Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  I felt the body of the Mohican stiffen under my grasp, Then he said quietly:

  “Stand still till all have passed us.”

  “Yes; but let no Seneca hear your Algonquin speech. If any speak I will answer for you.”

  “It is well,” said the Sagamore quietly. And I heard him cautiously loosening his hatchet.

  Presently a dark form took shape in the gloom and passed us without speaking; then another, and another, and another, all wading forward with scarce a ripple sounding against their painted bodies. Then one came up who spoke also in Seneca dialect, saying to the Mohican that the canoe was to be sent up stream on observation, and asking the whereabouts of McDonald.

  So they were all there, the bloody crew! But once more I found voice to order the Seneca across, saying that I would attend to the canoe when the time came to employ it.

  This Indian seemed to understand very little English, and he hesitated; but I laid my hand flat on his naked back, and gave him a slight shove toward the farther shore. And he went on, muttering.

  Two more passed. We waited in nervous silence for the next, not knowing how many had been sent to prowl around our camp. And as no more came, I whispered to the Sagamore:

  “Let us go back. If more are to come, and if there be among them Butler or McDonald or any white man, he will never mistake me for any of his fellows after he hears me speak.”

  The Sagamore turned, the water swirling to his waist. I followed. We encountered nobody until the water began to shoal. Then, in mid-stream, a dark figure loomed out of the night, confronting us, and I heard him say in the Seneca language:

  “Halt and turn. You travel the wrong way!”

  “Go forward and mind your business!” I said in English.

  The shadowy figure seemed astounded, remaining motionless there in the ford. Suddenly he bent forward as though to see my features, and at the same instant the Sagamore seized him and jerked his head under water.

  But he could not hold him, for the fellow was oiled, and floundered up in the same instant. No doubt the water he had swallowed kept the yell safe in his throat, but his hatchet was out and high-swung as the Sagamore grasped his wrist, holding his arm in the air. Then, holding him so, the Mohican passed his knife through the man’s heart, striking with swiftness incredible again and again; and as his victim collapsed, he eased him down into the water, turned him over, and took his shoulders between his knees.

  “God!” I whispered. “Don’t wait for that!”

  But the Siwanois warrior was not to be denied; and in a second or two the wet scalp flapped at his belt.

  Rolling over and over with the current, the limp body slipped down stream and disappeared into deeper shadows. We waded swiftly toward our own shore, crawled across the gravel, drew on our clothing, and stole up into the woods above.

  “They’ll know it by sunrise,” I said. “How many did you count?”

  “Thirteen in that war-party, Loskiel. And if Butler and McDonald be with them, that makes fifteen — and doubtless other renegades besides.”

  “Then we had best pull foot,” said I. And I drew my knife and blazed the ford; and, as well as I might without seeing, wrote the depth of water on the scar.

  I heard the Mohican’s low laughter.

  “The Senecas will see it and destroy it. But it will drive them frantic,” he said.

  “Whatever they do to this tree will but mark the ford more plainly,” said I.

  And the Mohican laughed and laughed and patted my shoulder, as we moved fast on our back trail. I think he was excited, veteran though he was, at his taking of a Seneca warrior’s scalp. “Had you not jerked him under water when he leaned forward over your shoulder to see what manner of man was speaking English,” said I, “doubtless he had awakened the forest with his warning yell in another moment.”

  “Let him yell at the fishes, now,” said the Mohican, laughing. “No doubt the eels will understand him; they are no more slippery than he.”

  Save for the vague forms of the trees dimly discerned against the water, the darkness was impenetrable; and except for these guides, even an Indian could scarcely have moved at all. We followed the bank, keeping just within the shadows; and I was ever scanning the spots of starlit water for that same canoe which I had learned was to go upstream to watch us.

  Presently the Siwanois checked me and whispered:

  “Yonder squats your Wyandotte sentinel.”

  “Where? I can not see him.”

  “On that flat rock by the deep water, seeming a part of it.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, Loskiel.”

