BLACK NICK,
THE HERMIT OF THE HILLS:
OR,
THE EXPIATED CRIME.
A STORY OF BURGOYNE’S SURRENDER.
BY FREDERICK WHITTAKER.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
BEADLE AND ADAMS,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
BLACK NICK.
CHAPTER I.
THE WOOD FIEND.
In the midst of the lonely forest, that stretched in an almost unbroken
line of solitude from the head-waters of the Hudson to the Mississippi,
during the last century, a small party of Indian warriors, in full
war-paint, treading one in the other’s footsteps, to the number of
five, stole into a little clearing formed by the hand of Nature, and
halted by a spring.
The sun was about to set, in an angry glow of crimson, that portended
bad weather. The fiery beams shot aslant through the open arches of the
forest, and the trunks of the trees stood out, as black as jet, against
the red glow of evening.
“He has not been here,” remarked the warrior who seemed to be the
leader, as he scanned the earth around the little spring with a
practiced eye.
“The pale-faces are all liars,” said a young brave, disdainfully, as he
leant upon his bow. “When was a Mohawk known to break his word?”
“The Panther Cub is wrong,” he said, quietly. “There are good and bad
pale-faces. I have never known the white chief to fail before. He has
been stopped on the way. He will soon come, and show us how to strike
the children who have rebelled against the great father who dwells
beyond the sea.”
“The Mohawk needs no white teacher,” returned Panther Cub, in the same
tone. “I can find a house to strike, and scalps to take, long before
the morning dawns, if need be.”
“Has the Black Fox lost his eyes, that Panther Cub thinks he is the
only Mohawk that can see in the night?” asked the old chief, sternly.
“Let the young warriors be silent, while they have chiefs on the same
war-path. We have eaten of the white father’s bread, and he has
ordered us here to await his messenger. Black Fox will stay.”
As he spoke, he leaned his rifle against the tree by which he stood,
drew up his blanket around his shoulders, and took his seat in
dignified silence.
The other warriors, as if determined by his example, proceeded to make
their dispositions for the night. A flint and steel were produced,
tinder was found in a dead tree, and a small glowing fire was soon
started, around which the Indians clustered, eating their frugal meal
of dried venison and parched corn in silence.
These Indians were a small scouting party from the flankers of
Burgoyne’s army, who had been dispatched through the woods to the west
of Albany, to meet an emissary of the British Government, who was to
give them certain instructions.
Slowly the sun disappeared as they clustered round the fire, and the
crimson glow died away in the sky, to be replaced by a murky mass of
cloud of dark slaty gray, rapidly becoming black. Overhead the stars
shone out, but the clouds began to gather and hide them from view, and
a low moaning in the tops of the trees warned the hearers of a storm
brewing.
Suddenly, as if by common consent, every Indian sprung to his feet,
and grasped his weapons, as the sound of snapping sticks, and of
horse-hoofs in rapid motion, approached the spot. There was no
underbrush in those primeval forests, as yet innocent of the ax of
the woodman, and a horseman could be seen in full career, rapidly
approaching the little glade.
At a word from the chief, the four warriors resumed their seats by the
fire, while the old leader himself stalked forth from the group, and
drawing himself up, awaited the coming of the stranger, in an attitude
of dignity, grounding the butt of his rifle.
The new-comer proved to be a man of large size, with a stern,
determined face, gloomy and lowering in expression. He was dressed like
a farmer, and well mounted on a stout horse, carrying holsters on the
saddle, from which peeped the butts of large pistols. Otherwise the
rider was unarmed, only carrying a horse-whip. He checked his horse,
and dismounted before Black Fox, who addressed him with the grave
reminder:
“The Night Hawk is late.”
“I couldn’t be earlier, Fox,” returned the other, in the Mohawk tongue.
“I was fired at by Schuyler’s pickets, and chased out of my path by a
patrol of the cursed mounted rifles of that fellow, Morgan. Here I am
at last. Go back to the General, and let him know that the rebels are
rousing everywhere. Schuyler has sent orders to rescue the fort beyond
Oriskany at any cost, and they will march in two days from now, a
thousand strong, under General Herkimer, to raise the siege. Have you a
swift runner here?”
“The Panther Cub has long legs. He shall carry the Night Walker’s
words,” said the chief, sententiously.
“Good. Let him run to General St. Leger, and warn him that his rear
will be attacked,” said the spy. “For the rest, back to Burgoyne. Tell
the General his foes are gathering. He must spring like the wild-cat,
or he will be trapped like the beaver. Tell him I will bring him more
news by way of the lakes, and that--”
“HA! HA! HA! HA! I GATHER THEM IN! I GATHER THEM IN!”
The interruption was sudden and startling. A loud, harsh voice, with
an accent of indescribably triumphant mockery, shouted these words
from the midst of the intense darkness, which had crept over the scene
during the short conference, since sunset. At the same moment, out
of the opening of a hollow tree that stood near the fire, a bright,
crimson glare of flame proceeded, in the midst of which appeared an
unearthly figure of gigantic hight, but lean and attenuated as a
skeleton.
The appearance of this figure was singularly fearful, for it was
clothed in some tight black dress with steely gleams, that covered it
from head to foot, a pair of short, upright horns projecting from the
close skull-cap, and only leaving exposed a face of deathly pallor,
with great, burning black eyes, and a mustache that pointed upwards in
true diabolical fashion.
There was but a moment to examine this figure, as it stood in the
cavity, outlined against the red glow. In one hand it brandished a
single javelin, in the other a bundle of similar darts. A second later
the red glow disappeared, and the figure with it, leaving the usually
stolid Indians and their companion struck aghast with astonishment and
awe.
Then, ere a word could be spoken, the same demoniac laugh rung out, and
the gigantic apparition, with a bound, was in the midst of their little
fire, which it scattered in all directions with a single kick.
Through the thick darkness that ensued, the white man heard the noise
of a confused struggle, that seemed to endure for about half a minute.
Firm and determined as was the spy, he recoiled in ungovernable terror
to the side of his horse, and snatched from the holsters his pistols,
one of which he fired in the direction of the sounds of battle.
By the flash of the pistol he distinguished the terrible figure, in
an attitude of mad glee, brandishing its darts over the prostrate
bodies of three Indians, the fourth striving to rise, and transfixed
with a dart, while the fifth was fleeing for his life toward the spy.
Instinctively the white man climbed on his horse in the darkness, as a
wild peal of laughter greeted his shot.
He had seen the demon leaping toward him!
“HA! HA! HA!!! BLACK NICK HAS THEM FAST!” yelled the harsh voice, and
again, as if by magic, a red glow flashed over the place.
In the midst of this glare, the spy beheld the black demon clutch the
fleeing Indian with his long arms, and go leaping back toward the
hollow tree, with the writhing form of the savage close clasped. Then
there was a blinding white glare, a cloud of smoke, and a loud report,
in the midst of which the demon leaped into the hollow, and vanished
from sight sinking visibly into a pit of darkness.
With a muttered groan of terror, the now completely unnerved spy
wheeled round his frightened horse and fled, as fast as the animal
could carry him, while the forest resumed the gloom and silence of
night.