"We rustled through the leaves like wind,Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;By night I heard them on the track,Their whoop came hard upon our back,With their long gallop, which can tireThe hound's deep hate and hunter's fire."MAZEPPA
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, when they returned to the cottage; and as the sun had again made its appearance, and there were no indications of unpleasant weather. Ralph proposed to Miss Barton that they should put in execution a project which she had mentioned, of taking a ride on horseback down the valley.
The horses were at once brought out, by the negro. They were kept for working horses by Barton; but they had sufficient life and activity to make an excursion in that mode pleasant and agreeable.
Sambo, who was very much attached to his mistress, took the liberty of cautioning her to be home again by nightfall, and muttered something about "strange Injins" and wolves. Barton smiled at the fears of the negro; but at the same time intimated that any possible danger might be avoided by an early return.
"As for Indians," said he, "I haven't known many around here lately, and they are all of the friendly sort. The King's Indians, as they are called, have not been here, as I have known, since I have resided here. As for wolves, they are sometimes dangerous, in winter; I have heard of them pursuing people, at that season of the year, when they are particularly voracious; but I never heard of such an instance so early in the season—although it is possible that it might occur. But Ruth knows the country," continued he, "and will know how to avoid any dangers that are incident to it."
"I shall place myself wholly under the control of Miss Barton," said Ralph; "she shall be both guide and guard."
"I can answer for the guide," replied Ruth, "if not for the guard. But I have often taken the short excursion I proposed for to-day; and I will promise to bring home Captain Weston safe and sound."
They mounted their horses, and proceeded slowly down the valley, along a narrow path or road, but of sufficient width to allow two horses to travel abreast. They had proceeded in this manner about a mile, in a southerly direction, with little conversation, except such as was suggested by their ride, when after rounding a hill which ran down nearly to the river, they came in full view of the valley, which here widened out into broad flats, and certainly offered to their observation a high degree of beauty and attraction.
"Beyond the hill which you see yonder," said Ruth, "the valley attains a much greater width. The river, on one side, flows at the base of the eastern hills; and a pleasant stream, which, to translate the Indian appellation, means a "swiftly running creek," flows at the base of the hills on the west. At about a mile and a half below, they unite, and finally empty into the Susquehanna. The excursion I proposed for to-day was only to the spot where the junction of the two streams is formed. I have been there a few times, and I have always been charmed with the beauty of the place."
"The whole valley is beautiful," said Ralph, "beyond any ideas I entertained before visiting it. Such a place will soon be populated. I do not blame Ichabod for his schemes at speculation here; for with the impulse which the country must now receive in population and wealth, so beautiful and advantageous a region as this, will not long be neglected."
They passed around the hill which Ruth had mentioned, where the valley, as she had observed, became of a much greater width, wider than Ralph had yet seen it. It was almost entirely covered with forest; although here and there were places which had been partially cleared by the savages, in former days. The forest in which they were encompassed shut out any very extensive observation of the valley itself, except when they were upon some of the high ground; but enough could be seen to give one a good general idea of its shape and condition. The path had become somewhat more narrow, and they were surrounded by a wilderness of vegetation, which was peculiarly attractive to the eyes of Ralph and his companion.
After about half an hour's further progress, they arrived at the place which had been mentioned by Ruth. The river, just before it reaches the spot where it receives the waters of the creek, makes a sudden turn to the east, for about thirty rods, and then returns to nearly the same point, in a north and south line, at a distance of only fifteen or twenty rods, where the junction is formed. A portion of the waters of the river, however escape from the main channel and flow directly towards the south, making an island two or three acres in extent.
Having arrived at this spot, Ralph and his companion dismounted from their horses, and fastening them to some small trees nearby, they gave themselves up to the contemplation of the fine scenery around them. The sun was then about an hour high, and the golden sunlight flashing upon the variegated foliage of the forest—the calmness which reigned undisturbed around them, the solitude of the wilderness in which they were encompassed, all conspired to give a hue to feelings which both possessed, but which they scarcely dared to breathe to each other.
"I have often dreamed," said Ralph, "of just such a spot as this. I am something of a recluse by nature; but after all, I have some choice as to the place of my isolation."
"I shall expect, then," answered Ruth, smiling, "to hear of Ralph Weston, the hermit, occasionally, from those who may pass by here. Where do you propose to establish your hermitage?"
"In truth, I cannot say," replied Ralph; "but I suppose it will be when I, like the hermits of old, have become sufficiently disgusted with the world, to make me fly from it with hatred; I will not fix the precise time, just now—I will leave it to circumstances. But familiarity with Nature—converse with the solitude of the forest, is the best antidote to the disgust which many persons conceive of society. The man cannot be all bad, who has any relish left in him for the beauties which Nature can unfold to him."
"You are becoming very much of a philosopher, Captain Weston. You shall have another title added to that of hermit. You shall be a philosophical hermit."
"Ruth! you laugh at me! But you must pardon my caprice at the idea of a forest life; for I am not much of a woodsman, you know. But I'll venture to say, after all, that you agree with me."
"Yes," answered Ruth, earnestly, "I do like our new mode of life. We are nearly shut out from the world,—but we have still a thousand pleasures, perhaps the sweeter from our solitary position. We do not merelyfinda home, wecreateone. We see broad meadows starting out from the forest, and know that they are ours by the best of titles—a reclamation from the waste of Nature. I have often asked myself whether I would be willing to abandon our present home for the old home in the settlements, and I never yet could answer that I would."
"To a light, vain head," answered Ralph, "such a life would be tiresome; but it seems to me, although how long the feeling would endure, I cannot say—yet it seems to me, that the constant idea of dependence upon a Power beyond and over men, which must be ever present to the minds of those who dwell in the wilderness, would give life a higher and truer aim, than can be attained in society. But familiarity with scenes like these, blunts the mind, perhaps, and the idea is soon lost."
"I believe the remark is true," replied Ruth. "We cannot entirely forego society, without injury to ourselves."
"Yes, perhaps it is so," said Ralph; "we can attain no such marvellous degree of sentiment or independence as wholly to destroy our taste for crowds and social intercourse. I think, after all, that if I were to become a hermit, I should like a few familiar friends to share my hermitage."
Ruth smiled as she replied, "your hermitage, then, Captain Weston, would be a very different affair from the 'cave, rock and desert' of an old-fashioned recluse, who
"'Had nought to do but feed on roots,And gaze upon the stars!'"
"Were I ever to choose the 'rock, cave and desert,'" said Ralph, "I believe I should wish my solitary life, after all, to be terminated, as was the Solitude of Edwin, in the ballad of Goldsmith; that is, if I could ever hope that any Angelina would seek the solitude I sought. But I suppose that "Angelinas" are the creatures of poetry."
"And why not Edwins, too?" inquired Ruth, with an arch smile.
"And why, since we are asking questions," asked Ralph, with a look that brought a blush to the cheek of his companion, "may I not ask Miss Barton——"
But the question, however important to the happiness of either, or both of them, was interrupted by a sudden rustling of dry underbrush in their immediate vicinity, as if trodden upon by a hasty foot. Ralph turned suddenly round, and beheld the ill-natured countenance of Guthrie before him. The squatter stopped short, leaning upon his rifle, and said, with an attempt at civility, but in a gruff tone:
"You're astrangerin these parts, friend, and don't know that you may find it a littledangeroustraveling through this forest by night."
