He _had_ a narrow escape--for the shore was lined with canoes that had
come in one by one with the tide, stealing along in the shadow that
lay upon the edge of the water, and the woods were alive with wild men
preparing to lay an ambuscade. They were not quite ready for the attack
however, and so they lay still on both sides of the narrow path he
took, and suffered him to ride away in safety when he was within the
reach, not only of their balls and arrows but of their knives. They
knew with whom they had to deal, and the issue proved their sagacity,
for when the poor fellow arrived at the fort and related what he had
seen, there was nobody to believe the story but Burroughs, and he
would not put much faith in it, although he had reason to think well
of the man; for how were the savages to get across the Bay in such a
clear still night--with a sea like the sky, and a sky like the air that
men breathe in their boyhood or when they are happy--without being
discovered by the boats? And how were they to approach from the woods,
without coming over a wide smooth level of water, seldom deep enough to
float a large canoe, nor ever shoal enough to be forded without much
risk on account of the mud?
No attack followed for three nights and for three days, and already
the garrison were beginning to be weary of the watch, and to murmur at
the restraint he had imposed. It grieved him to the soul to see their
fright passing off and their vigilance with it. I beseech you said he,
on the afternoon of the fourth day, toward night-fall, as he saw them
lying about under the trees, and a full fourth of their number asleep
in the rich warm grass, with hardly a knife or a gun where it should
be, a pike or a powder-horn--I do beseech you to hear me. You are in
jeopardy, in great jeopardy--I know it; I am sure of it--
So you said a week ago, answered one of the men, stretching himself
out, with a rude laugh, and resting his chin on both hands, with his
elbows fixed in the turf.
Ah, you may laugh, Mark Smith, but I am satisfied of what I say--the
woods are much too still for the time o’ the year--
Fiddlestick, parson Burroughs! what a queer fish you be, to be sure,
added another. You are skeered when there’s nothin’ at all to be
skeered at--
So he is Billy Pray, and yet he aint afeard o’ the old One himself,
when other folks air.
Skeered one day at a noise, and another day at no noise at all--haw,
haw, haw!
Do you see how the birds fly?
What birds?
The birds that come up from the shore--they fly as if they were
frightened--
Well, what if they do?
An’ so I say, Mark Smith--what if they do? rolling over in the grass
and preparing for another nap--Who cares how they fly? if they’re
frightened, haw, haw, haw, that’s their look out, I spose--haw, haw,
haw.
I beseech you to be serious, men--we have heard no shot fired for
several days in that quarter, and yet you see the birds fly as if they
were hunted. Now, it is my opinion that they are struck with arrows,
and arrows you know are made use of by people who are afraid to make a
noise when they kill their food--
Ha, ha, ha;--haw, haw, haw! gi’ me you yit, parson--haw, haw,
haw!--what if they’re under the shore--can’t they kill fish without
makin’ a noise? haw, haw, haw!
Fish--fish--but no, I will not be angry with you Taber; I dare not,
much as you deserve it, for every thing we have in the world is now at
stake--everything. I entreat you therefore, my friends--I implore you,
instead of laying by your arms, to double your guard this very night;
instead of sleeping, to watch more than ever--I feel afraid of this
deep tranquility--
Nonsense--double the watch now, when every thing is quiet in the woods,
and down by the beach, and not a breath o’ noise to be heard anywhere?
Yea--yea--for that very reason. Look you, David Fisher--I know well
what the Indians are, better than you do now, and better than you ever
will, I hope. I have now done _my_ duty. Do you yours--I have nothing
more to say; but I shall be prepared as I would have you prepare, for
the night which is now at hand. Our foes are not on the water, Smith,
nor nigh the water now, or they might fish for their food without
alarming us. But whether you believe me or no, I say again that they
are not far from us, and that we shall find it so, to our sorrow, if
you do not keep a better look out for the----there--there--do you
see how that partridge flies!--I tell you again and again, there’s
something alive in that very wood now.
I dare say there is--haw, haw, haw!
And so I say, Mark Smith, hee, hee, hee--
It may be one o’ the dogs--ha, ha, ha!--And they all sprang up together
with a jovial outcry, and began to caper about in the grass, and call
to a group that were at work a little way off, to go with them and
help scour the wood, where the new Joshua thought there was something
alive.
You forget Mark Smith--dogs do not go into the woods--stay, stay, I
beseech you--don’t be so foolhardy--try to make one of the dogs go to
the top of that hill before you--nay, nay, Carver; nay, nay, and you
too, Clark--are you mad Sir?--you a lieutenant of war, and the first of
our men to play the fool.
