A MISHAP AND A SENTENCE.
Deerfoot the Shawanoe first pinned the rattlesnake to the earth with
the arrow which he threw with his deft left hand, then he flung the
reptile from his path and resumed his delicate and dangerous attempt
to creep past the three Wyandots who were lying against the hank of
the Licking, watching the block-house, now and then firing a shot at
the solid logs, as if to express their wishes respecting the occupants
of the building.
If the task was almost impossible at first, it soon became utterly so,
as the young Shawanoe was compelled to admit. The contour of the bank
was such that, after getting by the log, he would be compelled to
approach the warriors so close that he could touch them with his
outstretched hand. This would have answered at night, when they were
asleep, but he might as well have attempted to lift himself through
the air as to do it under the circumstances we have described.
Deerfoot never despaired nor gave up so long as he held space in which
to move. He immediately repeated the retrograde motion he had used
when confronted by the venomous serpent, his wish now being to return
to the spot from which he fired the arrow.
The ventures made satisfied him that he had but one chance in a
thousand of escaping capture and death. He could not move to the right
nor left: it would have been certain destruction to show himself on
the clearing, and equally fatal to attempt to use the shallow Licking
behind him.
There was a remote possibility that the arrowy messenger which he had
sent from his bow had not been noticed by any of the besieging
Wyandots, and that, as considerable time had already passed, none of
them would come over to where he was to inquire into the matter.
If they would keep as far away from him as they were when his friend
Ned Preston started on his desperate run for the block-house, of
course he would be safe. He could wait where he was, lying flat on the
ground, through all the long hours of the day, until the mantle of
night should give him the chance for which he sighed.
Ah, but for one hour of darkness! His flight from the point of danger
would be but pastime.
The single chance in a thousand was that which we have named: the
remote possibility that none of the Wyandots would come any nearer to
where he was hugging the river bank.
For a full hour Deerfoot was in suspense, with a fluttering hope that
it might be his fortune to wait until the sun should climb to the
zenith and sink in the west; for, young as was the Shawanoe, he had
learned the great truth that in the affairs of this world no push or
energy will win, where the virtue of patience is lacking. Many a time
a single move, born of impatience, has brought irretrievable disaster,
where success otherwise was certain.
As the Shawanoe lay against the bank, looking across the clearing
toward the block-house, he recalled that message which, instead of
being spoken, as were all that he knew of, was carried on the arrow he
sent through the window. If he but understood how to place those words
on paper or on a dried leaf even, he would send another missive to
Colonel Preston, saying that, inasmuch as he was shut in from all hope
of escape, he would make the effort to run across the open space, as
did his friends before him.
But the thing was impossible: the door of the block-house was
fastened, and if Deerfoot should start, he would reach it, if he
reached it at all, before the Colonel could draw the first bolt. Even
if the Shawanoe youth should succeed in making the point, which was
extremely doubtful, now that the Wyandots were fully awake, the
inevitable few seconds' halt there must prove fatal.
The short conversation which he had overheard, convinced him of the
sentiments of Waughtauk and his warriors toward him, and led the young
Shawanoe to determine on an effort to extricate himself. It is the
very daring of such a scheme which sometimes succeeds, and he put it
in execution without delay.
Instead of crouching to the ground, as he had been doing, he now rose
upright and moved down the bank, in the direction of the three
Wyandots who first turned him back. They were in their old position,
and he had gone only a few steps when one of them turned his head and
saw the youthful warrior approaching. He uttered a surprised "Hooh!"
and the others looked around at the figure, as they might have done
had it been an apparition.
The scheme of Deerfoot was to attempt the part of a friend of the
Wyandots and consequently that of an enemy of the white race. He acted
as if without thought of being anything else, and as though he never
dreamed there was a suspicion of his loyalty.
At a leisurely gait he walked toward the three Indians, holding his
head down somewhat, and glancing sideways through the scattered bushes
at the top of the bank, as though afraid of a shot from the garrison.
"Have any of my brethren of the Wyandots been harmed by the dogs of
the Yenghese?" asked Deerfoot in the high-flown language peculiar to
his people.
"The eyes of Deerfoot must have been closed not to see Oo-oo-mat-ah
lying on the ground before his eyes."
This was an allusion to the warrior who made the mistake of stopping
Ned Preston when on his way to the block-house.
"Deerfoot saw Oo-oo-mat-ah fall, as falls the brave warrior fighting
his foe; the eyes of Deerfoot were wet with tears, when his brave
Wyandot brother fell."
Strictly speaking, a microscope would not have detected the first
grain of truth in this grandiloquent declaration, which was
accompanied by a gesture as though the audacious young Shawanoe was on
the point of breaking into sobs again.
The apparent sincerity of Deerfoot's grief seemed to disarm the
Wyandots for the moment, which was precisely what the young Shawanoe
was seeking to do.
