*CHAPTER XIII*
*THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST*
During their stay amongst the Iroquois, which had now extended overrather more than a year, the two English youths had gained the esteemand friendship of two young Indians, both the sons of the White Eagle.Their names were respectively "Young Eagle" and "Swift Arrow."
The former was a strong and supple youth of seventeen, sturdy as an oak,but as straight as a cedar. His brother, who was a year younger, hadgained his title of "Swift Arrow" because he was so fleet of foot thathe could overtake the swiftest deer of the forest with comparative ease.Both inherited much of the courage and fearlessness of their sire.
These four companions spent much of their time, now that the summer hadcome again, in hunting and fishing, often staying for weeks together inthe fastnesses of the forest. They became well-nigh inseparable. Manywere the adventures and escapades, and many the dangers, too, that theybraved in each other's company.
Once, in descending the rapids of a neighbouring stream, their canoe hadstruck a rock which capsized her and hurled all the occupants into theboiling surf. This was nothing unusual, but they were expert swimmers,and immediately struck out for the bank. Arrived there, the Young Eaglemissed one of his paleface friends. It was Jack, who had struck therock in falling and was rendered unconscious, and carried away down thestream. The other two, exhausted with their desperate struggle in therapids, were hardly able to reach the shore; but Young Eagle, arrivingthere first, and seeing the unfortunate youth being carried away,immediately leapt into the boiling surf, and succeeded, after adesperate struggle, in saving Jack from drowning.
This brave, unselfish act Jack was able to repay the week afterwards,for in pursuing a wounded bear too keenly Young Eagle had the misfortuneto lose his footing, and when he attempted to rise the bear was just inthe act of tearing him to pieces in its mad wounded frenzy; when Jack,heedless of the danger which he himself ran, rushed into the very "hug"of the wounded bear, and plunged his long hunting-knife into its heart.The bear rolled over upon them both, but the last wound proved fatal,and the huge monster lay still in death.
A dozen incidents of this nature had only cemented the ties which boundthese friends together, and the English youths could scarcely bear tothink of that near future when they must part from their red brothers,for much as they loved the forest, they felt somehow that their life wasnot to end here, and their desire to help their country, either on landor sea, during the present war with the French, which, though it hadcommenced on the continent of Europe, and had been continued on the highseas, had yet had its echo in the forests and backwoods of the NorthAmerican Colonies, and, indeed, was destined to have its end there.
Once, during the latter part of the summer of the year 1759, they hadbeen absent from their lodges for several weeks, hunting the shaggybrown bear, the jaguar, the fox, and the wolf, for their skins, in thatpart of the forest which stretched far away from the head waters oftheir own streams to the Mohawk River, when one afternoon they suddenlystruck a fresh trail, which showed the prints of moccasined feet.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Young Eagle, who was the first to discover them.
"What is the matter? Is it the trail of an enemy or a friend?" demandedJack. "By your demeanour I should say that you've struck the trail of aserpent."
"I like it not," merely remarked the Indian youth.
All four of them now got down to the work of examining the trail. Everybit of turf, every leaf or broken twig was carefully examined. Thenthey cautiously followed the trail, with bent figures and cocked rifles.At any moment they might be ambushed, if it should prove to be an enemythat had passed that way.
"Why do you suspect that it is an enemy, when we are so near thehunting-grounds of the Oneidas and the Mohicans?" asked Red Feather.
"Look! This no Iroquois moccasin," said the Young Eagle, stooping topick up a worn-out, discarded moccasin, worked with beads after thepattern of the French Indians.
They clustered round this piece of evidence, which seemed incontestable,for a rude attempt had been made to work even the Lilies of France onthe discarded footgear.
When they had finished their scrutiny of this moccasin, one word brokefrom all their lips--
"Algonquins!"
But what were the fiends doing here, so far from the River of Canada?And how many of them had come from across the lakes?
These were the questions they set themselves to settle next, as theycontinued their keen search for any little trifle which might help toexplain these things, for to the Indian the forest is an open book, andevery twig and leaf may be a written page.
They followed the trail cautiously for another quarter of an hour, untilthey came to a spot where the footprints showed more deeply in the softblack earth, and after another careful examination, Swift Arrow declaredthat there were at least fifteen or twenty of the enemy, and that theymust be a war party, out for scalps, and to harass the enemies of theCanadas.
