Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas

"Cannot we follow them there?"

"No. They will be safe behind the guns of the Frenchers."

"Is it true then, hunter, that all the Canada Indians look up to Louis as their king, and call him their 'Great French Father' across the water, and that they are in league with him to drive all the English from the Americas, and to make it a great French Empire?"

"'Tis even so, my lad! And 'tis my firm belief that the Canada war-parties, like the one whose trail we are now following, are sent to stir up strife, to tomahawk and scalp the English settlers, to destroy their harvests and burn their houses, by the Frenchers at Quebec and the frontier forts; but they defeat their own objects, for they have lately stirred up all the tribes of the Iroquois as well as the Delawares to become the active allies of the English."

"And what will be the end of it all, trapper?"

"The end of it will be, that the Frenchers themselves before long will be driven out of Canada, just as they have lately been driven out of India, by a few determined Englishmen, under that brilliant merchant-soldier, Clive."

"Indeed! Do you think it possible to drive the French out of Quebec? They have made the place impregnable. When I left there they ridiculed the idea that the English would ever attempt to take it."

"Time will show," said the trapper. "Do you know that even now a British fleet is holding the river, and an English army is encamped about Quebec?"

"Is it possible? How I should like to be there and to serve under Wolfe's flag; but how did you learn all this in the forest?"

"Even the forest can speak to those who have ears to listen. Why did the Algonquins depart so rapidly, and make no attempt to recapture me, when the price of fifty beaver-skins has been set upon my scalp by the Canadas during the past five years? They could not know then that the Iroquois were upon their trail."

"Why, indeed; unless they were summoned hastily back to their own country, or was it that they feared the wrath of the Senecas and the Cayugas, whose hunting-grounds they had invaded?"

"Partly that, perhaps, for the Senecas, like all the other tribes of the Six Nations, are a fierce and warlike race; but there was another reason."

"What was it?"

"Listen! The night before I escaped, a messenger, with a war-hatchet all covered with blood, entered the Algonquin camp. He also carried a broad belt of wampum, and the skin of a rattlesnake filled with arrows; while his tomahawk was stained a deep red, in token of war. He was received with great deference, and when he had handed the war-belt to the Algonquin chief, he declared that a fierce and bloody war had broken out between the French Father and the children of Miquon, and that the former needed all his red children to come and assist him. He promised them 'a great plenty' of paleface scalps if they would come; but if they refused, then, if the English won, they would take from the children of the Manitou all their hunting-grounds, and burn their wigwams and lodges to the ground, until the prints of their moccasins should no longer be found in the forests.

"When the messenger had finished speaking he showered the arrows upon the earth, and then flung the blood-red hatchet upon the ground, saying–

"'Even now the River of Canada is full of big canoes that carry the thunder and the lightning, and the paleface warriors from over the great Salt Lake, led by a mighty chieftain named Le Loup [Wolfe], have settled around the fortress of Canada, like a swarm of locusts. Come, my brothers! Who will take up the hatchet to fight for the Great Canada Father?'

"After a long pause, as if to give due weight and consideration to this important message, the Algonquin chief arose from his seat by the council fire, and made a brief but solemn speech, which, after extolling the prowess of his ancestors and himself, ended in a promise to return and assist the French, as soon as the scattered members of the party returned, and the scouts were called in. He then proceeded slowly to the spot where the hatchet was half buried, and solemnly took it up.

"A wild burst of savage yells greeted this action, and the evening was given up to a war-dance. Next day, while the parties were coming in, one of the scouts was scalped, as you know, by Young Eagle, and the departure was delayed another day.

"Thus it was," continued the trapper, "that I learnt of the arrival of Wolfe, and that the plight of the French was so bad that all their Indian allies had been called in to assist them, with a promise of a 'great plenty' of paleface scalps. A promise which never fails to attract a red man."

This was news that fired Jamie's soul. What would he not give to join his countrymen, and to help in wresting the Canadas from the French? At that moment he envied the smallest drummer-boy in Wolfe's army the part he was to play in the siege.

