The Frontiersmen

The two chiefs approached the bed occupied by Ichabod, and surveyed their captive silently for a few moments; when Panther, directing his conversation to Snake-tongue, exclaimed:

"This is the warrior of whom we have heard. He is a great warrior; he has killed many Senecas; his eye is sharp on the war-path; his rifle is sure. Our old men and squaws have heard of him beyond the lakes. It is pleasant to have him in our hands."

"His arm is strong; Snake-tongue knows it," said Snake-tongue, who still retained a vivid impression of the blow which he had received from Ichabod in the recent encounter at the cottage. "The young men of the Senecas are no match for him; if the Great Spirit had given him a red skin, we should have been proud of him. But he is a pale-face, and it is good to have him bound in our huts. He cannot hurt the young warriors of the Senecas any more."

Ichabod had remained perfectly quiet during this by-conversation, although a smile for a moment lit up his countenance, at the compliments which the chiefs had bestowed upon his prowess. When they had concluded he exclaimed:

"I give you all the thanks for them compliments that you desarve. But you are right about it. I have killed some of your warriors in my day, you may depend on it: and I reckon that this is the first time that any of your breed was quite so familiar with me. But I want to know, if it's considered gentlemanly, among the Senecas, to tie a fellow's legs so cussed tight?"

"The pale-face is a great warrior," said Panther: "he is cunning as a fox. The Senecas are poor and ignorant; they do not know as much as the pale-faces; but they know how to tie a warrior's feet so that he cannot run. They would be ashamed if they did not know how; and my brother would be ashamed of us too."

"I don't ask any kind of marcy of you, Panther," said Ichabod, "I know better than that. You've got me here, and I s'pose you'll do pretty much as you've a mind to; and when you want to begin with your deviltries, just speak, and I'm ready."

"My brother is not a squaw," said Panther, "if he was a squaw, and not a great warrior, we should unbind him, and let him wander round our tents; but the Senecas know how to honor their enemies, who are brave. But the Senecas do not hate the pale-faces; they have buried the hatchet with them, and we will not dig it up. We will let our brother go back to the pale-faces, if he wishes."

"Well, now, I call that pretty clever, considerin'; I shall begin to think you are gentlemen, after all," answered Ichabod, who saw the drift of the discourse. "I'm ready to start any time you'll take these things off my hands and feet."

"My brother is ready to go," said Panther. "It is good. He does not like the lodges of the Senecas; he likes his own people better. It is not well for a pale-face to dwell in the lodges of the red men; and it is not good for red men to dwell in the lodges of the pale-faces. They are different: the Great Spirit has made them different – and it is well. The pale-faces have killed five of our young men; but we will not do them any harm. We will not dig up the hatchet against them. Our young men are not painted for the war-path; they have not struck the war-post of their nation."

"For a civil people, who havn't dug up the hatchet, and who don't intend to, against the pale-faces, you made a suspicious demonstration on the cottage last night. I don't know but that is the genuine Seneca way of being civil and peaceable."

"The pale-faces killed five of our young men; but they did it in defense," said Panther. "They did not want to do it; but Canendesha has killed two of our young men; he did it because he hated them. He is a great warrior, too, and we want him in your place."

"Providing I go back to the cottage," replied Ichabod, "I'll tell him what you want; but I won't promise that he'll be here at any precise time. I couldn't do that."

"My brother has not got a forked tongue; he will do what he says; but that is not enough. Four of my young men will go with my brother, and he will deliver Canendesha to them."

"You mean, I reckon, that I shall take Eagle's-Wing and put these thongs round his limbs, and pass him over to you as a prisoner?" asked Ichabod, quietly.

"My brother is wise. He knows what I mean: he can do it and be free."

Ichabod was about to give way to a burst of indignation at this treacherous proposal; but he saw that by so doing he should defeat his own ends. He had also learned, to his great satisfaction, that the Tuscarora had not been captured. It was with great difficulty that he could conceal his joy from the inquisitorial eyes of the Senecas; but at length, with an appearance of hesitancy, he answered.

