THE RENEGADE AND HIS PRISONERS.
The feelings in the breasts of Algernon and Ella, as they reluctantly
moved onward, captives to a savage, bloodthirsty foe, are impossible
to be described. To what awful end had fate destined them? and in what
place were they to drain the last bitter dregs of woe? How much anguish
of heart, how much racking of soul, and how much bodily suffering was
to be their portion, ere death, almost their only hope, would set them
free? True, they might be rescued by friends--such things had been
done--but the probability thereof was as ten to one against them; and
when they perceived the care with which the renegade sought to destroy
all vestiges of their course, their last gleam of hope became nearly
extinguished.
We have previously stated that Ella was left unbound; but wherefore,
would perhaps be hard to conjecture; unless we suppose that the
renegade--feeling for her that selfish affection which pervades the
breasts of all beings, however base or criminal, to a greater or less
degree--fancied it would be adding unnecessary cruelty to bind heir
delicate hands. Whatever the cause, matters but little; but the fact
itself was of considerable importance to Ella; who took advantage of
her freedom, in passing the bushes before noticed, to snatch a leaf
unperceived, whereon, by great adroitness, she managed to trace with a
pin a few almost illegible characters; and also, in ascending the bank,
which she was allowed to do in her own way, to throw down with her foot
the stone, break the twig at the same instant, and pin the leaf to it,
in the faint hope that an old hunter might follow on the trail, who,
if he came to the spot, would hardly fail to notice it.
The freedom thus given to Ella, and the deference shown her by the
renegade and his allies--who appeared to treat her with the same respect
they would have done the wife of their chief--were in striking contrast
with their manners toward Algernon, on whom they seemed disposed to vent
their scorn by petty insults. Believing that his doom was sealed, he
became apparently resigned to his fate, nor seemed to notice, save with
stoical indifference, any thing that took place around him. This quiet,
inoffensive manner, was far from pleasing to Girty, who would much
rather have seen him chafing under his bondage, and manifesting a desire
to escape its toil. But if this was the outward appearance, not so was
the inward feelings of our hero. He knew his fate--unless he could
effect an escape, of which he had little hope--and he nerved himself to
meet and seem to his captors careless of it; but his soul was already on
the rack of torture. This was not for himself alone; for Algernon was a
brave man, and in reality feared not death; though, like many another
brave man, be had no desire to die at his time of life, especially with
all the tortures of the stake, which he knew, from Girty's remark, would
be his assignment; but his soul was harrowed at the thought of Ella--her
awful doom--and what she might be called upon to undergo: perhaps a
punishment a thousand times worse than death--that of being the
pretended wife, but in reality the mistress, of the loathsome renegade.
This thought to him was torture--almost madness--and it was only by the
most powerful struggle with himself, that he could avoid exposing his
feelings.
For a time, after ascending the rocky bank of the stream and gaining the
hill, the renegade and his Indian allies, with their captives, moved
silently onward at a fast pace; but at length, slackening his speed
somewhat, Girty approached the side of Algernon, who was bound in a
manner similar to Younker, with his wrists corded to a cross bar behind
his back; and apparently examining them a moment or two, in a sneering
tone, said:
"How-comes it that the bully fighter of the British, under the cowardly
General Gates, should be so tightly bound, away out in this Indian
country, and a captive to a _renegade_ agent?--ha, ha, ha!"
The pale features of Algernon, as he heard this taunt, grew suddenly
crimson, and then more deadly white than ever--his fingers fairly worked
in their cords, and his respiration seemed almost to stifle him--so
powerfully were his passions wrought upon by the cowardly insults of his
adversary; but at last all became calm and stoical again; when turning
to Girty, he coolly examined him from head to heel, from heel to head;
and then moving away his eyes, as if the sight were offensive to him,
quietly said:
"An honest man would be degraded by condescending to hold discourse with
so mean a _thing_ as Simon Girty the renegade."
At these words Girty started, as if bit by a serpent--the aspect of his
dark sinister features changed to one concentrated expression of hellish
rage--his eyes seemed to turn red--his lips quivered--the nostrils of
his flat ugly nose distended--froth issued from his mouth--while his
fingers worked convulsively at the handle of his tomahawk, and his whole
frame trembled like a tree shaken by a whirlwind. For some time he
essayed to speak, in vain; but at last he hissed forth, as he whirled
the tomahawk aloft:
"Die!--dog!--die!"
