We must go back for a very short time to the spot whence Edith and her Oneida captors set out upon what proved to the latter an unfortunate voyage across Lake Champlain, and to the very moment after their canoe had left the shore. The Long House, as the Five Nations were pleased to call their territory, extended from the great lakes and a point far west, to the banks of the Hudson and Lakes Huron and Champlain; but, as is always the case in border countries, the frontier was often crossed, both by wandering or predatory bands of Hurons and other nations under the sway of France, and by outlaws from the Iroquois tribes attached to England. The peculiar habits and laws of the Indian tribes rendered the incorporation of fugitives with other nations a very easy matter, although the language of the Five Nations would seem to be radically different from that of the tribes originally inhabiting the seaboard of America. Indeed, on the western shore of Lake Champlain not a few pure Hurons were to be found; for that tribe, during the successful campaigns of France against England, with which what is called the French and Indian war commenced, had somewhat encroached upon the Iroquois territory, supported in their daring by the redoubted name of Montcalm.
With some of these, it would seem, Apukwa and his companions had entered into a sort of tacit alliance, and toward their dwellings they had directed their steps after their attack upon Edith and her little escort, in the expectation of readily finding a canoe to waft them over the lake. At first they had been disappointed, for the barks which had been there the day before were gone; and when they did find the canoe in which they ultimately commenced their voyage, the avaricious old man to whom it belonged would not let them use it without a world of bargaining; and it cost them a considerable portion of the little stock of ornaments and trinkets which they had found in Edith's plundered baggage, before the Huron consented to lend them that which they did not dare take by force.
Thus more than an hour was passed, after they reached the lake shore, before they departed; and their taking their course so boldly across the bows of the French boats was more a matter of necessity than choice, although they little doubted a good reception from the inveterate enemies of England. No sooner, however, had the canoe shot out into the water than the figure of a tall, dark woman emerged from the bushes of the low point under which the skiff had lain, and she began wringing her hands with every appearance of grief and anxiety.
"O, what will poor massa do!" she cried, in a piteous voice. "What will poor massa do! Him son killed, him daughter stolen, and Chaudo tomahawked! Ah, me! ah, me! What will we all do?"
Her imprudent burst of grief had nearly proved destructive to poor Sister Bab. The old Huron had turned him quietly toward a small birch bark cabin in the forest hard by, and would never have remarked the poor negress if she had confined the expression of her cares to mere gesture; but her moans and exclamations caught the quick ear of the savage, and he turned and saw her plainly, gazing after the canoe. With no other provocation than a taste for blood, he stole quietly through the trees, with the soft, gliding, noiseless motion peculiar to his race, and making a circuit so as to conceal his advance, he came behind the poor creature just as she beheld the canoe which bore away her young mistress stopped and surrounded by the little flotilla of the French. Another moment would have been fatal to her, for the Indian was within three yards, when a large rattlesnake suddenly raised itself in his path and made him recoil a step. Whether attracted by the small, but never-to-be-forgotten sound of the reptile's warning, or some noise made by the Huron in suddenly drawing back, the poor negress turned her head and saw her danger.
With a wild scream she darted away toward the lake, The savage sprang after her with a yell, and though old he retained much of the Indian lightness of foot. Onward toward the shore he drove her, meditating each moment to throw his hatchet if she turned to the right or left. But Sister Bab was possessed of qualities which would not have disgraced any of his own tribe, and even while running at her utmost speed she contrived continually to deprive him of his aim. Not a tree, not a shrub, not a mass of stone that did not afford her a momentary shelter, and of every inequality of the ground she took advantage. Now she whirled sharply round the little shoulder of the hill; now, as the tomahawk was just balanced to be thrown with more fatal certainty, she sprang down a bank which almost made the Indian pause. Then she plunged head foremost, like a snake, through the thick brushwood, and again appeared in a different spot from that where he had expected to see her.
Still, however, he was driving her toward the lake, at a spot where the shores were open, and where he felt certain of overtaking her. On she went, however, to the very verge of the lake, gazed to the right and left, and seeing with apparent consternation that the banks rounded themselves on both sides, forming a little bay, near the center of which she stood, she paused for a single instant, as if in despair. The Huron sprang after with a wild whoop, clutching the tomahawk firmly to strike the fatal blow.
But Sister Bab was not yet in his grasp, and with a bold leap she sprang from the ledge into the water. Her whole form instantly disappeared, and for at least a minute her savage pursuer stood gazing at the lake in surprise and disappointment, when suddenly he saw a black object appear at the distance of twenty or thirty yards, and suddenly sink again. A few moments after it rose once more, still farther out, and then the brave woman was seen striking easily away toward the south.
Rendered only more eager by the chase, and more fierce by disappointment, the Huron ran swiftly along the shore, thinking that he could easily tire her out or cut her off; but, in sunny waters in far distant lands, she had sported with the waves in infancy, and taking the chord of the bow where he was compelled to take the arc, she gained in distance what she lost in speed. So calm was she, so cool, that turning her eyes from her pursuer, she gazed over the water in the direction where she had seen her beloved young mistress carried, and had the satisfaction of beholding the canoe towed along by one of the French boats. Why she rejoiced she hardly knew, for her notions on such matters were not very definite; but anything seemed better than to remain in the hands of the murderers of poor Chaudo.
