The point, at last, had been reached where it was useless to struggle
any longer. The little party of fugitives, after safely crossing the
Susquehanna on the day of the battle, and penetrating more than a score
of miles on their way eastward to the Delaware, were overtaken, and made
captive by three Indians.
Warning Ben against any resistance, the mother bowed her head in
submission, and awaited her fate. Only once, when she clasped her arm
around the awed and silent Alice, laying the other affectionately upon
the shoulder of her brave son, did she speak--"Murmur not at the will of
Heaven."
The Seneca was surprised at the action, or, rather, want of action, on
the part of the captives. Receiving no response to his salutation, he
stood a moment in silence, and then emitted a tremulous whoop. It was
a signal for Red Wolf and the other Seneca. They understood it, and
hurried to the spot, with Linna close behind them.
It would have been expected that she would indulge in some outburst when
she saw how ill everything had gone; but, with one grieved look, she
went up to the sorrowing, weeping mother and buried her head between her
knees.
And then she did what no one of that party had ever before seen her
do--she sobbed with a breaking heart. The mother soothed her as best she
could, uttering words which she heard not.
Ben Ripley when the blow came, stood erect, and folded his arms. His
face was pale, but his lips were mute. Not even by look did he ask for
mercy from their captors.
In the midst of the impressive tableau, Linna suddenly raised her head
from the lap of the mother, her action and attitude showing she had
caught some sound which she recognized.
But everyone else in the party also noted it. It was a shrill,
penetrating whistle, ringing among the forest arches--a call which she
had heard many a time, and she could never mistake its meaning.
Her eyes sparkled through her tears, which wet her cheeks; but she
forgot everything but that signal.
"Dat Omas!--dat Omas--dat fader!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet,
trembling and aglow with excitement.
There was one among the three who, had his painted complexion permitted,
would have turned ashy pale. Red Wolf was afraid that when the fearful
Delaware warrior thundered down on them, he would not give his brother
time to explain matters before sinking his tomahawk into his brain.
Manifestly, therefore, but one course was open for him, and he took it
without a second's delay.
He fled for his life.
The Senecas, however, stood their ground. The signal of Omas sounded
again, and Linna answered it. Her father was near at hand, and quickly
came to view.
But, lo! he had a companion. It was To-wika, his faithful wife.
The reunion of the Delaware family was an extraordinary one. Had no
others been present, Linna would have bounded into the arms of her
mother, been pressed impulsively to her breast, and then received the
same fervent welcome from her father.
But never could anything like that take place before witnesses.
When the child saw her parents she walked gravely up to them, having
first done her utmost to remove the traces of tears, and took her place
by their side. The mother said something in her native tongue, but it
could not have been of much account, for the child gave no reply.
Omas did not speak. One quick glance was bestowed upon his child, and
then he addressed himself to the work before him.
Omas was as cunning as a serpent. He would not have hesitated to assail
these two Senecas, for, truth to tell, he could never feel much love for
the conquerors of his people. He did not fear them; but he saw the way
to win his point without such tempestuous violence.
His words, therefore, were calculated to soothe rather than irritate. He
asked them to explain how it was they were in charge of his friends, and
listened attentively while one of them answered his inquiry.
Then, as is natural with his race, he recounted in somewhat extravagant
language his own deeds of the last few days. There is reason to believe
he gave himself credit for a number of exploits against the palefaces of
which he was innocent.
Then he said the only ones he loved among the palefaces were the three
there present--he had entrusted his only child to them, and they had
saved her from the anger of their people. He had slept under their roof,
and eaten of their bread. They were his best friends; and they his brave
Seneca brothers, when they knew of this, would be glad. He had set out
to conduct them to the settlements, and his brothers would wish all a
safe arrival there.
This speech, delivered with far more address than I am able to give it,
worked as a charm. Not the slightest reference was made to the cowardly
Red Wolf, though Omas knew all about him.
The Senecas were won by the words of the wily Delaware. They indulged
in the fiction of saying that they had no thought of how matters stood
between him and these palefaces, and their hearts were glad to hear the
words fall from his lips. They would not harm his friends, and hoped
they would reach in safety the settlement for which they were looking.
Not only that, but they offered to go with them all the way.
This was too kind, and the offer was gratefully declined. Then the
Senecas withdrew, first returning Ben's rifle to him. Whether they
ever succeeded in overtaking Red Wolf cannot be known, and it is of no
moment.
The peril had burst over the heads of the little party like a
thundercloud; and now it had cleared, and all was sunshine again.
It was some minutes before the Ripleys could fully understand the great
good fortune that had come to them. Then their hearts overflowed with
thankfulness.
With her arms clasping her children Mrs. Ripley looked devoutly upward,
and murmured:
"I thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for Thy great mercy to me and mine.
Bless Omas and To-wika and Linna, and hold them for ever in Thy precious
keeping."
The events which had taken place were strange; but Mrs. Ripley
maintained, to the end of her life, that those which followed were
tenfold more remarkable.
