Left in Charge
"Marse Steve, Marse Steve, I'se that glad to see you. I'se prayed and
prayed offen, and sometimes I think you never come home agin. Och,
honey, I'se glad you'se back agin."
The black boy who acted as Tom's housekeeper wept with joy as the two
sturdy trappers stepped into the hut. He was busy superintending the
roasting of a wild turkey which hung to a string dangling over the
cabin fire, and the return of his masters was entirely unexpected.
"I'se that glad, Marse Mainwaring and Marse Steve. Sammy wonder and
wonder when yo gwine to come to de log cab'n agin. Sholy yo stay here
now fo' ever."
The faithful fellow looked up at them through his tears while he still
gripped both by the hand.
"There, there, Sammy," said Tom at length, touched by the warm welcome
which the honest fellow had given them. "Let us have something to eat,
and afterwards we'll lie down and take the best rest we have had for
many a long day. We've been hunted, lad. Hunted by redskins."
Sammy's mouth opened wide at that, and he stared still harder at his
master. Then he let his hand fall, and began to bustle about the
table, chattering as he prepared a meal for them.
"Yo's sit down and eat and rest, Marse Mainwaring and Marse Steve," he
said, giggling between the words. "Den yo'se lie down, and Sammy watch
to seen no Red Injun come near to hurt yo. Marse Steve?"
"Well, Sammy."
"To'morrer p'raps yo sit outside'r the door and speak to Sammy? P'raps
yo tell us all what's happ'nd?"
"Perhaps," answered Steve. "Now, hurry up with that turkey. Father and
I have not had a peaceful meal for many a day. As for sleep, I fancy
we have seldom had both eyes closed."
It was wonderful the way in which they settled down at the log hut
which Tom had made his home. As if he had not been away from the place
for even an hour, Tom strode across to the fireplace, and, taking his
musket in his hand, spilled the powder from the pan, and blew the last
of the grains away. Then he laid the weapon across the buck horns
nailed to the logs, stringing the powder horn to one of the antlers,
and the bag of bullets opposite. His coon-skin cap went still higher,
while his damp moccasins were placed a few inches from the embers.
Steve followed suit, and very soon the two were discussing the wild
turkey.
Some three weeks later, as Steve and Sammy were engaged in
manufacturing maple sugar, Tom came and sat on a log close by and
watched them carefully. They had three large iron cauldrons dangling
over log fires, while a fourth, a smaller one, hung over a separate
fire placed some yards from the others. And here they were making a
store of sugar to last them throughout the winter. Very early that day
Sammy and Steve had been out in the forest, and having blazed certain
of the maples, had set their jars beneath the slashes to catch the
sap. And now they were boiling the latter down, throwing fresh sap
into the larger cauldrons as the bubbling mass threatened to overflow
the sides. It was a long process, and for some hours now they had been
engaged in the task. They had boiled and boiled the mass till their
store of sap was reduced to a third of its former volume, and now that
third was placed in the smaller cauldron. Tom watched as they lifted
the latter from its iron support and poured its contents into stone
vessels to crystallise and cool.
"Steve," he called out. "Steve, I'm going away. I'll be back in a
couple of months if nothing turns up to stop me."
Steve was not surprised. His father had gone away from the settlement
on some business on several occasions before, while he had remained to
keep house.
"Very well, father," he said. "I'll stay here and look out for your
return. It will be winter almost by the time you come back."
"Almost, lad. About the Indian summer, I fancy, Steve."
He looked closely at his son as he called him again.
"Steve, my lad, these are uncertain times, and--and I might not have a
chance of coming back. If I should not, there is a lot that you should
learn in the next few years. Things you have never dreamed of. If I am
not back in a year, if anything happens to me, just go to this address
and hand in this letter. There it is. Now, I'm going."
It was not the backwoods fashion to take long in preparing for a
journey, and so it happened that Tom Mainwaring set out for the
Alleghany within half an hour of his conversation with Steve. They
parted some ten miles from the log hut, Tom turning his face for the
coast, while our hero stepped back to the settlement. And there for a
little more than a month he went on quietly with the usual routine. He
fished and shot and laid in a store of corn and dried bear's meat for
the coming winter, the grinning Sammy looking after the log hut when
he was away. Now and again, too, Mac and Jim would come over and spend
an evening with him, while Steve would return the visit. For within
ten miles of the hut there were some fifteen families, and it was the
custom for all to visit one another.
