After a courageous struggle against the Indians, the fugitives, as I
have shown, were taken prisoners.
It was a singular scene, as the six whites, the men having their hands
bound behind them, came out of the gloom of the wood, and, under the
escort of more than a dozen Seneca warriors, approached the camp-fire,
where Jake Golcher, the Tory, awaited them.
Mr. Brainerd, who walked close to Fred Godfrey, said, in a low voice,
"Under Heaven, my son, you are our only hope; if you see a chance, no
matter how desperate, take it."
"I will," was the low answer; "I shall make a break before the last
scene comes."
As the party emerged into the light thrown out by the burning wood, the
chief interest of the captors seemed to center in Habakkuk McEwen, for
the reason, as the reader will recall, that he was partially disguised
as an Indian. The fact that such was the case had been noted, of course,
by his captors, who seemed to be in some doubt as to the cause, but not
until now did they gain a good view of him.
The place where the camp-fire was burning was a small natural clearing,
with a fallen tree lying extended one side, so as to afford a seat for a
score of persons, if they chose to use it.
The fugitives were brought up and arranged in front of the log, Mr.
Brainerd standing first, McEwen second, Fred Godfrey third, while Aunt
Peggy, Maggie Brainerd, and Eva supported each other.
Even the whites themselves looked at the eccentric New Englander with
some curiosity, for only the females had seen him by the light of day.
His dress was of that mongrel character, worn alike by frontier Indians
and white scouts, while his face still retained the paint that had been
daubed on it by his friend, miles away in the wilderness.
The little company were placed in the order named, standing so that the
reflection of the firelight revealed every countenance with the
distinctness of mid-day, when, as we have intimated, there was a general
scrutiny of Habakkuk, who stood the ordeal well.
He threw his shoulders back, and tried hard to look like an Indian
warrior, all unconscious of the curious eyes bent upon him.
The Senecas were grouping themselves in front, when Gray Panther uttered
an exclamation that drew attention to him. He had stumbled over the
inanimate figure of the warrior whom he left to guard the colored
prisoner for Jake Golcher.
At the same moment the Tory himself rose from the farthest end of the
log, bent over as though suffering great pain, while his face was pale
as ashes. He said to the chief that it had all been caused by the negro,
who was supposed to be helplessly lame, but was only feigning it. He
developed into an animated pile-driver with such suddenness that the
warrior who received his full attentions would never recover, and Jake
himself felt much doubt whether he should ever feel entirely well
again.
Such creatures as Golcher are the most abject of cowards when in the
presence of death, and while he lay on the ground, gasping for breath
and certain that the blow received from the iron skull of the African
had finished him, he became altogether a different man from what he had
been during life.
He was repentant, and begged Heaven not to punish him for his
multitudinous sins. He pledged himself that if the little patriot band
should fall into his hands he would release every one, and conduct them
beyond the dangerous neighborhood.
Alas, for human resolution! Immediately after making the pledge he began
to rally, and as he came back to his natural self his good intentions
were scattered like thistle-down in the wind. By the time the captives
were ranged along the log in front of him he was the same malignant Tory
that he had always been.
The discovery of the dead body of the Indian caused some confusion among
Gray Panther's band, and there was considerable lamentation, during
which the prisoners were partly forgotten.
Fred Godfrey was watching like a cat for his chance, and twice he was on
the point of making a break. Had his hands been unfastened he would have
done so, but he waited for what he hoped would be a more favorable
opportunity.
A guard of two warriors took charge of their dead comrade, while the
others again centered their gaze upon the New Englander, who stood the
scrutiny with the same assurance as before.
Jake Golcher, rising to his feet, came painfully down the line, and
without paying any attention to the others, stopped in front of McEwen,
whom he scrutinized a full minute, both standing motionless and looking
squarely in each other's eyes, without uttering a syllable.