MES ADIEUX
For my acquaintances in and outside of the army, and for my friends and
relatives, this narrative has been written; and if in these pages I
have seemed to present myself, my thoughts, and behaviour as matters of
undue importance, it is not done so purposely or willingly, but because
I knew no better method of making from my daily journal the story of
the times and of the events witnessed by me, and of which I was a small
and modest part.
It is very true that no two people, even when standing shoulder to
shoulder, ever see the same episode in the same manner, or draw similar
conclusions concerning any event so witnessed. Yet, except from
hearsay, how is an individual to describe his times except in the light
of personal experience and of the emotions of the moment so derived?
In active events, self looms large, even in the crisis of supreme
self-sacrifice. In the passive part, which even the most active among
us play for the greater portion of our lives, self is merged in the
detached and impersonal interest which we take in what passes before
our eyes. Yet must we describe these things only as they are designed
and coloured by our proper eyes, and therefore, with no greater hope of
accuracy than to approximate to the general and composite truth.
Of any intentional injustice to our enemies, their country, and their
red allies, I do not hesitate to acquit myself; yet, because I have
related the history of this campaign as seen through the eyes of a
soldier of the United States, so I would not deny that these same and
daily episodes, as seen by a British soldier, might wear forms and
colours very different, and yet be as near to the truth as any
observations of my own.
Therefore, without diffidence or hesitation--because I have explained
myself--and prejudiced by an unalterable belief in the cause which I
have had the honour and happiness to serve, it is proper that I bring
my narrative of these three months to a conclusion.
With these same three months the days of my youth also ended. No
stripling could pass through those scenes and emerge still immature.
The test was too terrible; the tragedy too profound; the very setting
of the tremendous scene--all its monstrous and gigantic
accessories--left an impression ineradicable upon the soul. Adolescence
matured to manhood in those days of iron; youthful ignorance became
stern experience, sobering with its enduring leaven the serious years
to come.
I remember every separate event after the tragedy of Chenundana, where
they found me dazed with grief and privation, digging with my broken
hunting knife a grave for my dead companions.
The horror of their taking off passed from my shocked brain as the
exigencies of the perilous moments increased, demanding of me constant
and untiring effort, and piling upon my shoulders responsibilities that
left no room for morbid brooding or even for the momentary inaction of
grief.
From Tioga, Colonel Shreve sent forward to us a wagon train of
provisions, even wines and delicacies for our sick and wounded; but
even with this slight aid our men remained on half rations; and for all
our voluntary sacrifice we could not hope now to reach Niagara and
deliver the final blow to that squirming den of serpents.
True, Amochol was dead; but Walter Butler lived. And there was now no
hope of reaching him. Bag and baggage, horse, foot, and Indians, he had
gone clear out of sight and sound into a vast and trackless wilderness
which we might not hope to penetrate because, even on half rations, we
had now scarcely enough flour left to take us back to the frontiers of
civilization.
Of our artillery we had only a light piece or two left, and the cohorn;
of cattle we had scarcely any; of wagons and horses very few, having
killed and eaten the more worn-out animals at Horseheads. Only the
regimental wagons contained any flour; half our officers were without
mounts; ammunition was failing us; and between us and our frontiers lay
the ashes of the Dark Empire and hundreds of miles of a wilderness so
dreary and so difficult that we often wondered whether it was possible
for human endurance to undergo the endless marches of a safe return.
But our task was ended; and when we set our faces toward home, every
man in our ragged, muddy, brier-torn columns knew in his heart that the
power of the Iroquois Empire was broken forever. Senecas, Cayugas,
Onondagas, might still threaten and even strike like crippled snakes;
but the Long House lay in ashes, and the heart of every Indian in it
was burnt out.
Swinging out our wings east and west as we set our homeward course,
burning and destroying all that we had hitherto spared, purposely or by
accident, we started south; and from the fifteenth of September until
the thirtieth the only living human being we encountered was the aged
squaw we had left at Catharines.
Never had I seen such a desolation of utter destruction, for amid the
endless ocean of trees every oasis was a blackened waste, every town
but a heap of sodden ashes, every garden a mass of decay, rotting under
the autumn sun.
On the 30th of September, we marched into Tioga Fort, Colonel Shreve's
cannon thundering their welcome, and Colonel Proctor's artillery band
playing a most stirring air. But Lord! What a ragged, half-starved army
it was! Though we cared nothing for that, so glad were we to see our
flag flying and the batteaux lying in the river. And the music of the
artillery filled me with solemn thoughts, for I thought of Lois and of
Lana; and of Boyd, where he lay in his solitary grave under the frosty
stars.
On the third of October, the army was in marching order once more;
Colonel Shreve blew up the Tioga military works; the invalids, women
and children, and some of the regiments went by batteaux; but we
marched for Wyoming, passing through it on the tenth, and arriving at
Easton on the fifteenth.