Her thoughts were still of Edith, and she asked herself: "Where are they taking her to, I wonder. Perhaps I may come up with them if that redskin would but leave off running along by the shore and let me land and cross the narrow point. He may run the devil foot. He can't catch Bab. I'll dive again. He think her drowned."
Her resolution was instantly executed; and whether it was that her stratagem was successful, or that the Huron had less than Indian perseverance and gave up the chase, when she rose again she saw him turning toward the woods, as if about to go back to his lodge. But Bab had learned caution, and she pursued her way toward the small peninsula where stood the French fort of Crown Point, which at the period I speak of had been nearly stripped of its garrison to reinforce Ticonderoga. She chose her spot, however, with great care, for though in her wanderings she had made herself well acquainted with the country, she was, of course, ignorant of the late movements of the troops, and fancied that the French posts extended as far beyond the walls of the fortress as they had formerly done. A little woody island, hardly separated from the mainland, covered her approach, and the moment her feet touched the shore she darted away into the forest and took the trail which led nearly due south. The neck of the point was soon passed, and once more she caught sight of the French boats still towing the canoe on which her thoughts so particularly rested.
The short detention of the French party, and the advantage she gained by her direct course across the point, had put her a little in advance, and she ran rapidly on till she reached the mouth of the small river now called Putnam's Creek, which, being flooded by the torrents of rain that had fallen in the earlier part of the day, made her pause for a moment, gazing at the rushing and eddying waters coming down, and doubting whether she had strength left to swim across it. The boats, by this time, were somewhat in advance, and when she gazed after them she naturally came to the conclusion that they were bound for what she called, after the Indian fashion, Cheeonderoga. Suddenly, however, as she watched, she saw their course altered, and it soon became evident that they intended to land considerably north of the fort. Running up the creek, then, till she found a place where she could pass, she followed an Indian trail through the woods, lying a little to the west of the present line of road, and at length reached an eminence nearly opposite to Shoreham--a spur of Mount Hope, in fact--when she once more caught a view of the lake, just in time to see the disembarkation of the French troops and the Indians.
Notwithstanding her great strength, the poor negress was by this time exceedingly tired; but still that persevering love which is one of the brightest traits of her unfortunate race, carried her on. "If I can catch sight of them again," she thought, "I can carry ole massa tidings of where she is."
Encouraged by this idea, she pushed on without pause; but night overtook her before she had seen any more of the party, and poor Bab's spirit began to fail. More slowly she went, somewhat doubtful of her way, and in the solitude, the darkness, and the intricacy of the woods, fears began to creep over her which were not familiar to her bosom. At length, however, she thought she heard voices at a distance, and a minute or two after she found herself on the bank of a small brook. She paused and listened. The voices were now more audible, and without hesitation she crossed and crept cautiously along in the direction from which the sounds came.
A moment or two after, the flickering of a fire through the trees attracted her attention, and more and more carefully she crept on upon her hands and knees, through the low brush, still seeing the blaze of the firelight, when she raised her eyes, but unable to perceive the spot whence it proceeded. A small pine, cut down, next met her hand as she crept along, and then a number of loose branches tossed together; and now Sister Bab began to get an inkling of the truth. "It must be what dey call an ambush," she thought, and raising herself gently, she found that she was close to a bank of earth over which the firelight was streaming. The sounds of voices were now distinctly heard, but she could not understand one word, for it seemed to her that they were speaking in two different languages, if not more, but each of them was strange to her.
At one time she fancied she heard Edith's voice, but still the language spoken was a strange one, and although the bank of earth was not more than shoulder high, she did not venture at first to rise to her whole height in order to look over it. At length, however, came some words of English, and the voice, which she judged to be Edith's, was plainly heard, saying: "This gentleman is asking you, my good friend, if you will not go and take some supper with him where the people have spread a cloth yonder." Bab could resist no more, but raised herself sufficiently to bring her eyes above the top of the breastwork, and gazed over into the little rude redoubt.
On the right, and at the farther part of the enclosure, were a number of Indians seated on the ground; and, besides the fire already burning, several others were being piled up amidst the various groups of natives. Somewhat on the left, and stretching well nigh across the western side of the other space, were the French soldiers, in groups of five or six, with their arms piled near them. Other straggling parties were scattered over the ground, and two sentinels, with musket on shoulder, appeared on the other side of the redoubt; but the group which attracted the poor woman's chief attention was on her right, near a spot where some small huts had been erected. It consisted of three persons, a gaily dressed French officer, a man in the garb of a soldier, but with his arms cast aside, and lastly, a short, powerful man, in a yellowish-brown hunting shirt, whom Sister Bab at once recognized as her old acquaintance the Woodchuck. That sight was quite enough, and sinking down again amongst the bushes, she crept slowly away to a little distance, and there lay down to meditate as to what was next to be done.
At one time she was tempted to enter the French redoubt and remain with her young mistress. Several considerations seemed in favor of this course; and let it be no imputation upon poor Bab that hunger and the savory odors which came wafted over the earthwork were not without their influence. But then she thought: "If I do, how will ole Massa ever know where Missy is?" and this remembrance enabled her to resist the strong temptation. "I will stay here and rest till the moon get up," thought the poor woman. "I know dey must be coming up de lake by dis time, and I can catch dem before to-morrow."
To prevent herself from sleeping too long if slumber should overtake her, she crept farther out of the thick wood and seated herself in a more open spot, with her clasped hands over her knees, but with nothing else to support her.