"I can't say, now, whether I will do as you wish or not. I want little time to think about it. Speculating in flesh and blood, in that way, and with a friend, too, is a kind of business I never yet undertook; but I suppose one may get used to it. A little practice will blunt the feelings, until one can come to bartering off friends – aye, one's own flesh and blood, too." Then, as if suddenly remembering the declaration of Snake-tongue, that Singing-Bird was reconciled to her captivity, he added, "you see, if the Tuscarora knew that Singing-Bird had forgot him, and had chosen the young chief of the Senecas for her husband, I calculate he wouldn't care much whether he was here or there. Now if that's true, I rather reckon, I'll do as you want me to, though I look upon it as a rascally mean trick towards a friend."

"It is true, what my brother has heard," said Panther: "Singing-Bird will sing in the wigwam of Panther."

"Now, I don't mean any disparagement to the Senecas, and you in particular," said Ichabod; "I am beginning to think that you may be gentlemen, after all; but that is a matter I can't take anybody's word for. I want to know that it is true."

"My brother shall hear with his own ears," said Panther. "He shall know that the words of Panther are true; he shall see Singing-Bird, and ask her if Panther has lied."

This was just what Ichabod had desired. If he had made the proposition himself, it was doubtful whether some ulterior purpose would not have been suspected; but his seeming willingness to comply with the wishes of Panther, had led the Seneca to suggest this as the surest mode of dispelling his doubts.

"My brother shall see Singing-Bird alone," said Panther, "we have not got forked tongues, or we would not let him do so."

The two Indians departed. Their willingness to allow this interview was, for a moment, almost sufficient to induce Ichabod to believe that Singing-Bird had become faithless to the Tuscarora. But he knew enough of Indian character to know that Singing-Bird might have adopted this line of conduct as the best mode of effecting her escape. With this belief, he silently awaited the interview, determined not to believe otherwise unless he received positive proof from Singing-Bird herself. Scarcely five minutes had elapsed after the departure of the Seneca, before a shadow again darkened the doorway of the hut, and the young squaw stood before him.

Singing-Bird – for she it was – was apparently not more than two-and-twenty years of age. She was of small, light stature, yet with a full and healthy development of body. Her features, although they possessed the distinctive Indian cast, were moulded into a beauty admirable to behold. Her complexion was a softening of the tawny-red of the warriors into a delicate tint, while her large, dark eyes were full of a gentle expression, that might, if need be, be exchanged for a wild and passionate fire. Her long, dark, glossy hair flowed in graceful waves down her neck, and were gathered in rich folds over her brow. Her costume was that of a young Indian female of the period, beautifully and tastefully decorated with ornaments of beads and flowers. As Ichabod first beheld her, the prevailing expression of her countenance was that of a gentle sorrow.

Ichabod was surprised. He had never beheld the wife of Eagle's-Wing, and never before had he beheld a female figure the beauty of which so much surprised and delighted him. He gazed at her with a pleasure he could not conceal, and then, while a melancholy smile passed over her countenance, he said —

"You have heard of me from Eagle's-Wing, perhaps, as an old friend? He and I have known each other as tried friends, in times gone by."

"I have heard of a pale-face," replied Singing-Bird, in a low, silvery voice, "who, on the war-path, saved the life of Eagle's-Wing, when he was in the hands of his enemies. I have heard it from Eagle's-Wing."

"That's a circumstance not worth mentioning; but Eagle's-Wing and I are friends. He knows he can always rely on me, in any sort of a speculation. But I'm in rather a bad fix here; yet we can always find some way of doing our duty by a friend, if we try. But Eagle's-Wing is free, and isn't far from here – you may depend on that."

Perhaps the slightest trace of an expression of joy passed over her countenance for a moment; but it was instantly subdued. With her eyes fixed upon the ground, she slowly said —

"I loved once to look upon Canendesha – but he has passed from my eyes."

"What!" exclaimed Ichabod with a start that fairly made the withes snap that were fastened upon his limbs.

A momentary look of agony clouded the face of Singing-Bird. She seemed endeavoring to speak, yet had not the power to command her organs of speech.

"Shall I tell Eagle's-Wing this?" exclaimed Ichabod, with indignation. "Shall I tell him to go back to the villages of his nation, and forget his squaw? Or shall I tell him to come and deliver himself up to his enemies?"

With an effort that seemed almost to destroy her, but which was lost upon Ichabod, as he had given himself up to the mastery of his indignation – she softly answered —

"I have said. Let the pale-face speak my words to his friend."

