"But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be
smiled at, their offences being so capital?"
WINTER'S TALE.
When Ichabod and the Tuscarora reached the cottage, they found the
inmates much alarmed, owing to the long absence of the former; and Ralph
was just about setting out in pursuit of him. Ichabod had perfectly
succeeded, without any effort on his part, in ingratiating himself into
the favor of all. There was something in his frank, hearty manner, that
at once gave him a place in the affections of those who were capable of
being moved by such qualities. The simplicity and earnestness with which
he pursued his schemes of pecuniary speculation, if they excited the
smiles or ridicule of those who saw their groundlessness, did not
detract from his reputation as a man of excellent judgment, on all
matters out of the range of that one idea.
In a life such as we are now depicting, which was essentially new--where
men were not living on the labors of others, or eating up the substance
which others had gained, but where each relied upon his own effort to
procure the necessaries of life--there was a general simplicity of
manners, which is seldom to be found in these latter days. Although, as
in comparison with the history of population in Europe, we are
immediately connected in point of age, with the times of which we are
writing, yet in the rapidity of our own history, the seventy years which
have intervened have a much greater signification, and seem to extend
over a length of time sufficient to give the broadest play to the
imagination. We, who are now in the prime of life, and witness a broad,
fine country, thoroughly subdued to the uses of the farmer--cities and
villages connected by the ties of commerce--splendid mansions, which
already begin to wear the venerable appearance of age, can scarcely
realize that our fathers and grandfathers were the pioneers before whose
vigorous efforts the forests disappeared, and the wilderness gave place
to spacious fields, teeming with harvests, and homes where happiness
asked no aid from wealth, and virtuous simplicity paid no tribute to
overreaching avarice.
Ichabod, there, was welcomed with a degree of warmth which he had no
reason to expect; but the excited state of mind which had been produced
by the events of the day before, and the probability of future troubles,
served to magnify the dangers which it was supposed he was likely to
encounter in his morning adventure.
The Tuscarora, too, was heartily welcomed; and the morning meal, which
had been left waiting for Ichabod, was at once served. The Tuscarora ate
but little; for, however so much disposed an Indian may be to give way
to a gluttonous disposition in "piping times of peace," when on the
war-path, he is always abstemious to a degree; and he holds in great
contempt the man who suffers his appetite to overcome his necessary care
and watchfulness. Ichabod, however, had no such scruples; and he did as
ample justice to the "good things" which were set before him, as if such
an animal as a Seneca had never existed.
Having finished their breakfast, Ichabod proceeded to communicate to
Ralph and Barton what he had witnessed, together with a brief account of
the treachery of Panther towards Eagle's-Wing. It was at once resolved
that the Tuscarora should be protected.
"For," said Barton, "if the Senecas should dare to attack the cottage,
they will find that we have ample mean of defence. But I do not think
they will do so; they will not dare so openly to violate the neutrality
which now exists."
"That tribe is proverbially treacherous," said Ralph, "and from
Eagle's-Wing's story, the chief of this party is especially so. I think
they will attack us, if they learn that the Tuscarora is sheltered here,
but I agree with you that we are bound to protect him. The cottage is in
a good state of defence, and we can defend it against twice the number
of this party.
"Yes, and were they ten times as strong," answered Barton, "the
Tuscarora should not be surrendered. His services in our behalf are too
recent to be so soon forgotten; and besides, I would protect any
individual of the Oneida or Tuscarora nation, against those perfidious
rascals."
The old man said this with an animation and energy that settled the
question.
The Tuscarora, however, did not seem to assent, willingly, to the
arrangement. With a sensitiveness and courtesy which are almost peculiar
to the Indian warrior, he endeavored to decline a shelter which would be
likely to bring Barton and his family into some peril on his behalf.
"No," he said, "let Canendesha go. He knows the woods, and the warrior
likes the woods. _There_ is plenty chance to fight--plenty good place to
hide. Warrior can't fight here--can't take any scalp here."