"If only Jack were free," he said to himself, "we would start for Quebec to-morrow, and offer our services; and Jack shall be free, if brave men can save him!" Then overtaking the trapper, who was a few yards in advance, for during this conversation they had been following the trail in single file, he said–

"In another two hours the sun will be entering the pines. I shall be glad when we reach one of the streams that flows into the lake. Surely we cannot be far away now!"

The hunter at that instant halted suddenly, and exclaimed, "The varmint!"

"What's the matter?" inquired Jamie, noting the anxious look on the face of his companion.

"They have misled us. This is a false trail. Several of the Algonquins have come this way in order to mislead us, and then doubled back, walking backwards. It must be so, for look–the trail ends here."

It was only too true. For nearly a mile, through tangled forest, across streams and open glades, they had followed a false trail.

"That comes of talking too much. Your Indian, when he is on the warpath, doesn't spill a word, except his blessed 'Ugh!', for he keeps his nose down to the trail. However, there is no help for it. We must go back till we strike the main trail again." This all took valuable time, but at last they discovered the spot where the tracks diverged, and they got the scent once more. The real trail had been so neatly covered up, for fifty yards or more, and the false one left open, that it was no wonder that the mistake was made.

Even here their difficulties did not end, for within another quarter of an hour they came to a spot where several small streams met, and here also the trail ended abruptly, and although they examined each bank for some distance they were unable to discover any clue as to the route taken by the Algonquins.

Time was precious, and a full half-hour had already been wasted here, when the trapper, who had carefully examined each of the bigger streams, turned his attention to the third, which was a mere rivulet. Proceeding twenty yards up the bank of the stream, he dammed up the rivulet with a few stones, backed by earth-sods, and turned it temporarily out of its course, so that almost immediately it ran dry. Then, following the dried-up bed of the stream, he soon perceived the print of a moccasin, that had only been half-washed away by the water.

"Look!" he said, "even the water sometimes gives up its secrets. Here is the trail–let us follow it."

Half-a-mile further on they came to a place where the whole band had left the stream, and struck into the forest again, and just as the sun was getting low amongst the trees they struck a larger stream that was capable of bearing a canoe.

"They have taken to the water! See, here are the marks made by the bows of the canoes, as they pushed off," said the trapper.

"And here is the spot where the boats were hidden amongst the bushes!" exclaimed Jamie.

"Yes. Let us look around and see if by any chance they have left us a spare canoe, for if I am not mistaken they have left nearly a dozen of their warriors in the Iroquois forests."

A diligent search was made, but no trace of a canoe could be found anywhere. The only thing they could find was a spare paddle, which the trapper took along with him, saying–

"A paddle without a canoe is not worth much, but if we discover a canoe and haven't got a paddle, we shall not be much better off."

They had not proceeded far down the bank of the stream when the keen eyes of the hunter, despite the failing light, perceived a stranded canoe on the other side of the river.

"I thought so!" he exclaimed. "The rascals had one canoe too many, but to prevent us using it they set it adrift, and the current has landed it across there. I will fetch it."

"No, no!" said Jamie. "I'll fetch it," and, throwing off his hunting shirt, he plunged into the stream, and swam across to where the canoe had gone ashore, jammed between two rocks. He had taken the paddle with him, and he quickly returned in the canoe, which was none the worse for its little adventure, except that there was a small hole in the bow, which the trapper soon repaired.

"There is no time to lose. We must hasten; for unless the Algonquins camp somewhere along the lake, we shall be too late," said the hunter.

The sun had set half-an-hour ago, as they paddled swiftly down stream; but there was still a crimson glow from amongst the pines on the western side of the river. Sometimes they skimmed along with the current without putting in the paddle, the next moment they danced and twisted amongst the rapids; but the trapper piloted the canoe safely amongst the rocks, the eddies and the swirls, ever seeking the most sheltered spots.

Suddenly, a bend in the river revealed to them the opening of the lake, and in another moment they were skimming along its glassy surface, close in-shore. This narrow lake is thirty-five miles long, and from one to three miles broad, and long before they had covered half its length darkness fell, but they slackened not their efforts. They paddled in turn, quietly but swiftly, ever keeping a careful watch lest they should discover the camp-fire of the enemy.