And so the days passed uneventfully till one bright morning in late
September, when there was a crispness in the air which denoted the
coming winter. A shout from Sammy brought Steve to the door of the log
hut.
"Marse Steve," he cried. "There's people sure on the water. They's
comin' dis way."
Two canoes were being paddled down the river, and as Steve looked they
turned towards the bank, with the evident intention of putting in at
the rough landing stage where his own canoes lay.
"They are strangers," said Steve at once, shading his eyes from the
slanting rays of the sun. "There are three white men in the first
canoe, and three Indians in the second. I think that they have come
from the French settlements."
He went to the buck horns over which his gun was suspended, and slung
the weapon across his shoulders. Then he took his bullet pouch, his
powder horn and tomahawk, and issued from the hut. By this time the
strangers had landed, and as Steve walked down towards them the three
white men moved towards a giant tree which grew within a few paces of
the bank, a tree which stood alone amidst a host of blackened stumps;
for when Tom had first come to the place virgin forest covered the
land, and he had expended much labour in clearing it.
"What can they be doing?" wondered Steve, seeing the three halt at the
foot of the tree and lift an object against the trunk. "They seem to
be nailing something to the tree."
A few minutes later he arrived within a couple of yards of the group,
and at once unslung his rifle, for with a start he recognised one of
the strangers. It was Jules Lapon, dressed now in the hunting costume
worn by French and English backwoodsmen alike.
"Bon jour, monsieur," said Jules, swinging round and greeting
Steve with a cool and satirical smile. "I wish you a fine day and
prosperity. You will be pleased to look at this notice, and afterwards
you will take steps to move."
He pointed to the tree and stood aside, watching Steve with an
expression which boded little good, and which seemed to combine malice
and triumph. Our hero stepped closer and stared at the strip of tin
which the Frenchman had pointed out. It was nailed to the bark of
the tree, and bore in high relief the arms of France, while beneath,
stamped on to the metal, were the following words, in the English
language:
"In the name of Louis XV., King of France and of the Continent beyond
the sea, we, Louis Joseph, Marquis de Montcalm-Gozon de Saint-Véran,
Captain-General of the Forces in North America, and others of the
King's servants, renew our possession of this land. We warn all who
are not good and faithful subjects of France to depart peacefully and
without delay."
There was a date and a rough signature underneath, while at the foot
of the tree lay a leaden disc, with a somewhat similar inscription,
destined to be buried there so that there might not be wanting
evidence in the future to prove the aims and aspirations of France
and her king. Nor was this the first time that Steve had looked at
such a disc. Some while before he had come upon another, nearer the
great lakes, and he had heard that the French had placed many more in
different parts.
"You will observe his Majesty's wishes," said Jules Lapon, with an
irritating smile of triumph which brought a flush of anger to Steve's
cheek. "The orders are that you depart peacefully and without delay.
You will go this evening. To-morrow I and my Indians will come to your
hut and the place will be France. Comprenez vous? Bien!"
Steve could have struck the rascally Frenchman, so great was his
anger. Moreover, when he recollected that it was this same ruffianly
foreigner who but a few weeks before had hunted himself and his
friends with his band of cut-throats, he felt that he would be almost
justified in shooting him where he stood. Then, too, there was this
preposterous demand. For three miles on either hand the land belonged
to Tom Mainwaring. He had paid dues for it to a land company, and he
had settled the place. His labour had cleared the forest till there
was sufficient open space to grow corn. The hut was his, the bank
of the river, and a stretch on the far side lying opposite the hut.
Steve's gorge rose at the thought that a Frenchman should order him
to give up his own belongings, and it was with difficulty that he
restrained himself. He bit his lip, stared at the tin placard, and
then swung round on the Frenchman, a cool smile on his lips.
"You are joking," he said in French, causing Jules to start backwards
in surprise. "Surely you are playing with me, just as you and your
band of Indians played with our hunting party in the neighbourhood of
Albany. That was a sad joke, monsieur. I fear that we were too much in
earnest."
It was Steve's turn to laugh, for there was no doubt that the
Frenchman was utterly taken aback. He staggered, flushed to the roots
of his hair, and gripped at his tomahawk.