And I remember that, starved as we were, dusty, bloody with briers, and
half naked, regiment after regiment halted, sent back for their wagons,
combed out and tied their hair, and used the last precious cupfulls of
flour to powder their polls, so that their heads, at least might make a
military appearance as they marched through the stone-built town of
Easton.
And so, with sprigs of green to cock their hats, well floured hair, and
scarce a pair of breeches to a company, our rascals footed it proudly
into Easton town, fifes squealing, drums rattling, and all the church
bells and the artillery of the place clanging and booming out a welcome
to the sorriest-clad army that ever entered a town since Falstaff
hesitated to lead his naked rogues through Coventry.
Here the thanksgiving service was held; and Lord, how we did eat
afterward! But for the rest or repose which any among us might have
been innocent enough to suppose the army had earned, none was meted
out. Nenny! For instead, marching orders awaited us, and sufficient
clothing to cool our blushes; and off we marched to join His
Excellency's army in the Highlands; for what with the new Spanish
alliance and the arrival of the French fleet, matters were now stewing
and trouble a-brewing for Sir Henry. They told us that His Excellency
required pepper for the dose, therefore had he sent for us to mix us
into the red-hot draught that Sir Henry and my Lord Cornwallis must
presently prepare to swallow.
I had not had a letter or any word from Lois at Fort Tioga. At Easton
there was a letter which, she wrote, might not reach me; but in it she
said that they had taken lodgings in Albany near to the house of Lana
Helmer; that Mr. Hake had been more than kind; that she and her dear
mother awaited news of our army with tenderest anxiety, but that up to
the moment of writing no news was to be had, not even any rumours.
Her letter told me little more, save that her mother and Mr. Hake had
conferred concerning the estate of her late father; and that Mr. Hake
was making preparations to substantiate her mother's claim to the small
property of the family in France--a house, a tiny hamlet, and some
vineyards, called by the family name of Contrecoeur, which meant her
mother was her father's wedded wife.
"Also," she wrote, "my mother has told me that there are in the house
some books and pictures and pretty joyeaux which were beloved by my
father, and which he gave to her when she came to Contrecoeur, a bride.
Also that her dot was still untouched, which, with her legal interest
in my father's property, would suffice to properly endow me, and still
leave sufficient to maintain her.
"So you see, Euan, that the half naked little gypsy of Poundridge camp
comes not entirely shameless to her husband after all. Oh, my own
soldier, hasten--hasten! Every day I hear drums in Albany streets and
run out to see; every evening I sit with my mother on the stoop and
watch the river redden in the sunset. Over the sandy plains of pines
comes blowing the wind of the Western wilderness. I feel its breath on
my cheek, faintly frosty, and wonder if the same wind had also touched
your dear face ere it blew east to me."
Often I read this letter on the march to the Hudson; ever wondering at
the history of this sweet mistress of my affections, marvelling at its
mystery, its wonders, and eternally amazed at this young girl's
courage, her loyalty and chaste devotion.
I remember one day when we were halted at a cavalry camp, not far from
the Hudson, conversing with three soldiers--Van Campen, Perry, and Paul
Sanborn, they being the three men who first discovered poor Boyd's
body; and then noticed me a-digging in the earth with bleeding fingers
and a broken blade.
And they knew the history of Lois, and how she had dressed her in
rifle-dress, and how she had come to French Catharines. And they told
me that in the cavalry camp there was talk of a young English girl, not
yet sixteen, who had clipped her hair, tied it in a queue, powdered it,
donned jack-boots, belt, and helmet, and come across the seas enlisted
in a regiment of British Horse, with the vague idea of seeking her
lover who had gone to America with his regiment.
Further, they told me that, until taken by our men in a skirmish, her
own comrades had not suspected her sex; that she was a slim, boyish,
pretty thing; that His Excellency had caused inquiry to be made; and
that it had been discovered that her lover was serving in Sir John's
regiment of Royal Greens.
This was a true story, it seemed; and that very morning His Excellency
had sent her North to Haldimand with a flag, offering her every
courtesy and civility and recommendation within his power.
Which pretty history left me very thoughtful, revealing as it did to me
that my own heart's mistress was not the solitary and bright exception
in a sex which, like other men, I had deemed inferior in every virile
and mental virtue, and only spiritually superior to my own. And I
remembered the proud position of social and political equality enjoyed
by the women of the Long House; and vaguely thought it was possible
that in this matter the Iroquois Confederacy was even more advanced in
civilization than the white nations, who regarded its inhabitants as
debased and brutal savages.