"Look! This is not an Algonquin moccasin that has left this mark," saidRed Feather, who for some minutes had been examining a footprint thatwas both broader and longer than the rest, and also of a differentpattern. "Here, get down to it, Eagle, and examine it for yourself."
The young chief did as he was requested, and measured the print with thepalm of his hand, and compared it with the others.
"You see, the heel mark is deeper than any of the other prints, asthough the man had walked like this----" and here Jamie imitated thecarriage of a man who plants his heels firmly on the ground when hewalks.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Eagle, rising from the ground. "My palefacebrother is right. 'Tis not the moccasin of an Indian at all."
"Not an Indian?"
"No!"
"Who, then, can it be?"
"'Tis the moccasin of a paleface that has left that mark!"
"A paleface?" exclaimed the English youths, raising their voices above awhisper, for the first time since the trail had been discovered.
"Then it must be a French officer who is in command of the party!" andthis seemed to all of them the solution of the problem.
The trail was a fresh one, too, and the enemy could not be far away, sothey immediately held a council of war, to decide what had best be done.But the sun had set and it was almost dark, and they were compelled tocamp in a little bower near by, where the overhanging trees affordedthem a secluded spot, not easy for an enemy to find.
They did not light a fire, lest it should discover their position to theenemy. In silence they ate their evening meal, which consisted of alittle dried venison. Then they resolved to wait till morning beforethey followed the trail further.
"Let my paleface brothers sleep, and Young Eagle and Swift Arrow willwatch," said the young chief.
"That's not quite fair," said Jamie, "for you'll never wake us tillsunrise, and you must be just as much fatigued as we are, for you didmore than your share in carrying the canoes at the portage."
"Young Eagle all ears and eyes when an enemy is near. He feels notfatigue. Let my brothers sleep."
The English youths had to give way, for they had to confess that thoughthey had learnt many things during their sojourn amongst the Iroquois,yet their sense of alertness and keenness of perception could in no wisebe matched against these children of the forest. Soon, therefore, theyoung palefaces were fast asleep upon a bed of leaves and sprucebranches, unconscious of the dangers that surrounded them.
They had been asleep perhaps for an hour, when the cry of a night-hawk,followed by the howl of a coyote, was heard in the distance. On hearingthese the Young Eagle gave a significant look at Swift Arrow, andwithout speaking a word, the latter arose, quietly pushed aside thebranches, and disappeared into the forest in the direction of thesounds.
It was quite dark now, for there was no moon, and the stars showed butfaintly through the thick foliage of the trees overhead.
An hour passed--two hours--but the Indian y
outh returned not. Had hescented danger? Was the enemy lurking near? Then why did he not return?Surely nothing had happened to him. The young chief noticed thatJamie's sleep began to be troubled. Once or twice he had murmuredsomething in his sleep, and Young Eagle had touched his lips, as if toclose them, lest the sounds might betray them.
"The Wacondah is speaking to my paleface brother," said the young chiefinwardly, "for his sleep is still troubled."
The lad's slumbers were indeed troubled, and yet 'twas only a dream,that he had often dreamt before. His brain had often been puzzled as towhy this particular dream should recur to him so often. He dreamt thathe was a little bairn again, far away across the Big Salt Lake, in theHomeland; and that a rough but kindly man took him on his knee, andspoke to him in tones of melting tenderness. "Poor motherless bairn!" hesaid, and the tears rained down his rough face. But the little child,with sunshine in his bonny face, and laughter in his bright blue eyes,crowed and chuckled, and pulled the rough man's beard.
It was at this point that Young Eagle had placed his hand on the lips ofhis sleeping companion, causing him to start, and to open his eyes foran instant, but he quickly closed them again.
Then his dream continued, but it changed suddenly. Side by side withJack, and his two dusky companions, he ranged the forest, hunting thebear, and trapping the beaver in his lodges of bark and logs, whensuddenly they came upon an Indian camp in a little clearing of theforest, and there with his back to an elm-tree, tied hand and foot, wasan old paleface hunter, undergoing torture at the hands of a band ofcruel red men.