It was not merely astonishment – it was shame, uncontrollable disgust, towards the fair being who stood before him, that, for a moment, kept Ichabod silent. When at last he found words to communicate his thoughts, he exclaimed —

"I wouldn't have believed it, if all the Senecas this side of the infarnal regions had told me! Such a beauty! Such a heart. I'll abandon the settlements: I'll thank God, night and day, that I've no wife! Poor Eagle's-Wing! Go and die. No; I know the heart of Eagle's-Wing. He won't die for a squaw. He'll wince a little, at first: but he'll have the scalps off the heads of the whole tribe of Senecas." Then, as if concentrating all his indignation into one breath, he glanced at Singing-Bird with a look of abhorrence, and exclaimed – "Go, you painted lie!" and threw himself over on his bed, so as to avert his gaze from her.

Meanwhile, Singing-Bird stood with her eyes riveted upon the ground, and her countenance as calm and impassable as chiseled stone. A look of agony had impressed it for a moment, but that had fled. Not a gesture – not a breath, denoted that she felt the indignant speech of Ichabod. At its close, however, her ear detected a slight rustling among the leaves, near the door of the hut, and Panther glided from among the boughs, and crept towards an adjoining lodge.

Scarcely had she seen the retreat of the Seneca chief, than the whole expression of her countenance changed – her figure became erect – a fire gleamed in her eyes – a look of intense hatred clouded her countenance. Then, springing towards the bed of Ichabod, she exclaimed —

"It is a lie. Look at me, friend of Eagle's-Wing. It is a lie: the heart of Singing-Bird is with her husband. She thinks only of him. Tell Eagle's-Wing so. Tell him I shall soon fly from the Senecas."

Ichabod gazed on her now with admiration. Such consummate acting, though he thought himself skilled in Indian ways, he had never seen before. He had seen warriors die bravely, and, unmoved in the hour of peril, exasperate their enemies by words of reproach and shame: he had seen the Indian smile as the scalping-knife tore from his brow the lock of honor; but never did he imagine that one so young, so beautiful, so loving, could give to her countenance a look so false, with a heart so true.

"God bless thee, girl!" exclaimed he. "Give me a woman, after all, for stratagem. I don't know when I shall see Eagle's-Wing, but when I do, I'll tell him if he don't snatch you from these red devils, he ought to be scalped by Panther himself. Who would have believed it?"

"Eagle's-Wing's friend don't hate Singing-Bird now?"

"Hate you? Lord love you, girl! Give me your hand – Pshaw! I haven't got a hand to give you: but after this, girl, I'll always believe you, and will find some means to get you out of this scrape. When are these Indians going to leave here?"

"Don't know," said Singing-Bird. "They want to get Eagle's-Wing, first."

"It will be a long while, I reckon, before that happens. But I say," asked he, just thinking of the other captive who had been brought in that morning, "what other prisoner have they got here?"

"They brought in a pale-face girl. King George's man got her from cottage. She stays in hut with me."

"Ruth Barton, by all the devils!" exclaimed Ichabod. "Who do you say captured her?"

"King George's man: Guthrie, they call him."

Here was a new cause of wonderment. Guthrie was believed by Ichabod to have been killed by the Tuscarora.

"But I see into it, the white-livered villain. He'll get his pay for this. I say, Singing-Bird, I shall refuse to go on that rascally business for these Senecas. I suppose they'll be terribly mad about it, but I can't help it. Now, you see, you keep up this sham affair between you and Panther, and you can find some means to give me a hint of what's going on: and, I say, if you can, just bring me a knife. It gives a man a world of confidence, sometimes, to have a friend of that sort. Eagle's-Wing and the Captin won't be idle, and we shall hear something from 'em before long; and, till then – "

He was interrupted by a gesture from Singing Bird, who immediately assumed the appearance she had worn while Panther had been in hearing of the conversation. At almost the same moment, Panther and Snake-tongue entered the hut; and, at a gesture from the former, she silently departed.

Ichabod had endeavored to assume the appearance of indignation which his countenance had worn during the early part of his conversation with Singing-Bird, and with some degree of success.

"My brother has heard the Singing-Bird of the Tuscaroras," said Panther; "he has learnt that the Senecas have not got forked tongues."