Various sorts of fears suggested themselves to her mind as she thus sat; but oppressive weariness was more powerful than thought, and in a few moments her head was nodding.
Often she woke up during the first hour, but then she slept more profoundly, bending forward till her forehead touched her knees. It is probable, too, that she dreamed, for in the course of the next two hours several broken sentences issued from her lips in a low murmur. At length, however, she woke with a start, and found the moon silvering the whole sky to the eastward, where some bold heights towered up, still obscuring the face of the orb of night. She sat and gazed somewhat bewildered, hardly knowing where she was. But the musical voice of the falling waters, which have gained for the outlet of Lake Horicon an ever enduring name, and the grand outline of Mount Defiance seen through the trees, soon showed her that she was on that narrow point of land lying between Front Brook and the falls.
She waited till the moon had fully risen, and then stole quietly away again, keeping a southwestern course nearly up the current of the brook, and for three hours she pursued her way with a rapid and untiring foot. She had no idea of the time, and wondered if the day would never break. But the moonlight was beautifully clear, and the calm beams, as if they had some affinity with the woodland solitude, seemed to penetrate through the branches and green leaves even more easily than can the sunshine. Her fears had now nearly passed away, for she knew that she must be far beyond the French and Huron posts, and could only expect to meet with the scouts and outposts of the English army, or with parties of friendly Indians, and she consequently went on without care or precaution. Suddenly she found herself emerging from the wood into one of those low, open savannas, of which I have already spoken, close to the spot where the embers of a fire were till glowing. The grass was soft and her tread was light, but the sleep of the Indian is lighter still, and in an instant three or four warriors started up around her.
"I am a friend! I am a friend!" cried the negress in the Iroquois tongue. "Who be you--Mohawks?"
"Children of the Stone," replied the man nearest to her, gazing at her earnestly by the moonlight. "I have seen the Dark Cloud before, but does she not dwell in the house of our brother Prevost?"
"Yes, yes!" cried Sister Bab, eagerly. "I'm his slave girl, Bab, who came to the Oneida Castle with my own Missy. But now she is the prisoner of bad men, and I have escaped, tired and hungry, and am nearly dead!"
"Come with me," said the Indian. "I will take thee where thou shalt have rest to comfort thee and meat to support thee, till the Black Eagle come. He will not be long, for he will keep the warpath night and day till he is here, and his wings are swift."
The poor woman shuddered at the name of the terrible chief, for it was closely connected in her mind with the circumstances of her young master's fate; but wearied and exhausted, the prospect of food and repose was a blessing, and she followed the Indian in silence to the other side of the savanna.
Sixteen thousand gallant men, led by a brave and experienced general, and supported by a fine, though not very large park of artillery, seemed certainly sufficient for the reduction of a small fortress not very well garrisoned, nor supplied with any great abundance of stores. But it seemed the fate of English officers in North America to adhere strictly to all ancient rules, when ancient rules could be of no service in face of a new and totally different mode of warfare, and to abandon those rules at times and in circumstances when only they could be available.
A large fleet of bateaux had been collected at the southern extremity of Lake George, ready to transport the troops to the destined point of attack; and a council of the most experienced officers was held on the evening of the third of July, to consider the farther proceedings of the army.
All had now assembled at what was then commonly called in the province "Fort Lyman," although the name was already formally changed to "Fort Edward."
General Abercrombie was there in person, and a number of other officers appeared at the council likewise, whose experience in Indian warfare was superior to his own. There is much reason to believe that had Abercrombie's own opinion been followed in acting against a French fort, under French command, all the operations would have been conducted in the same manner, and upon the same system which would have guided a similar enterprise in Europe, and thus much bloodshed and some disgrace would have been spared.
It was represented to the commander-in-chief, however, that numerous bodies of Indians were acting upon the side of France; that all operations carried on according to European rules had hitherto failed in America, and more than one bloody disaster was held up as a warning to his eyes; which he unhappily suffered to bias his own better judgment. In a word, as it was known that every day fresh reinforcements were being thrown into Ticonderoga, large bodies of Indians being collected for its defence, and preparations of every kind in progress, it was determined that a sudden and rapid rush should be made upon the fort, and that no consideration should be put in competition with celerity of movement and boldness of attack. Lord H---- alone represented that, from what he had personally learned during the last six months, it was absolutely necessary to employ cannon; though, perhaps with a want of proper confidence in his own reputation, he offered to lead the advanced parties, lest the opinion he expressed should seem to anyone to savor of timidity.
At as early an hour as possible the march commenced along what was called the King's road; and in high spirits, regiment after regiment entered the forest, confident in their numbers and their prowess. The regular troops pursued the well constructed causeway, while clouds of Mohawks were scattered on the flanks, sweeping the forest ground on either side. The artillery, on the heavy and clumsy carriages of that day, the tumbrels and the baggage wagons, came lumbering in the rear, and a large troop of stragglers followed, comprising the scouts, who might have been much more advantageously employed in the front, but who, for some reason unexplained, had very little service assigned to them on the expedition. General Abercrombie and his staff, with several of the superior officers, followed slowly behind all the rest, well aware that the advance of the forces would meet with no opposition, at least upon the first day's march. To this group, from every quarter, came numerous messengers throughout the day, some bringing news of a fresh levy marching up from the eastern States; some, from the front, seeking clearer orders when any little difficulty or impediment occurred; some from Albany, with intelligence from that city or New York: and several Indian runners from the west, bearing more important tidings from the Indian tribes, now all in movement to support their British allies.