"Dangerous, Guthrie! how so?" inquired Ruth.
"You, who live up at the cottage, Miss Ruth, mayn't know it, but the wolves have been prowling around here in reg'lar troops, for a few days past; and it will be dark now, afore you can get back to the cottage. I had a set-to with a rascally troop of them, last night."
Ralph thanked Guthrie for his caution, although he was half angry at the interruption, at that particular moment of time, and intimated to Ruth that perhaps they had better return. Ruth assented, the horses were unfastened, and they proceeded at a leisurely pace towards home, although more rapidly than they had come.
The labor and perplexity of making their way along the rough path and among the underbrush were such as to prevent any continued conversation. By the time they had traveled half a mile, the sun, with a broad, ruddy glow, had sunk behind the western hills. The twilight in the midst of the forest soon gave way to a deep shade, which rendered their path still more difficult.
Ralph, who had at first inwardly cursed the interruption made by Guthrie, in a conversation which had reached a point most deeply interesting to him, now almost wished that it had occurred a little earlier. Ruth evidently entertained the same thought, for her countenance exhibited much anxiety.
"Guthrie's advice was reasonable, most certainly," she said, "although it was not given in the most civil manner."
"It was somewhat later than I thought," answered Ralph, "but we shall reach home in an hour more, at least. But who is this Guthrie? I believe I saw him at your father's on the night of my arrival."
"Nothing is known of him, with certainty," replied Ruth. "He has a shanty somewhere below here, where he lives alone, subsisting upon such game as he finds, and upon the trade he drives at the settlements. He is supposed to have been a Tory, and to have been leagued with the Indians of this region; although we merely suspect it—we do not know it."
"He has an ill-favored countenance. He wears one of those peculiar faces, that we always distrust. Is he often at your father's?"
"Not very frequently; we entertained the same distrust of him you have expressed, on first seeing him, and that feeling has rather increased than diminished, with only a very short acquaintance."
"He has certainly rendered us a favor on this occasion," said Ralph, who found their progress was momently becoming more difficult, as the darkness increased.
It was just at this instant, that a long howl was heard at some distance behind them, but apparently from the westward. In the stillness and darkness which encompassed them, it had a melancholy and threatening sound, which was far from agreeable. Scarcely a moment had elapsed ere the howl which they had heard was answered from the opposite direction; and almost simultaneously it seemed to be echoed by a hundred discordant throats.
"The wolves!" exclaimed Ralph and Ruth, together. "But," said Ralph, "perhaps they have not scented us, and we may have nothing to fear from them."
"Heaven grant that it may be so," earnestly replied Ruth; but as if at once to end their hopes, the cries were again heard, sharper and wilder. Just at this moment the moon arose, and began to throw a misty and uncertain light through the forest. Ralph seized the horse upon which Ruth was mounted by the bits, and the animals were at once urged to the greatest speed which the difficulties of their path would allow. The horses themselves felt the alarm, and readily yielded to the impulse of their riders.
The cries seemed now to be nearly half a mile behind them; and Ralph hoped, at the least, to be able to arrive so near the house of Mr. Barton, that assistance could be immediately afforded. But in spite of all their exertions, the path was so intricate, owing to the thick underbrush and the overhanging branches of trees, together with the rough and uneven surface of the ground, that the utmost care was necessary to prevent the falling of the horses, on the one hand, and to guard against being thrown from them by the branches which were constantly projecting before them, on the other.
On they rode, with as much rapidity as the utmost limit of safety would allow. They well knew that their only hope of safety depended upon their being able to keep mounted and in flight; for were any accident to happen to their horses, they would be left, in the midst of the wilderness, at the mercy of the ferocious beasts that were on their track. But their pursuers gained upon them; the howls which but a few moments since seemed fully half a mile behind, were now evidently within a much less distance. The woods appeared to be alive with their enemies. The discordant cries filled every avenue of sound. Faster, faster ran the horses—but still nearer approached the sound of the cowardly pack—cowardly when few in numbers, but savage in multitude.
The moonlight lay in scattered patches in the forest, but every shadow seemed occupied by an enemy. The pursuers had now approached so near, that Ralph could hear the crackling of the dry underbrush and branches, over and through which they ran, amidst the noise of their cries. Looking behind him, he saw the leaders of the pack leaping upon their track, and in the moonlight saw, with terrible distinctness, their glaring eyes and protruded tongues. The horses strained every muscle, quivering with affright, but the wolves were approaching—were almost upon them! Snatching, with a hurried hand, a shawl from the shoulders of Ruth, he threw it behind them. For a moment the chase ceased; and with wild, ferocious cries, the pack gathered around the object which had been so opportunely offered to them. At that instant, when the last hope had nearly vanished, the eyes of the travelers encountered in the path before them the form of an Indian, who, with outstretched arms, requested them to stop. In a moment they approached him, when with a rapid utterance, he exclaimed:
"Me friend; me Tuscarora—come!" and suddenly seizing the horses by the bits, he led them three or four rods from the path, where they saw before them, in the midst of the forest, a small log hut; although in an extremely ruinous condition, it afforded the protection which, but a few minutes before, seemed utterly withheld from them.
Again were heard the cries of the wolves, and the noise of their approach! Ralph leaped from his horse, and at once lifted Ruth from the saddle, who, until that moment, had preserved her courage and fortitude, but now fell fainting into his arms. He bore her instantly into the hut, where the Tuscarora rapidly brought in the horses after them; and the door was closed, just as the ferocious pack came rushing into the open space before the hut.
"And then to mark the lord of all,The forest hero, trained to wars,Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall,And seamed with glorious scars."BRYANT.
Ralph, as we have said, bore his fainting burden into the hut and the Tuscarora, having secured the frightened horses, at once hastened to his assistance. Ruth, in a few moments, became partially restored; and a blush lit up the pallor of her countenance, as she found herself sustained in the arms of Ralph. Partially withdrawing from his support, she said:
"You must be astonished, Captain Weston, that a woodman's daughter had so little fortitude as to be unable to withstand the ordinary perils of her condition. I almost feel that I owe you an apology."
"You have no reason to be ashamed of your want of fortitude, Miss Barton," answered Ralph. "The courage with which you endured that terrible ride was amazing. You have more, much more, than sustained your reputation as a woodman's daughter."
Ralph now, for the first time, observed the Tuscarora, who was standing silently before him leaning upon his rifle. The Indian was of little more than medium height, and straight as an arrow. His form was rather slight than otherwise, but was fully developed, and gave evidence of great agility and strength. His countenance was open and frank; and in his present attitude of repose, one would not have thought that he possessed those peculiar qualities of the Indian, which we are apt to associate with our recollections of that rapidly wasting race. He looked like a true lord of the forest,—cold and impassive in demeanor,—but concealing beneath that grave exterior a fountain of terrible passions. He had not yet passed the age of "youth," for not more than thirty times, to him, had the leaves of autumn fallen; yet his youth seemed extinguished in the gravity of the warrior.