They were approaching a headland that jutted out some little way into the lake, and were scarce a dozen yards from the thick bushes which overhung the bank, when the screech of an owl reached their ears from the shore.

Jamie, who held the paddle, stayed his hand for a moment, and peered into the darkness. A dark shadowy form was standing on a rock at the very edge of the water, with an uplifted hand that indicated danger.

He knew that form and that call too well to hesitate. "It is Swift Arrow," he whispered; and drove the canoe in gently towards the shore.

CHAPTER XIX

THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS

What new danger threatened them now? As they drew ashore at a spot where the bushes parted to allow the rock to jut into the water, Jamie was about to inquire from the Indian youth what was the matter, and how he had managed to strike their trail again, at a moment when perhaps they most needed his presence, but a low "Hist!" which came from the dark figure upon the rock, silenced him. Evidently the lad had feared for their safety, and at great peril had come to save them, or at any rate to make them conscious of the approaching danger.

Silently, they landed on the margin of the forest, and crept ashore. The rustle of a leaf, the snapping of a twig might betray their presence to a lurking scout, though as yet they knew not what danger threatened.

"The Wacondah has made Swift Arrow his messenger, in order to save our scalps. Swift Arrow will now speak," whispered the hunter.

Then in a low, soft, musical voice, untouched by excitement at the nearness of danger, or emotion at seeing his friends again, the Indian pointed to the dark headland, scarce a hundred yards further along the lake, and said–

"Swift Arrow has kept watch for his friends. There is the Algonquin camp, and their scouts are close to us; watching both the lake and the forest. A singing-bird has spoken to them, and they think White Eagle is behind them. Before daybreak, they will enter the Seneca River, at the outlet of the lake, on their way back to the Canadas."

"But must we remain here till they are gone?" asked Jamie.

"No," smiled the youth. "Swift Arrow will now lead his paleface friends out of danger, and pilot them safely to the spot where the White Eagle awaits the Algonquins, at the portage by the Seneca Falls."

Saying this, he stepped into the canoe and took the paddle, motioning the others to lie down in the bottom of the craft, and then noiselessly pushed off from the bank. The Indian did not attempt to continue the former direction, but paddled cautiously back a little way, hugging the shore; then he struck directly across the lake, which is here about two miles broad, and having approached the opposite bank, he turned the head of the canoe once more towards the outlet of the lake, and paddled swiftly.

This manoeuvre succeeded perfectly, and they got away unobserved. Taking turns at the solitary paddle, they soon reached the outlet, and entered the swift stream which takes its name from the lake. Now they were piloted swiftly and safely past the rapids, aided only by the light of the stars, and the daring skill of the Indian.

Two hours before dawn, a dull roar fell upon their ears. It was the cataract, where the whole river tumbles in a frenzy of froth and foam down a chasm of fifty feet, forming the far-famed Seneca Falls.

The canoes were drawn to the bank at the portage, and as they stepped ashore, the dark, shadowy forms of several painted warriors emerged from the cover of the trees. They were the Iroquois scouts, who were keenly watching for the approach of the enemy. Then a powerful and haughty chief confronted them. It was the White Eagle himself, but the stern stoicism of his countenance relaxed for a moment as he greeted his two paleface friends.

"The paleface hunter is welcome to the camp of the Iroquois. Many moons have passed since White Eagle and his friend hunted the red deer, and struck the trail of the moose together," said the chief.

"The home of the Grey Badger is in the wigwams of the Iroquois, and when he has struck his Canada enemies, he will return to his seat at the council fire of the White Eagle," replied the hunter.

"Ugh! It is well! I feared that the Canada snakes had charmed away my friend, but then I remembered that the Grey Badger is too great a warrior to permit his scalp to hang upon the poles of their lodges."

"It was a mighty close shave this time, chief. I didn't expect to see my red friends again."

"Bah! The river is now netted for the Canada salmon. My braves will take 'plenty' scalp before another sunset. Come! My warriors will watch."