In three months I had seen an Empire crash to the ground; already in
the prophetic and visionary eyes of our ragged soldiery, a mightier
empire was beginning to crumble under the blasts from the blackened
muzzles of our muskets. Soon kings would live only in the tales of
yesterday, and the unending thunder of artillery would die away, and
the clouds would break above the smoky field, revealing as our very own
all we had battled for so long--the right to live our lives in freedom,
self-respect, and happiness.
And I wondered whether generations not yet born would pay to us the
noble tribute which the sons of the Long House so often and reverently
offered to the dead who had made for them their League of Peace--alas!
now shattered for all time.
And in my ears the deep responses seemed to sound, solemnly and low, as
the uncorrupted priesthood chanted at Thendara:
"Continue to listen,
Thou who wert ruler,
Ayonhwahtha!
Continue to listen,
Thou who wert ruler,
Shatekariwate!
This was the roll of you,
You who have laboured,
You who completed
The Great League!
Continue to listen,
Thou who wert ruler,
Sharenhaowane!
Continue to listen,
Thou who wert ruler--"
And the line of their noble hymn, the "Karenna": "I come again to greet
and thank the women!"
Lord! A great and noble civilization died when the first cancerous
contact of the lesser scratched its living Eastern Gate.
* "Hiya-thondek! Kahiaton. Kadi-kadon."
[* "Listen! It is written. Therefore, I speak."]
My commission as lieutenant in the 6th company of Morgan's Rifles
afforded me only mixed emotions, but became pleasurable when I
understood that staff duty as interpreter and chief of Indian guides
permitted me to attach to my person not only Mayaro, the Mohican
Sagamore, but also my Oneidas, Grey-Feather and Tahoontowhee.
Mounted service the two Oneidas abhorred, preferring to trot along on
either side of me; but the Sagamore, being a Siwanois, was a horseman,
and truly he presented a superb figure as the handsome General and his
staff led the New York brigade into the city of Albany, our battered
old drums thundering, our fifes awaking the echoes in the old Dutch
city, and our pretty faded colors floating in the primrose light of
early evening.
Right and left I glanced as we rode up the hilly street; and suddenly
saw Lois! And so craned my head and twisted my neck and fidgeted that
the General, who was sometimes humorous, and who was perfectly
acquainted with my history, said to me that I had his permission to
ride standing on my head if I liked, but for the sake of military
decency he preferred that I dismount at once and make my manners
otherwise to my affianced wife.
Which I lost no time in doing, not noticing that my Indians were
following me, and drew bridle at the side-path and dismounted.
But where, in the purple evening light, Lois had been standing on her
stoop, now there was nobody, though the front door was open wide. So I
ran across the street between the passing ranks of Gansevoort's
infantry, sprang up the steps, and entered the dusky house. Through the
twilight of the polished hallway she came forward, caught me around the
neck with a low cry, clung to me closer as I kissed her, holding to me
in silence.
Outside, the racketting drums of a passing regiment filled the house
with crashing echoes. When the noise had died away again, and the drums
of the next regiment were still distant, she loosened her arms,
whispering my name, and framing my face with her slim hands.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of three tall and
shadowy figures hovering in the doorway. Lois saw them, too, and
stretched out one hand. One after another my three Indians came to her,
bent their stately crests in silence, took her small hand, and laid it
on their hearts.
"Shall I bid them to dine with us tomorrow?" she whispered.
"Bid them."
So she asked them a trifle shyly, and they thanked her gravely, turned
one by one to take a silent leave of me, then went noiselessly out into
the early dusk.
"Euan, my dear mother is awaiting you in our best room."
"I will instantly pay my duties and----"
"Lana is there also."
"Does she know?"
"Yes. God help her and the young thing she has taken to her heart. The
news came by courier a week ago."
"How he died? Does she know?"
"Oh, Euan! Yes, we all know now!... I have scarce slept since I heard,
thinking of you.... When you have paid your respects to my mother and
to Lana, come quietly away with me again. Lana has been weeping--what
with the distant music of the approaching regiments, and the memory of
him who will come no more----"
"I understand."
She lifted her face to mine, laying her hands upon my shoulders.
"Dost thou truly love me, Lois?" I asked.
* "Sat-kah-tos," she murmured.
[* "Thou seest."]
* "Se-non-wes?" I insisted.
[* "Dost thou love?"]
* "Ke-non-wes, O Loskiel." Her arms tightened around my neck, "Ai-hai!
Ae-saya-tyen-endon! Ae-sah-hah-i-yen-en-hon----"
[* "I love thee, O Loskiel... Ah, thou mightest have been destroyed! If
thou hadst perished by the wayside----"]
"Hush, dearest--dearest maid. 'Twixt God and Tharon, nothing can harm
us now."
And I heard the faint murmur of her lips on mine:
"Etho, ke-non-wes. Nothing can harm us now."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Hidden Children, by Robert W. Chambers