Ella uttered a piercing shriek of fear, and sprung forward to arrest the
blow; but ere she could have reached the renegade; the axe would have
been buried to the helve in the brain of Algernon, had not a tall,
powerful Indian suddenly interposed his rifle between it and the victim.
"Is the great chief a child, or in his dotage," he said to Girty, in the
Shawanoe dialect, "that he lets passion run away with his reason? Is not
the Big Knife already doomed to the tortures? And would the white chief
give him the death of a warrior?"
"No, by ----!" cried Girty, with an oath. "He shall have a dog's death!
Right! Mugwaha--right! I thank you for your interference--I was beside
myself. The stake--the torture--the stake--ha, ha, ha!" added he in
English, with a hoarse laugh, which his recent passion made sound
fiend-like and unearthly; and as he concluded, he smote Algernon on the
cheek with the palm of his hand.
The latter winced somewhat, but mastered his feelings and made no reply;
and the renegade resuming his former pace, the party again proceeded in
silence.
Toward night, Ella became so fatigued and exhausted by the long day's
march, that it was with the greatest difficulty she could move forward
at all; and Girty, taking some compassion on her, ordered the party to
halt, until a rough kind of litter could be prepared; on which being
seated, she was borne forward by four of the Indians. At dark they
halted at the base of a hill, where they encamped and found a partial
shelter from the wind and rain. At daylight they again resumed their
journey; and by four o'clock in the afternoon arrived at the river,
which they immediately crossed in their canoes; and, as the water was
found in a good stage, did not land until they reached the first bend
of the Miami--the place agreed on for the meeting between Girty and
Wild-cat.
As the latter chief and his party had not yet made their appearance,
Girty and his band went ashore with their prisoners, and took shelter
under one of the largest trees in the vicinity, to await their coming.
Of this expected meeting, the captives as yet knew nothing; and it was
of course not without considerable surprise, mingled with a saddened
joy, that they observed the approach, some half an hour later, of their
friends and enemies.
Ella, on first perceiving their canoes silently advancing up the stream,
started up with a cry of joy, which was the next moment saddened by the
thought that she was only welcoming her relatives to a miserable doom.
Still it was a joy to know they were yet alive; and as the sinking heart
is ever buoyed up with hope, until completely engulfed in the dark
billows of despair--so she could not, or would not, altogether banish
the animating feeling, that something might yet interfere to save them
all from destruction. As the canoes touched the shore, Ella sprung
forward to greet her adopted mother and father; but her course was
suddenly checked by one of the Indian warriors, who, grasping her
somewhat roughly by the arm, with a gutteral grunt and fierce gesture of
displeasure, pointed her back to her former place. Ella, downcast and
frightened, tremblingly retraced her steps, and could only observe the
pale faces and fatigued looks of her relatives and the little girl at a
distance; but she saw enough to send a thrill of anguish to her heart;
and Girty, who perceived the expressions of agony her sweet features now
displayed, at once advanced to her, and, modulating his voice somewhat
from its usual tones, said:
"Grieve not, Ella. I will endeavor to procure you an interview with your
friends."
The kindness manifested in the tones of the speaker, caused Ella to look
up with a start of surprise and hope; and thinking he might perhaps be
moved to mercy, by a direct appeal to his better feelings, she replied,
energetically, with a flush on her now animated countenance:
"Oh, sir! I perceive you are not lost to all feelings of humanity." Here
the compression of Girty's lips, and a knitting together of his shaggy
brows, warned Ella she was treading on dangerous ground, and she quickly
added: "All of us are liable to err; and there may be circumstances,
unknown to others, that force us to be, or seem to be, that which in our
hearts we are not; and to do acts which our calm moments of reason tell
us are wrong, and which we afterwards sincerely regret."
"I know not that I understand you," said the renegade, evasively.
"To be more explicit, then," rejoined Ella, "I trust that you, Simon
Girty, whose acts hitherto have been such as to draw down reproaches
and even curses upon your head, from many of your own race, may now be
induced, by the prayer of her before you, to do an act of justice and
generosity."
