding very carelessly
westward on this wide, well-trodden road which now I knew must lead to
Oneida Lake.
I could see the British horsemen plainly. The day was hot; the sun beat
down on their red jackets and helmets; they sat their saddles wearily;
their faces were wet with perspiration, and they had loosened jacket and
neck-cloth, and their pistols were in holster, and their guns slung upon
their backs.
It was plain that these troopers had no thought of precaution nor
entertained any apprehension of danger on this road, which must lie in
the rear of their army, and must also be their route of communication
between the Lake and the Mohawk.
Slap, slop, clink! they trampled past us where my Oneidas lay a-tremble
like crouched cats to see the rats escaping on their runway.
But my ears had caught another sound,--the distant noise of wheels; and
I guessed that this was a waggon which the three horsemen should have
escorted, but, feeling entirely secure, had let their horses take their
own gait, and so had straggled on far ahead of the convoy with which
they should have kept in touch.
The waggon was far away. It approached slowly. Already the horsemen had
ridden clear out o' sight; and we crept to the edge of the road and lay
flat in the weeds, waiting, listening.
Twice the approaching vehicle halted as though to rest the horses; the
dragoons must have been a long way ahead by this time, for it was some
minutes since the sound of their horses' hoofs had died away in the
woods.
And now, near and ever nearer, creeps the waggon; and now it seems close
at hand; and now we see it far away down the road, slowly moving toward
us.
But it is no baggage-wain,--no transport cart that approaches us. The
two horses are caparisoned in bright harness; the driver wears a red
waistcoat and is a negro, and powdered. The vehicle is a private coach
which lurches, though driven cautiously.
"Good God!" said I, "that is Sir John's family coach! Tahioni, hold
your Oneidas! For I mean to find out who rides so carelessly to Oneida
Lake, confiding too much in the army which has passed this way!"
Slowly, slowly the coach drew near our ambush. I recognized Colas as the
coachman _pro tem_; I knew the horses and the family coach; saw the
Johnson arms emblazoned on the panels as I rose from the roadside weeds.
"Colas!" I said quietly.
The negro pulled in his horses and sat staring at me, astounded.
I walked leisurely past the horses to the window of the coach. And
there, seated, I saw Polly Johnson and Claudia Swift.
There ensued a terrible silence and they gazed upon me as though they
were looking upon a dead man.
"Jack Drogue!" whispered Claudia, "how--how come you here?"
I bowed, my cap in my hand, but could not utter a word.
"Jack! Jack, are--are you alone?" faltered Lady Johnson. "Good heavens,
what does this mean, I beg of you?----"
"Where are your people, Polly?" I asked in a dead voice.
"My--my people? Do you mean my husband?"
"I mean him.... And his troops. Where are they at this moment?"
"Do you not know that the army is before Stanwix?"
"I know it now," said I gravely.
"Mercy on us, Jack!" cried Claudia, finding her voice shrilly; "will you
not tell us how it is that we meet you here on the Oneida road and close
to our own army?"
I shook my head: "No, Claudia, I shall not tell you. But I must ask you
how you came here and whither you now are bound. And you must answer."
They gazed at my sombre face with an intentness and anxiety that made me
sadder than ever I was in all my life.
Then, without a word, Lady Johnson laid aside the silken flap of her red
foot-mantle. And there my shocked eyes beheld a new born baby nursing at
her breast.
"We accompanied my husband from Buck Island to Oswego," she said
tremulously. "And, as the way was deemed so utterly secure, we took boat
at Oneida Lake and brought our horses.... And now are returning--never
dreaming of danger from--from your people--Jack."
I stared at the child; I stared at her.
"In God's name," I said, "get forward then, and hail your horsemen
escort. Say to them that the road is dangerous! Take to your batteau
and get you to Oswego as soon as may be. And I strictly enjoin you, come
not this way again, for there is now no safety in Tryon for man or woman
or child, nor like to be while red-coat or green remains within this
new-born nation!
"And you, Claudia, say to Sir Frederick Haldimand that he has lighted in
Tryon a flame that shall utterly consume him though he hide behind the
ramparts of Quebec itself! Say that to him!"
Then I stepped back and bade Colas drive on as fast as he dare. And when
he cracked his long whip, I stood uncovered and looked upon the woman I
once had loved, and upon the other woman who had been my childhood
playmate; and saw her child at her breast, and her pale face bowed above
it.
And so out of my life passed these two women forever, without any word
or sign save for the white faces of them and the deadly fear in their
eyes.
I stood there in the Oneida Road, watching their coach rolling and
swaying until it was out of view, and even the noise of it had utterly
died away.