Ralph could not resist a feeling of admiration at the well-built frame and noble countenance of the Tuscarora; and advancing towards him, he grasped him by the hand.
"Tuscarora," said he, "you have this night rendered this young lady and myself a service, for which we shall ever be grateful; you have preserved our lives."
The Indian, with a modest gesture, seemed to disclaim the gratitude which Ralph so freely expressed—then quietly said:
"Tuscarora friend to the colony pale-face—me no Kings Injin—me do my duty to friend. Young people careless—all heart—no eyes—no mind wolves;—me know—me waited for 'em."
"I did not know," said Ralph, "that the wolves of this section ever attacked men."
"No often; but get hungry sometimes—then ugly—then must look out. Hear that?"
Since our travelers had entered their place of safety, the forest seemed to be alive with the unearthly howls of the beasts, whose din increased at the loss of their prey. They had rushed up to the sides of the hut; and, as the Tuscarora answered Ralph, a number of them had evidently leaped against the door and the sides of the building with a savage ferocity.
"Me have fun, now," said the Tuscarora, advancing towards one of the numerous loop-holes of the hut, which had been made by its builder for its defence. "Me shoot—give 'em something to howl for."
His rifle was discharged, and for a moment, the din outside completely ceased; but as the pack saw one of their number fall, their cries increased in ferocity, until they became almost deafening. Ralph advanced to one of the loop-holes, and looked out upon the savage crowd of beasts, which seemed determined to besiege them into a surrender. As well as he could observe in the moonlight, there appeared to be forty or fifty of them, standing before and prowling about the hut, with their faces upturned—and their eyes gleaming like balls of fire.
The North American wolf is naturally a cowardly animal; and never, when alone, dares to attack a man. The animal has become, in the section of country of which we are now writing, entirely extinct. Mean, thievish, cowardly in disposition, they always fled from an encounter with a human creature, except when frenzied with hunger, and gathered in large packs. At such times, they become extremely dangerous; yet, even then, any resistance which seemed able to withstand their attack, at once disconcerted them.
The Indian again loaded his rifle, and again it was discharged. Another wolf was killed; and although they still kept up their clamor, they began to retreat to a distance from an enemy who had so much advantage of them.
"Wolf run," said the Tuscarora; "wolf no like rifle—they got no heart—cowards!" and, as if he disdained the firing upon so mean a foe, after reloading his rifle, he came towards Ralph, and quietly sat down on a rough bench by the side of the hut.
"Wolf run away," said he—"they gone soon—then you go home."
"We have our lives to thank you for, Tuscarora," said Ruth, with a look of gratitude, "and my father will always be glad to welcome you to the cottage. Will you not return with us?"
"Not now—may be by-'m-by."
"Is your nation in this territory now?" asked Ralph.
"Me got no nation," said the Indian, sorrowfully. "Tuscaroras once great—away south. Then had great many warriors—then they great nation—but most all gone, now."
"Are not your people and the Oneidas brethren?"
"Oneidas are brothers—love Oneidas."
"Why are you here in this section alone, Tuscarora, with none of your brethren near you?" abruptly asked Ralph.
The Indian looked at him steadily for a moment, and then replied:
"My young friend is wise. The white men all ask questions—no good for Injin to answer questions;" and he fell into a gloomy and listless posture, and refused, for the time, to hold any further conversation.
The silence of the Tuscarora was somewhat embarrassing to Ralph; and he again went towards the loop-holes to reconnoitre the present position of the enemy. The howls had almost entirely ceased; and what few were heard, seemed to be twenty-five or thirty rods distant. Just as he reached the loop-hole, he heard a rifle discharged on the outside, and a voice which he recognized as that of Ichabod, which made the woods ring again with a loud halloo.
The Indian started abruptly from his seat, and both he and Ralph advanced towards the door. On opening it, they discovered at the distance of ten rods three men who were rapidly approaching the hut. As they came from among the shadows of the trees into the bright moonlight, which lay in the small opening in front of the hut, Ralph recognized Barton and Ichabod accompanied by the negro.
The moment they were discovered by the party, Barton ran towards Ralph, exclaiming, "Is she safe, Ralph—is she safe?"
Scarcely was the question asked, before Ruth was in her father's arms. "God bless thee, girl," said he; "I hardly dared hope ever to see thee again," and the tears rolled down his manly face.
"For this joy, my father, we have to thank this good Indian here. He it was who saved us."
The Indian, during this scene, had silently withdrawn into a deep shadow which fell by the side of the hut. There he stood, leaning upon his rifle, seemingly as passionless and unconcerned as the shadow within which he stood.
Barton went up to him, and grasped him by the hand. "You have this day," said he, "in rescuing my daughter, saved both her life and my own. How can I thank you?"
The Tuscarora remained unmoved. "No thanks," said he. "The Great Spirit smiles when his children do their duty. Tuscarora likes colony pale-face. The Great Spirit sent me here—thank him, not poor Tuscarora."
"You say right, Tuscarora. God hath preserved my child this day. To Him be thanks, who taketh and giveth."
Scarcely had the first sound issued from the mouth of the Tuscarora, when Ichabod rapidly approached him. The Indian gave him a glance of recognition, and silently took his hand.
"Eagle's Wing, as I live!" exclaimed he. "Glad to see you again, old friend. I haven't seen you since we were down here on that last war-path."
Canendesha, as the Tuscarora was named by his own people, bore also the name of Eagle's Wing, which had been bestowed upon him not only for his boldness in fight, but for the keenness and rapidity with which he followed the trail of an enemy. When he heard himself thus called by his name of honor, he drew himself up with pride as he replied:
"Three summers and winters have destroyed the marks of the war-path. I have dwelt in the wigwams of my people, and near by the fires of the Oneidas."
In the meantime Barton had approached Ralph, and testified scarcely less joy at his deliverance than he had at that of Ruth. Ichabod and Eagle's Wing had withdrawn still further from observation into the shadow.
"Eagle's Wing," said Ichabod, imitating the language of the Tuscarora, "is wise. He dwells in peace in the wigwams of his people. But why is he here—two days' march from his friends?"
The Indian remained silent for a few moments. At length he replied:
"I am in the hunting grounds of my people. The heart of Eagle's Wing is filled with peace."
"Yes, yes, old friend," said Ichabod, resuming his usual manner of expression. "You and I have been on a good many warpaths together. I know a Tuscarora and Oneida just as well as I know a Seneca or Mohawk. I know your people are gentlemen born, and I know them others are reptiles. You can't deceiveme, Eagle's Wing—you are on a trail?"
"The eyes of my brother are keen—he has followed the war-path. Has he crossed the trail of an enemy?"
The Indian uttered this with a countenance so unmoved, and with such an expression of sincerity, that Ichabod began to think the Tuscarora had nothing to conceal from him. He said, however, in reply:
"I know your heart is true, Eagle's Wing; but I rather thought, at first, you might be following up some devil of a Seneca. But them varmints have left these parts, I s'pose."