"You lie," he gasped. "I lead a band of redskins near Albany! You lie,
I say!"
"You say so, monsieur," replied Steve calmly, with a smile which
maddened Jules. "Yes, it is you who say that, and I hear. But my eyes
are good. I know that you led that band. It was I who saw you in the
camp which you had hidden in the forest."
"You saw the camp, and I was in it? And you say that it was near
Albany? Monsieur is mad, or he does not know how to tell the truth."
Jules mastered his rage and mortification and made a bold attempt
to deceive the young colonist. After all, he thought, it was more
than possible that this Steve might have seen him there. But then
Frenchmen were much alike, and the glimpse he had obtained could have
been but a glimpse after all: and besides, Jules reflected, at that
time he was dressed as an Indian.
"Does monsieur think that I am a bird?" he demanded brazenly. "I have
lands to look to across the river, and how can I be there and at
Albany?"
"I hardly think you could be in two places so far apart, at one and
the same time," answered Steve, his temper well in hand now. "After
all, it is sufficient for me to know that you were in that camp in the
woods at Albany, where Hunting Jim and I saw you distinctly. That was
a long chase, Monsieur Jules, and I fancy it must have been somewhat
of a surprise to you and your men to come across so small a band
prepared to make a fight of it. Your men must have been discontented.
I believe we killed ten at least."
This time he left no doubt in the Frenchman's mind that his rascality
was discovered, and as Steve looked down at him he saw a gleam of
malice light up the eyes of the ruffian, a gleam which seemed to
say, "I will kill you at the first opportunity, Steve Mainwaring."
Then Jules Lapon suddenly changed his intentions, a smile of triumph
wreathed his face, and he pointed to the placard on the tree.
"After all, monsieur, it is not a question of men who have been
killed, or of my presence at Albany," he said easily. "It is a
question of this notice. You have read it?"
"I have."
"Then you will obey?"
"If I do not? Supposing I stay?"
"Monsieur, you see this whistle?" Jules took a whistle, made of horn,
from his belt, and held it before Steve's eyes. "You observe that
little toy, monsieur? Ah. Now I will tell you. Supposing you are so
rash as to stay, I shall blow that whistle, and within an hour the far
shore of the river will be darkened by the boats of my friends."
"Cut-throat Indians, monsieur," said Steve.
"You will be careful to describe my friends properly," cried Jules,
making an obvious effort to control his anger. "I was saying that the
Indians would come. They would hound you and your friends out of this
settlement, and, after that, who can keep a check upon them?"
He shrugged his shoulders and looked significantly at his two comrades.
"Only the men with the guns," answered Steve. "I know your Indians,
monsieur, and I know also that they have ravaged our settlements
cruelly. But for all your threats, I will not give up my father's
property. He was here long before the French had advanced south of
Lake Erie. He paid for this land, and he has expended labour upon it.
It is his. No king of France or his servants shall demand it of him or
of me."
Steve looked the three Frenchmen calmly in the eyes, and then stepped
up to the tree. Plunging his hunting knife under the sheet of tin, he
levered it from the bark, and, tearing it free of the nail, threw it
into the river.
"That is what I think of your demand and of your placard, Jules
Lapon," he said, "and I promise that if you come with your Indians
and drive me away, I and my father will hound you off the place. For
a time we English may be beaten back. But, mark my words, we shall
regain our own again, and you will be defeated."
There was a shout as he went to the tree and tossed the inscription
into the water. Then no sooner had he spoken than Jules sprang at him
with an oath.
"You defy us. You defy me!" he shouted. "Then listen to this, you
Englishman. Go now. I will give you a minute. If you are not then out
of sight I will shoot you. Yes, I will shoot you as I had hoped to do
up on the Mohawk. And after that I shall live in your cabin."
He threw all secrecy to the winds, and lifting his musket presented
it at Steve's head. Indeed, for an instant or two it looked as if he
would have shot him down on the spot.
"You see that I am ready," he shouted, as he looked along the sights.
"Run for your life."
Steve was cornered. To turn and obey the command given him was the
most natural thing under the circumstances, and it may be wondered
that he did not do so. But he knew the methods of the backwoods, and
was well acquainted with the reputation of this Frenchman.
"He will shoot me as I walk," he thought. "I will stay and face him.