Having mastered his sorrow, he started down the river bank on the same
slow gait, glancing sideways at the block-house as though he feared a
shot from that point. But the Indians were not to be baffled in that
fashion: their estimate of the daring Deerfoot was the same as
Waughtauk's.
Without any further dissembling, one of the Wyandots, a lithe sinewy
brave, fully six feet in height, bounded in front of the Shawanoe, and
grasping his knife, said with flashing eyes--
"Deerfoot is a dog! he is a traitor; he is a serpent that has two
tongues! he shall die!"
The others stood a few feet behind the couple and watched the singular
encounter.
The Wyandot, with the threatening words in his mouth, leaped toward
Deerfoot, striking a vicious blow with his knife. It was a thrust
which would have ended the career of the youthful brave, had it
reached its mark.
But Deerfoot dodged it easily, and, without attempting to return it,
shot under the infuriated arm and sped down the river bank with all
the wonderful speed at his command.
The slight disturbance had brought the other three Wyandots to the
spot, and it would have been an easy thing to shoot the fugitive as he
fled. But among the new arrivals were those who knew it was the wish
of Waughtauk that Deerfoot should be taken prisoner, that he might be
put to the death all traitors deserved.
Instead of firing their guns therefore, the whole six broke into a
run, each exerting himself to the utmost to overtake the fleet-footed
youth, who was no match for any one of them in a hand-to-hand
conflict, or a trial of strength.
Deerfoot, by his sharp strategy, had thrown the whole party behind him
and had gained two or three yards' start: he felt that, if he could
not hold this against the fleetest of the Wyandots, then he deserved
to die the death of a dog.
The bushes, undergrowth and logs which obstructed his path, were as
troublesome to his pursuers as to himself, and he bounded over them
like a mountain chamois, leaping from crag to crag.
There can be no question that, if this contest had been decided by the
relative swiftness of foot on the part of pursuer and pursued, the
latter would have escaped without difficulty, but, as if the fates
were against the brave Shawanoe, his matchless limbs were no more than
fairly going, when two Wyandot warriors appeared directly in front in
such a position that it was impossible to avoid them.
Deerfoot made a wrenching turn to the right, as if he meant to flank
them, but he stumbled, nearly recovered himself--then fell with great
violence, turning a complete somersault from his own momentum, and
then rose to his feet, as the Indians in front and rear closed around
him.
He uttered a suppressed exclamation of pain, limped a couple of steps,
and then grasped a tree to sustain himself. He seemed to have
sprained his ankle badly and could bear his weight only on one foot.
No more disastrous termination of the flight could have followed.
The Wyandots gathered about the poor fugitive with many expressions of
pleasure, for the pursuers had just been forced to believe the young
brave was likely to escape them, and it was a delightful surprise when
the two appeared in front and headed him off.
Besides, a man with a sprained ankle is the last one in the world to
indulge in a foot-race, and they felt secure, therefore, in holding
their prisoner.
"Dog! traitor! serpent with the forked tongue! base son of a brave
chieftain! warrior with the white heart!"
These were a few of the expressions applied to the captive, who made
no answer. In fact, he seemed to be occupied exclusively with his
ankle, for, while they were berating him, he stooped over and rubbed
it with both hands, flinging his long bow aside, as though it could be
of no further use to him.
The epithets were enough to blister the skin of the ordinary American
Indian, and there came a sudden flush to the dusky face of the
youthful brave, when he heard himself called the base son of a brave
chieftain. But he had learned to conquer himself, and he uttered not a
word in response.
One of the Wyandots picked up the bow which the captive had thrown
aside, and examined it with much curiosity. There was no attempt to
disarm him of his knife and tomahawk, for had he not been disabled by
the sprained ankle, he would have been looked upon as an insignificant
prisoner, against whom it was cowardly to take any precautions. In
fact, to remove his weapons that remained would have been giving
dignity to one too contemptible to deserve the treatment of an
ordinary captive.
The aborigines, like all barbarians and many civilized people, are
cruel by nature. The Wyandots, who had secured Deerfoot, refrained
from killing him for no other reason than that it would have been
greater mercy than they were willing to show to one whom they held in
such detestation.
As it was, two of them struck him and repeated the taunting names
uttered when they first laid hands on him. Deerfoot still made no
answer, though his dark eyes flashed with a dangerous light when he
looked in the faces of the couple who inflicted the indignity.
He asked them quietly to help him along, but, with another taunt, the
whole eight refused. The one who had smote him twice and who held his
bow, placed his hand against the shoulder of the youth and gave him a
violent shove. Deerfoot went several paces and then fell on his knees
and hands with a gasp of pain severe enough to make him faint.
The others laughed, as he painfully labored to his feet. He then asked
that he might have his bow to use as a cane; but even this was
refused. Finding nothing in the way of assistance was to be obtained,
his proud spirit closed his lips, and he limped forward, scarcely
touching the great toe of the injured limb to the ground.