You will remember that when Omas, after conducting the little company
some distance from Wyoming, showed a wish to leave them, the good woman
had no doubt what his purpose was: he wanted to take part in further
cruelties against the hapless settlers.
Omas had fought hard in the battle of July 3rd, 1778, and his friendship
for the Ripleys drew him away before the dreadful doings were half
completed. He yearned to go back and give rein to his ferocity. Mrs.
Ripley tried to restrain him, but in vain.
Such were her views; but she was in error. She did not read the heart of
the terrible warrior aright.
For weeks Omas had been sorely troubled in mind. He had visited the
Christian brethren of his own tribe at the Moravian settlement of
Gnadenhutten. He had listened to the talk of the missionaries, and heard
of One who, when He was reviled, reviled not again; who, when He was
smitten and spat upon, bore it meekly; and who finally died on the
cross, that the red men as well as the white children might be saved.
All this was a great mystery to the Delaware. He could not grasp the
simple but sublime truths which lie at the foundation of Christianity.
But he longed to do so. At midnight he lay trying to sleep in the silent
woods, looking up at the stars and meditating on the wonderful Being who
had done all this. In the simplicity of his nature, he talked to that
awful and dimly comprehended Father of all races and peoples, and asked
Him to tell Omas what he should say, and do, and think.
Unknown to him, To-wika his wife had listened to the teachings of the
missionaries, and she had traversed further along the path of light than
he.
When, therefore, he told her of his longings, his questionings, his
distress, his wretchedness, and his groping in the dark, she was able to
say a great deal that helped to clear away the fogs and mists from his
clouded brain.
But Omas was in the very depth of darkness, and almost despair, when the
fearful episode of Wyoming came. It was in desperation he went into
that conflict, as a man will sometimes do to escape, as it were, from
himself.
He fought like a demon, but he could not hush the still small voice
within his breast. He felt that he must have relief, or he would do that
which a wild Indian never does--make away with himself.
It was on his tongue more than once, while threading his way through
the wilderness with his friends, to appeal to Mrs. Ripley; but with a
natural shrinking he held back, fearing that with his broken words he
could not make her understand his misery.
The only recourse was to go to To-wika, his wife. He had asked her to
talk further with the missionaries, and then to repeat their words to
him.
So it was that when he stole from the camp fire like a thief in the
night, it was not to return and take part in the scenes of violence
in which he had already been so prominent an actor, but to do the very
opposite.
It was a long tramp through the forest to his own wigwam, and his people
were aflame with excitement because of Wyoming; but the warrior hardly
paused night and day until he flung himself at the feet of To-wika and
begged that he might die.
From this remarkable woman Linna had inherited more mental strength than
from her iron hearted father. To-wika talked soothingly to him, and for
the first time in his blind groping he caught a glimmer of light. The
blessed Word which had brought comfort and happiness to her is for all
people and conditions, no matter how rude, how ignorant, and how fallen.
But To-wika felt the need of human help. She had never met Mrs. Ripley,
but her husband had told of his welcome beneath that roof, and of what
she said to him about the Saviour and God, who was so different from the
Great Spirit of the red men. She knew this woman was a Christian, and
she asked her husband to lead her to her.
He set out with her to overtake the little party who, with never
a thought of what was going on, were struggling through the gloomy
wilderness, beset by perils on every hand.
Since they were following no beaten path, except for a little way,
the most perfect woodcraft was necessary to find them. Omas knew the
direction they had taken, and calculated the time needed to reach the
Delaware. It was easy, too, to locate the camp where he had parted from
them, after which his wonderful skill enabled him to keep the trail,
along which he and his wife strode with double the speed of the
fugitives.
When he discovered that three warriors were doing the same, all the old
fire and wrath flamed up in his nature. The couple increased the ardor
of their pursuit. And yet, but for the favoring aid of Heaven, they
hardly could have come up at the crisis which brought them all together.
Under the blest instruction of Mrs. Ripley, the doubts of Omas finally
vanished, never to return. The once mighty warrior, foremost in battle
and ferocity and courage, became the meek, humble follower of the
Saviour--triumphant in life, and doubly triumphant in death.
On the third day after the meeting in the woods, the party arrived
at the little town of Stroudsburg, on the Upper Delaware, none having
suffered the least harm. The skill of Omas kept them supplied with food,
and his familiarity with the route did much to lessen the hardships
which otherwise they would have suffered.
Omas stayed several weeks at this place with his friends, and then
he and his wife and little one joined the Christian settlement of
Gnadenhutten, where the couple finished their days.
After a time, when it became safe for the Ripleys to return to Wyoming
Valley, they took up their residence there once more, and remained until
the husband and father came back at the close of the Revolution; and the
happy family were reunited, thankful that God had been so merciful to
them and brought independence to their beloved country.
Omas and To-wika and Linna were welcome visitors as long as the lived.
In truth, Linna survived them all. She married a chieftain among her
own people, and when she at last was gathered to her final rest, she had
almost reached the great age of a hundred years.