Then I walked slowly back to the wood's edge; in silence my Oneidas rose
from the weeds and stood around me where I halted, the sleeve of my
buckskin shirt across my eyes.
Then, when I was ready, I turned and went forward, swiftly, in a
southeasterly direction; and heard their padded footsteps falling
lightly at my heels as I Hastened toward the Mohawk, a miserable, sad,
yet angry man.
* * * * *
All that long, hot day we travelled; and in the afternoon black clouds
hid the sun, and presently a most furious thunder storm burst on us in
the woods, so that we were obliged to shelter us under the hemlocks and
lie there while rain roared and lightning blinded, and deafening thunder
shook the ground we lay on.
It was over in an hour. The forest dripped and steamed as we unwrapped
our rifles and started on.
Twice, it seemed to me, far to the east I heard a duller, vaguer noise
of thunder; and my Indians also noticed it.
Later, with the sky all blue above, it came again--dull, distant shocks
with no rolling echo trailing after.
Tahioni came to me, and I saw in his uneasy eyes what I also now
divined. For to the bravest Indian the sound of cannon is a terror and
an abomination. And I now had become very sure that it was cannon we
heard; for Stanwix lay far across the wilderness in that direction, and
the heavy, lifeless, and superheated air might carry the solemn sound
from a great distance.
But I said nothing, not choosing to share my conclusions with these
young warriors who, though they had taken scalps at Big Eddy, were yet
scarcely tried in war.
* * * * *
That night we lay near an old trail which I knew ran to Otsego and
passed by Colonel Croghan's new house.
And on this trail, early the following morning, we encountered two men
whom my Indians, instead of taking as they should have done, instantly
shot down. Which betrayed their inexperience in war; and I rated them
roundly.
The two dead men were _blue-eyed_ Indians in all the horror of their
shameful paint and forest dress.
I knew one of them, for when Tahioni washed their lifeless visages and
laid them on their backs, there, to my hot indignation, I beheld young
Thomas Hare, brother to Lieutenant Henry Hare and to Captain James Hare,
of the Indian Service.
Horror-stricken, bitterly mortified, I gazed down at the dead features
of these two renegades who had betrayed their own race and colour; and
my Indians, watching me, understood when I turned and spat upon the
ground; and so they scalped both--which otherwise they had not dared in
my presence.
We found on them every evidence that they were serving as a scout for
McDonald. Probably when we encountered them they had been on their way
to Sir John at Stanwix with verbal intelligence. But now it was idle to
surmise what they might have been able to tell us.
We found upon their bodies no papers to shew where McDonald might be
lurking; and so, as I would not trouble to bury the carrion, my Oneidas
despoiled them, hid their weapons, pouched their money and ammunition,
and left them lying on the trail for their more respectable relatives,
the wolves, to devour.
* * * * *
Now, on the Otsego trail, which was but a vile one and nigh impassable
with undergrowth, we beat toward the Mohawk like circling hounds cast
out and at fault to find a scent.
And at evening of that day, the seventh of August, I saw a man in the
woods, and, watching, ordered my Indians to surround him and bring him
in alive.
Judge, then, of my chagrin when presently comes walking up, and arm in
arm with my Oneidas, one Daniel Wemple in his militia regimentals, a
Torloch farmer whom I knew.
"Great God, John!" says he, "what are you doing here with your tame
panthers and a pair o' raw scalps that smell white in my nostrils?"
I told him, and asked in turn for news.
"You know nothing?" he demanded.
"Nothing, Dan, only that we heard cannon to the eastward yesterday."
"Well," says he, "there has been a bloody fight at Oriska, John; and
Tryon must mourn her sons.
"For our fine regiments marched into an ambuscade on our way to drive
Sir John from Stanwix, which he had invested. Colonel Cox is dead, and
Majors Eisinlord and Klepsattle and Van Slyck. Colonel Paris is taken,
and our brigade surgeon, Younglove, and Captain Martin of the batteaux
service. John Frey, Major of brigade, is missing, and so is Colonel
Bellinger. Scarce an inferior officer but is slain or taken; our dead
soldiers are carted off by waggon-loads; our wounded lie in their
alder-litters. And among them our general,--old Honikol Herkimer!--and I
myself saw that brave Oneida die--our interpreter, Spencer----"
A cry escaped me, instantly checked as I looked at Thiohero. The girl
came and rested her arm on my left shoulder and gazed steadily at the
militia man.