After all, one can dodge a bullet sometimes if one keeps one's eye
on the weapon. Monsieur, I will stay here. Get into your canoe and
retire," he said sternly. "I also will shoot you if you do not lower
that musket."
There was a shout of surprise and anger from the two who accompanied
Jules, and they at once sprang forward and lifted their muskets,
levelling the barrels at Steve's head. And there for a moment they
stood, Steve holding his ground stubbornly, while the Frenchmen looked
along their sights as if they were about to shoot at the defenceless
figure standing before them. Then the scene was unexpectedly
interrupted.
"That air enough. Put them shootin' irons down. Do yer hear?" A gruff
voice suddenly burst from the edge of the forest, some twenty paces
away, and the tall gaunt figure of Hunting Jim appeared amidst the
leaves, the autumn tints matching strangely with the colour of his
hunting shirt and his leggings. "Drop yer guns, and git!"
No wonder that the Frenchmen started, that Steve swung round with
a cry of delight. For not a sound had warned the disputants of the
approach of the trapper. He stood there, outlined grimly amidst the
leaves, for all the world as if he had sprung out of the ground. His
musket was gripped in his hands, while the long shining barrels of
two other weapons protruded from the trees on either hand.
"Yer see, we ain't quite alone," he said hoarsely, "and ef them guns
ain't down in a jiffy--ah! that air well for yer. Now Jules Lapon,
murderer and robber, I reckon you can git, you and the hul crowd. Ef
we had shot yer down as yer stood, we'd have done what was right, and
p'raps we'd have saved a hangman a bad job one of these days. Git,
that's the order!"
The tables were suddenly turned with a vengeance. Steve, standing
there bravely with three barrels presented at him, suddenly found
himself looking into three very startled faces. The Frenchmen stepped
backward involuntarily, and lowered their weapons as Jim began to
speak. Then, unable to face the guns which were directed at them, they
glanced at one another swiftly, turned, and made off at a run to their
canoe.
"Stop! Jest drop them muskets. That air the ticket. Now put yer knives
and tomahawks down, and Jules Lapon, you as wanted to get our scalps
over by Albany, jest hook that ere whistle out'er yer belt. Now yer
can go, and jest remember this. When we meet again there won't be no
warnin'. It'll be shoot at sight. Don't ax fer nor expect no favors."
Jim watched with a grim smile of triumph as the three disconsolate
Frenchmen put down their weapons and embarked. Then he and his
comrades emerged and took up their stations beside Steve, staring out
at the canoe as it stole away from the bank. More than a minute passed
before Steve turned to look at those who had come so opportunely to
his help. Beside the lanky form of Jim was Mac, his beard flaming
in the sun, his broad hand gripping the stock of his musket, and a
look of bitterness on his usually jolly features. On the other side,
impassive as was his custom and the habit of his race, his head thrown
forward and the feathers of his head-dress trailing down over his
shoulders, was Silver Fox, alert and vigilant, his eye following every
movement of the Frenchmen.
"Bad cess to the blackguards," cried Mac, a note of unusual bitterness
in his tones. "They kin hunt me and you, Jim, and young Steve here
too if they like, but faith whin they come to huntin' the women and
childer it makes me blood boil. For why can't they lave us alone? What
have we done to the bastes to set thim agin the whole of us?"
"You've got land," answered Jim shortly. "That's what you've got.
You've gone and put yer broad carcass in the way of this here King of
France. Steve, reckon this placard air worth keepin'."
He stepped to the bank of the river, waded in a little way and
recovered the plaque, the sun glancing from the bright tin having made
its position clear to those standing on the shore.
"Best keep it, lad," he went on. "It'll mind yer of a time when yer
was precious near to death, and of the pluck as a youngster kin show.
Reckon you stood up to them 'ere skunks as well as any man could ha
done."
There was a murmur of approval from the others, while Steve shook his
head.
"I wasn't going to be frightened by a canoe full of Frenchmen," he
said doggedly. "This place is ours, and if this king wants it let him
come and take it. The best man will hold it in the end. But I suspect
it is not his Majesty of France. Louis XV. can have no great use for
our little holding. But Jules Lapon has. He owns the ground on the far
side next to father's, and with ours thrown in he'd have the whole of
the river banks for three miles either way."
