SURPRISE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE BOAT BRIGADE
For many days had the scouts of Pontiac watched from the shore the boat
brigade as it made its slow way toward Detroit. Night after night had
they hovered about its camps, peering with greedy eyes from darkest
shadows at the coveted wealth which the redcoats, ignorant of the
presence of danger, so carelessly guarded. It was well to let the
white men have the toil of bringing it as near the Indian villages as
possible, and so an attack was not ordered until the very last night.
Then the two hundred Wyandot warriors, detailed for the purpose,
watched the boats until a landing was effected, silently surrounded the
camp while everything was in confusion, and at a signal poured in their
deadly fire.
To Cuyler's men this volley was as a thunderbolt from a clear sky.
Never was a surprise more complete; never was overwhelming disaster
more sudden. They were paralyzed and unnerved. A score fell at the
first fire, and though Cuyler succeeded in forming the rest in an
irregular semicircle about the boats, their return shots were so wildly
scattering and ineffective that the enemy were emboldened to abandon
their usual tactics, break from cover in a body, and rush fiercely upon
the wavering line of panic-stricken soldiers. Most of these now saw
Indians for the first time. None waited for a second glance, but
flinging away their muskets, all ran madly for the boats.
Of these they succeeded in launching five, which were instantly filled
beyond their capacity. So ill-directed were their efforts to escape,
that the Indians, by setting two more boats afloat and starting in
pursuit, easily overtook three of the fugitive craft, which surrendered
to them without resistance. The remaining two, by hoisting sail and
taking advantage of an off-shore breeze, made good their escape and
were headed in the direction of Sandusky on the opposite side of the
lake. In one of these was the commander of the ill-fated expedition,
who had been the last man to leave the beach.
Wild with joy over a victory so easily gained and so rich in results,
the Indians, after securing their prisoners, lighted great fires, and,
gathered about these, abandoned themselves to feasting and drinking.
Among the captured supplies was a quantity of liquor, upon which they
pounced with avidity. Heads of kegs were broken in, and the fiery
stuff was recklessly quaffed from cups, vessels of birch bark, or
anything that would hold it; some even scooping it up in their hands,
until all became filled with the madness of demons. They danced,
yelled, waved aloft their bloody scalps, and fought like wild beasts,
while the trembling captives, crouching in scattered groups, seemed to
hear their own death knell in every whoop.
One such scene of hideous revelry was enacted in the little glade
beside which Madam Rothsay and Edith Hester had been left helplessly
bound by their captors. From the moment of the girl's brave effort to
warn the camp, these two had listened with straining ears to the babel
of sounds by which the whole course of the tragedy was made plain to
them. They shuddered at the volleys, at the screams of the wounded,
and at the triumphant yells of the victors. They almost forgot their
own wretched position in their horror at the fate of their recent
companions. But when all was over, and the hideous revelry of the
savages was begun within their sight, a realization of their own misery
returned with overwhelming force, and they again trembled at the
possibilities of their fate. A number of squaws had accompanied this
war party, and they could see these busily engaged securing and
concealing what weapons they could find at the very beginning of the
debauch.
"Even those creatures realize the dreadful things that are likely to
happen, and are taking what precautions they may to guard against
them," moaned Madam Rothsay.
"Yes," replied Edith, "and now, if ever, is our time to escape. Oh, if
we were not so helplessly bound and could slip away into the woods! I
would rather die in an effort to escape than suffer the agony of this
suspense. Can't you loosen your arms one little bit, aunty?"
As the girl spoke she strained at her own bonds until they sunk deep
into her tender flesh, but without loosening them in the slightest.
The elder woman also struggled for a moment with all her strength, and
then sank back with a groan.
"I can't, Edith! It's no use, and only hurts. No, we can do nothing
save commend ourselves to God and trust to his mercy. Oh, my poor
child! My poor dear child!"
The fires blazed higher, the maddening liquor flowed like water, the
yells grew fiercer, and the dancing more furious. The lurid scene
became a very pandemonium, and the leaping forms of the savages seemed
those of so many devils. The captive women closed their eyes to shut
out the horrid picture.
Suddenly Edith uttered a stifled scream--a warm breath was on her neck,
and a soft voice was whispering words of comfort in her ear:--
"Hush! Do not scream. Do not fear. You shall be saved. I am Ah-mo,
daughter of Pontiac, the great chief, sent by my father to see that you
are not harmed. Now I will take you away. It is not safe for you
longer to remain in this place. There. Do not rise. You would be
seen. Move yourself carefully into the shadow behind the tree."