"I must confess," answered Ichabod, "that I'm ashamed of that girl. I wouldn't have believed it from anybody else, although I'm beginning to have great respect for the word of a Seneca. I wouldn't have believed it, if she hadn't told me so."

"My brother has heard the song he wished to hear," said Panther, allowing a look of triumph to pass over his countenance. "It is pleasing to my brother. He will now go with my young men, and be free."

"I've no kind of objection to being free, in an honest sort of way," answered Ichabod; "but about that business you mentioned, I've been thinking that I've lived pretty nigh fifty years, and I never yet deceived a friend – nor an enemy either, except in a lawful manner – and I guess I won't begin now."

"What does my brother mean?" asked Panther, giving way to anger. "Does he mean to eat his own words? Does my brother mean to lie?"

"Lie!" exclaimed Ichabod. "You can use that word in perfect safety, while you are there and I am here: but you give me a fair chance, and I'd endeavor to teach you better manners. But the plain English of the thing is – I shan't go on that rascally errand, any way."

"My brother is a great warrior," said Panther. "He is cunning as a fox. He knows it well; but if my brother refuses to go, we will try and see how brave he is."

"If that means tortur' or anything of that sort," said Ichabod, quietly, "all I've got to say is, bring it on. I don't know whether I can stand all of your villainous inventions or not, and I ra'ally don't want to know; but if that is your mind, I'll acquiesce, of course, seeing I can't help it."

"We leave our brother to his thoughts," said Panther. "He is brave, and will think it over, and be braver by-and-bye. We will let our brother know when we are ready."

So saying, the two Indians left the hut; and Ichabod, with a mind somewhat ill at ease, at the prospect before him, endeavored to follow the advice of the Senecas – although given by them for a contrary object – and gain strength of purpose by reflection.

CHAPTER XII

"No tear relieved the burden of her heart;Stunned with the heavy woe, she felt like oneHalf-wakened from a midnight dream of blood."SOUTHEY.

We shall be compelled to return upon the course of our narrative, for the purpose of giving a relation of the manner in which Ruth had fallen into the hands of the savages. Guthrie, who was supposed by Eagle's-Wing to have been slain, was really but little injured. The Tuscarora had followed him down the stairway unnoticed, and guided more by sound than by sight, in the darkness of the room below, he glided after the Tory until the latter had reached the door. He heard the attempt to remove the bar which secured it, when, with a silent but rapid blow of his tomahawk, he had, as he supposed, cloven the head of Guthrie to the brain; but owing to the darkness, in which the form of the latter could with difficulty be distinguished, the blow fell upon his left shoulder. The pain as well as the surprise of Guthrie, had caused him to give the shriek which attracted the attention of those above, and which was followed by his fall upon the floor. As no further attack was made upon him by the Tuscarora, he rightly concluded that Eagle's-Wing thought the blow already given to have been fatal. With this impression he remained motionless, until the ill-advised sortie of the defenders of the cottage offered him the opportunity to escape, when he sprung to his feet, and although suffering severely from his wound, rushed up the stairway with the intention of leaping from the window – a distance of ten or twelve feet, to the ground. But as he reached the upper floor, he saw Ruth, who had fallen upon her knees in the act of prayer for the assistance of Heaven towards the brave but few defenders of the cottage. Instantly, Guthrie planned a scheme of vengeance, which was at once carried into effect. Advancing rapidly towards Ruth he said:

"Come, Miss Ruth; the Indians will take the cottage; and your father has directed me to take charge of you and lead you to a place selected by him and his companions for a rendezvous. There is no time for thought: come instantly."

Ruth arose, astonished by this sudden intelligence.

"My father," she exclaimed, "is he safe?"

"Yes," replied Guthrie, "they are all safe; but they have been compelled to retreat towards the forest. Come instantly, or you are lost."

Deceived by the earnestness of Guthrie, Ruth immediately followed him to the window. In a moment a small ladder which had been constructed for exit by the windows, in any emergency similar to the present, was let down upon the ground, and Ruth descended, followed by Guthrie. Taking her by the hand, and partly leading and partly carrying her, they proceeded rapidly towards the south-east into the forest. When they arrived at the base of the hill, near the shore of the pond, instead of meeting her father and his companions, she found herself in the midst of a small party of Senecas. She saw at once that she was betrayed, and shrieked for help.

