No person in all the world is so quick to detect deception as a mother.
It is simply wonderful the way she will sometimes read one's thoughts. I
am sure you boys who have lagged on the road when sent on an errand, had
a scrimmage with some other boy, or done any one of the numerous acts
in which a mother persists in asking annoying questions, will agree with
me.
While Omas, the Delaware warrior, stood with his face turned away from
the camp fire and looking off in the gloom, as if he was trying to
discover something in the darkness, Mrs. Ripley was sure she knew what
the trouble was: he was trying to decide whether he should stay longer
with the little party or leave them to make the rest of their way
through the woods without him.
He might well say they were now so far from Wyoming that they were in
little danger. They had but to keep on tramping for several days and
nights, and they would reach the little town of Stroudsburg, which, you
may know, is near Delaware Water Gap. There they need have no fear of
the red men.
Mrs. Ripley knew all this as well as Omas himself, but she did not wish
him to go back and join the hostile Iroquois, as he wanted to do. She
felt it would be far better if he would stay with them, for then he
would do no further harm to the white people.
When, therefore, he turned about and bade them goodbye, all doubt was
gone. Ben did not reply, but his mother rose from the other blanket on
which she had been sitting, walked quietly to where the Delaware was
standing, and laid her hand kindly on his arm.
"Omas, I do not wish you to leave us," she said.
He looked at her, for both stood where the firelight fell upon their
faces, and replied--"No danger--walk towards the rising sun--need not
walk fast--Iroquois won't hurt--soon be safe."
The lady was too wise to let her real objection appear.
"A while ago we heard the noise of a gun; our people are fleeing through
the woods, and the red men are following them. Alice is tired, and we
have stopped to rest. When we start again tomorrow, some of the red men
will be ahead of us. What shall we do without our friend Omas?"
"He have gun." he replied, indicating Ben.
"So have the red men, and there are more of them."
Now, if Mrs. Ripley was skilful in reading the thoughts of the Delaware,
it may be that he, too, suspected the real cause for her objections. Be
that as it may, it was plain he was not satisfied. He held the Ripley
family in too high regard to offend them openly; but Omas was set in his
ways.
He made no reply to the last remark, but stepped a little nearer the
fire and sat down, moody and silent.
"You have said enough, mother," remarked Ben in a low voice; "it will
anger him to say more. I will sit with my head against the rock; do you
lie down on the blanket and let your head rest in my lap. I think it
will be safe for us all."
With some hesitation the mother complied, the Delaware apparently paying
no heed to them. He kept his seat on the ground, looking gloomily into
the fire and in deep thought. A struggle was going on in his mind, and
no one could say whether the good or evil would win.
Ben Ripley was anxious that his mother should sleep. She had undergone
the severest of trials since early morning, and none had wrought harder
than she. The morrow would make further demands on her strength. As for
himself, he was young, sturdy, and could stand more and rally sooner
than she.
When, therefore, she said something in a low tone, he placed his hand
softly over her mouth and whispered--"S--h! go to sleep, baby."
He smoothed the silky hair away from the forehead so gently and so
soothingly that she could not resist the effect. She meant to keep
awake until Omas made his final decision; but no person can resist the
approach of slumber, except by active movement.
Before long, and while Ben's hand was still gliding like down over the
forehead, the faint, regular breathing showed she was asleep.
The son smiled.
"Good! The best mother that ever lived! Heavenly Father, watch over her
and spare her for many years. Watch over us all."
He looked across at Omas, on the other side of the camp fire, and saw
the Delaware gazing fixedly at him.
He arose as silently as a shadow and stepped nearer, peering down on the
pale, handsome face with its closed eyes.
"She sleep?" asked the Indian.
"Yes," replied Ben, softly, with a nod of his head.
He looked at her a moment and then across to the other blanket, where
the round, chubby cheeks of the little girls reflected the firelight. He
waited a moment, and then the gentler side of his nature triumphed. He
bent over the forms, kissed each in turn, straightened up, and pointing
to the eastward, said to Ben--"Go dat way--you safe--goodbye."
"Goodbye," replied the lad, knowing it was useless to protest.
Like the gliding of the shadow of a cloud, the Delaware passed beyond
the circle of light thrown out by the fire into the deep gloom of the
wood. The moccasins pressed the dry leaves without giving back any
sound, and he vanished.
"That makes a change of situation," was the conclusion of Ben Ripley;
"he's gone, and I become the general of this army; there's no telling
what danger may be abroad tonight, so I will keep my eyes open till
sunrise, to make sure that no harm comes to these folks."
And ten minutes after this decision the lad was as sound asleep as his
mother and the two little ones.
But there was One who did not slumber while all were unconscious. He
ever watches over His children, and,--though there were many perils
abroad that night, none of them came near our friends.
The camp fire which had been burning so brightly grew dimmer and lower
until the figures could hardly be seen. They gradually became more
indistinct, and finally the gloom was as deep as anywhere in the dense
woods. Only a few smouldering embers were left, and they gave out no
glow.
Ben was still sleeping, when something tickled his nose. He rubbed
it vigorously with his forefinger and opened his eyes, confused and
bewildered.
An odd, chuckling laugh at his elbow drew his gaze hither. There stood
Linna, with the sprig of oak which she had been passing back and forth
under the base of his nose, making it feel for all the world like a fly
titillating his nostrils.
Ben made an attempt to catch the mischievous girl, but she deftly
eluded him, and laughed so heartily that the others awoke and looked
wonderingly to learn what it all meant.