Here you men, said Clark. Here you men, I say!--Whose afeard among the
whole boodle of you?
No answer.
Nobody’s afeard--so I thought. Hourra then--hourra for the king!
Hourra!--hourra!--hourra for the king!
Pooty well, that--pooty fair too--now le’me see you hourra for the
queen.
Hourra then--hourra!--hourra for the queen!
That’s you, faith!
Hourra--hourra--hou----
No, no that’s enough; a belly full o’ hurrah is as good’s a
feast now--hold up your heads.--How many is there of you, all
told?--Soh--soh--steady there, steady--turn out your heels--
Turn out your toes you mean--haw, haw, hee!
No I don’t--hee, hee, haw--give that up long ago.--Now then! hold still
there, hol’ still I say, while I count you off--one--two--three--darn
your hide Matthew Joy, aint there no hold still to you? Stan’ still,
I say;--four, five--Out o’ that snarl, there--one, two, three,
four!--very well, very well indeed, never see the wrigglars do’t half
so well--clean as a whistle--soh, soh--five an’ five is ten, and five
is fifteen--there now; you’ve put me out--hold your gab, Sargeant
Berry;--how am I goin’ to count off the men if you keep a jabberin’
so? --twenty-five--eight--nine--thirty, and two is thirty-four--now
look me right in the eye every one o’ you. Heads up--heels out--heels
out I say--that’s you Jake Berry, you never stoop none, I see--heels
out there, every man of you, what are you afeard on?--You there with
the striped jacket on, what’s your under jaw out there for? you want
to tumble over it, hey?--heads up there, heads up--have your ears
buttoned back, head soaped and a bladder drawn over it hey?--Soh,
soh!--attention--very well--very well indeed--pooty fair--now I’m goin’
to give the word for you--
Wall ... an’ what’s the word you’re goin’ to give ... hey?
You be quiet our Jake, and you’ll see....
How shall we know what to do, when you give the word, if you don’t tell
us aforehand--I should like to know that....
Shet your clam, Obadiah P. Joy--aint you ashamed o’ yourself; nice
feller you for a sojer--aint he boys?
Well, fire away then.
Now you see, I’m goin’ to say now or never, three times ... behave
there! behave I say! ... and when I’ve said now or never the third
time, off I go, you see! right bang, slap dash into that are wood
there, a top or that air hill, and them that’s good enough to carry
guts to a bear, they’ll go with me. Soh ... all ready now!
Ay, ay ... ay, ay, Sir ... ruther guess we be....
Now ... or ... never! said Clark, leaning forward with a preparatory
step, setting the breach of his heavy musket in the turf, and driving
home the ramrod, to prove the weight of the charge. Now-or-never!
cocking it, and shaking the powder into the pan, with his eye on the
troop, all of whom stood with their left leg forward, ready for the
race ... now-or-never! and off he started before the words were fairly
out of his mouth on the heels of two or three who had started before.
Keep together, keep together! shouted Burroughs. Whatever else you do,
keep together!
But no, no ... they would have their own way.
If the indians are there, added he.... If they are! ... as he saw the
whole thirty stretching away all out of breath for a wood which crowned
the top of the hill--If they are! it is all up with us ... and I am
sorely afraid of that narrow green lane there, with a brush-fence on
the upper side of it.... Ha!----God forgive them for their folly....
Did you see that?
See what.... I saw nothing....
Look ... look ... there’s a glitter and a confused motion there ...
can’t you see it? ... just where the sun strikes on the verge of the
hill among the high grass, where a----my God ... I thought so!
I can’t see nothin’ ... the sun hurts my eyes; but as for you, you can
look right into the sun.... Hullow ... where now?
To arms! to arms! cried the preacher, in a voice that might have been
heard a mile ... away with you to your post.
Away with you all, cried Burroughs.
What for?
To arms! to arms, I say, continued the preacher.
What for?
To legs more like ... what for?
Away to the fort I beseech you (lowering his voice) away with you,
every man of you--you and your wives and your little ones--you haven’t
a breath to lose now ... away with you.
Nation seize the feller; what for?
Rattlesnakes an’ toddy ... what for!
What for--God of our fathers! O, ye men of little faith!
Hourra for you! you’re cracked I vow; pooty representative o’ Joshua.
Hear me ... hear me.... Have I not more experience than you? Do I not
know what I say? ... can you not believe me? what do you risk by doing
as I desire; ... O, if you but knew as well as I do, what is nigh to us!