"My brother is wise," softly replied the Tuscarora, but at the same time with a quiet expression of victory in the glance which he cast towards Ichabod. The glance was not unnoticed, and the latter at once saw that his original suspicions were correct. But he knew it would be useless to press the Tuscarora with questions. He said to him, however, in a tone that convinced the Indian that Ichabod was not deceived:
"Well, old friend, you and I have been brothers in harder times than these; and if you need the help of this rifle here, which is an old acquaintance of your'n, I shall take it in dudgeon if you don't call on me."
The Indian still remained unmoved; but Ichabod could see that the offer was kindly received.
At this moment, Barton approached, and invited the Tuscarora to accompany him to his dwelling. "You will always be welcome there, and I hope I may have many opportunities to testify to you my gratitude."
The Tuscarora courteously declined the invitation for the present, and the party prepared to depart. The horses were led out, and the party proceeded towards the cottage, while Eagle's Wing, remained as long as he could be observed, still leaning upon his rifle in front of the hut.
The party journeyed for some distance without conversation, until Ralph at length asked Ichabod, who seemed to be much less talkative than usual, how they who were at the cottage had so soon learned the danger which Ruth and he were in, from the pursuit of the wolves.
"Learn!" answered Ichabod. "Why, you see the old Squire, 'long towards dusk, began to get considerable uneasy, from some cause or other—either because he had heard more about them infarnal varmints, lately, than he chose to tell, or else because Sambo teazed him until he ra'ally thought you was in some danger; and so he proposed to me to walk with him along down the road, until we met you. We'd got in just about a mile of that shanty, when we heard the yells of them pestiferous cre'turs. I tell you, Captain, them would have been tough customers to have come to a close fight with."
"I was entirely unarmed," said Ralph, "but I had no reason to expect meeting an enemy of any kind; and least of all did I suppose we should run any danger from such an enemy."
"Them varmints," replied Ichabod, "when they've once had a taste of human blood, are as hungry for it as Senecas are for scalps—con-found 'em."
"I know the prevalent opinion in some portions of Europe—in Germany, for instance, of the ferocity of wolves. There is an old superstition of Weird-wolves, of which I have heard."
Ralph explained, by giving an account of this peculiar superstition. In Germany, and in the Netherlands, and in some other portions of Europe, the opinion had been prevalent among the people, that there were certain sorcerers, who, having anointed their bodies with ointment, the preparation of which, they had learned from the devil, and having put on an enchanted girdle, so long as they wore it, appeared, to the eyes of others, like wolves; and who possessed the same ferocity and appetite for human blood, as the animals they were believed to resemble. A large number of persons in these countries had been executed, who were supposed to be guilty of that offence. They were generally known as Weird-wolves.
This popular superstition, indeed, has survived in some portions of Europe, until this day. In the "Arabian Night's Entertainments," the unhappy subjects of this superstition were denominated "ghouls," but in the west they were known by the name we have already mentioned. A circumstance occurred in Paris, in 1849, which seemed to throw more light upon the nature of this superstition, and to prove indeed, that there was a pretty good foundation for the popular belief. Like the delusion under which many of those unhappy persons labored in the days of the "Salem witchcraft," who really believed themselves to be what their judges pronounced them, so these Weird-wolves were undoubtedly insane persons, who fancied themselves possessed of the wolfish form and nature.
"I have heard," said Barton, who now joined in the conversation, "of many instances in our northern settlements, where people have been attacked by these animals; but, although it is a frequent occurrence for them to disturb the whole country about here with their howls by night, I had never apprehended any such danger from them. But we ought to be thankful that there is no worse enemy about here."
Ichabod, whose mind, ever since his conversation with the Tuscarora, had been occupied with thoughts that did not seem very agreeable to him, started at this remark, and said, slowly—
"Well, squire, I hope you mayn't be able to change that last remark of your'n by to-morrow this time."
Ralph, who knew Ichabod well enough to know that however unsafe his opinion might be upon subjects relating to moneymaking, yet that, upon all the perils and dangers incident to a forest life, he possessed an excellent judgment, with some anxiety asked him for an explanation.
The whole party had caught the alarm; and Ichabod, with a mixture of pride at finding himself in such an important position, and of sorrow at the information he felt bound to communicate, answered—
"You see, Eagle's-Wing and I are old friends. We'vefoutmany a battle agin them cussed Senecas and Onondagas; and I reckon I know an Injin, and can read him through pretty tolerably easy. Now Eagle's-Wing isn't down here for nothing; and though his Injin blood wouldn't let him tell me what kind of speculation heison, yet I know he's on a trail of some sort. You can always tell an Injin when he's after an enemy."
"Butwhatenemy," asked Barton, "can he be pursuing in this direction? There can be no large body of hostile Indians in these forests; for Guthrie, who is a woodsman, and who would at once have discovered the fact, would have communicated the intelligence to us. I think there can be no ground for apprehension."
"I don't know about that, Squire," replied Ichabod, "but I'm sure something's in the wind; and if you take my advice, you'll prepare for defence. As for Guthrie, as you call him,youknow best abouthim; he's got a miserable, hang-dog face, any way."
Although there was much plausibility in the opinion of Barton and Ichabod's apprehensions did not seem to be well-grounded, yet Ralph, who knew that Ichabod had not given this advice without reflection, also advised Barton at once to take means of defense against any attack which might be made upon the cottage.
Barton yielded to the solicitations of Ralph and Ichabod; and the party having arrived at the cottage, Sambo was at once despatched to drive in the cattle into an enclosure which had been constructed upon the west side of the house. This yard was guarded upon all sides by an enclosure of logs some ten or twelve feet in height, and had been prepared expressly for the purpose for which it was now used. Its construction had been deemed necessary by Barton for the purpose of protecting his cattle in case of an attack by Indians, as well as to protect them from wolves or bears, which were occasionally seen prowling around the premises.
The house itself, as we have before remarked, was adapted for defence against any outward attack from such means of warfare as Indians would be likely to attempt. The outside doors were heavy, and were secured by strong bars, which would resist any ordinary force that might be applied to them. The windows in the lower story were fitted with strong blinds, which it would be impossible to remove from the outside. In the second story, the windows were guarded by long hickory bars which had been morticed into the logs, while loop-holes had been provided, through which an attack might be repelled.
The house was put into a complete state of defense. The rifles were all loaded, and placed in a position where they could be readily obtained, in case they should be needed. Thus prepared, the family at length retired to rest, the negro having been ordered to keep watch during the night.
"It is not a time for idle grief,Nor a time for tears to flow;The horror that freezes his limbs is brief—He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheafOf darts made sharp for the foe."BRYANT.
As might be inferred from the scenes and excitements of the preceding day, the inmates of the cottage did not seek the night's repose with the accustomed feelings of tranquility and safety. Ruth went over again in memory the events of the day, and she could not conceal from her own mind the fact that Ralph Weston was much more to her than an ordinary stranger. Having known him in youth, she had always esteemed the leading traits of his character; and she now felt that esteem ripening into a passion which bears a much more tender name.
As for Ralph, he had not needed to pass through any such excitements or dangers, as Ruth and he had that day encountered, to adjust any wavering balance of affection. He had seen enough to perfectly satisfy him that Ruth looked upon him with no indifference; and notwithstanding the preparations for defense and the unpleasant ideas which the prospect of an Indian attack would be likely to excite, he sank into a pleasant slumber, and was willingly borne off into the region of fairy dreams.