A couple of Indians took up the canoe and carried it to the other end of the portage, while several others eliminated from the soft bank the marks made by the bow of the boat and the prints of the moccasins. This precaution was adopted to prevent an alarm being given to the Algonquins, who were shortly expected. Then the party retired within the precincts of the forest, there to await the coming of the dawn.

Dawn came at last–towards the sun-rising a faint yellow streak lit up the horizon. Next, a saffron tint flushed the sky, and then the stars faded and disappeared, as the gates of the morning were unbarred, and a hundred streamers of flashing, roseate hues flooded the blue vault of heaven. Myriads of songsters awoke the stillness of the forest, for the day had come, and the dark curtain of night rolled westward.

Another two hours passed, and then the hawk-eyed vigilance of the watchers was rewarded by a first glimpse of the enemy. The dull, constant roar of the cataract in their ears prevented their hearing the sound of the approaching paddles, or the crunching of their birch-bark canoes upon the beach, but long ere this, the Iroquois scouts had reported the enemy in sight, and every one was ready for the approaching fight.

The portage was a short one, and the chief had spread his warriors over the whole length in order to prevent the escape of any of the Algonquins. A few scouts headed the party, then came the Indians carrying the five canoes, and after them, the two prisoners, their arms bound with thongs, walking between a couple of braves with tomahawks in their hands.

Every one now eagerly awaited the signal for the combat. The advance party had reached a point about half-way over the ground, when the shrill scream of an eagle rose in the air. At the same instant, the clatter of a dozen rifles, and the fierce war-cry of the thirty Iroquois, burst upon the ear. The very trees about the unfortunate Algonquins seemed to turn into frenzied warriors, who, brandishing their tomahawks, rushed upon their foe. The canoes were thrown to the ground, and in the confusion which followed, brave deeds were done. A fierce hand-to-hand fight ensued, but the Algonquins, mowed down by that first fire, and hopelessly outclassed, were driven nearer and nearer to that perilous brink, where leapt the mighty cataract into the foaming rapids and whirlpools below.

A few bold spirits, rather than leave their scalps in the hands of their enemies, leapt into the chasm beneath, and were never seen again. Except these, not a soul escaped the vengeance of the Iroquois.

The two braves in charge of the prisoners were the first to fall, for from their first landing they had been covered by the rifles of the hunter and Jamie. The latter then drew his hunting-knife from its sheath, and rushing forward, cut the thongs that bound the two prisoners, and quickly drew them out of the mêlée into a place of safety, and left the contest to the Iroquois, for he had no doubt whatever of what the result would be, and taking scalps was not exactly to his liking.

Meanwhile, the White Eagle wielded his tomahawk with all the strength and fury of an Iroquois chief. He fought his way to where Red Wolf was heading and encouraging his braves, and hewed him down. It was quickly over, and in less than a quarter of an hour the Iroquois were masters of the field.

"Thanks, Jamie! You have saved my life, and I can never repay you. I had given up all hope of escape. So rigidly were we watched that there was not the slightest opportunity for us to gain our freedom. We were to have been tortured and put to death at sunset, at soon as we had reached the shambles of Fort Oswego, for you know the French have taken the place, after a dreadful slaughter, and now claim to be masters of both shores of the lake. Still, all that is past now, and I am thankful to be with my friends once more. Jamie, old fellow, how can I thank you for all this?"

"You've had a narrow squeak, Jack, but you must thank the hunter here, and Swift Arrow, who I believe has not taken food since you were made a prisoner. Come!" and Jamie led his old comrade towards the others.

"Let me introduce you to the 'Great Paleface Hunter' who held your trail till the White Eagle could arrive with his braves."

"What! the Grey Badger, the friend of the chief?"

"The same. He is a mighty paleface, and I have learnt to love him already. He is the most renowned hunter in all the forests south of the lakes."

So, while the Indians harvested the spoils of the enemy, the three palefaces lit a fire, and cooked a breakfast from a large salmon, speared in the river below, satisfied the pangs of hunger at a spot a little apart from the braves, near by the lower end of the portage, and then talked for an hour about all the news that had filtered through the forest relative to the great conflict, which was already raging so fiercely on both banks of the St. Lawrence.