Amongst the rest appeared the silent runner Proctor, with a letter to General Abercrombie, who, as soon as he had read it, turned to Lord H----, saying: "This is a communication from your friends the Oneidas, my lord, but written by some Englishman who signs himself 'Gore.' He states that a war party of the nation is already on the western bank of the lake, and that the main body, under Black Eagle himself, is expected in the course of the day. I suppose we may therefore consider ourselves secure upon our left flank."
"Undoubtedly," replied Lord H----, with a look of anxiety which almost induced the Commander-in-chief to believe that he did entertain doubts which he did not choose to express.
"You think so, I presume," said Abercrombie, gazing at him.
"Entirely," replied Lord H----; "but I was in hopes of hearing some other intelligence of a private nature, concerning Mr. Prevost's son, whose alarming position amongst the Oneidas I mentioned to you, if you recollect."
"There is nothing more," said General Abercrombie, handing him the letter; "but there is the messenger. Probably he can give you some information."
Lord H---- immediately turned toward Proctor, who was running at a sort of trot by the side of the general's horse, and inquired if he had been at the Castle of the Oneidas. The man shook his head and trotted on.
"Then where did you last come from?" asked Lord H----; but Proctor only lifted his hand and pointed toward the northwest.
"How many miles?" demanded the young nobleman, determined to get some speech out of him. The man lifted up his hands three times with the ten fingers spread abroad, without opening his lips.
"Did you hear, amongst those who sent you," asked Lord H----, "any tidings of young Mr. Prevost?"
The man shook his head, but then suddenly stopped in his trot, and said, as if upon recollection: "They thought he had been put to death." He paused, as if what he had said had cost him a great effort, but then added, slowly, when he saw the painful expression of the young nobleman's countenance: "They only thought. They did not know. They left before."
"Did you see or hear of a man whom you know as Woodchuck--the man you saw with me at Albany?" asked Lord H----; but the other shook his head, and nothing more could be extracted from him. The man was then sent forward to join the rear guard, but his taciturnity gave Lord H---- good assurance that Mr. Prevost, who had gone forward, would not be pained by the terrible rumor which he bore.
The long and fatiguing march to the nearest point of Lake Horicon I need not describe. Many of the scenes recorded in the life of the gallant Putnam passed near or on the very route pursued; and the feats of daring and the escapes of that fine soldier are almost as marvelous still in our eyes as in those of the savage Indians of his own time, who supposed him to bear a charmed life. Suffice it that, after encountering great difficulty and some fatigue, in dragging the cannon over a road which, in the neighborhood of the settled portion of the colony was good enough, but which became almost impassable near the lake, in consequence of the heavy rains, the whole army arrived in safety at the newly constructed and yet incomplete works of Fort George, lying a little east of the site of the ever memorable Fort William Henry. By the care and diligence of the commissary general, everything that could refresh the weary soldiers was found prepared. A fleet of one hundred and thirty-five large boats and nine hundred bateaux were seen lying along the shore of the lake of pure and holy waters; and hardly a head was laid down to slumber in the huts that night which did not fondly fancy that Ticonderoga must inevitably fall.
As usual with him, in camp or on the march, Lord H---- dined with his soldiers, and shared their simple fare; but he passed the evening with Mr. Prevost, who had found quarters in the fort. Both were grave, but the deeper gravity was with Lord H----; for though, through the mind of the elder man continually flitted painful fancies--thoughts, images, or whatever they may be called--of the fate of Brooks, and his lips murmured twice, almost involuntarily, the words "Poor Woodchuck!" yet the certainty which he felt of the safety of his son, however great the sacrifice which purchased it, was a comfort, a great, a mighty consolation, although he almost reproached himself for the sensation of rejoicing which he could not help experiencing.
Lord H----, on the contrary, felt no such certainty. Ever since his conversation with Proctor, if conversation it can be called, a gloomy feeling of apprehension had rested on him. He did not doubt poor Woodchuck in the least; he was sure that he would hold fast to his resolution. Neither had he any fears that the execution of his purpose would be delayed or prevented by any such accident as that which had in reality occurred. But he asked himself: "Might he not come too late?" They had been told the time allowed by the Oneida chief to provide a substitute for Walter, and had taken it at the European calculation of months; but since he heard that a rumor of the young man's death was prevalent amongst the Indians, he doubted whether there had not been a mistake. The very rumor showed that some of the natives, at least, imagined the time had expired, and implied that their calculation was different. The effect upon the mind of Edith, he knew, would be terrible, when she found that her brother might have been saved, but that his life had been lost by such a mistake.
From Mr. Prevost he strove to hide his apprehensions as far as possible, knowing well that previous anxiety never diminishes an inevitable evil; and soon after nightfall he left him to seek thought in his own tent.
The sky was clear and cloudless; the stars shining out with a largeness and a luster such as European skies can never give. A light breeze stirred the waters of the lake and made them musical along the shore, and one of the voyageurs was singing a tranquil song of home in a clear, mellow voice, as he sat in his bark. The air was mild and gentle as a morning dream, and yet the whole had that solemn calmness which is always allied to melancholy.