Wall what is nigh to us?
Death.
Death!
Ay ... death ... death ... death....
Boo!
My friends ... my dear friends ... do, _do_ be ruled by me ... there
... there--did you see that?
See what? ... you _air_ cracked, I’ll be darned if you aint.
My God! my God! cried the preacher, looking about in despair, and
speaking as if he saw the savages already at the work of death,
hatchets and arrows on every side of his path, and every clump of
willow-trees near breaking out with fire and smoke. Will you not be
persuaded ... will you not give up? ... see ... see... Clark is getting
the foolish men together, and if we betake ourselves to the refuge,
there may be some hope of a--
What are they stoppin’ for now, I wonder--.
Wait half a minute more young man, said the preacher, and you will be
satisfied--now--now!
As he spoke, the men halted and came together a few yards from the top
of the hill.
Out o’ breath I guess?
Out of courage I fear--.
Hourra!--hourra!--shouted the men afar off, and the shout came through
the still air, and passed off to the high sea, like a shout of triumph.
Hourra!--hourra!--answered all that were nigh Burroughs, and all that
were in the fort.
Hourra!--hourra!--hourra!--echoed the people, and the shores and the
rocks rung with their delirious outcry, as the brave thirty dashed
forward.
There they go--there they go--yelled a man from the top of a tree just
over the head of the preacher. There they go--they are up to the fence
now.
Are they indeed--are you sure--God be praised if they are.
Sure!--that I be--there they go--there they go--ha, ha, ha!--they’re
tumblin’ over each other--ha, ha, ha--there they go--I knowed there
wasn’t any thing there--ha, ha--halloo!--hey--what--
Well Job, what’s to pay now?--they’re t’other side o’ the fence now,
arn’t they?
T’other side o’ the fence!--no, indeed, not within a--Lord God!--Mr.
Burroughs!--Mr. Burroughs!
Well--what’s the matter now?
Lord have mercy upon us! Lord have mercy upon us!
You’ll break your neck Job Hardy, if you’re not careful.
O Lord, O lord! what will become of my poor wife?
Ah, ha--now do you believe me?
Out broke the tremendous war-whoop of the Pequods, with peal after
peal of musketry, and before the preacher could make himself heard
in the uproar, two or three white men appeared afar off, running for
their lives, and pursued by a score of savages. By and by, another
appeared--another and another--and after a while five more--and these
were all that had survived the first discharge of the enemy.
You perceive now why the men tumbled about as they did, when they got
near the fence; they were struck with a flight of level arrows that we
couldn’t see--ah! you appear to have a--
O Mr. Burroughs, Mr. Burroughs--what shall we do?
He made no answer--
O Sir--Sir--take pity upon us!
He stood as if the fear that he felt a moment before was gone away
forever, and with it all concern, all hope, all care, all pity for the
wretched people about him.
O God of Jacob--what _shall_ we do!
Promise to obey me--
We will--we will--we do.
So you did, when I first came here--now you have begun to scoff at your
Joshua, as you call me.
O Sir--Sir--do not mock us, we entreat you!--Here they come Sir, here
they come! O speak to us--do speak to us--what are we to do--
Choose me to lead you--
We will--we will--we do!
And with power--mark me--do you see this gun--with leave to put a ball
through the head of the first man that refuses to obey me?
Yes--yes--any thing--any thing--
Very well--that’s enough. And I swear to you before God I’ll do
it. Now--hear what I have to say--Silence!--not a word. Here
Bradish--here--take you twelve men out of these, and away with you
to the edge of the creek there, so as to cover the retreat of your
friends. Away with you.
Hourra--hourra!
Silence--off with you as if you were going, every man to his own
funeral--don’t hurry--don’t lose your breath; you’ll have occasion for
it, I promise you, before the work of this day is over--away with you,
now; and every man to a tree; when you hear the bell, make your way to
the fort, and if it please God, we’ll whip the enemy yet.
Off sprang the twelve without another word.
Here Fitch, here--I know you--you are a married man--a father and a
good father--take these eight who are all fathers; and you Hobby,
you take these--they are all unmarried, and away with you to the
willow-hedge yonder; you to the right, Fitch; and you to the left,
Hobby--and let us see who are the braver men, the married or the
unmarried.--Stop--stop--don’t hurry; if you are to make a fair job of
it, you must go coolly to work--
Off they started--
Stand by each other!--stick to your trees!--and load and fire as fast
as you can--that’ll do--off with you--
You’ll see to the women-folks, I hope--
Off with you, Sir.