Bravely he suffered it all, like a hero, and not a cry of pain escapedhis lips. A dozen arrows, knives and hatchets pierced the tree abouthis head and face, and although the _coup de grace_ had not been given,yet the blood flowed freely from several wounds. His lips werecompressed, and not a groan escaped them, but inwardly he prayed to Godthat death might bring him release from this slow and cruel torture.
A fierce-looking chief taunted him with being a paleface snake, and aYengeese, and urged his warriors to prolong the torture.
"Let us see if a cursed Yengeese has red blood in his veins, or whetherhe has the heart of a Delaware," he cried.
"Your tongue is forked, Muskrat, and your warriors tremble at the sightof a paleface, so that their knives cannot find his heart!" cried thehunter, in the hope of urging his enemies to end his torture by a fatalblow.
"My young men wish to know if a Yengeese can bear pain like a redwarrior."
"Your young men are squaws! Go tell your Canada Father to find thempetticoats!"
This stinging insult brought a shower of tomahawks and knives about hishead. One of them pierced his arm, and pinioned it to the tree, but hebore the pain bravely, and smiling grimly back upon his captors, said--
"Let your young men come nearer, chief, so that a paleface may show themwhere lies his heart, for they are weak and unsteady with the fire-waterof the Canadas, and they miss their mark."
The chief lifted up his hand, and said--
"The Great Spirit has given the paleface the heart of a red man, so thathe fears not the hatchet and the tomahawk. Let us see if he fears thespirit of the flames."
A shout of hellish delight greeted this suggestion of their leader, andthe Indians scattered into the forest to collect brushwood and deadtimber, for an Indian delights in prolonging the torture of hisprisoner.
Quickly the faggots were piled at the feet of the hunter, and the matchwas about to be applied, when the intense agony and suspense of themoment burst open the gates of slumber, and Jamie opened his eyes, andawoke suddenly.
The first faint tinge of dawn was lighting up the eastern horizon. Hesprang to his feet, immensely relieved, and murmuring to himself--
"Thank God! 'Twas only a dream, then! And yet it was the same face thatI have seen so often in my dreams. What can it mean?"
Then he turned and beheld the Young Eagle and the sleeping form of BlackHawk, but Swift Arrow was missing. He forgot his troubled sleep in aninstant when he remembered that Young Eagle had watched with sleeplessvigilance throughout the whole night, and said--
"My red brother is too kind. He should have called me, and let mewatch, while he slept."
"Hist!" remarked the other, rising suddenly, and holding up a finger toindicate silence, as a slight rustle was heard amongst the bushes a fewyards away. Both instinctively grasped their rifles, and stood readyfor whatever foe might suddenly appear.
The branches parted, and Swift Arrow stepped quietly into the opening.This brave youth had spent the night in the forest, sometimes lyingstill as a log, at other times crawling and wriggling like a snake, orcrouching like a panther. He had discovered the scouts of a cruelenemy, within ten arrow-flights of their present abode. He had donemore.
He had succeeded in passing the scouts unobserved, and in penetrating tothe very edge of the hostile camp. His unsleeping vigilance had savedthe lives of his comrades, and he had even covered up his own tracks inreturning to the camp, by taking a circuitous route and wading for somedistance in the bed of a little stream, and had so well timed hisefforts that he reached the camping-ground just as dawn was breaking.
Beyond the customary "Ugh!" he remained silent; though even Jack, whohad now awakened, could see that he had something of importance tocommunicate, but he seemed already possessed of all the restraint of histribe, and quietly sat down with the rest to a breakfast, whichconsisted of a little pemmican and hominy, which was soon finished.
"My brother has seen an enemy?" said Young Eagle, when the meal wasover.
"Ugh!" replied Swift Arrow, as though he considered the news of littleimportance and scarcely worth the telling.
"Swift Arrow will tell us what he has seen?" said Jack, and then theyoung warrior spoke briefly and as follows--
"Ten arrow-flights towards the sun-rising is an Algonquin camp, oftwenty-four braves--and one prisoner...."
"And the prisoner? Who--what is he?" asked Jamie, remembering hisdream.
"It is the great paleface hunter, the friend of White Eagle."
Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas Page 13