He sat there long; no inclination to sleep interrupted his reveries, notwithstanding the fatigue of the day; and at length the moon rose over the high eastern hills, showing an unrivaled scene of solemn beauty.
The young nobleman rose, and after gazing round him for a few moments, drinking in, as it were, the solemn loveliness, he then walked on slowly toward the blackened remains of Fort William Henry. There was little to be seen there. Montcalm had not left his work half done; for all had been destroyed, and little beyond some irregularities in the ground, and some large detached fragments of masonry, showed where so many gallant men had fought in their country's cause, only to be slaughtered after surrender by a treacherous enemy. By report he knew the ground well, and after pausing for a minute or two amongst the ruins, he turned down the dark and fearful dell where the horrible massacre was perpetrated. Every rock around had echoed to the yell of the Indians, the groan of the dying soldiers, or the shrieks of defenceless women and children. Every tree had seen beneath its boughs some of the deeds of horror and of blood which went to make up that great crime. The bones of hundreds were lying still unburied; and when the moonlight fell on the western side of the gorge, some portion of a woman's garment, caught upon a bush, was seen fluttering in the breeze.
The immediate path along which Lord H---- went was still in profound shadow; but suddenly, across the moonlit side a little in advance of him, he saw gliding along, with noiseless steps, a troop of eight or ten shadowy forms, looking like ghosts in the pale moonlight. So much was their color the same as the rocks around, that you might almost fancy you saw through them, and that they were but the shadows from some other objects, cast upon the broken crags as they passed. Lord H---- stood and gazed, when suddenly the band stopped; and, comprehending that he had been perceived, he challenged them in English, judging at once that they must be a troop of friendly Indians. A deep voice replied in the same language, but with a strong Indian accent: "We are friends, children of the Stone. Can you tell us where to find Prevost?"
As he spoke, the leader of the Indians had advanced nearer, down the sloping ground at the foot of the rocks, and there seemed something in his tall, powerful form, and majesty of carriage, familiar to the eyes of the young nobleman, who exclaimed: "Is that the Black Eagle?"
"It is," answered the other, whose limited knowledge of English did not suffer him to indulge in his usual figurative language. "Art thou the Falling Cataract?"
"I am he to whom you gave that name," answered Lord H----; "but what want you with Mr. Prevost? Where is his son?"
"On yonder side of Horicon," answered the Indian chief, pointing with his hand toward the western side of the lake. "The boy is safe; be thy mind at rest."
Lord H---- took the hand he proffered, and pressed it in his; but at the same time he asked: "And poor Woodchuck--what of him?"
"I know not," answered Black Eagle. "We have not beheld him."
"That is strange," answered the young nobleman. "He set out to deliver himself up to you, to save the young man's life."
"He is brave," answered Black Eagle. "The Good Spirit kept him away."
"Then how was the boy delivered?" asked Lord H----. "We feared your people would be inexorable."
"The Great Spirit spoke by the voices of the women," answered the chief. "She who sees beyond the earth in her visions heard the voice and told its words. It was decreed that if the boy died, our wives, our daughters, our sisters should all die with him; and we listened to the voice, and obeyed."
"Come with me quickly," said Lord H----, eagerly. "Let us carry the news to Mr. Prevost. He is here at the fort now, holding an office in our army."
"I know it," replied Black Eagle. "I have been to his lodge, and found no one but the slaves, who told me. The boy I sent on with my people, for the children of the Stone have taken the warpath for England, and a thousand warriors are on their way to the place of the sounding waters. He goes to fight amongst us as our son. But I must speak with Prevost before I go, for the wings of the Black Eagle are spread, perhaps for his last flight; and who knows but he will leave his scalp on the warpost of the Huron?"
Lord H---- led the way with a quick step, and the chief and his companions followed. At the first outpost they were, of course, challenged, and strict orders having been given to admit no troop of Indians within the limits of the fort, the young nobleman and the chief proceeded alone to the quarters of Mr. Prevost. They found him still up, and busily writing orders for the following morning. When he beheld the face of Black Eagle following his noble friend, he started up, and at first drew back; but then, with a sudden change of feeling, he seized the warrior's hand, exclaiming: "My son lives! My son lives, or you would not be here!"
"He lives," replied the Black Eagle; and he then proceeded to give the same account to Mr. Prevost which had been heard by Lord H----. The former, however, understanding the Indian better, soon drew from him, partly in English, and partly in Iroquois, the whole particulars of Walter's deliverance.
"And would you really have slain him?" asked Mr. Prevost.
"I would," replied Black Eagle, calmly and firmly. "I would have torn out my own heart had the laws of my people required it!"
The father mused for a few moments, and then said, in a thoughtful tone: "I believe you would. Dear Otaitsa, did she really, then, peril her life to save her young friend?"
"She did more," answered Black Eagle. "She was one of those who prepared to go to the happy hunting grounds with him; but I tell thee, Prevost, not the sight of my child, with the knife in her hand, ready to plunge it into her own heart, made the Black Eagle pause or hesitate. It was that we heard the voice of the Great Spirit in the words that were spoken. He only can change the laws of the Oneida, and He changed them. But now hear me, Prevost, for I must back to my people and thy son. I sent them forward toward the Sounding Waters, while I sought thee, first at thy lodge and then here; and I must join them, for they must not throw a hatchet or fire a rifle without the Black Eagle."