"Speak out your desire!" returned Girty, as Ella, evidently fearful of
broaching the subject too suddenly, paused, in order to observe the
effect of what had already been said. "Speak out briefly, girl; for
yonder stands Wild-cat awaiting me."
"Oh, then, let me implore you to listen, and God grant your heart may
be touched by my words!" rejoined Ella, eagerly, as she fancied she
saw something of relentment in his stern features. "Look yonder! Behold
that poor old man!--whose head is already sprinkled with the silvery
threads of over fifty winters--beside whom stands the companion of
his sorrows--both of whose lives have been spent in quiet, honest
pursuits--whose doors have ever stood open--whose board has ever been
free to the needy wayfarer. You yourself have been a partaker of their
hospitality, in their own home--which, alas! I have since learned is
in ashes--and can testify to their liberality and kindness. Is this
a proper return therefor, think you?"
"But did not he, yon gray-headed man, then and there curse me to my
face?" returned the renegade, fiercely, in whose eye could be seen the
cold, sullen gleam of deadly hate; "and shall I, the outcast of my
race--I, whose deeds have made the boldest tremble--I, whose name is a
by-word for curses--now spare him, that has defied and called down God's
maledictions on me?"
"Oh, yes! yes!" cried Ella, energetically. "Convince him, by your acts
of generosity, that you are not deserving of his censure, and he, I
assure you, will be eager to do you justice. Oh, return good for evil,
where evil has been done you, and God's blessing, instead of His curse,
will be yours!"
"It may be the _Christian's_ creed to return good for evil," answered
Girty, with a strong emphasis on the word Christian, accompanied with a
sneer; "but by ----! such belongs not to me, nor to those I mate with!
Hark you, Ella Barnwell! I could be induced to do much for you--for I
possess for you a passion stronger than I have ever before felt for any
human being--but were I ever so much disposed to grant your request, it
is now beyond my power."
"As how?" asked Ella, quickly.
"Listen! I will tell you briefly. When first I saw, I felt I loved you,
and from that moment resolved you should be mine. Nay, do not shudder
so, and turn away, and look so pale--a worse fate than being the wife
of a British agent might have been apportioned you. To win you by fair
words, I knew at once was out of the question--for one glance showed me
my rival. Besides, I was not handsome, I knew--had not an oily tongue,
and did not like the plan of venturing too much among those who have
good reasons for fearing and hating me--therefore I resolved on your
capture. I had already meditated an attack on some of the settlers in
the vicinity, and I resolved that both should be accomplished at one
time. The result you know. Younker and his wife became my prisoners.
This was done for two purposes. First, to revenge me for the insults
heaped upon Simon Girty. Secondly, to spare their lives; for had it not
been for my positive injunctions, they would have shared the fate of
their neighbors. My design, I say, was to spare their lives and send
them back, whenever it could be done with safety, provided they showed
any signs of contrition. Did they? No! they again upbraided me to my
face. I was again cursed. My blood is hot--my nature revengeful. That
moment sealed their doom. I gave them up to Peshewa. They are no longer
my prisoners. For their lives you must plead with him. I can do nothing.
Have you more to ask?"
Girty, toward the last, spoke rapidly, in short sentences, as one to
whom the conversation was disagreeable; and Ella listened breathlessly,
with a pale cheek and trembling form; for she saw, alas! there was
nothing favorable to be gained. As he concluded, she suddenly started,
clasped her hands together, and looked up into his stern countenance,
with a wild, thrilling expression, saying, in a trembling voice:
"You have said you love me!"
"I repeat it."
"Then, for Heaven's sake! as you are a human being, and hope for peace
in this world and salvation in the next--restore me--restore us all to
our homes--and to my dying day will I bless and pray for you."
"Umph!" returned the renegade, drily; "I had much rather _hear_ your
sweet voice, though in anger, than to merely _think_ you may be praying
for me at a distance. But I see Wild-cat is getting impatient;" and
as he concluded, he turned abruptly on his heel, and advanced to
Peshewa--who was now standing with his warriors and prisoners on the
bank of the stream, some fifty paces distant, awaiting a consultation
with him--while Ella hid her face in her hands and wept convulsively.
"Welcome, Peshewa!" said Girty, as he approached the chief. "You and
your band are here safe, I perceive; and by ----! you have timed it well,
too, for we have only headed you by half an hour."