Sambo put his hand to his head, with a vivid remembrance of the _joke_
of the night before; and even Barton and Ralph were a good deal shocked
at the cool-blooded way in which the Tuscarora spoke of this peculiar
mode of Indian warfare. Barton felt called to enter his protest, at
once.
"Tuscarora," he said, "it isn't _Christian_ to scalp. I supposed that
the Tuscaroras and Oneidas had better notions than to do so."
"What Christian do, eh?" asked Eagle's-Wing, quietly.
"A Christian never mutilates his enemy, after he has conquered him,"
replied Barton.
"What that?" inquired the Tuscarora, with a look of incomprehension.
"A Christian warrior," said Barton, who found himself somewhat puzzled
to explain clearly, to the comprehension of the Indian, the idea he had
in his mind; "A Christian warrior _kills_ his enemy; he don't----"
"Christian _kill_ enemy, eh?" said Eagle's-Wing, quickly "What scalp
good for to enemy, after he killed? Good to warrior to show squaw--good
to show chiefs--good many scalps make great chief."
"Yes, but why not bear off some other trophy? why not take a portion of
the enemy's dress, or something of that sort?"
"Warrior can't carry away _all_:--some other Injin get some,--make _him_
great warrior too. No--no--Injin got but _one_ scalp: he 'spect to have
it taken; and if he killed, _must_ lose it."
Eagle's-Wing evidently thought he had exhausted the argument; and, in
truth, he had. It would have been utterly impossible to have held any
such controversy with him, with any prospect of success, and have
admitted the right to slay an enemy at all.
Ichabod chuckled over the victory which had been gained by his friend;
not that he justified the practice, but that he thought it would be
utterly useless to endeavor to improve an Indian, in that respect. It
was a practice which had been taught in infancy, and become an instinct;
for the warrior having slain the enemy, secures the scalp, or his
victory is but half won.
Just at this point in the conversation, Sambo, who had left the house a
few moments before, came running in, saying that Guthrie had just come
in sight, and was approaching the cottage. By a sort of instinctive
feeling, the whole party, except the Tuscarora, who did not seem to be
familiar with the name, looked as if they expected some new scene in
this forest drama was about to be enacted. But with an appearance of
unconcern, they prepared to receive him; and in a moment more, the door
opened, and the heavy, coarse figure of Guthrie was in the room.
As he opened the door, the Tuscarora made a sudden movement of surprise,
which Ichabod saw, although it was unnoticed by either Ralph or Barton.
The Indian immediately resumed his appearance of composure, and looked
at the visitor with an air of indifference; but Ichabod saw that
Eagle's-Wing had made some discovery which might be of extreme
importance in the events which were likely to occur. As has been before
remarked, Ichabod had a distinct impression that he had before seen
Guthrie's face--but _where_, he could not recollect. With a feeling of
distrust, which the sudden gesture of the Tuscarora he served to
enliven, he now waited to earn the object of the visit. "Good day,
Guthrie," said Barton, "what news do you bring from below."
"O nothing in particular, Squire; but I thought I'd come up and tell you
that there's a large lot of Injins round."
"I suppose there is nothing very singular in that," answered Barton, "so
long as this may be considered Indian territory, as yet."
Now, Barton had always looked upon Guthrie with a feeling of distrust;
and for this reason he thought it best to appear ignorant of facts he
well knew, as by so doing, he might better ascertain the true object of
his visit.
He therefore continued: "I am a kind of tenant at sufferance of the
Oneidas here, myself; and I certainly cannot object to their visiting
their own territory."
"But these Injins arn't Oneidas, Squire. If I know one Maqua from
another, they're Senecas," said Guthrie.
"Senecas!" exclaimed Barton, with the appearance of surprise, "what
business have the Senecas here, I should like to know?"
"I ra'ally can't tell, Squire, what kind of business they did _come_ on
out here; but they've got into a raging passion since they've been here,
and I am ra'ally afeard of trouble."