He passed his hand wearily through his hair: "Only one regiment ran," he
said dully. "I shall not name it to you because it was not entirely
their fault; and afterward they lost heavily and fought bravely. But
this is a dreadful blow to Tryon, John Drogue."
"We were routed, then?"
"No. We drove them from the field pell mell! We cut Brant's savages to
pieces. We went at Sir John's Greens with our bayonets and tore the guts
out of them! We put the fear o' God into Butler's green-coats, too, and
there'll be caterwauling in Canada when the news is carried, for I saw
young Stephen Watts[39] dead in his blood, and Hare running off with a
broken arm a-flapping and he a-screaming like a singed wildcat----"
[Footnote 39: Captain Watts was left for dead but ultimately recovered.]
"Steve Watts! Dead!"
"I saw him. I saw one of our soldiers take his watch from his body. God!
What a shambles was there at Oriska!"
But I was thinking of young Stevie Watts, Polly Johnson's brother, and
my one-time friend, lying dead in his blood. And I thought of his
boyish passion for Penelope. And her kindness for him. And remembered
how last I had seen him.... And now he lay dead; and I had seen his
sister but a few hours ago--seen her for the last time I should ever
behold her.
I drew a breath like a deep and painful sigh.
"And the Fort?" I asked in a low voice.
"Stanwix holds fast, John Drogue. Willett is there, and Gansevoort with
the 3rd New York of the Line."
"Have you news of McDonald, Dan?"
"None."
"Whither do you travel express?"
"To Johnstown with the news if I can get there."
I warned him concerning conditions in Schoharie. We shook hands, and I
watched the brave militia man stride away through the forest all alone.
When we camped that night, Thiohero touched her brow and breasts with
ashes from our fire. That was her formal symbol of mourning for Spencer.
Later we all should mourn him in due ceremony.
Then she came and lay down close against me and rested her child's face
on my hollow'd arm. And so slept all night long, trembling in her
dreams.
I know not how it chanced that I erred in my scouting and lost
direction, but on the tenth day of August my Indians and I came out into
a grassy place where trees grew thinly.
The first thing I saw was an Indian, hanging by the heels from a tree,
and lashed there with the traces from a harness.
At the same time one of my Oneidas discovered a white man lying with his
feet in a pool of water. But when Tahioni drew the cocked hat from his
head to see his countenance, hair and skin stuck to it, and a most
horrid smell filled the woods.
And now, everywhere, we beheld evidences of the Oriska combat, for here
lay a soldier's empty knapsack, and yonder a ragged shirt, and there a
rusting tin cup, and here a boot all bloody and slit to the toe.
And now, looking about me, I suddenly comprehended that we were nearer
to Stanwix Fort than to Oriska; and had no business any nearer to either
place.
We now were in a most perilous region and must proceed with every
caution, for in this forest Brant's Iroquois must be roaming everywhere
in the rear of the troops which had invested Stanwix.
My Oneidas understood this without explanation from me; and they and I
also became further alarmed when, to our astonishment, we came upon a
broad road running through a forest where I swear no road had existed a
twelve-month past.
Where this road led, and from whence, neither my Oneidas nor I knew. It
was a raw and new road, yet it had been heavily travelled both ways by
horse, foot, and waggons. It seemed to have as many windings as the
Kennyetto at Fonda's Bush; and I saw it had been builded to run clear of
hills and swampy land, as though made for a traffic heavier than a log
road might easily sustain.
We left the road but scouted eastward along its edge, I desiring to
learn more of it; for it seemed to bear toward Wood Creek; and if there
were enemy batteaux to be seen I wished to count them.
Suddenly Thiohero touched my arm,--caught my sleeve convulsively.
"Hahyion--Royaneh--my elder brother--O my white Captain!" she stammered,
clinging to me in her excitement, "here is the _place_! Here is the
place I saw in my vision! Here I saw strange uniforms and cannon
smoke--and a strange white shape--and you--O Hahyion--my Captain!----"
I looked around me, suddenly chilled and shivering in spite of the heat
of a summer afternoon. But I perceived nobody except my Oneidas. We were
on a long, sparsely-wooded hillock where juniper spread waist high.
Below I could see the new road curving sharply to the eastward. But
nobody moved down there; there was not a sound to be heard, not a
movement in the forest. All around us was still as death.
Something about the abrupt bend in the empty road below me attracted my
attention. I examined it intently for a while, then, cautioning my
Indians, I ventured to move forward and around the south slope of the
hillock, wading waist-deep in juniper, in order to get a look at what
might lie behind the bend in this road of mystery.