"Ugh!" grunted Wild-cat, with that look and gutteral sound peculiar to
the Indian. "Kitchokema has learned Peshewa is here!"
"Come! come!" answered the renegade, in a somewhat nettled manner; "no
insinuations! I saw Peshewa when he arrived."
"But could not leave the Big Knife squaw to greet him," added the
Indian.
"Why, I am not particularly fond of being hurried in my affairs, you
know."
"But there may be that which will not leave Kitchokema slow to act, in
safety," rejoined Wild-cat, significantly.
"How, chief! what mean you?" asked Girty, quickly.
"The Shemanoes--"[9]
"Well?" said Girty.
"Are on the trail," concluded Wild-cat, briefly.
"Ha!" exclaimed the renegade, with a start, involuntarily placing his
hand upon the breech of a pistol in his girdle. "But are you sure,
Peshewa?"
"Peshewa speaks only what he knows," returned the chief, quietly.
"Speak out, then--_how_ do you know?" rejoined Girty, in an excited
tone.
"Peshewa a chief," answered the Indian, in that somewhat obscure and
metaphorical manner peculiar to his race. "He sleeps not soundly on the
war-path. He shuts not his eyes when he enters the den of the wolf. He
_saw_ the camp-fires of the pale-face."
Such had been the fact. Knowing that his trail was left broad and open,
and that in all probability it would soon be followed, Wild-cat had
been diligently on the watch and as his course had been shaped in a
roundabout, rather than opposite direction (as the reader might at first
glance have supposed) from that taken by Boone, he and his band, by
reason of this, had encamped, on the night in question, not haif a
mile distant from our old hunter, but on the other side of the ridge.
Ascending this himself, to note if any signs of an enemy were visible,
Peshewa had discovered the light of Boone's fire, and traced it to its
source. Without venturing near enough to expose himself, the wily savage
had, nevertheless, gone sufficiently close to ascertain they were the
foes of his race. His first idea had been to return, collect a part of
his warriors, and attack them; but prudence had soon got the better of
his valor; from the fact, as he reasoned, that his band were now in the
enemy's country, where their late depredations had already aroused the
inhabitants to vengeance; and he neither knew the force of Boone's
party--for the reader will remember they were concealed in a cave--nor
what other of his foes might be in the vicinity;--besides which, his
purpose had been accomplished, and he was now on the return with his
prisoners;--the whole of which considerations, had decided him to leave
them unmolested, and ere daylight resume his journey; so that, even
should they accidentally come upon his trail, he would be far enough in
advance to reach and cross the river before them. Such was the substance
of what Wild-cat, in his own peculiar way, now made known to Girty; and
having inquired out the location distinctly, the latter exclaimed:
"By heavens! I remember leaving that ridge away to the right, which
proves that the white dogs must have been on my trail. I took pains
enough to conceal it before that night; but if they got the better of
me, I don't think they did of the rain that fell afterwards--so that
they have doubtless found themselves on a fool's errand, long ere this,
and given up the search. Besides, should they reach the river's bank,
they have no means of crossing, and therefore we are safe."
Wild-cat seemed to muse on the remarks of Girty, for a moment or two,
and then said:
"Why did Mishemenetoc[10] give the chief cunning, but that he might use
it against his foes?--why caution, but that he might avoid danger?"
"Why that, of course, is all well enough at times," answered Girty; "but
I don't think either particular cunning or caution need be exercised
now--from the fact that I don't believe there is any danger. Even should
the enemies you saw be fool-hardy enough to follow us, they are not many
in number probably, and will only serve to add a few more scalps to our
girdles. However, we are safe for to-night, at all events; for if they
reach the river, as I said before, they won't be able to cross, unless
they make a raft or swim it; and you may rest assured, Peshewa, they
will sleep on the other side, if for nothing else than their own
safety."
"What, therefore, does my brother propose?" asked Wild-cat.
"Why, I am for encamping, as soon as we can find a suitable spot--say
within a mile of here--for by ----! I am not only hungry but cold, and my
very bones ache, from traveling in this untimely storm, which I perceive
is on the point of clearing up."
"Peshewa likes not sleeping with danger so near," replied the savage.