Ichabod had no such potent specific with which to drown care and reflection. The Tuscarora, and his probable object in visiting the valley—his mysterious manner during their brief conversation—were ever present to his mind; and after tossing about restlessly on his bed until nearly daylight, he arose with the resolution of seeking an explanation of the mystery. His preparations were made in silence, and without disturbing any of the inmates of the house. Throwing his rifle across his arm, and fastening into a belt which he buckled around him a large hunting-knife, he noiselessly descended into the lower part of the building.
In the gloom which pervaded the room into which Ichabod entered, it was some time before he discovered Sambo, who had been stationed there to keep watch during the night. He at length espied him, sitting in a chair before the huge fire-place, with his head bent upon his breast, in a most unmistakable attitude of slumber. Ichabod had not forgotten the grinning of the negro, at his exploits in fishing the day before, and he was willing to give him a sufficient fright to punish him a little. Advancing noiselessly towards him, he placed one hand on the top of his woolly head, and with a rapid motion of the other imitated the circular cutting used in the process of scalping, imprinting his thumb-nail with sufficient force into the skin, to give the sleeping negro a distinct impression of that disagreeable operation.
As the whole family for that night had retired to the upper part of the house, Ichabod knew that he should be able to stifle the cries of the negro, so that no one in the building would be alarmed.
The moment Sambo felt the impression of the thumb-nail on his skin, he awoke with a scream of fear; but Ichabod rapidly closed his mouth with one of his heavy hands.
"Oh gor-a-massy—massa Injin! I'm scalped. O Lor'! O Lor'!" exclaimed the negro; and in his distress he tumbled down upon the floor under the impression that he was about to give up the ghost.
Ichabod, who saw that he had carried the joke as far as safety to the negro would allow, lifted him up into the chair.
"There, you black devil! go to sleep will you, when you're on duty? You do that again, and we'll have you hung by the articles of war."
The negro, who was perfectly willing to escape a scalping for the present, by a prospect of hanging in the future, speedily recovered from his fright.
"O gor-a-massy, 'twas you, was it, Massa Jenkins? Know'd it was you, all the while! Needn't think you could come possum over this nigger, any how; I jist set down in the chair to listen a little."
Ichabod, who was amused at the assurance of the negro, advised him not to listen in that manner any more, or he would get scalped in earnest. Then unbarring the door, and bidding the negro to fasten it after him, and to inform the Squire and Captain when they got up, that he should be back in an hour or two, departed, in the direction of the shanty.
It was now nearly day-light; and the first silvery rays of the morning were beginning to dispel the darkness. The moon had set sometime before, and as in the midst of the forest, it was almost impossible to discern his path, it was necessary that he should proceed with extreme caution. Following noiselessly the rough path over which Ralph and Miss Barton had journeyed the day before, he hoped to reach the shanty by day-light.
A walk through the forest in a new country by night, to one unaccustomed to it, would not be likely to excite the most agreeable reflections. But Ichabod had in other times been used to all the dangers of the wilderness, and this morning walk had to him sufficient excitement to make it decidedly a pleasure. As he journeyed on, the silence by which he was surrounded was occasionally broken by the distant howl of a wolf. Scarcely had the melancholy sound died in the echoes of the forest, ere an owlet's shriek would be heard, sharp and piercing, by his side—and in the next moment it would be answered by a cry that came mellowed from the distance. Then, perhaps, the rustling of dry leaves, or the cracking of a dry bough, indicated that some small animal was flying from his presence. Occasionally stopping for a moment, to listen if he could not catch sounds which would indicate the presence of something against which it would be necessary to guard himself he continued to advance in the direction of the hut, where on the evening before he had encountered the Tuscarora.
This hut or shanty, the precise location of which, with reference to the surrounding country, we have not described, was situated about a mile below the residence of Barton, at the foot of a hill which gradually rose on the western side to the height of one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet. On the east, at the distance of about thirty rods, was the river. Beyond the river were flats extending nearly half a mile in width; while nearly opposite the hut, a small stream came from the north-east, down a narrow valley, which gave to the valley just opposite the hut the appearance of a much greater width than it really possessed.
Ichabod arrived at the shanty at just about the hour he had calculated upon. The light of the morning had begun to creep through the woods, giving to objects an uncertain appearance. He approached it cautiously, listening if he might not hear some sound that would indicate the presence of the Tuscarora. Not receiving any such indication, he touched the door, which noiselessly opened, when he entered the hut. It was entirely deserted, and every trace of its recent occupation had been removed.
This caution on the part of the Tuscarora was strong evidence to Ichabod that enemies were near, and he at once saw the object of it. In case the hut should be visited, the Indian wished it to appear as if it had not been disturbed, so that no clue could be obtained to his motions.
Ichabod, who was an adept in the Indian mode of warfare, endeavored to discover in which direction the Tuscarora had departed. But this was no easy undertaking. He looked cautiously about for a trail, but the ground had been so much trodden the night before, it was a long time ere he could discover the print of the occasional foot of the Indian, and then only by the side of the hut where he had conversed with him. At length, moving off to the distance of six or eight rods from the shanty, he commenced walking about it in a circle with his eyes fastened upon the ground. He had proceeded but a few rods in this round before he discovered the footprint for which he was searching. The Indian, on leaving the hut, had evidently gone in a south-easterly direction towards the river.
The point, proceeding in the line taken by the Tuscarora, as which he would reach the river, would be at just about a hundred rods from the shanty. Ichabod followed, at once, in this direction; but advancing with extreme caution. His progress was necessarily slow, as he was obliged not only to examine the ground with great care to discover the footprints which the light step of the Indian had made, but also to observe if there were any signs of other Indians in the vicinity. At length, he approached the river, the margin of which, here, was covered with a thick growth of willows of about eight or ten feet in height, which rendered it almost impossible to get a glimpse of the water.
He had arrived within two rods of the shore, when, at once, he lost all traces of the Tuscarora. He was searching the ground intently to regain the trail he had lost, when he heard a slight sound in the direction of the river, like that made by a paddle slightly rubbing the side of a canoe. Stooping so as to be more thoroughly hidden by the willows, which were much thicker towards the ground, he advanced close to them, and endeavored to get sight of the object which had attracted his attention.
It will be necessary to explain, a little more fully, the precise situation of Ichabod with reference to the river. The line of willows we have mentioned, was about six or eight feet in width, and run in a north and south line, parallel with the course of the river; but immediately below where he stood, there was a thick clump of them, which extended some twenty feet from the apparent course of the river, directly towards the forest; so that Ichabod was not only protected by those in front, but he occupied a sort of cover formed by them in the sudden turn which they took towards the west.
Carefully pulling back a few of the twigs of the willows which skirted the river, and which impeded his observation, he now distinctly heard the sound of a canoe approaching from below. The river was here about six rods in width, and was of considerable depth, although the current was strong; which latter fact accounted for the sound he had heard—some effort being required to urge the canoe against the force of the water.