"They have had no occasion, certainly, for anger with me or mine, and I
cannot suppose that they intend me any injury."
"Well, the truth is, Squire, they say that this Injin you've got here,"
pointing to the Tuscarora, "has got the scalp of one of their young men;
and they declare they'll take him, any way; if they can't by fair means,
they will by foul."
"You do not think they would dare to attack the cottage for the purpose
of capturing him?" said Barton.
"There's no telling what them Senecas _won't_ do, Squire, when they're
angry; but I rather reckon they will, if they know you've got him here."
"What would you advise me to do, Guthrie? You understand the ways of
this nation pretty well."
"As for understanding the ways of the Senecas, in particular Squire,"
answered Guthrie somewhat hastily, "I can't say that I do; but a man
can't live in the woods as long as I have, without knowing _something_
about the Injins in general: but as for what you'd better do, I ra'ally
can't say. But the way it looks to me is, that if you want your
buildings burnt down, and may be yourself and family taken prisoners,
you'll keep him; but if you don't, you'll send him away. But it arn't
for me to say."
"Now, Guthrie," said Barton, with the appearance of doubt. "I'll put it
to you as a question of honor, under all the difficulties you mention:
this Tuscarora saved my daughter's life, yesterday; now, can I, as an
honorable man, surrender him to his enemies?"
"Well Squire, that _is_ a pretty _tight_ spot, that's sartin," said
Guthrie. "But you see, if he did save Miss Barton's life yesterday, it
is no reason why he should put it in danger to-day; and yours and your
guests besides."
"Why, Guthrie, you talk as if I couldn't defend myself here, if I really
tried. You seem to take it for granted, that if we _are_ attacked,
_they_ must conquer. I am not so certain of that."
"I know," said Guthrie, "you've got a pretty tolerably strong fix of a
place here; but I _do_ reckon you couldn't hold out much of a siege.
I've seen stronger places taken by fewer Indians, in my day."
"Why, how many Senecas do you think there are, Guthrie?" asked Barton.
"Well, I ra'ally don't know; but I should think I'd seen pretty nigh a
hundred on 'em."
Barton smiled. The object of Guthrie was now perfectly evident. For some
reason, he had endeavored to induce Barton to surrender the Tuscarora,
and had thus magnified the force of the enemy, and cast doubt upon the
ability of Barton to maintain the defence of his dwelling.
Ralph, although very indignant at this dishonest intention of Guthrie,
maintained the appearance of composure. The Tuscarora one would have
judged to have been totally devoid of the sense of hearing; for no
motion or gesture betrayed that he supposed himself the subject of this
back-woods diplomacy. As for Ichabod, he had with difficulty restrained
himself, so far, from breaking into the conversation. Now, however, he
suddenly broke in by advancing towards Guthrie, and exclaiming--
"I say, _stranger_, you can't be very good at reckoning, for a man who
has lived all his life in the woods, and ought to know the number of his
enemies at first sight. _Only_ thirty-five, counting that red _reptile_
that lost his scalp. And as for them thirty-five, if they want
Eagle's-Wing, all they've got to do, you see, is to come and take him."
Guthrie, who saw at once that his plan had failed, and that Barton knew
accurately the number of the Senecas with whom, at the worst, he would
have to contend, now changed his tactics.
"Well, friend," said he to Ichabod, "you might have been a little more
civil, even if you _are_ right, and I'm wrong. I didn't count 'em--I
only saw 'em a long ways off, through the woods, and might be mistaken,
you know. But," said he, with a manner of perfect frankness, turning to
Barton, "whether there's thirty-five or a hundred, I don't know nor
don't care, so far as I'm concerned; if you say fight, here I am,
Squire, and I'll help you out with it, any way."
Barton suffered his feelings of distrust to be overcome at once.