He had seated himself when first he entered, but now he rose and stood erect, as if about to make a speech. "There is a blossom on the bough of the Black Eagle's tree," he said, "which is dear to his eyes, and thou hast a bough on thy tree which is dear to thee. Otaitsa is a Christian--believes in your Good Spirit. She is descended from a race of warriors, every one of whom has left a name in the hearts of their people. She is of the highest race of the highest tribe of the children of the Stone. The blood of the redman is as fine as the blood of the white. Her mother was the daughter of a great chief, and of a race as good as thine own; a race that is renowned."
Mr. Prevost bent down his head, but he knew the Indian customs too well to interrupt, and the chief went on, saying: "The Blossom loves the Bough; the Bough loves the Blossom. She has purchased him, she has bought him for herself; she has offered her heart's blood for his price. Is he not hers? If the Black Eagle should never return from his war flight, if the bullet of the French should break his wing, or the arrow of the Huron pierce his heart, will his brother Prevost bind the Blossom and the Bough together as the white men bind them, and as the Christian people unite those who love, together? Will he take the Blossom to his own home, and make her indeed his daughter?"
Mr. Prevost rose and threw his arms round the chief, saying: "Thou art my brother. I will do as thou hast said, and may the Good Spirit deal with me as I deal with thee in this matter. Thy daughter is my daughter, my son is thy son. But thou knowest not, perhaps----"
Black Eagle raised his hand, saying in Iroquois: "Forbear! I know what I know; thou knowest what thou knowest. We may believe much that it is not right to prove. Silence is a good thing when secrets are dangerous. Now go I to my people with my heart at rest;" and without more words he glided out of the room.
Day dawned bright and clear over the wild woods, the green savannas, and the lakes and mountains that lay between Horicon or Lake George and the small chain of Indian lakes. The advanced party of the Oneidas were up bustling with the earliest beam--bustling, but in their quiet way. Each was active, clearing away every trace of their sojourn from the face of the savanna as far as possible, and preparing to betake himself to the shade of the neighboring woods; but Sister Bab was still sound asleep. Amongst those who have traveled over that part of the country there may be some who remember a beautiful and rich green meadow, extending for almost a third of a mile from its inland extremity to the shores of Horicon. It has now--and it is not much altered since the time I speak of--a sloping ground to the northward of this grassy plot, well covered with wood, and there is on the south a rocky but still wooded bank, in which several small caves are to be observed. In one of these caves lay the negress, on the morning I have just mentioned, and though the Indians moved about in different directions, and removed even a large iron pot of European workmanship, which had been placed near the entrance of the cavern, the good woman, in the sleep of fatigue and exhaustion, showed no sign whatever of waking.
Few had been the explanations which she had given on the preceding night. She was too weary to indulge in her usual loquacity, and her Indian friend had sat quietly before her, after having supplied all that she required, seeing her eat and drink, but putting no questions.
Now, however, he approached the hollow in the rock, and after gazing at her for an instant as she lay, he moved her with his moccasined foot. She started up and rubbed her eyes, looking round with evident surprise; but the Indian said: "Get up and follow into the woods, if thou wouldst see the Black Eagle. We must leave the ground that has no shadow, now that the day has come."
"Ah, me!" cried Sister Bab. "What shall I do for my poor Missy? She is a prisoner with the French, not more than a few miles hence, and, what is worse still, the Woodchuck is with her, and all our people said he was going to give himself up to save Massa Walter."
Quietly and deliberately the Indian seated himself on the ground, and remained silent for a moment or two. He then asked, without the slightest appearance of interest: "Where is the daughter of Prevost? Is she at the Castle of the Sounding Waters?"
Sister Bab replied, "No"; and, as far as she could describe it, explained to her companion where Edith was, and gave him no very inaccurate notion of the sort of field-work on which she had stumbled the night before. Still not a muscle of the man's face moved, and he merely uttered a sort of hum at this intelligence, sitting for full two minutes without speaking a word.
"What can we do, brother, to save them?" asked Sister Bab, at length. "I don't think there's any danger indeed, to Missy or Massa Woodchuck, 'cause the young man in the blue coat seemed very civil; but den if Massa Woodchuck not get away, your people will kill Massa Walter, for six months will be over very soon."
"Five days ago six moons had grown big and small since the Black Eagle spoke," said the Indian, gravely. "But we will see whether there be not a trail the prisoners can tread. You must get up and walk before me to where you left them, like a cloud upon the mountain side, quickly, but without noise."
"It's a long way," said the poor woman, "and my feet are all cut and torn with yesterday's ramble."
"We will give thee moccasins," answered the Indian. "The way is not long, even to the house of the Sounding Waters, if you keep the trail straight. Thou must show me if thou wouldst save Prevost's daughter. Her fate is like a toppling stone upon the edge of a precipice--a wind may blow it down. The French Hurons do not spare women. Come, get up; eat, and talk not! I must know this place, and that quickly!"
The last words were spoken somewhat sternly; and Sister Bab rose up and followed to one of the little groups of Indians, where she seated herself again, and ate some cakes of maize, and dried deer's flesh, while the chief who had been speaking with her held a consultation with several of the other warriors. Not much time was allowed her for her meal, for in less than five minutes she was called upon to lead the way, and, followed by a party of six Indians, she proceeded for a mile or two, till they reached a spot where the trail divided into two. She was about to take the left-hand path, knowing that it was the one which she had followed on the preceding night, but the chief commanded her, in a low voice, to turn her steps upon the other, adding: "We shall come upon thy footprints again speedily."