Shortly the canoe came in sight. Ichabod started as he beheld three Indians in it, whom he at once knew to be Senecas. His first impulse was to raise his rifle; but a moment's reflection taught him that such a course would be unwise. In the first place, although the new government had concluded as yet no formal treaty of peace with the hostile tribes of the Six Nations, yet as it was tacitly understood that such a treaty would soon be made, and all encounters had therefore been mutually suspended it would be criminal and improper to attack them except in self-defence, or the defence of his friends. Another reason, also came to his aid—although it is proper to mention that it was the last one that occurred to him—and that was, that if he succeeded in killing or disabling one of the Indians, he would still have the remaining two upon his hands, without possessing any adequate means of defending himself; while it was more than probable that there were other Senecas in the vicinity.
The Indians were moving very slowly against the current, and were evidently in search of some object which they expected to discover along the shore. Ichabod recognized one of these Indians as a subordinate chief of the Seneca Nation, whom he had encountered in some of the conflicts of the war; but who possessed a high reputation among his people, for boldness and cunning. The name of this chief was Panther, which he had received from the characteristics we have mentioned. As they came in sight, the canoe was not more than twenty feet from the position occupied by Ichabod, and he could distinctly hear the conversation between the chief and his companions, although they conversed in a low tone. Ichabod had learned enough of the dialect which was common to the Six Nations, to understand at once, the purport of the conversation. We will endeavor to translate, for the benefit of the reader, the language of the Senecas:
"Me no understand," said Panther; "saw canoe here, somewhere. No get out of water without seeing it."
"Canoe light; gone up river p'raps," said one of his companions.
"Canendesha got quick eye," said the other Seneca; "he cunning Injin. He won't let scalp go, if he can help it."
A gleam of ferocity passed across the swarthy face of Panther. "Canendeshaiscunning and brave. His enemies will say that; but he has got the scalp of a Seneca, and I shall be ashamed to go back to the wigwams of my nation, if I do not take his. The Senecas are not squaws, to let a Tuscarora run off with their scalps."
Slowly moving against the current, the three Indians had got both out of sight and hearing of Ichabod. Immediately behind him was a small knoll four or five feet in height. He had commenced moving towards it with the intention of getting a further view of the Senecas, whose business he now understood, when his attention was attracted by a slight waving of the willows in the centre of the clump which we have mentioned. Glancing sharply in that direction, with his rifle raised in a position to fire should it be necessary, he saw an Indian emerging from the willows, whom he knew at once to be the Tuscarora.
"No getmyscalp this time;" said Eagle's-Wing. "I get another scalp first;" and he pointed to a bleeding trophy of a recent encounter, with all the pride with which a victorious general would have pointed to the capture of the standards and munitions of war of a vanquished enemy.
"What's the meaning of all this, Eagle's-Wing?" asked Ichabod, with evident disgust at beholding the bleeding trophy. "Why has Canendesha dug up the hatchet, when the pale-faces and their Indian allies have buried it?"
"I no dig it up," answered the Tuscarora, with energy; "Seneca dig it up. I must have Panther's scalp too," and he was about following the canoe up the river.
"Stop a moment, Eagle's-Wing," exclaimed Ichabod, who laid his strong hand on the shoulder of his friend. "I want to know the meaning of all this; you must not go after them Injins now. I hate a Seneca, on general principles, as much as you do; but it won't do to go scalping round in these days, without good reason for it. Let me know what's the matter, and if it's anything where a friend can help with an easy conscience, I'll rush into the speculation."
Thus urged, the Indian, after a sufficient time had elapsed to satisfy the dignity of a chief, proceeded to relate one of those romances of the forest, which, in general feature, may not be very dissimilar to those of civilized life—the only difference consisting in the darker and wilder coloring which belongs to pictures of savage life. We will not attempt to give it in the precise words and with the manner of the Tuscarora, although we hope to exhibit in some degree the energy with which some portions of it were related.
It seemed that a short time before, a band of Senecas, for some purpose, had been hanging about the villages of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras, situated some fifty miles north of that portion of the valley about which we are now writing. Their business did not seem to be of a warlike nature, and frequent visits of ceremony had been exchanged between the chiefs of the once hostile tribes: and professions were made by the Senecas of a desire to unite once more the severed bond of union between the different nations of the confederacy. This condition of things existed for a few days, when it was announced by the Senecas that they were about to depart towards their own villages. The Tuscarora, the day before that announced for the departure of the Senecas, made them a visit of ceremony, accompanied by his young wife, whose Indian name, translated into English, was Singing-Bird. The visitors were treated with the utmost distinction, although Eagle's-Wing fancied that on one or two occasions he observed symptoms of a revival of the old feeling of hostility towards him, which the late conflicts had engendered. The band of Senecas consisted of about thirty-five warriors, under the command of Panther, whose treacherous and perfidious nature Eagle's-Wing was well acquainted with.
But the Tuscarora was brave, and if he felt, did not exhibit any symptoms of the suspicions which occupied his mind. At length on the approach of evening, the Tuscarora announced his departure. Panther courteously accompanied him a short distance from the lodge, when suddenly a number of Indians who had been secreted in ambush, sprang upon the Tuscarora and the young squaw, and they were at once bound and brought back to the lodge. The Indians made immediate preparations for departure—as would be necessary, indeed, after such an act of perfidy—for the Tuscaroras and Oneidas, whose villages were situated but a few miles distant, would shortly suspect the treachery, and come in search of the prisoners. Panther's motive in this double act of treachery and inhospitality, was supposed to be a feeling of revenge towards the Tuscarora—who had signalized himself during the war, by his friendship for the cause of the Colonies—and also a desire to obtain the beautiful Singing-Bird for his own wigwam.
The Senecas, with their prisoners, had marched all that night in a southerly direction, making use of all the devices of which an Indian is capable, to conceal the direction of their march. Near morning, the Tuscarora, although closely guarded, had found means to escape; but instead of retracing his steps to get assistance from his own people or from the Oneidas, he followed on the trail of the Senecas, hoping that he should find some means to release Singing-Bird from her captivity. He also hoped that his brethren, discovering, as they certainly would, the treachery that had been used towards him, would send out a party of warriors to rescue him.
The Senecas had passed along the valley on the day when we first introduced the Tuscarora to the reader. They had encamped on the flats, about two miles below the shanty we have mentioned, but in a direction much nearer the river than that taken by Ralph and Miss Barton, in their journey of the day before.
The Tuscarora, after the party, on the night before, had left the shanty, carefully obliterated all traces of the recent occupancy of the hut, and proceeded towards the encampment of the Senecas. He had nearly accomplished his purpose of delivering Singing-Bird, who was confined in a temporary wigwam which had been erected for her, when he was discovered by a young warrior of the Senecas. A conflict, brief but terrible, had ensued, which resulted in the death of the Seneca; and although this conflict had prevented the execution of his purpose, he succeeded in bearing away the usual Indian trophy of victory.