The brief flight and pursuit had led the parties so far down the
Licking that they were out of sight of the block-house, quite a
stretch of forest intervening; but it had also taken them nearer the
headquarters, as they may be called, of Waughtauk, leader of the
Wyandots besieging Fort Bridgman.
This sachem showed, in a lesser way, something of the military prowess
of Pontiac, chief of the Chippewas, King Philip of Pokanoket, and
Tecumseh, who belonged to the same tribe with Deerfoot.
Although his entire force numbered a little more than fifty, yet he
had disposed them with such skill around the block-house that the most
experienced of scouts failed to make his way through the lines.
Waughtauk was well convinced of the treachery of the Shawanoe, and
there was no living man for whom he would have given a greater amount
of wampum.
The eyes of the chieftain sparkled with pleasure when the youthful
warrior came limping painfully toward him, escorted by the Wyandots,
as though they feared that, despite his disabled condition, he might
dart off with the speed of the wind.
Waughtauk rose from the fallen tree on which he had been seated among
his warriors, and advanced a step or two to meet the party as it
approached.
"Dog! base son of the noble chief Allomaug! youth with the red face
and the white heart! serpent with the forked tongue! the Great Spirit
has given it to Waughtauk that he should inflict on you the death that
is fitting all such."
These were fierce words, but the absolute fury of manner which marked
their utterance showed how burning was the hate of the Wyandot leader
and his warriors. They knew that this youth had been honored and
trusted as no one of his years had ever been honored and trusted by
his tribe, and his treachery was therefore all the deeper, and
deserving of the worst punishment that could be devised.
Deerfoot, standing on one foot, with his hand grasping a sapling at
his side, looked calmly in the face of the infuriated leader, and in
his low, musical voice, said--
"When Deerfoot was sick almost to death, his white brother took the
place of the father and mother who went to the happy hunting grounds
long ago; Deerfoot would have been a dog, had he not helped his white
brother through the forest, when the bear and the panther and the
Wyandot were in his path."
This defence, instead of soothing the chieftain, seemed to arouse all
the ferocity of his nature. His face fairly shone with flame through
his ochre and paint; and striding toward the prisoner, he raised his
hand with such fierceness that the muscles of the arm rose in knots
and the veins stood out in ridges on temple and forehead.
As he threw his fist aloft and was on the point of smiting Deerfoot to
the earth, the latter straightened up with his native dignity, and,
still grasping the sapling and still standing on one foot, looked him
in the eye.
It was as if a great lion-tamer, hearing the stealthy approach of the
wild beast, had suddenly turned and confronted him.
Waughtauk paused at the moment, his fist was in the air directly over
the head of Deerfoot, glowering down upon him with an expression
demoniac in its hate. He breathed hard and fast for a few seconds and
then retreated without striking the impending blow.
But it must not be understood that it was the defiant look of the
captive which checked the chief. It produced no such effect, nor was
it intended to do so: it simply meant on the part of Deerfoot that he
expected indignity and torture and death, and he could bear them as
unflinchingly as Waughtauk himself.
As for the chieftain, he reflected that a little counsel and
consultation were needed to fix upon the best method of putting this
tormentor out of the way. If Waughtauk should allow his own passion to
master him, the anticipated enjoyment would be lost.
While Deerfoot, therefore, retained his grasp on the sapling, that he
might be supported from falling, Waughtauk called about him his
cabinet, as it may be termed, and began the consideration of the best
means of punishing the traitor.
The captive could hear all the discussion, and, it need not be said,
he listened with much more interest than he appeared to feel.
It would be revolting to detail the schemes advocated. If there is any
one direction in which the human mind is marvelous in its ingenuity,
it is in the single one of devising means of making other beings
miserable. Some of the proposals of the Wyandots were worthy of Nana
Sahib, of Bithoor, but they were rejected one after the other, as
falling a little short of the requirements of the leader.
There was one fact which did not escape the watchful eye and ear of
the prisoner. The Wyandot who struck him twice, and who had taken
charge of his bow, as a trophy belonging specially to himself, was the
foremost in proposing the most cruel schemes. The look which Deerfoot
cast upon him said plainly--
"I would give the world for a chance to settle with _you_ before I
suffer death!"
Suddenly a thought seemed to seize Waughtauk like an inspiration.
Rising to his feet, he held up his hand for his warriors to listen:
"Deerfoot is a swift runner; he has overtaken the fleeing horse and
leaped upon his back; he shall be placed in the Long Clearing; he
shall be given a start, and the swiftest Wyandot warriors shall be
placed in line on the edge of the Long Clearing; they shall start
together, and the scalp of Deerfoot shall belong to him who first
overtakes him."
This scheme, after all, was merciful when compared with many that were
proposed; but the staking of a man's life on his fleetness, when
entirely unable to run, is an idea worthy of an American Indian.