Off we go--but I say!--(looking back over his shoulder and bawling as
he ran)--what are we to do when we hear the bell?
Dodge your way in--tree by tree--man by man--
Hourra for you--hourra for Josh--hourra for Joshua!--
Before five minutes were over, the savages were in check, the people
reassured, the remnant of poor Clark’s party safe, and the whole force
of the settlement so judiciously distributed, that they were able to
maintain the fight, until their powder and ball were exhausted, with
more than treble their number; and after it grew dark, to retire into
the fort with all their women, their children, their aged and their
sick. It was no such place of security however as they thought; for the
Indians after they had fired the village and burnt every house in it,
finding the powder exhausted, laid siege to the fort by undermining
the walls and shooting lighted arrows into the wood-work. From that
moment there was nothing to hope for; and the preacher who knew that
if the place were carried by assault, every living creature within the
four walls would be put to death, and that there would be no escape
for the women or the babes, the aged or the sick, if they did not
immediately surrender, drew the principal man of the fort aside (major
Davis) and assuring him of what he foresaw would be the issue, advised
a capitulation.
A capitulation Sir, after the work of this day? said the Major. What
will become of you? you have killed a chief and two or three warriors,
and how can you hope to be forgiven, if they once get you in their
power.
Leave that to me--I know their language--I will try to pass for one of
the tribe--
But how--how--impossible, Sir.
Let me have my own way, I beseech you--leave me to take care of
myself....
No, Sir ... we know our duty better.
Then, Sir, as I hope to see my God, I will go forth alone to meet the
savages, and offer myself up for the chief that I have slain. Perhaps
they may receive me into their tribe ... give me a blanket, will you
... and perhaps not ... for the Pequod warrior is a terrible foe.
Here he shook his black hair loose, and parted it on his forehead and
twisted it into a club, and bound it up hastily after the fashion of
the tribe.
--And the faith which a Huron owes to the dead is never violated.... I
pray you therefore--
--Stooping down and searching for a bit of brick, and grinding it to
dust with his heel--
I pray you therefore to let me go forth--
--Bedaubing his whole visage with it, before he lifted his head--
You cannot save me, nor help me--
Shouldering up his blanket and grasping a short rifle.
What say you!--
Leaping to the turf parapet as he spoke, and preparing to throw himself
over.
God of our Fathers--cried the Major, Is it possible! who are you?
A Mohawk! a Mohawk! shouted all that saw him on the parapet; even those
who beheld the transfiguration were aghast with awe; they could hardly
believe their own eyes.
What say you!--one word is enough ... will you give up?
For the love of God, Mr. Burroughs! cried the Major, putting forth his
hand to catch at the blanket as it was blown out by a strong breeze....
I do pray you----
He was too late; for Burroughs bounded over with a shout which appeared
to be understood by the savages, who received him with a tremendous
war-whoop. A shriek followed ... a cry from the people within the fort
of--treachery!--treachery!--and after a moment or two every-thing was
quiet as the grave outside.
The garrison were still with fear--still as death.... Were they
deserted or betrayed? Whither should they fly?--What should they do?
Their deliverer ... where was he? Their Joshua ... what had become of
him?
The attack was renewed after a few minutes with tenfold fury, and
the brave Major was driven to capitulate, which he did to the Sieur
Hertel, under a promise that the survivors of the garrison should be
safely conducted to Saco, the next English fort and that they and their
children, their aged and their sick should be treated with humanity.
Alas for the faith of the red men! alas for the faith of their white
leaders! Before they saw the light of another day, the treaty was
trampled under foot by the savages, and hardly a creature found within
the four walls of the fort was left alive. The work of butchery--but
no--no--I dare not undertake to describe the horrible scene.
And Burroughs.... What of Burroughs?--Did he escape or die?... Neither.