A sufficient party had been left to guard the wigwam in which Singing-Bird was confined, and the remainder of the Indians, almost twenty-five in number, had set off in immediate pursuit of Eagle's-Wing. The latter discovered, in his flight, which was along the course of the river, a light bark canoe, which had been constructed by Guthrie; and at once entering it, rapidly urged it up the stream. By so doing, although the Senecas who were pursuing him by land, might pass him, yet he could be able to secrete himself until day-light, certainly, and leave no trail which could be followed. On the day before, in noting the course of the river, and the means of shelter, should he find it necessary to take to a hiding place, he had marked the clump of willows we have mentioned, which to all appearance was merely a thicker and more extensive growth than was elsewhere observed. But, as he now showed Ichabod, in the centre of this clump was a small body of water connected with the river—a sort of cove—the mouth of which was completely guarded by a thick undergrowth of willows. To a person in a canoe on the river, there was nothing to indicate, except with the very closest attention, but that the line of the willows was the shore of the river. Thus, by separating the willows, he had forced the canoe into this small cove, where he was completely hidden from all observation, as well from the land, as from the water.
Ichabod, who was much excited by this forest romance, at once entered into the feelings of the Tuscarora.
"I don't blame you any, Eagle's-Wing," said he: "I don't like this scalping business, but I s'pose you've got to fight according to your natur'; but I'll tell you this, Eagle's-Wing,—here's my hand on a bargain,—and I'll stick to it, whether the speculation's good or bad—we'll rescue Singing-Bird, any way; but don't let us have any more scalping, just now. We must deceive them rascals. I never knew a scoundrel of a Seneca yet, but could be cheated some way or other."
Notwithstanding the interest which this conversation had excited, the Tuscarora and Ichabod had both been intent in watching the course of the canoe. It had now advanced some twenty-five or thirty rods up the river, when Panther, evidently believing he had passed the spot where the Tuscarora had been observed, now headed the canoe downstream, with the intention of making a more diligent search.
Ichabod was about to propose a retreat towards the forest, when he suddenly beheld in that direction a small party of Indians advancing towards them. The intelligence was silently communicated to the Tuscarora, when they both rapidly entered the clump of willows, and seated themselves in the canoe. Their rifles were examined, and they both adjusted their knives so that they would be in readiness, if it should be necessary to use them.
The Indians who were approaching from the forest perceived Panther and his companions in the canoe, and signs were at once made to attract their attention. Panther observed them, and the canoe was immediately brought to the shore, where the other Indians had now arrived. The Senecas who had come from the woods occupied the precise spot where Ichabod had first observed the canoe of Panther. The latter had brought his canoe to the edge of the willows, and putting them aside, sprung lightly through them to the land.
The Senecas were now not more than ten or fifteen feet from the hiding place of the Tuscarora, so that their conversation could be easily overheard.
Panther, speaking to Deersfoot, who was the leader of the small party which had been sent to scour the forest, asked if any trace had been found of the fugitive. Deersfoot replied that he had not been able to find any trail.
Luckily for both Eagle's-Wing and Ichabod, the Indians who had visited the shanty, since the latter left it in the morning, had not taken the pains to discover the trail of the Tuscarora which Ichabod had done; and they had also followed the same direction in approaching the river, but without examining the ground with sufficient care, to discover the footmarks of either Eagle's-Wing or Ichabod. The consequence was, that now, so far as any clue could be obtained to their position from that source, they were perfectly safe, as the Senecas, in traveling in the same direction, had completely obscured the signs which, with a little more care, they might have discovered.
Panther and Deersfoot now held a whispered consultation, which Ichabod, although he reached forward as far as his safety would permit, could not distinctly overhear. But he was quite sure that he heard something said about the pale-faces at the cottage. He was certain from this that the Indians would visit the house of Barton; and he was extremely anxious to return there, so that he might communicate the intelligence as soon as possible.
If such was the intention of the Senecas, it appeared that they did not intend to put it in execution immediately; for after this consultation was finished, Panther directed the Indians to follow along down the shore, while he examined it from the canoe.
Panther returned to his canoe; while Deersfoot with his party, passing around the cove, proceeded diligently to search for the enemy whom they were leaving in security, at least for the present, behind them.
As soon as they had passed out of sight, Ichabod insisted that Eagle's-Wing should accompany him to the cottage. The Indian at first refused, from the idea that his presence there would bring danger upon the family of Barton; but as Ichabod assured him of the certainty of holding out the cottage against any attack which the Senecas might make upon it, and also of the joy with which Barton and his daughter would welcome him, he finally yielded; and leaving the canoe in its shelter, they rapidly proceeded thitherward through the forest.
"But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to besmiled at, their offences being so capital?"WINTER'S TALE.
When Ichabod and the Tuscarora reached the cottage, they found the inmates much alarmed, owing to the long absence of the former; and Ralph was just about setting out in pursuit of him. Ichabod had perfectly succeeded, without any effort on his part, in ingratiating himself into the favor of all. There was something in his frank, hearty manner, that at once gave him a place in the affections of those who were capable of being moved by such qualities. The simplicity and earnestness with which he pursued his schemes of pecuniary speculation, if they excited the smiles or ridicule of those who saw their groundlessness, did not detract from his reputation as a man of excellent judgment, on all matters out of the range of that one idea.
In a life such as we are now depicting, which was essentially new—where men were not living on the labors of others, or eating up the substance which others had gained, but where each relied upon his own effort to procure the necessaries of life—there was a general simplicity of manners, which is seldom to be found in these latter days. Although, as in comparison with the history of population in Europe, we are immediately connected in point of age, with the times of which we are writing, yet in the rapidity of our own history, the seventy years which have intervened have a much greater signification, and seem to extend over a length of time sufficient to give the broadest play to the imagination. We, who are now in the prime of life, and witness a broad, fine country, thoroughly subdued to the uses of the farmer—cities and villages connected by the ties of commerce—splendid mansions, which already begin to wear the venerable appearance of age, can scarcely realize that our fathers and grandfathers were the pioneers before whose vigorous efforts the forests disappeared, and the wilderness gave place to spacious fields, teeming with harvests, and homes where happiness asked no aid from wealth, and virtuous simplicity paid no tribute to overreaching avarice.
Ichabod, there, was welcomed with a degree of warmth which he had no reason to expect; but the excited state of mind which had been produced by the events of the day before, and the probability of future troubles, served to magnify the dangers which it was supposed he was likely to encounter in his morning adventure.
The Tuscarora, too, was heartily welcomed; and the morning meal, which had been left waiting for Ichabod, was at once served. The Tuscarora ate but little; for, however so much disposed an Indian may be to give way to a gluttonous disposition in "piping times of peace," when on the war-path, he is always abstemious to a degree; and he holds in great contempt the man who suffers his appetite to overcome his necessary care and watchfulness. Ichabod, however, had no such scruples; and he did as ample justice to the "good things" which were set before him, as if such an animal as a Seneca had never existed.
Having finished their breakfast, Ichabod proceeded to communicate to Ralph and Barton what he had witnessed, together with a brief account of the treachery of Panther towards Eagle's-Wing. It was at once resolved that the Tuscarora should be protected.
"For," said Barton, "if the Senecas should dare to attack the cottage, they will find that we have ample mean of defence. But I do not think they will do so; they will not dare so openly to violate the neutrality which now exists."
"That tribe is proverbially treacherous," said Ralph, "and from Eagle's-Wing's story, the chief of this party is especially so. I think they will attack us, if they learn that the Tuscarora is sheltered here, but I agree with you that we are bound to protect him. The cottage is in a good state of defence, and we can defend it against twice the number of this party.
