The scene at this moment was terrifying.
The river was swarming with fleeing soldiers, old men, women, and
children, struggling to reach the other side and get away from the
merciless hordes assailing them.
Where so many were taking to the river, it would seem that there was
little hope for the three, who were moving along the bank toward some
point that would take them out of the rush.
For a time they attracted no special notice, but it was impossible that
this should continue.
"Oh, the scand'lous villains!" muttered Aunt Peggy, applying her
favorite epithet to the Tories; "how I would like to wring their necks!
I've no doubt that Jake Golcher is among them. The idea of his coming to
our house to court you--"
"There, there," interrupted Maggie, "this is no time to speak of such
things; Jacob Golcher is among them, for I saw him a few minutes ago,
and we may need his friendship."
"I'd like to see me--"
"There's Gravity!" broke in Eva, clapping her hands. The other two,
turning their heads, saw that she spoke the truth.
The bulky negro servant of the family came limping toward them with his
smoking musket in hand. He was bare-headed, like Maggie and Eva, and his
garments were badly torn. He was panting from his severe exertion, and
the perspiration streamed down his dusty face.
"Where's father?" was the first question Maggie asked, as he drew near.
"Can't tell," was the reply; "when I last seed him, he was fightin' like
all creation, and graderlly workin' off toward the woods."
"Then there is hope for him!" exclaimed Maggie, looking yearningly at
the servant, as if asking for another word of encouragement.
"Hope for him? Course dere am, and so dere am for you if you hurry out
ob dis place."
"But where can we go, Gravity? I promised father to try to get away,
but how can we do so?"
"I'll soon show you," replied the African, rapidly recovering his wind,
and moving along the bank in the direction of the present site of
Kingston.
Gravity knew there was no chance for his friends until they reached the
other side of the river, but it would not do to enter the stream near
where they then stood.
A portion of the Susquehanna was so deep that it would be necessary for
all to swim, and, strange as it may seem, the only one of the party who
could do so was Maggie Brainerd herself. Though Gravity had lived for
years along the river, he could not swim a stroke.
It was a wonder that the little party had not already attracted the
notice of the horde swarming along the shores. They must do so very soon
and Gravity hurried his gait.
"I'm looking for dat scow ob mine," he explained; "if any ob you happen
to cotch sight ob it--"
Eva Brainerd gave utterance to such a shriek that every one stopped and
looked toward her.
Without speaking, she pointed up the bank where a hideously painted
Iroquois was in the act of drawing back his gleaming tomahawk and
hurling it at Gravity Gimp, who until that moment was unconscious of his
peril.
The negro held his loaded gun in hand, but the time was too brief for
him to turn it to account. In fact, at the very moment he looked at the
redskin, the latter let fly.
With remarkable quickness, Gravity, knowing that the Indian was aiming
at his head, dropped his shoulders just as the weapon whizzed past, and
striking the ground, went bounding end over end for a dozen yards.
The Iroquois was amazed by his own failure. He stared for a single
moment, and then, seeing that the dusky fellow was unhurt, he brought
his gun to his shoulder, with the intention of destroying the only
protector the women and children had, so as to leave them defenseless.
But in the way of raising his gun to his shoulder, taking aim and
firing, Gravity Gimp was five seconds in advance of the noble red man:
enough said.
"De fust duty arter shootin' off a gun am to load her up agin," remarked
Gravity, as he began pouring a charge from his powder horn into the palm
of his hand, preparatory to letting it run down the barrel of his
weapon.
"Don't wait," pleaded Maggie, greatly agitated by what had just taken
place, and by the shouts, cries, and reports of guns about them; "if we
tarry we are lost."
"I reckon I'm too well 'quainted wid dese parts to got lost," said the
servant, who was really making all the haste he could in the way of
reloading his gun. In a moment he had poured the powder into the pan of
his weapon.