"I'll pay you for that!" exclaimed the lad, as his mother raised her
head from his lap. Bounding to his feet, he darted after Linna, but she
was so nimble, and dodged back and forth and from right to left so fast,
that it took much effort to run her down.
Like all little girls, she was very "ticklish," and when he dallied with
his fingers about her plump neck, she dropped to the ground and kicked
and rolled over to get away from him. He let her up, and said with
pretended gravity that he never allowed any trifling with him without
punishing the person therefore.
Linna did not seem to notice the absence of her father, and asked no
questions. Ben told his mother how he went off after she fell asleep,
and the good woman saddened, for she was sure she understood it all.
The first thing done, after a few minutes' talk, was to kneel in prayer,
Mrs. Ripley leading in a petition to Heaven that all might be preserved
from harm and reach the distant settlement safely. She did not forget
the absent Omas, or the hundreds of hapless people whom they had left
behind, who were still in great danger.
It was Mrs. Ripley's custom always to offer prayer in the little
household at the beginning of each day. Linna, who had gained a dim idea
of what the touching act meant, bent on her knees beside Alice; and who
shall say the petition which went up from her heart was not heard and
remembered by Him who notices the fall of every sparrow.
And now came the serious business of the day. Many long miles of
trackless forest lay before them and the delay caused all to feel the
need of hurry.
Mrs. Ripley gave to each a moderate portion of the food brought with
them, carefully preserving what was left, for they were sure to need
that and much more before reaching the end of their journey. The day
promised to be sultry like the preceding one, and each sadly missed the
water with which to quench their thirst and splash upon their faces and
hands.
"We shall come across some before long," said Ben hopefully when he and
his mother had divided the luggage between them and set out toward
the rising sun; "we are a great deal better off than the poor folks of
Wyoming."
The mother pinched the clothing of Linna, and found it dried of the
moisture gained by her swim in the Susquehanna.
It is a curious practice among not only the Indians, but with many white
people, not to change wet stockings or garments for dry ones. I knew
a fisherman's boy whose father once punished him for removing his
saturated stockings and shoes for others.
"Always let 'em dry on you, and you won't catch cold," was his doctrine.
"Keep moving if you can, but don't change 'em."
I don't believe in the practice; but be that as it may, the little
Delaware girl showed no ill effects from sleeping in the clothing that
had been wet. As for her father, he would have been insulted at the
mention of such a thing to him.
Ben's belief about finding water proved true. They had gone hardly a
half mile from camp when they came upon a sparkling brook, cold and
clear, and abundant enough to serve all. Having no vessels with them,
they lay down and quaffed their fill. Then they bathed their faces and
hands in the delicious fluid, and were much refreshed.
The expectation was that they would travel a good many miles before
night again overtook them. The way, while rough and broken in many
places, was not hard, and all, even to the smaller children, were used
to being on their feet. There was little fear indeed that Linna would
not do her part as well as the older ones. Young as she was in years,
she had been trained to hardship from the time she could walk. Not
only that, but, like all her race, she had learned to bear suffering in
silence and without sign of pain.
She would have to become very tired before her companions would know it.
By and by the ground was found to be rising, and in the course of an
hour they gained an elevation which, having few trees, gave them an
extended view of the surrounding country.
Looking back in the direction of Wyoming, the sky was seen to be soiled
by the heavy smoke not only from the burned Fort Wintermoot, but from
other buildings that had been fired by the Tories and Indians. The sight
was a sorrowful one, and caused the mother and son some uneasiness.
They seemed nearer to the scene of the conflict than they had supposed,
and--since the people had been continually swimming the river, and
taking flight in the woods for the same point that was the destination
of the Ripleys--it was quite certain that some of the pursuers were not
far off.
"We must make as little noise as we can," said Ben, when the party were
about to start forward again: "for there can be no telling how close we
are to Indians that are looking for us.'
"I think it better for you to walk a little way in front," suggested the
mother, "so as to warn us in time."
"The plan is a good one. I will keep in sight of you, and the minute I
see anything amiss, will make a sign, so you can stop at once."
This course was adopted. Ben carried one of the blankets flung over his
left arm as if it were an extra garment, and steadied the heavy rifle on
his shoulder with the other. As you remember, he was tall for his years,
strong, and with rugged health.
Had the weather been cooler he could have Kept up this method of
traveling for hours without fatigue; but the heat made it trying. True,
at that season of the year the foliage was dense on the trees and shut
out the sun's rays, except in the open spaces and natural clearings
which they now and then crossed; but the vegetation also stopped
whatever breeze was stirring, and obliged the members of the party to
halt many times to rest and cool themselves.
Mrs. Ripley had but few extra things to carry, and showed less fatigue
than anyone, excepting the Delaware child. The latter and Alice walked
most of the time side by side, and generally with clasped hands. There
was no use of their trying to keep their tongues still, but they were
wise enough to speak in whispers and such soft undertones that no one
else could tell what they said, and therefore nothing was to be feared
on that account from any enemies in the neighborhood.
"Why not he make sign?" was the startling question of Linna, pointing at
Ben, before the party had gone far after their brief rest.
"What do you mean?" asked the puzzled Mrs. Ripley; "he isn't to make any
sign to us till he sees or hears something wrong."
"People off dere!" replied Linna, pointing ahead and to the right of
their course. "Me hear dem speak."
It was true. The keen ears of the child had discovered a peril that
no one else suspected. She alone had caught the sound of voices that
escaped all other ears.