"Yes, and were they ten times as strong," answered Barton, "the Tuscarora should not be surrendered. His services in our behalf are too recent to be so soon forgotten; and besides, I would protect any individual of the Oneida or Tuscarora nation, against those perfidious rascals."
The old man said this with an animation and energy that settled the question.
The Tuscarora, however, did not seem to assent, willingly, to the arrangement. With a sensitiveness and courtesy which are almost peculiar to the Indian warrior, he endeavored to decline a shelter which would be likely to bring Barton and his family into some peril on his behalf.
"No," he said, "let Canendesha go. He knows the woods, and the warrior likes the woods.Thereis plenty chance to fight—plenty good place to hide. Warrior can't fight here—can't take any scalp here."
Sambo put his hand to his head, with a vivid remembrance of thejokeof the night before; and even Barton and Ralph were a good deal shocked at the cool-blooded way in which the Tuscarora spoke of this peculiar mode of Indian warfare. Barton felt called to enter his protest, at once.
"Tuscarora," he said, "it isn'tChristianto scalp. I supposed that the Tuscaroras and Oneidas had better notions than to do so."
"What Christian do, eh?" asked Eagle's-Wing, quietly.
"A Christian never mutilates his enemy, after he has conquered him," replied Barton.
"What that?" inquired the Tuscarora, with a look of incomprehension.
"A Christian warrior," said Barton, who found himself somewhat puzzled to explain clearly, to the comprehension of the Indian, the idea he had in his mind; "A Christian warriorkillshis enemy; he don't——"
"Christiankillenemy, eh?" said Eagle's-Wing, quickly "What scalp good for to enemy, after he killed? Good to warrior to show squaw—good to show chiefs—good many scalps make great chief."
"Yes, but why not bear off some other trophy? why not take a portion of the enemy's dress, or something of that sort?"
"Warrior can't carry awayall:—some other Injin get some,—makehimgreat warrior too. No—no—Injin got butonescalp: he 'spect to have it taken; and if he killed,mustlose it."
Eagle's-Wing evidently thought he had exhausted the argument; and, in truth, he had. It would have been utterly impossible to have held any such controversy with him, with any prospect of success, and have admitted the right to slay an enemy at all.
Ichabod chuckled over the victory which had been gained by his friend; not that he justified the practice, but that he thought it would be utterly useless to endeavor to improve an Indian, in that respect. It was a practice which had been taught in infancy, and become an instinct; for the warrior having slain the enemy, secures the scalp, or his victory is but half won.
Just at this point in the conversation, Sambo, who had left the house a few moments before, came running in, saying that Guthrie had just come in sight, and was approaching the cottage. By a sort of instinctive feeling, the whole party, except the Tuscarora, who did not seem to be familiar with the name, looked as if they expected some new scene in this forest drama was about to be enacted. But with an appearance of unconcern, they prepared to receive him; and in a moment more, the door opened, and the heavy, coarse figure of Guthrie was in the room.
As he opened the door, the Tuscarora made a sudden movement of surprise, which Ichabod saw, although it was unnoticed by either Ralph or Barton. The Indian immediately resumed his appearance of composure, and looked at the visitor with an air of indifference; but Ichabod saw that Eagle's-Wing had made some discovery which might be of extreme importance in the events which were likely to occur. As has been before remarked, Ichabod had a distinct impression that he had before seen Guthrie's face—butwhere, he could not recollect. With a feeling of distrust, which the sudden gesture of the Tuscarora he served to enliven, he now waited to earn the object of the visit. "Good day, Guthrie," said Barton, "what news do you bring from below."
"O nothing in particular, Squire; but I thought I'd come up and tell you that there's a large lot of Injins round."
"I suppose there is nothing very singular in that," answered Barton, "so long as this may be considered Indian territory, as yet."
Now, Barton had always looked upon Guthrie with a feeling of distrust; and for this reason he thought it best to appear ignorant of facts he well knew, as by so doing, he might better ascertain the true object of his visit.
He therefore continued: "I am a kind of tenant at sufferance of the Oneidas here, myself; and I certainly cannot object to their visiting their own territory."
"But these Injins arn't Oneidas, Squire. If I know one Maqua from another, they're Senecas," said Guthrie.
"Senecas!" exclaimed Barton, with the appearance of surprise, "what business have the Senecas here, I should like to know?"
"I ra'ally can't tell, Squire, what kind of business they didcomeon out here; but they've got into a raging passion since they've been here, and I am ra'ally afeard of trouble."
"They have had no occasion, certainly, for anger with me or mine, and I cannot suppose that they intend me any injury."
"Well, the truth is, Squire, they say that this Injin you've got here," pointing to the Tuscarora, "has got the scalp of one of their young men; and they declare they'll take him, any way; if they can't by fair means, they will by foul."
"You do not think they would dare to attack the cottage for the purpose of capturing him?" said Barton.
"There's no telling what them Senecaswon'tdo, Squire, when they're angry; but I rather reckon they will, if they know you've got him here."
"What would you advise me to do, Guthrie? You understand the ways of this nation pretty well."
"As for understanding the ways of the Senecas, in particular Squire," answered Guthrie somewhat hastily, "I can't say that I do; but a man can't live in the woods as long as I have, without knowingsomethingabout the Injins in general: but as for what you'd better do, I ra'ally can't say. But the way it looks to me is, that if you want your buildings burnt down, and may be yourself and family taken prisoners, you'll keep him; but if you don't, you'll send him away. But it arn't for me to say."
"Now, Guthrie," said Barton, with the appearance of doubt. "I'll put it to you as a question of honor, under all the difficulties you mention: this Tuscarora saved my daughter's life, yesterday; now, can I, as an honorable man, surrender him to his enemies?"
"Well Squire, thatisa prettytightspot, that's sartin," said Guthrie. "But you see, if he did save Miss Barton's life yesterday, it is no reason why he should put it in danger to-day; and yours and your guests besides."
"Why, Guthrie, you talk as if I couldn't defend myself here, if I really tried. You seem to take it for granted, that if weareattacked,theymust conquer. I am not so certain of that."
"I know," said Guthrie, "you've got a pretty tolerably strong fix of a place here; but Idoreckon you couldn't hold out much of a siege. I've seen stronger places taken by fewer Indians, in my day."
"Why, how many Senecas do you think there are, Guthrie?" asked Barton.
"Well, I ra'ally don't know; but I should think I'd seen pretty nigh a hundred on 'em."
Barton smiled. The object of Guthrie was now perfectly evident. For some reason, he had endeavored to induce Barton to surrender the Tuscarora, and had thus magnified the force of the enemy, and cast doubt upon the ability of Barton to maintain the defence of his dwelling.
Ralph, although very indignant at this dishonest intention of Guthrie, maintained the appearance of composure. The Tuscarora one would have judged to have been totally devoid of the sense of hearing; for no motion or gesture betrayed that he supposed himself the subject of this back-woods diplomacy. As for Ichabod, he had with difficulty restrained himself, so far, from breaking into the conversation. Now, however, he suddenly broke in by advancing towards Guthrie, and exclaiming—