The youths listened with pent-up feelings, while the hunter told all he had heard from passing voyageurs and Indian runners of the disasters that had befallen the English arms of late. He described the disaster of Ticonderoga, the fall of Fort Oswego, and the partial success of Dieskau, but when he spoke of the capture of Fort William Henry and the frightful massacre which followed, the lads sprang to their feet, and declared in one breath–

"We will go and offer our services to General Wolfe, for our country needs us!"

The light of battle was in their eyes, the courage of manhood mounted to their brows, as they clasped each other's hand across the fire, and repeated their promise to join the English lines; then, turning to the trapper, who remained seated by the fire, smoking calmly and puffing the blue smoke from an Indian calumet, Jamie said–

"Say, hunter! Will you join us on yet another trail, where the game shall be, not redskins, but the recreants of Montcalm, and the reward, not Indian scalps, but the honour of the old flag, or–a soldier's grave?"

"Lads," he replied, "my country has not been over kind to me. I am an exile from my native land, and yet I have never committed a crime. My conscience is clear; but I, too, feel my country's call, and I know her need, and it shall never be said of me that I shirked the call of duty, when already so many exiles have left their bones to bleach in the forest, for the land that has denied to them a hearth and a home. I will go! Let us bid good-bye to the chief and his braves."

The parting scenes between the White Eagle and the hunter, the paleface youths and their Indian friends, was affecting in the extreme, when it became known that they were now about to part, and perhaps for ever. All the rich memories of their forest life were brought back to them, and to the palefaces especially the fidelity of their red brothers, their lofty characters, despite their many failings, their simple faith in the Great Spirit, the Wacondah of their race; their comradeship in hunting the red deer and the shaggy brown bear amid all the savage scenery of mountain and forest, and taking from the streams and lakes the salmon and the sturgeon, or descending wild rapids and torrents in their frail birch-bark canoes, with these children of the Manitou–all this they recalled, and forsook it with a pang of regret; but another voice was calling to them, and their beating hearts were but responding to the call of Duty.

At last, they stood by their canoe ready to depart, at the lower end of the portage, below the Falls; and the Indians were standing around them, sad and melancholy, for their grief had for once broken down their manly reserve, and the stoic mask, which had enabled some amongst them to endure torture without flinching, could not now keep back the moisture from many an eye.

Listen! the great chief, in prophetic strain, is speaking his last solemn words of farewell–

"The face of the Manitou is hid behind a cloud, and the hearts of his red children are sad. Nevermore will the Great Paleface Hunter, the friend of the White Eagle, hunt the deer in the hills of the Iroquois. Nevermore will he sit at the council fire of my people, and smoke the calumet, while his red brothers listen to the wisdom that falls from his lips like the dew from heaven. Nevermore will he speak to us of the sacred writings that the Wacondah has given to the children of the Sun-rising!

"When his canoe has sailed into the regions of the East-wind, then shall my people be scattered like the leaves in autumn, and the few that remain, to fish the streams and hunt the moose and the elk, will be but as blasted pines, where the fires of the forest have raged."

"Nay, chief! The sun will shine again, and I shall return if the Manitou wills it," urged the hunter, as he flicked the water impatiently with his paddle.

"The Wacondah has said it! My paleface brother shall nevermore look upon the face of the White Eagle."

"Then I shall look for my red friend in the happy hunting-grounds of the Manitou. Good-bye!"

The next moment the canoe shot into the stream, and began to descend rapidly towards the great lake. A last long look was cast behind, a last adieu waved to their friends, who stood watching till they passed from view, then the low murmur of the Falls ceased as they sped on their way.

Soon, they passed the ruins of Fort Oswego, and entered Lake Ontario. Then they stretched across the lake to the Thousand Islands, and entered the St. Lawrence and stole quietly past the French post at Fort Frontenac. Then for hundreds of miles they were carried by the swift current of the Canada River, down past Mont Royale, and the mouth of the Ottawa River, past Trois Rivières, until one day they heard the sounds of heavy firing, as though a battle were in progress.