"You've hit it, Steve. It air that skunk as brought this bit of tin
along, and it air him as wants the place," cried Jim, staring out
across the river at the fast-retreating canoes. "What is more, lad,
he's goin' to have it for a time. Me and Mac and Silver Fox guessed as
there was somethin' up, and ever since daylight we've had our eyes on
the varmint. There was a lot too much movement amongst the Injuns, and
we reckoned it didn't mean good to us. Them critters has nailed their
bits of tin at three other places along this bank, and they air going
to take the land whether we want it or not."
"Do you actually mean that they will drive us out of the place?" asked
Steve.
"That air so. There's news comin' slowly through that the French and
their Injuns is movin' on and drivin' the British before 'em. There's
tales of settlements attacked and taken, men and women scalped,
and children carried off by them redskin devils. We've heard the
same before, and I don't know how it is that we along here at this
settlement have escaped so long. But reckon these fellers is out on
the war-path agin, and, lad, we've got to git."
Go! They must leave the place where Steve had lived ever since he was
a tiny little fellow. The log cabin which was his home must be given
up to these Frenchmen and their allies! The thought was a cruel one,
and it is not to be wondered at that an exclamation of bitterness
escaped him.
"Faith, Steve, me lad, it's hard to think on, so it is," said Mac,
coming to him and placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Hasn't
Mac and the loikes of him settled peaceful here? hasn't the wives
and the childer made homes for all of us, so they have? But ye've
to choose what's the best. To see these thavin' damons here in our
very own places, or to see ivery mother's son of us, and the women
and childer too--God bless the darlints!--scalped and kilt by these
fellers. Sure, Steve, better to see the settlements burn, to put fires
to ivery roof and watch 'em flare, than have them fellers settin' in
our doorways, or scalpin' all of us. Och, but it's a sore time for us,
a sore time, and we'll have to foight before we get back what's our
own. Bedad! Ye'll know soon, Steve, darlint. 'Tis you and me, and Jim
and Silver Fox, and ivery one of us, as'll take our muskets and go out
to foight the blackguards."
"Mac's jest talkin' sense. Reckon it air as he says, Steve," cried
Jim. "Yer was near bein' wiped clean out jest now, and if yer wait
it'll be a case with yer. Best get back to the hut and take what yer
want. You've a bit of a pony, and I fancy you'll be able to take
most of yer things. Then set fire to the place. We'll cross to the
Alleghanies, and then we'll take service with the regiments which are
bein' formed."
Steve stood looking at his rough but honest-hearted friends for some
few minutes, and then his eyes roamed across the peaceful stretch of
the river to the far bank, under the shade of which Jules Lapon and
his comrades were paddling. Then the whistle which the French leader
had dropped caught his attention, and he stared at that, too, for a
little while.
"Father would do the same," he said aloud, but addressing no one in
particular. "Yes, he would go, after firing the hut. There is no other
course open. We have often talked over the possible coming of the
French, and decided that we should have to retire unless supported by
troops. But they are nowhere here. We have only ourselves to rely on.
We must go."
He led the way to the log cabin, and at once set about packing the
most valuable of his and Tom's possessions. Sammy led out the old pony
which was usually employed in dragging timber, and roped the articles
to his back, big tears welling up in his eyes as he did so. When all
was ready Steve took a brand from the fire, looked once more upon his
old home, the cabin in which he had lived sixteen happy years, and
then fired the shingles. There was an air of resolution on his face as
he did so, and he stood to windward watching the flames as they caught
hold and licked round the logs with the same expression. Then, as the
roof fell in and huge tongues of flame flared up into the air, he
turned away with a smile.
"I will help to build a mansion where that happy home was," he said.
"Come Jim and Mac, and you too, Silver Fox, old friends, we will go
where we can be of use to our country, and one of these days we will
settle again in these parts, when the French have been driven into
Canada."
"When they have been sent neck and crop out of North America," growled
Jim. "Pick up yer traps, Steve. The other folks air waitin' for us way
up there back of the rise."
Sammy took the rope bridle of the laden animal, and the trappers and
their Indian friend fell in behind. And thus did Steve leave his home,
not to return again till many an adventure had befallen him, and not
till many and many a man had fallen in the contest which was about to
break out with a ferocity which was almost unexampled.