Grasping Guthrie's hand, he exclaimed--"That's right, friend. You and I
are neighbors here, and there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends,
at such a time as this. The Tuscarora has been deeply wronged by these
Senecas, and if he has revenged himself, it's Indian law, and we can't
blame him for it. No--I can't surrender him; and if they want to fight
about it, why we'll get out of it the best we can."
Barton, who was extremely gratified at this addition to the force of the
cottage, at once led Guthrie about the building and grounds, to show him
his preparations for defence. Ralph was not at all pleased with the
manner of Guthrie; but as he knew that Baron was much better acquainted
with him than he pretended to be, he could not object to receiving the
aid which was so frankly offered, and which might be needed. After the
departure of Barton and his new ally, Ichabod and the Tuscarora fell
into an earnest but whispered conversation, and Ralph left the apartment
in search of Miss Baron, whom he had not seen since the events of the
day before.
"I say, Eagle's-Wing," said Ichabod, "I don't half like this business.
That stranger seems to be a kind of white Seneca. I never knew an honest
man who was afraid to look another honest man in the eye. I don't like
him."
"You guess right: I know him. He King George's man," said the Tuscarora,
quietly.
"What! a Tory!" exclaimed Ichabod. "How do you know that, Eagle's-Wing?"
"Know? Know it sartin. Saw him down here on war-path. He fought with
Senecas. No recollect?"
"That's it. Heavens and airth! why didn't I think of that? Here I've
been trying for two days to remember where I've seen that hang-dog face.
He was one of the leaders of them venomous _reptiles_. Nothing can beat
an Indian for recollecting things."
"Indians got long memory. Know enemy always. Don't forget him."
"I say, Eagle's-Wing, do you think the sarpent recollects _us_?"
"Yes--sartin. He recollect you--saw that. Recollect _me_, too. Most got
his scalp: he recollect that, well, I know."
"How's that, Eagle's-Wing?"
"When Seneca run, he run too. I shoot, and he fell. I run to get
scalp--but Seneca warriors turn--too many of 'em--and they take him off.
He 'members that, sartin."
"Now Eagle's-Wing, that sarpent has come here to practise some deviltry
on us. He's fairly cheated the old Squire, and I s'pose he thinks he has
cheated us, too. What shall we do with him?"
"I know what _I_ do," and he significantly pointed to his knife.
"No--that won't do at all. You see, if he is in league with them
Senecas, there's only _one_ way that he can help _them_ and injure _us_.
Being inside here, he reckons he can open the door to 'em."
"Yes, that's the way--no other way."
"Well, you see, Eagle's-Wing, we'll let him play his game out, but we'll
try and be there to see it done. Now, mind, Eagle's-Wing, until that
does happen, we mustn't seem to know him at all."
"Yes, yes; make b'lieve friend--that the way."
"I reckon we'll hear from them reptiles to-night; and if we do,
Eagle's-Wing, we'll thin out their numbers a little, and then to-morrow
for the Singing-Bird. You'll see her again to-morrow, and no mistake."
A melancholy smile passed over the countenance of the Tuscarora. It was
immediately followed by such a gleam of deadly ferocity, that even
Ichabod started.
"Panther got lying tongue--I tear it out. Panther got bad heart--I tear
it out. He take _my_ squaw--he never see his own squaw again."
"I don't blame you. Eagle's-Wing, for your feelings towards that
reptile; but I do wish you Injins could learn a civilized mode of
warfare. I shan't argue with you: I know better than that; but I ra'ally
don't see how any Injin of your qualities can have such a strong desire
for tearing scalps off from all his enemies. But it's Injin natur' I
s'pose. When white people offer bounties for such things, I don't much
blame Injins for speculating in that kind of article: but to do it when
nothing's to be made out of it, beats my comprehension."
But we must leave Ichabod and the Tuscarora to their conversation, while
we follow Ralph to the interview which he sought with Miss Barton.
Proceeding directly towards the front portion of the house, and entering
a room which was fitted up tastefully, and adapted to "state occasions,"
if we may be permitted to apply that term to an apartment designed as
well for a family room as a parlor, he found Ruth, who seemed to be yet
suffering from the agitation and excitement of the day before.