  “You saw him move?”

  “No. But a Siwanois of the Magic Clan makes nothing of darkness. He sees where he chooses to see.

  “Mayaro,” said I, “what do you make of this Wyandotte?”

  “He has quitted his post without orders for a spot by the deep water. A canoe could come there, and he could speak to those within it.”

  “That might damn a white soldier, but an Indian is different.”

  “He is a Wyandotte — or says he is.”

  “Yes, but he came with credentials from Fortress Pitt.”

  “Once,” said the Sagamore, “he wore his hair in a ridge.”

  “If the Eries learned that from the Nez Perces, why might not the Wyandottes also learn it?”

  “He wears the Hawk.”

  “Yes, I know it.”

  “He saw the moccasin tracks in the sand at the other ford, Loskiel, and remained silent.”

  “I know it.”

  “And I believe, also, that he saw the canoe.”

  “Then,” said I, “you mean that this Wyandotte is a traitor.”

  “If he be a Wyandotte at all.”

  “What?”

  “He may be Huron; he may be a Seneca-Huron. But we Indians think differently, Loskiel.”

  “What do you think?”

  “We do not know for certain. But” — and the Mohican’s voice became quietly ferocious— “if a war-arrow ever struck this Wyandotte between the shoulders I think every tree-cat in the Long House would squall at the condoling council.”

  “You think this Wyandotte an Erie in disguise?” I asked incredulously.

  “We Indians of different nations are asking that question of each other, Loskiel.”

  “What is the mind of the Grey-Feather concerning this?” I asked, horrified.

  “Oneida and Stockbridge begin to believe as I believe.”

  “That this creature is a spy engaged to lead us to our deaths? Do they believe that this self-styled Wyandotte is an infamous Erie?”

  “We so believe, Loskiel. We are not yet certain.”

  “But you who have taken Erie scalps should know — —”

  “We know an Erie by his paint and lock; by his arms and moccasins. But when an Erie wears none of these it is not easy to determine exactly what he might be. There is, in the Western nation, much impure blood, much mixing of captive and adopted prisoners with the Seneca conquerors. If an Erie wear cats’ claws at the root of his scalp-lock, even a blind Quaker might know him. If one of their vile priests wear his hair in a ridge, then, unless he be a Nez Perce, there need be no doubt. But this man dresses and paints and conducts like no Erie I have ever seen. And yet I believe him one, and a Sachem at that!”

  “Then, by God!” said I in a cold fury. “I will go down to the stream and put him under arrest until such time as his true colours may be properly determined!”

  “Loskiel, if yonder Indian once saw in your eye that you meant to take him, he would slip between your hands like a spotted trout and be off down stream to his comrades. Go not toward him angry, or with anything in your manner and voice that he might distrust.”

  “I never learned to smile in the face of a traitor!”

  “Learn now, then. Brother, you are young; and war is long. And of many aspects are they who take arms in their hands to slay. Strength is good; quickness and a true eye t
o the rifle-sight are good. But best of all in war are the calmness and patience of wisdom. A Sagamore has spoken.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Nothing, yet.”

  “But we must make a night march of it, and I could not endure that infamous creature’s company, even if it were safe for us to take him with us.”

  “My brother may remain tranquil. The Grey-Feather and I are watching him. The praying Indian and Tahoontowhee understand also. When we once are certain, the Erie dies.”

  “When you are certain,” said I in a fury, “I will have him properly tried by military court and hung as high as Amherst hung two of his fellow devils. I wish to God he had executed the entire nation while he was about it. For once Sir William Johnson was wrong to interfere.”

  The Sagamore laughed and laid one hand on my shoulder:

  “Is it a custom for an Ensign to pass judgment on a Major-General, O Loskiel, my dear but much younger brother?”

  I blushed hot with annoyance and shame. Of all things on earth, self-control was the most necessary quality to any officer commanding Indians.

  “The Sagamore is right,” I said in a mortified voice.

  “The Sagamore has lived longer than his younger brother,” he rejoined gently.