He was carried away captive to the great lakes, and after much
vicissitude, trial and suffering which lasted for upwards of a year,
came to be an adopted Iroquois, and a voluntary hostage for the faith
of the white men of Massachusetts-Bay. From this period we lose sight
of him for a long while. It would appear however that he grew fond of
a savage life, that his early affection for it sprang up anew, as he
approached the deep of the solitude, where all that he saw and all that
he heard, above or about him, or underneath his feet, reminded him of
his youth, of his parentage and his bravery; that he began after a time
to cherish a hope--a magnificent hope, for a future coalition of the
red men of America; that he grew to be a favorite with Big Bear, the
great northern chief, who went so far as to offer him a daughter in
marriage; that he had already begun to reflect seriously on the offer,
when the whites for whom he stood in pledge, were guilty of something
which he regarded as a breach of trust--whereupon he bethought himself
anew of a timid girl--a mere child when he left her, and beautiful as
the day, who when the shadow of death was upon all that he cared for,
when he was a broken-hearted miserable man without a hope on earth,
pursued him with her look of pity and sorrow, till, turn which way he
would, her eyes were forever before him, by night and by day. It was
not with a look of love that she pursued him--it was rather a look of
strange fear. And so, having thought of Mary Elizabeth Dyer, till he
was ready to weep at the recollection of the days that were gone, the
days he had passed in prayer, and the love he had met with among the
white girls of the Bay, he arose, and walked up to the Great northern
chief, who but for the treachery of the whites would have been his
father, and stood in the circle of death, and offered himself up a
sacrifice for the white countrymen of the child that he knew--the
lovely and the pure. But no--the Big Bear would not have the blood of a
brother.
You know the Big Bear, said he to the young men of the Iroquois that
were gathered about him. Who is there alive to harm a cub of the Big
Bear? I am your chief--who is there alive to harm the child of your
chief? Behold my daughter!--who is there alive to strike her sagamore?
Warriors--look at him--He is no longer a pale man--he is one of our
tribe. He is no longer the scourge of the Iroquois. The beloved of our
daughter--who is there alive to touch him in wrath?
Here all the warriors of the tribe and all the chief men of the tribe
stood up; and but one of the whole drew his arrow to the head--the
signal of warfare.
White man--brother, said the Big Bear. Behold these arrows! they are
many and sharp, the arrows of him that would slay thee, but few--but
few brother--and lo!--they are no more. Saying this, he struck down the
arrow of death, and lifted the hatchet and shook it over the head of
the stubborn warrior, who retreated backward step by step, till he was
beyond the reach of the Big Bear.
Brother--would ye that we should have the boy stripped and scourged?
said the Big Bear, with all the grave majesty for which he was
remarkable. White man--behold these arrows--they are dripping
with blood--they are sharp enough to cleave the beach tree. White
man--whither would you go? Feel the edge of this knife. That blood is
the blood of our brave, who would not obey the law--this knife is the
weapon of death. Fear not--for the arrows and the knife are not for
the pale man--fear not--beloved of her in whom we have put our hope.
The arrows and the knife are not for him--but for the dogs that pursue
him. Speak!
I will, said Burroughs, going up to the resolute young savage, who
stood afar off, and setting his foot upon the bare earth before him
with all his might--I will. Big Bear--father--I must go away. I found
you in peace--Let me leave you in peace. Your people and my people are
now at war. I cannot strike a brother in battle. The white men are my
brothers.
Big Bear made no reply.
Farewell.... I must go away. I cannot be on either side when Big Bear
and Long-knife are at war.
Good.
I cannot have Pawteeda now. I have done.
Speak.
Wherefore?
Speak. Why not have Pawteeda now?
Pawteeda should be wife to some warrior, who, when he goes forth to
war, will strike every foe of his tribe, without asking, as I should,
who is he--and what is he? As a white man, I will not war with white
men. As the adopted of the red men ... with the blood of a red man
boiling in my heart, as the captive and nursling of the brave Iroquois,
I will not be the foe of a red man.
Good--
Let Pawteeda be wife to Silver-heels. He hath deserved Pawteeda, and
but for me, they would have been happy.
Good.
Here the youthful savage, whose arrow had been struck aside by the Big
Bear, lifted his head in surprise, but he did not speak.
I beseech you father! let my beloved be his wife.
Good.
The youthful savage dropped his bow, threw off his quiver, and plucking
the ornamented hatchet from his war-belt, after a tremendous though
brief struggle, offered the weapon of death to Burroughs, thereby
acknowledging that in some way or other he had injured the pale man.
Big Bear breathed fiercely and felt for his knife, but Burroughs went
up to the bold youth and gave him his hand after the fashion of the
whites, and called him brother.
It shall be so, said the Big Bear. And from that day the youth was
indeed a brother to Burroughs, who being satisfied that Pawteeda, if
she married one of her own people, would be happier than with a white
man, left her and the savages and the Big Bear and the woods forever,
and got back among the white people again, at a period of universal
dismay, just in time to see a poor melancholy creature, whom his
dear wife had loved years and years before, on trial for witchcraft.
He could hardly believe his own ears. Nor could he persuade himself
that the preachers and elders, and grave authorities of the land were
serious, till he saw the wretched old woman put to death before their
faces.