"Now we'll trabbel," he said, hurrying again along the river shore. He
took enormous strides, his gait being that peculiar hurried walk which
is really faster than an ordinary trot.
It compelled the others to run, Maggie still clasping the hand of Eva,
while Aunt Peggy forgot her dignity in the terrors of the time and held
her pace with them.
The truth was that though Gravity was the owner of a scow which he had
partly hidden at the time he saw the possibility of its need, he was
afraid it had been taken by others of the fugitives that had stumbled
upon it.
Less than a hundred yards remained to be passed, and, as that was fast
put behind them, even the phlegmatic Gravity began to show some
nervousness.
"I thinks we're gwine to make it," he said, recognizing several
well-known landmarks; "and, if we does, and gits to de oder shore and
has 'bout two hundred and fifty miles start ob de Tories and Injins, why
dat will be sort ob cheerin' like."
All this time the sable guide, although walking fast, limped as if he
were hurt.
"What makes you lame?" asked Eva.
"I was hit by a cannon-ball on de knee," was the astonishing answer: "it
slewed my leg round a little, but I'll soon be all right again."
At this moment, when the hearts of all were beating high with hope, a
rustling was heard among the undergrowth on their right, and the little
company paused and looked up, expecting to see a dozen or more painted
Iroquois in their war paint.
The _click_, _click_ of the African's rifle, as he drew back the flint,
showed that he was ready to do everything to defend those who cowered
behind him like scared sheep.
To the surprise of each, however, a single man came hurriedly forth. All
identified him as Jake Golcher, an old resident of Wyoming, but one of
the bitterest of Tories, whose hatred of his former neighbors and
friends seemed as intense as that of Queen Esther, or Katharine Montour,
one of the leaders of the invaders.
He was as much surprised as the fugitives themselves, and he stared at
them with open mouth, slouch hat thrown on the back of his head, and the
stock of his gun resting at his feet. He was the first to recover his
speech, and, with an expletive, he demanded:
"Where did _you_ come from?"
"Am you abdressing your remarks to me or to de ladies?" asked Gravity of
the man whom he detested, and of whom, even then, he had not the
slightest fear.
"I'm speaking to all of you," said Golcher, glancing furtively at the
vinegar face of Aunt Peggy, and bestowing a beaming smile on Maggie
Brainerd.
Much as the latter despised the Tory, she had too much sense to show it
at this time. Walking toward him, she clasped her hands, and with an
emotion that was certainly genuine, she said:
"Oh, Mr. Golcher, won't you help us?"
"What are you axin' him dat for?" broke in Gravity; "we don't want no
help from _him_."
Aunt Peggy was evidently of the same mind, for though she said nothing,
she gave a sniff and toss of her head that were more expressive than
words.
The sallow face of the Tory flushed, as he looked down in the sweet
countenance of Maggie Brainerd, made tenfold more winsome by the glow of
the cheeks and the sparkle of the eyes, arising from the excitement of
her situation.
Bear in mind that the party had gone so far along the bank of the river
that they were somewhat removed from the swarm of fleeing fugitives, and
therefore no immediate danger threatened; but the call for flight was as
loud as ever, and a few minutes' delay was liable to bring down a score
of Indians and Tories.
To none was this fact more evident than to Maggie Brainerd. In truth,
she believed that Golcher was at the head of a company within call, and
she sought to win his good-will before it was too late.
Gravity stood with his gun at his side, the hammer raised, and ready to
fire the instant it became necessary. One foot was thrown forward, and
his whole demeanor was that of enmity and defiance.
I may as well say that the servant was trying hard to persuade himself
that it was not his duty to raise his piece and shoot the renegade
without any further warning.
It would have been shocking, and yet there would have been some
palliation for it.
In a short time the African's debate with himself ended in what may be
called a compromise.
"I'll keep my eye on him while dis foolish conversation goes on, and de
minute he winks at Miss Maggie, or says anyting dat she don't like, I'll
pull trigger."