  “And is far wiser,” said I.

  “A little wiser in some few things concerning human life, Loskiel.... Does my brother desire that Mayaro shall bring in the Wyandotte?”

  “Bring him,” I said; and walked forward toward our camp.

  Tahoontowhee stopped me with his challenge, then sprang forward at the sound of my voice.

  “Men in the woods,” he whispered, “creeping up from the South. They saw no fire and prowled no nearer than panthers prowl when they know a camp is awake.”

  “Senecas,” I said briefly. “We make a night march of it. Remain on guard here. The Grey-Feather will bring your pack to you when we pick you up.”

  As I ascended the rocky pulpit, both the Grey-Feather and the Stockbridge were standing erect and wide awake, packs strapped and slung, rifles in hand.

  “Senecas,” I said. “Too many for us.”

  “Are we not to strike?” asked the Oneida wistfully, as the Mohican came swiftly up the rock followed by the Wyandotte, who seemed inclined to lag.

  “Why did you quit your post?” I asked him bluntly.

  “There was a better post and more to see on the rock,” he said simply.

  “You made a mistake. Your business is to obey your commanding officer. Do you understand?”

  “The Black-Snake understands.”

  “Did you discover nothing from your rock?”

  “Nothing. Deer moved in the woods.”

  “Red deer,” I said coolly.

  “A July deer is in the red coat always.”

  “The deer you heard are red the whole year round.”

  “Eho! The Black-Snake understands.”

  “Very well. Tie your pack, sling it, and shoulder your rifle. We march immediately.”

  He seemed to be willing enough, and tied his points with alacrity. Nor could I, watching him as well I might in so dark a spot, see anything suspicious in any movement he made.

  “The Sagamore leads,” I said; “the Black-Snake follows; I follow him; after me the Mole; and the Oneidas close the rear.... Attention!... Trail arms! File!”

  And as we climbed out of our pulpit and descended over the moss to the soundless carpet of moist leaves:

  “Silence,” I said. “A sound may mean the death of us all. Cover your rifle-pans with your blankets. No matter what happens, no man is to fire without orders — —”

  I stopped abruptly and laid my hand on the Black-Snake’s hatchet-sheath, feeling it all over with my finger-tips in the dark.

  “Damnation!” I said. “There are tin points on the fringe! You might better wear a cow-bell! Where did you get it?”

  “It was in my pack.”

  “You have not worn it before. Why do you wear it now?”

  “It is looser in time of need.”

  “Very well. Stand still.” I whipped out my knife and, bunching the faintly tinkling thrums in my fingers, severed the tin points and tossed them into the darkness.

  “I can understand,” said I, “a horse-riding Indian of the plains galloping into battle all over cow-bells, but never before have I heard of any forest Indian wearing such a fringe in time of war.”

  The rebuke seemed to stun the Wyandotte. He kept his face averted while I spoke, then at my brief word stepped forward into his place between myself and the Mohican.

  “March!” I said in a low voice.

  The Sagamore led us in a wide arc north, then west; and there was no hope of concealing or covering our trail, for in the darkness no man could see exactly where the man in front of him set foot, nor hope to avoid the wet sand of rivulets or the soft moss which took the imprint of every moccasin as warm wax yields to the seal.

  That there was in the primeval woods no underbrush, save along streams or where the windfall had crashed earthward, made travelling in silence possible.

  The forest giants branched high; no limbs threatened us; or, if there were any, the Sagamore truly had the sight of all night-creatures, for not once did a crested head brush the frailest twig; not once did a moccasined foot crash softly through dead and fallen wood.

  The slope toward the river valley became steeper; we travelled along a heavily-wooded hillside at an angle that steadily increased. After an hour of this, we began to feel rock under foot, and our moccasins crushed patches of reindeer moss, dry as powder.

  It was in such a place as this, or by wading through running water, that there could be any hope of hiding our trail; and as we began to traverse a vast, flat shoulder of naked rock, I saw that the Mohican meant to check and perplex any pursuit next morning.