"None of that, Miss Ruth," cried Guthrie, roughly; "it won't do you any good. Them Colony men at the cottage, have got as much as they can do, just now, to save their own scalps."

"Wretch – villain!" cried Ruth, and she fell fainting upon the ground.

By this time, it was apparent that the contest at the cottage had terminated; and a rough frame-work of light saplings and boughs was constructed, upon which Ruth was placed, and conveyed in the direction of the temporary lodges of the Senecas. Before arriving there, she had recovered from her swoon, when she realized the dangerous situation in which she was placed. Arming herself with the fortitude which was not uncommon among the women of the period, she commended herself to the protection of that Divine Being, upon whom she was wont to rely for aid and consolation.

When they reached the huts of the Senecas, and the Indians ascertained who was their prisoner, their exultation was announced in the shouts of triumph which Ichabod had heard. Ruth, however, without suffering any rudeness or ill-usage such as might have been expected, perhaps, in the present excited state of mind of the savages, was conveyed, by the direction of Panther, to the lodge occupied by Singing-Bird. She was not bound or confined in any manner, the savages relying upon their watchfulness to prevent her escape; and also upon the apparent fidelity of Singing-Bird.

When Ruth saw the entire absence of restraint in which Singing-Bird lived, and her apparent friendliness towards the savages, her mind recurred to the imaginative picture she had formerly drawn of the young squaw, separated by force from a husband she loved, and restrained by captivity, among enemies who were thirsting for his blood, she could not reconcile the present conduct of Singing-Bird with her own ideas of what should have been her conduct; and she felt a degree of disgust towards the young Indian beauty, who could so soon forget a husband so worthy of her affection as the Tuscarora.

"Can this be Singing-Bird, of whom I have heard so much?" asked Ruth.

"Who heard it from?" inquired Singing-Bird.

"I heard it at the cottage, of a Tuscarora chief who had lost his squaw by the treachery of the Senecas, and who were now seeking his life."

"Yes, Eagle's-Wing kill Seneca – and Panther must have Eagle's-Wing's scalp. Bad for Eagle's-Wing to kill Seneca."

"Can it be possible?" asked Ruth, " – no, it cannot be – that you are the Singing-Bird of whom I have heard."

The young Indian placed her hands upon her breast, as struggling with a violent emotion, and then looked at Ruth with an expression of entreaty which was not lost upon her.

"Hush!" faintly whispered Singing-Bird, "Seneca comes."

Ruth saw at once that Singing-Bird was acting a part, and appreciated that she did so from a feeling of necessity for the safety of herself, and perhaps of her husband. Scarcely had Ruth caught the whisper, ere the Indians who had stood by the door of the lodge departed, when Singing-Bird advanced towards Ruth, and said —

"Pale-face girl does not know Singing-Bird. She loves Eagle's-Wing. Hates Panther ever so much. Do tell me 'bout Eagle's-Wing."

Ruth related what she knew of the Tuscarora, and of the attack upon the cottage. Singing-Bird listened intently; and when Ruth had concluded, she placed her arm gently about her neck, and said —

"We sisters now; but look out for Seneca. They think me friend; but I want Eagle's-Wing to get all their scalp."

She then informed Ruth that another party of the Senecas had also brought in a prisoner, and from the description which she gave of the appearance of the captive, Ruth concluded that the unfortunate prisoner could be none other than Ichabod. She conjectured, also, that the Senecas had made no other prisoners, and that her father, together with Ralph and the Tuscarora, still remained in possession of the cottage. This fact at once gave relief to her mind; and she regained a serenity and composure which she had not before been able to feel since her capture.

"What are these Indians going to do with us?" asked she of Singing-Bird.

"Don't know what they do want with pale-face girl. P'raps want to trade for Eagle's-Wing. But Panther wants me for his squaw – wants me to go beyond the lakes, in the Seneca country, to live in his wigwam. Won't do it, though; I kill myself first."

"I never shall consent to be exchanged for Eagle's-Wing," said Ruth. "I shall rely upon some other means of deliverance."

Singing-Bird thanked her by a grateful smile. "O, I do want to get away," replied she. "Oneida and Tuscarora warriors come pretty soon, I hope. When they come, then I get away; p'raps before, if Eagle's-Wing know how. He great warrior."