So indeed it proved, for she had wandered during the night far from the direct course; and after walking on for some ten minutes they cut into the former path again, where to Indian eyes the traces of a negro foot were very apparent.
Twice the same thing occurred, and thus the distance was shortened to nearly one-half of that which she had traveled on the preceding night, between the little masked redoubt of the French and the Indian camping place.
At length the objects which Sister Bab saw around her gave warning that she was approaching the spot of which they were in search. From time to time Mount Defiance was seen towering upon the right, and the character of the shrubs and trees was changed. The first hint sufficed to make the Indians adopt much greater precautions than those which they had previously used. They spread wide from the broad trail, the chief taking Sister Bab with him, and slowly and noiselessly they pursued their way, taking advantage of every tree and every rock to hide behind and gaze around.
Before five minutes more were over, Sister Bab paused suddenly and pointed forward. The Indian gazed in silence. To an unpracticed eye nothing would have been apparent to excite the slightest suspicion of a neighboring enemy, but some of the pine branches of what seemed a low copse in front were a shade yellower than the other trees. Besides, they did not take the forms of young saplings. They were rounder, less tapering, without showing shoot or peak.
A grin came upon the Indian's countenance, and pointing with his finger to the ground he seemed, without words, to direct the negress to remain on the same spot where she stood, behind a great butternut tree. He then looked round him for his companions, but their movements were well combined and understood. Though at some distance from each other, each eye from time to time had been turned toward him as they advanced; and the moment it was perceived that he stopped, each of the others stopped, also. His raised hand brought them all creeping quietly toward him, and then, after a few whispered words, each Indian sank down upon the ground, and creeping along like a snake, disappeared amongst the bushes.
Sister Bab found her situation not altogether pleasant. The slightest possible rustle in the leaves was heard as her dusky companions disappeared, but then all sounds ceased, except from time to time, when the wind, which had risen a little, bore her some murmurs from the redoubt, as if of voices speaking. Once she caught a few notes of a merry air, whistled by lips that were probably soon after doomed to everlasting silence. But that was all she heard, and the stillness grew oppressive to her. After waiting for a moment or two, she sought a deeper shelter than the butternut tree afforded, and crept amongst some thick shrubs at the foot of a large oak. She thought her Indian companions would never return, but at length one of the redmen looked out from the bushes, and then another, and both gazed round as if in search of her. Following their example, she crept forth, and the chief, approaching, beckoned her away, without speaking.
When far enough off to be quite certain that no sound of voices could reach the redoubt, he stopped suddenly and gazed in her face, saying: "You love the daughter of the paleface; you followed her when there was danger. Will you go where there is no danger, to bear her the words of warning?"
"I will go anywhere to do her any good," answered the woman, warmly. "I am not afraid of danger. I had enough of it yesterday to make me careless of it to-day."
"Well, then," said the chief, "thou seest this trail to the left. Follow it till it crosses another. Then take to the right on the one it crosses--it is a broad trail, thou canst not miss it. It will lead thee straight into the Frenchman's ambush. They will not hurt thee. Ask for the daughter of the paleface Prevost. Tell them thou hast passed the night in the woods, seeking for her, and they will let thee stay with her. Say to her she shall have deliverance before the sun has set to-morrow, but tell her when she hears the war-whoop and the shot of the rifle to cast herself down flat on the ground beneath the earth heap, if she be near at the time. She knows the Oneida people; she can tell their faces from the Hurons, though the war paint be bright upon them. She need not fear them. Tell her secretly, when none hears; and what I tell her to do, do thou, if thou wouldst save thy life!"
"But," said Bab, with more foresight than the Indian, "perhaps they will not keep her there till to-morrow. They may send her into the fort--most likely will."
"Bid her stay! bid her stay!" said the chief. "If they force her away, I have no arm to hold her. Go on! I have said!"
The negress shook her head, as if much doubting the expediency of the plan proposed, but she obeyed without further remonstrance, and walking on upon the little narrow path which the Indians pointed out, she reached, in about a quarter of an hour, the broader trail, along which Edith had been taken on the preceding night. Turning to the right, as directed, she followed it with slow and somewhat hesitating steps, till suddenly a sharp turn brought her in sight of two sentinels pacing backward and forward, and a group of Indians seated on the ground round a fire, cooking their food. There she halted suddenly, but she was already seen, and receiving no answer to his challenge, one of the sentinels presented his musket as if to fire. At the same moment a voice exclaimed: "What's that? What's that?" in French, and a man in the garb of a soldier, but unarmed, came forward and spoke to her.
She could make no reply, for she did not understand a word he said, and taking her by the wrist, the man led her into the redoubt, saying to the sentinel with a laugh: "It's only a black woman; did you take her for a bear?"
The next instant poor Bab beheld her young mistress quietly seated on the ground, with a fine white tablecloth spread before her, and all the appurtenances of a breakfast table, though not the table itself, while the officer she had seen in the redoubt the night before was applying himself assiduously to supply her with all she wanted. In a moment the good woman had shaken her wrist from the man who held it, and darting forward, she caught Edith's hand and smothered it with kisses.