  What was my disgust, then, to observe that the Wyandotte’s moccasins were soaking wet, and that he left at every step his mark for the morning sun to dry at leisure.

  Stooping stealthily, I laid my hand flat in his wet tracks, and felt the grit of sand. Accidentally or otherwise, he had stepped into some spring brook which we had crossed in the darkness. Clearly the man was a fool, or something else.

  And I was obliged to halt the file and wait until the Wyandotte had changed to spare moccasins; which I am bound to say he seemed to do willingly enough. And my belief in his crass stupidity grew, relieving me of fiercer sentiments which I had begun to harbour as I thought of all we knew or suspected concerning this man.

  So it was forward once more across the naked, star-lit rock, where blueberry bushes grew from crevices, and here and there some tall evergreen, the roots of which were slowly sundering the rock into soil.

  Rattlesnakes were unpleasantly numerous here — this country being notorious for them, especially where rocks abound. But so that they sprung their goblin rattles in the dark to warn us, we had less fear of them than of that slyer and no less deadly cousin of theirs, which moved abroad at night as they did, but was often too lazy or too vicious to warn us.

  The Mohican sprang aside for one, and ere I could prevent him, the Wyandotte had crushed it. And how to rebuke him I scarcely knew, for what he had done seemed natural enough. Yet, though the Mohican seized the twisting thing and flung it far into the blueberry scrub, the marks of a bloody heel were now somewhere on the rocks for the rising sun to dry but not to obliterate. God alone knew whether such repeated evidence of stupidity meant anything worse. But now I was resolved to have done with this Indian at the first opportunity, and risk the chance of clearing myself of any charge concerning disobedience of orders as soon as I could report to General Sullivan with my command.

  The travelling now, save for the dread of snakes, was pleasant and open. We had been gradually ascending during the last two hours, and now we found ourselves traversing the lengthening crest of a rocky and treeless ridge, with valleys on either side of us, choked with motionless lakes of mist, which seemed lik
e vast snow fields under the splendour of the stars.

  I think we all were weary enough to drop in our tracks and sleep as we fell. But I gave no order to halt, nor did I dream of interfering with the Sagamore, or even ask him a single question. It was promising to give me a ruder schooling than my regiment could offer me — this travelling with men who could outrun and outmarch the vast majority of white men.

  Yet, I had been trained under Major Parr, and with such men in my command as Elerson, Mount, and Murphy; and I had run with Oneidas before and scouted far and wide with the best of them.

  It was the rock-running that tired us, and I for one was grateful when we left the starlit obscurity of the ridge and began to swing downward, first through berry scrub and ground-hemlock, then through a thin belt of birches into the dense blackness of the towering forest.

  Down, ever down we moved on a wide-slanting and easy circle, such as the high hawk swings when he is but a speck in the midsummer sky.

  Presently the ground under our feet became level. A low, murmuring sound stole out of the darkness, pleasantly filling our ears as we advanced. A moment later, the Mohican halted; and we caught a faint gleam in the darkness.

  “Sisquehanne,” he said.

  If, was the Susquehanna. Tired as I was I could not forbear a smile when this Mohican saluted the noble river by its Algonquin name in the presence of those haughty Iroquois who owned it. And it seemed to me as though I could hear the feathered crests stiffen on the two Oneida heads; for this was Oneida country, and they had been maliciously reminded that the Lenape had once named for them their river under circumstances in which no Iroquois took any pride. Little evidences of the subtle but ever-living friction between my Mohican and the two Oneidas were plenty, but never more maliciously playful than this. And presently I heard the Sagamore politely mention the Ouleout by its Iroquois name, Aulyoulet, which means “a voice that continues”; and while I sent the Night-Hawk down to the water to try for a crossing, Mohican and Oneida conversed very amiably, the topic being our enemies, and how it was that on the Ouleout and in Pennsylvania they had so often spared the people of that state and had directed their full fury toward New York.