As these words were uttered, Edith's bonds were severed; she felt that
she was again free, and, filled with courage born of a new hope, she
obeyed implicitly the directions of her unseen friend. As she gained
the shadow she found herself beside a girlish figure, who placed a
finger on her lips, and then in a whisper bade her speak to Madam
Rothsay, that she might not be frightened into an outcry. This Edith
did, the elder woman was released as she had been, and in another
minute the freed captives, trembling with excitement and nearly
suffocated by the intensity of their emotions, were following, hand in
hand, their silently flitting guide in the direction of the lake shore.
Their escape was effected none too soon, for they were not gone a
hundred yards when it occurred to one of the Indians who had captured
them to take a look at his prizes. His listless saunter toward where
he had left them was changed to movements of bewildered activity, as in
place of the cowering captives, he found only severed thongs, and
realized that in some mysterious manner a release had been effected.
He uttered a yell that brought a number of his companions to the spot,
and in another minute a score or so of half-sobered savages were
ranging the forest in every direction like sleuth-hounds.
"We must run!" exclaimed the Indian girl, as her quick ear caught the
significant cries announcing the discovery of the escape.
Now the flight became a panting scramble over logs and through bushes.
Fortunately the shore was near at hand, for Madam Rothsay was ready to
sink from exhaustion as they reached it.
A low, bird-like call from Ah-mo brought to the beach a canoe that had
rested motionless a few rods from shore. It held but a single
occupant, and as it lightly touched the beach the Indian girl hurriedly
assisted her breathless companions to enter, gave it a vigorous shove,
took her own place in the stern, and seizing a paddle aided in its
rapid but noiseless flight over the dark waters. The moon had not yet
risen; and so, favored by darkness, a few vigorous strokes served to
place the light craft beyond eyesight of those on shore. It seemed,
though, as if the savages whose angry voices they could hear from the
very spot of beach they had just left must see it, and the escaped
captives hardly breathed as they reflected upon the narrow margin of
safety by which they were separated from their fierce pursuers. All at
once there came from these a yell of triumph instantly succeeded by the
sounds of a struggle and followed a minute later by cries of rejoicing.
As these sounds receded from the shore, and the canoe began once more
to move forward under the impetus of its noiseless paddles, Ah-mo
leaned forward and whispered to Edith, who sat nearest her: "They have
taken some new captive. Perhaps it is the commander."
"Oh, I hope not!" murmured the girl. "I hope it is not poor Mr.
Cuyler." At the thought a great wave of pity welled up in her heart.
She knew the terrible hopelessness of a captivity in those hands; and
though she could not yet determine whether she were still a prisoner or
not, her present position was blissful compared with what it had been a
few minutes before.
If she had known the cause of those wild shouts of rejoicing, and who
it was that had been made captive in her place, her heart would indeed
have been heavy, but mercifully the knowledge was spared to her.
In the canoe the ladies found several of their own wraps and cushions
that Ah-mo had been thoughtful enough to secure. In these they nestled
together for warmth and comfort, and talking in low tones discussed
their situation during the hours that the canoe sped steadily onward.
At length the moon rose, and turning her head, Edith gazed curiously at
the girl behind her. She could see that she was slender and very
graceful, and she imagined her to be beautiful.
"How did your father know of our coming, and why did he send you to
care for us?" she asked at length.
"My father is a great chief, and his eyes are everywhere," answered
Ah-mo, proudly. "He sent me and Atoka, my brother, because he feared
you might come to harm at the hands of the Wyandots."
"But why should he be particularly interested in our welfare, more than
in that of others?"
"Are you not the daughter of Two Trees, the white-haired major, and is
he not the friend of Pontiac? Even now he dwells in the camp of my
father."
"Do you mean my father, Major Hester?" cried the bewildered girl.
"Yes."
"But he can't be dwelling among the enemies of the English. You must
be mistaken, Ah-mo."
"It is as I have said," replied the girl.
"Are you then taking us to him now?"
"No. It would not be safe. There are too many bad men even in the
camps of the Ottawas, and my father would have the daughter of his
friend removed from all harm."
"Where, then, are you going?"
"You soon will see."
And with this the white girl was forced to be content.
The night was nearly spent when the canoe approached a small island in
the middle of Lake Erie, but commanding the mouth of the Detroit river.
Here it was run into a cove, and beached beside several other similar
craft. Atoka, the young Indian, who had spoken no word during all this
time, uttered a peculiar cry as he sprang ashore, and directly several
dark forms appeared from a thicket that bordered the beach.
Ah-mo assured Edith that from these men she had nothing to fear, as
they were picked Ottawa warriors devoted to her father's interests, and
stationed them as outlooks to report the movements of any vessels on
the lake.
After a few minutes of lively conversation between them and Atoka, the
whole party entered the thicket, where, snugly hidden, stood several
Indian lodges. One of these was quickly made ready for the women, and
here, in spite of the uncertainties of their situation, Madam Rothsay
and Edith Hester, wrapped in their own shawls, soon fell into the
slumber of utter exhaustion.