Great was Edith's joy and satisfaction to see poor Bab still in life, and it was soon explained to the French officer who she was and how she came thither. But the object of her coming had nearly been frustrated before she had time to explain to her young mistress the promised rescue; for ere she had been half an hour within the works a non-commissioned officer from Ticonderoga appeared with a despatch for the commander of the party, who at once proposed to send the young lady and her dark attendant under his charge to the fortress, expressing gallantly his regret to lose the honor and pleasure of her society; but adding that it would be for her convenience and safety.
The suggestion was made before he opened the despatch, and Edith eagerly caught at a proposal which seemed to offer relief from a very unpleasant situation; but as soon as the officer had seen the contents of his letter his views were changed, and he explained to his young prisoner that for particular reasons the commander-in-chief thought it best that there should be as little passing to and fro, during the period of daylight, between the fortress and the redoubt as possible. He would, therefore, he said, be obliged to inform his superior officer, in the first place, of her being there, and of the circumstances in which she had fallen under his protection, as he termed it, adding that probably after nightfall, when the same objection could not exist, he would receive instructions as to what was to be done, both with herself and her companions, and with the Indians in whose power he had found her.
He then sat down to write a reply to the despatch he had received, and occupied fully half an hour in its composition, during which time all that Sister Bab had to say was spoken. The very name of the Oneidas, however, awakened painful memories in Edith's breast, and notwithstanding all the assurances she had received from Otaitsa, her heart sank at the thought of poor Walter's probable fate. She turned her eyes toward Woodchuck, who had refused to take any breakfast, and sat apart under a tree not far from the spot where Apukwa and his companions, kept in sight constantly by a sentinel, were gathered round their cooking fire. His attitude was the most melancholy that can be conceived; his eyes were fixed upon the ground, his head drooping, his brow heavy and contracted, and his hands clasped together on his knee. Edith moved quietly toward him and seated herself near, saying: "What is the matter, my good friend?" and then added, in a low voice: "I have some pleasant news for you."
Woodchuck shook his head sadly, but made no answer; and Edith continued, seeking to cheer him: "The poor negro woman who was with me when we were attacked escaped the savages, it seems, and has brought an intimation that before to-morrow's sunset we shall be set free by a large party of the Oneidas."
"It is too late, my dear! It is too late!" replied Woodchuck, pressing his hands tightly together. "Too late to do anything for your poor brother! It was him I was thinking of!"
"But there are still four or five days of the time," said Edith, "and----"
"I've been a fool, Miss Prevost," replied Woodchuck, bitterly, "and there's no use of concealing it from you. I have mistaken moons for months. The man who brought me the news of what that stern old devil Black Eagle had determined, said the time allowed was six months, and I never thought of the Indians counting their months by moons till I heard those Honontkoh saying something about it this morning. No, no, it's all useless now! It's all useless!"
Edith turned deathly pale, and remained so for a moment or two, but then she lifted her eyes to a spot of the blue sky shining through the trees above, and with a deep sigh she answered: "We must trust in God, then, and hope He has provided other and less terrible means. He can protect and deliver according to His will, without the aid or instrumentality of man. You have done your best, Woodchuck, and your conscience should rest satisfied."
"No! no!" he answered, bitterly. "If I had but thought of what I knew quite well, I should have gone a fortnight sooner, and the poor boy would have been saved. It's all the fault of my stupid mistake. A man should make no mistakes in such emergencies, Miss Edith!"
He fell into a fit of thought again, and seeing that all attempt to comfort him was vain, Edith returned to the side of the black woman, and inquired eagerly if she had heard any tidings of Walter amongst the Oneidas.
Sister Bab was more cautious than poor Woodchuck had been, however, and denied stoutly having heard anything; adding that she could not think they had done any harm to her young "massa," or they would not be so eager to help her young "missy."
The smallest gleam of hope is always a blessing; but still the day passed sadly enough to poor Edith. The commandant of the redoubt was occupied with military business which she did not comprehend, and which afforded no relief to her thoughts even for a moment. She saw the soldiers parading, the sentinels relieved, the earthworks inspected, and the Indians harangued, without one thought being withdrawn from the painful circumstances of her own fate.
Shortly after dusk, however, the same sergeant who had brought the despatch in the morning appeared with another letter, which the French commandant read, and then carried to Edith in the little hut where she was seated, with her lamp just trimmed and lighted. "The Marquis of Montcalm informs Captain Le Comtois that it will be greatly inconvenient to receive any additional mouths into Fort Carillon. Should he think fit, he can send the lady who has fallen into his hands, with the English gentleman, her companion, back to Crown[4]Point or Fort St. Frederick, as early to-morrow as he thinks fit. If the lady earnestly prefers to retire to Fort Carillon at once, the Marquis of Montcalm will not be so wanting in courtesy as to refuse; but he begs to warn her that she may be subjected to all the inconveniences of a siege, as he cannot at all tell what course of operations the enemy may think fit to pursue. The Indians, if willing, as they say, to serve may be usefully employed within the redoubt, but with caution, and must not be suffered to operate upon the flanks, as usual."
"It is for you to say, mademoiselle," said Monsieur Le Comtois, "whether you will now go to the fort or not."
Edith, however, declined, saying that the reasons given by Monsieur de Montcalm were quite sufficient to induce her to remain till it was convenient to send her elsewhere; and thus ended that eventful week. The following day was Sunday, a day not fit to be desecrated by human strife, but one which was destined to behold, on that very spot, one of those bloody scenes which write man's shame in letters of blood upon the page of history.