The road appeared to end abruptly just around the curve, as though it
had been opened only so far and then abandoned. This first amazed me and
then alarmed me, because I knew it could not be so as I had seen on the
roadbed evidences of recent and heavy travel.
I stood peering down at it where it seemed to stop short against the
green and tangled barrier of the woods which blocked it like a living
abattis----
God! It _was_ an abattis!--a mask!
As I realized this I saw a man in a strange, outlandish uniform run out
from the green and living barrier, look up at me where I stood in the
juniper, shout out something _in German_, and stand pointing up at me
while a score of soldiers, all in this same outlandish uniform, swarmed
out upon the road and started running toward where I stood.
Then I came to my senses, clapped my rifle to my cheek and fired,
stopping one of these strange soldiers and curing him of his running
habits forever.
To me arrived swiftly my Oneidas, and dropped in the juniper, kneeling
and firing upon the soldiers below. Two among them fell down flat on the
road, and then the others turned and fled straight into their green
barrier of branches. From there they fired at us wildly, keeping up a
strange, hoarse shouting.
"Hessian chasseurs!" I exclaimed. "These troops can be no other than the
filthy Germans hired by King George to come here and cut our throats!"
"_Those men wear the uniform I saw in my vision of this place!_"
whispered Thiohero, quietly reloading her rifle. "I think that this is
truly your battle, my Captain."
Then, as her prophecy of cannon came into my mind, there was a blinding
flash from that green barrier below; a vast cloud blotted it from view;
the pine beside which I stood shivered as though thunder-smitten; and
the entire top of it crashed down upon us, burying us all in lashing,
writhing branches.
So stunned and stupefied was I that I lay for an instant without motion,
my ears still deafened by that clap of thunder.
But now I floundered to my feet amid the pine-top's debris; around me
rose my terrified Oneidas, nearly paralyzed with fright.
"Come," said I, "we should pull foot ere they blow us into pieces with
their damned artillery. Thiohero, where are you?"
"I come, Royaneh!"
"Tahioni! Kwiyeh! Hanatoh!" I called anxiously.
Then I saw them all creeping like weasels from under the green debris.
"Hasten," I muttered, "for we shall have all the Iroquois in North
America on our backs in another moment."
As we started to retreat, the Germans emptied their muskets after us;
but I did not think anybody had been hit.
We now were running in single file, our rifles a-trail, Tahioni leading,
and I some distance in the rear, turning my head over my shoulder from
moment to moment to see if we were followed.
And now, as I ran on, I understood that this accursed road had been made
expressly to transport their siege artillery; that their guns were still
in transit; that they had masked a cannon and manned it with Hessian
chasseurs to keep their gun-road safe against surprise from any party
scouting out of Oriska.
Lord, what an ambuscade! And what an escape for us!
As I jogged on at the heels of my Indians, still dazed and shaken by the
deadly surprise of it all, I saw Thiohero, who was some little distance
in front of me, reel sideways as though out o' breath, and stand still
near a beech tree, holding her scarlet blanket against her body.
When I came up to her she was leaning against the tree, clutching her
blanket to her face and breast with both hands. But she heard me and
lifted her head from the gaily coloured folds.
"Hahyion--Royaneh!" she panted, "_this_ was your battle.... And now--it
is over ... and you shall live!..."
My Oneidas had halted and were looking back at us. And now they returned
rapidly and clustered around us.
"Are you exhausted, little sister?" I demanded, drawing nearer. "Are you
hurt----"
"Listen--my brother and--my Captain!" she burst out breathlessly.
"_This_ was the battle of my vision!--the strange uniforms--the
cannon-cloud--the white shape!... I saw it near you where--where you
stood in the cannon smoke!--a shape like mist at sunrise.... Haihee! It
was the face and shape of the Caughnawaga girl!... It was Yellow Hair
who floated there beside you in the cannon smoke!--covered to her eyes
in white and flowers----"
The Little Maid of Askalege clutched her gay blanket closer to her
breast and began to sway gently on her feet as though the thumping of a
distant partridge were a witch-drum.
"Haihya Hahyion!" she whispered--"Thiohero Oyaneh salutes--her
Captain.... I speak--as one dying.... Haiee! Haie--e! Yellow Hair is--is
quite--a witch!----"
Her voice failed; down on her knees she sank. And, as I snatched her
from the ground and lifted her, she looked up into my face and smiled.
Then, in a long-drawn sigh, her soul escaped between my arms that could
not stay its flight to Tharon.
Her face became as wax; her head fell forward on my breast; her eyes
rolled upward. And, as I pressed her in my arms, all my body grew warm
and wet with bright blood pouring from her softly parted lips.