"I am happy to see you, Miss Barton," said Ralph, "suffering no more
from your perilous night-ride. That was an adventure which, I think, we
shall remember."
"I shall not forget it very soon, at least," she replied. "I think you
must confess that I showed you more of the peculiarities of forest life,
than was arranged beforehand."
"Had you advertised me of precisely what we saw, we might have been a
little better prepared," said Ralph: "but that adventure would make an
excellent theme for a ballad, in the German style. It possessed
sufficient of the mysterious and terrible for that purpose, certainly."
"You have visited us, Captain Weston," said Ruth, with seriousness, "in
an unfortunate time for yourself. I hear that we are threatened with an
attack from Indians."
"Do not say unfortunate. Miss Barton: rather, I deem myself most
fortunate, in happening to be here at this time, should the attack which
is threatened be made."
"I hope it may not be. O! it is horrible to think that this home I love
so much should be the scene of such a conflict."
"I think that in no event can our safely be endangered," replied Ralph;
"and that we have nothing to fear from the attack, should it be made. We
have abundant means of defence, and the enemy is not strong enough, with
the stout hearts we shall have within these walls, to force the cottage.
But I can sympathize with your sorrow, Miss Barton. God has made this
country too beautiful to be marred by the strife of men."
"It is a terrible blot on human nature," said Ruth, "that men dwelling
so far from society, in the midst of the forest, where every object
should excite sacred emotions, can engage in these unholy conflicts with
each other. It is a proof--a strong proof, of the wretched condition of
poor human nature, unassisted by the light that shines from above."
"Such is the nature of men," replied Ralph, "and surely perhaps, it will
always be. The first men were warriors, and if ignorance and brutality
always exist, the last men will be warriors, also. The whole history of
the world has been written with the sword--places most sacred have been
profaned by the bloody stains of human passion, and themes the most holy
have given rise to the deadliest hatred and contention. We cannot expect
that men educated in the ways of the forest, shall be wiser than those
who boast of their civilization."
"But is there no way," asked Ruth, "in which this conflict can be
avoided?"
"None, perhaps, that would be honorable." Ralph then gave an account of
the wrongs which the Tuscarora had received from the Senecas, together
with the capture of his squaw. Ruth acknowledged the impossibility of
complying with the demands of the Senecas. Her heart at once sympathised
with the wrongs of the Tuscarora; and the picture which her imagination
drew of Singing-Bird in captivity in the hands of those unrelenting and
unmerciful enemies, brought tears to her eyes.
"No, no," said she; "the Tuscarora has been our friend, and we cannot
deliver him to his enemies. In such a cause, I could be a soldier
myself."
Although Ruth had been educated to a far different manner of life, and
in former times had enjoyed many of the luxuries which would then be
afforded by persons in "comfortable" circumstances, yet she possessed
sufficient of that heroism of character which the times had engendered,
to enable her to throw off the habits of early education, and adopt the
character of fortitude and patience in the midst of suffering, peculiar
to the class of women in the station in which she then moved. Thus,
although she viewed with dread the prospect of a strife with the savage
and unmerciful enemies by whom they were then about to be attacked, she
did not suffer herself to yield to the terrors which such an idea would
be likely to inspire. The women of the times of the Revolution lost none
of their feminine graces, by bearing with fortitude the perils and
dangers by which they were encompassed.
Ralph gazed with admiration on that beautiful countenance, thus excited
by a tender sympathy for the sufferings which she felt must be endured
by the Tuscarora and Singing-Bird.
"With such soldiers," said he, "we could not but succeed; but we shall
scarcely call upon Miss Barton to fall into the ranks, at present. We
shall only do that as a last resort."
At this moment, their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of
Sambo, who informed Ralph that Mr. Barton desired his presence
immediately. Ralph at once obeyed the summons; but its object we shall
leave to the next chapter to unfold.