"Well, I'm not _afraid_," rejoined Girty, laying particular stress on
the latter word; "and so suppose you take the prisoners, with a part of
the band, and go forward, while myself and the balance remain behind to
reconnoitre in the morning; for by ----! that will be time enough to look
for the lazy white dogs. Yet stay!" he added, a moment after, as if
struck by a new thought. "Suppose you take the two Big Knives, and leave
the squaws with me--for being very tired, they will only be a drag upon
your party--and then you can have the stakes ready for the others, if
you get in first, so that we can have the music of their groans to make
us merry on our second meeting."
To this latter proposition, the chief gave a grunt of assent, and the
whole matter being speedily arranged, the council ended.
The conversation between these two worthies having been carried on in
the Indian dialect, was of course wholly unintelligible to Mrs. Younker
and her husband, who were standing near; and trying in vain, for some
time, to gain a clue to the discussion, the good lady at last gave
evidence, that if her body and limbs were weary, her tongue was not;
and that with all the warnings she had received, her old habits of
volubility had not as yet been entirely superseded by thoughtful
silence.
"I do wonder what on yarth," she said, "that thar read-headed Simon
Girty, and that thar ripscallious old varmint, as calls himself a chief,
be coniving at?--and why the pesky Injens don't let me and Ella and the
rest on 'em come together agin, as we did afore? Thar she stands--the
darling--as pale nor a lily, and crying like all nater, jest as if
her little heart war a going to break and done with it. I 'spect the
varmints is hatching some orful plans to put us out o' the way--prehaps
to hitch us to the stake and burn us all to cinder, like they did our
housen, and them things. Well, Heaven's will be done!--as Preacher
Allprayer said, when they turned him out o' meeting for gitting drunk
and swearing--the dear good man!--but I do wish, for gracious sake, I
could only jest change places with 'em--ef jest for five minutes--and
I reckon as how they'd be glad to quit their gibberish, and talk like
Christian folks, once in thar sneaking lives! Thar, they're done now,
I do hope to all marcy's sake! and I reckons as how we'll soon have the
gist on't."
The foregoing remarks of Mrs. Younker, were made in a low tone,
and evidently not intended, like Dickens' Notes, for general
circulation--the nearly fatal termination of a former speech of hers,
having taught her to be a little cautious in the camp of the enemy.
The conclusion was succeeded by a stare of surprise, on being civilly
informed by Girty, that she was now at liberty to join Ella as soon as
she pleased.
"Well, now, that's something like," returned the dame, with a smile that
was intended to be a complimentary one; "and shows, jest as clear as any
thing, that thar is a few streaks o' human nater in you arter all."
Then, as if fearful the permission would be countermanded, the good
lady at once set off in haste to join her adopted daughter. Subsequent
events, however, soon changed the favorable opinion Mrs. Younker had
began to entertain of Girty--particularly when she discovered, as she
imagined, that the liberty allowed her, had only been as a ruse to
withdraw her from her husband--who, as she departed, had been
immediately hurried away, without so much as a parting farewell.
Orders now being rapidly given by Girty and Wild-cat, were quickly and
silently executed by their swarthy subordinates; and in a few minutes,
the latter chief was on his way, with four warriors, the two male
prisoners, and the little girl--Oshasqua, to whom the latter had been
consigned by Girty, as the reader will remember, and who still continued
to accompany Wild-cat, refusing to leave her behind.
When informed by Girty, in an authoritative tone, that he must join the
detachment of Wild-cat, Algernon turned toward Ella, and in a trembling
voice said:
"Farewell, dear Ella! If God wills that we never meet again on earth,
let us hope we may in the Land of Spirits;" and ere she, overcome by her
emotion, had power to reply, he had passed on beyond the reach of her
silvery voice.
Immediately on the departure of Peshewa, Girty ordered the canoes to be
drawn ashore and concealed in a thicket near by, where they would be
ready in case they should be wanted for another expedition; and then
leading the way himself, the party proceeded slowly up the Miami, for
about a mile, and encamped for the night, within a hundred yards of the
river.
[Footnote 9: Americans, or Big Knives. We would remark here, that we
have made use altogether of the Shawanoe dialect; that being most common
among all the Ohio tribes, save the Wyandots or Hurons, who spoke an
entirely different language.]
[Footnote 10: Great Spirit.]