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

The tomahawk of the French Indian whirled in the air, as, stung by this biting insult to his tribe, he hurled it at his enemy, and so true was the aim that it only missed the scalp of the Iroquois by an inch, for it carried away half his plume of eagle feathers.

A loud cry of vengeance arose from his warriors as this deadly missile whizzed past their leader.

The next instant the wild scream of an eagle, which was the peculiar war-cry of this renowned chief, rang through the glades and across the lake as the leaders closed in deadly combat. Like the leap of the panther, when robbed of its young, was the fierce onset of the Iroquois chief. Fifty gleaming knives were snatched from their sheaths, and held aloft; but before the warriors on either side could reach the spot, the tomahawk of the White Eagle had stretched his opponent upon the ground, and with keen knife he had already snatched away the trophy that honour demanded.

Then, amid war-whoops and wild yells of savage fury, the fierce passions of the warriors became undammed, and a short but sanguinary conflict occurred. The Algonquins, despite the loss of their leader, fought bravely for a while, but were at length overwhelmed by the relentless fury of the Iroquois. Then they quickly broke and scattered through the forest, pursued by their enemy.

Thus ended another of those fierce fights, so common amongst the Indians tribes in the middle of the eighteenth century, while all the time the armies of the two paleface nations from towards the sun-rising were preparing for that final death grapple, which was to settle for ever the destiny of the northern half of that mighty continent; and to drive the scattered tribes of the children of the Manitou ever westward towards the setting sun.

In this brief fight the youths had remained little more than passive spectators, for they soon saw how the conflict must end, and that without their help the Iroquois, although outnumbered, would secure the victory.

"I do wish, Jack, that our allies would desist from that barbarous practice of taking scalps. See there! a dozen scalps already hang at the girdles of our comrades, and even yet they are not satisfied, but must pursue their wretched victims into the woods. Bah! My heart sickens at the sight!"

"'Tis Indian nature, Jamie. Victory brings them no honour unless the victim's scalp be taken. Even the squaws look askance at the warrior who returns from the war-path without these hideous trophies hanging at his belt."

"There seems little honour to me in mangling the corpse of a fallen victim."

"Why, the youth is scarcely regarded as a man till he has brought home his first scalp. Their belief is, that the spirit and strength of the dead man enters into the victorious brave, and, horrible as it is, and God knows how I hate it all, 'tis not more horrible than the deeds of some of the paleface pirates in the Southern Seas, who sometimes treat their unfortunate victims in a cruel and barbarous manner."

They had been leaning on their rifles, on a little rising ground near the lake, watching the fight and the pursuit, when suddenly from out the dark aisles of the forest there came the piercing scream of the eagle once more.

"What can be the matter now? Surely the enemy are not returning, reinforced!" cried Red Feather, quickly bringing his rifle to the ready.

"No. 'Tis the signal for the return of the braves; evidently White Eagle scents a new danger, and is anxious to get away."

"What new danger can there be?"

"Why, don't you see that the Algonquins have taken the route that will lead them to the French fort at Niagara, where almost every soldier will turn out to their assistance, when they hear that the renowned White Eagle is within twenty miles of the fort? At least, I assume that is the cause; but look! Here comes the chief himself, and he is making for the canoes. Let us speak with him."

CHAPTER XI

THE SMOKE-SIGNAL

"What is the matter, chief?" asked Jack. "What new danger has my red brother discovered?"

"Look!" replied White Eagle, pointing in the direction of the fort and along the shore of the lake. "What does my paleface brother see yonder?"

Jack strained his eyes in the direction indicated, but for some seconds even his keen eyes did not notice anything unusual. At length, however, he perceived a thin column of smoke far away in the distance, rising above the forest and lake; then a second and a third column, but so faint as to be nearly indistinguishable.

"I see the smoke from the camp-fires of a party of hunters, perhaps Yengeese trappers, but nothing that threatens danger."

The sachem shook his head sagely, as he replied–

"No Yengeese! It is Algonquin smoke. A signal to the paleface warriors at the fort, who will hurry to burn their powder in the face of White Eagle. Too much price on Iroquois scalp!" And here the chief's face relaxed into the faintest of smiles, as though he appreciated the value that was placed upon his head by the French, and considered it a great honour and a tribute to his prowess and the impotence of his enemies.

Then for an instant his face became clouded and a momentary wave of irresolution passed over his countenance. To escape the net that was being drawn around him was comparatively easy, but to convey all the plunder of the expedition safely to the lodges of the Iroquois was another matter. His resolution, however, was quickly taken. They were now within ten miles of the mouth of a stream, called "Twelve Mile Creek," that entered the forest south of Lake Ontario, and only a dozen miles from the fort. To gain that creek, to take the loaded canoes up the stream against the rapids and rifts, and then to make a portage of four miles to gain the Niagara River above the fort, was the daring resolve of the White Eagle.

It was a piece of daring that was worthy of an Iroquois chief, who had already secured a reputation for reckless daring that was second to that of no other chief amongst the Six Nations. The great danger lay in the fact that at one bend in the stream they would be within seven or eight miles of the fort, with all the possibilities of being ambushed by their hated foes and also by the Frenchers.

The whole party now took to the canoes, and proceeded as rapidly and as silently as possible along the shore in a westerly direction. Soon after mid-day they reached the mouth of the creek, and without a moment's delay, except to land a couple of scouts on either bank, they paddled as quickly as possible up the narrow stream, while the scouts went ahead to explore the forest-lined banks and to give the alarm as soon as they should discover the slightest sign of the enemy, who could not now be far away. To these eager warriors their progress seemed to be painfully slow. Fallen trees sometimes blocked their way. At other times the canoes had to be dragged through the shallows and lifted over rocks.

It was hard work, but the youths bore their share of all this arduous toil. It was exciting, too, for at any moment they might hear the crack of the Algonquin and French rifles. Sometimes they were up to their knees in the water, pushing and lifting the canoes forward.

As they advanced further and further up the watercourse, for it could hardly be called a river, the creek narrowed and the trees overhung and interlaced, shutting out the sun, so that, though it was little past mid-day, it was scarcely more than twilight. Not a word was spoken for a while, and except for the music of the stream the forest was as silent as death. Even the birds had ceased to sing, and the little squirrels watched them furtively from the branches overhead, wondering what strange creatures these were who were toiling so arduously at the canoes.

Not a signal had come as yet from the scouts, on whom they were implicitly relying. They were getting perilously near to that fatal bend in the river where if an ambush was in hiding, it was sure to be. The Indians exchanged suspicious glances. They fingered their knives and tomahawks uneasily and frequently looked to the priming of their rifles.

"What is that noise I can hear, rising and falling, very faintly, like the water of the Big Salt Lake in a storm, when the Manitou is angry?" asked Jack of one of the Iroquois braves, who was called the Panther.

"'Tis the Spirit of the Wacondah in the caverns under the Great Falls!" answered the Indian in low and reverent tones.

"Niagara!" whispered Jack to his comrade, "and only a few miles away."

"Yes. The Iroquois believe that the Great Spirit, the God of Thunder, dwells under the Falls, and they speak of him always in a whisper, even by their firesides far away."

"Hist! What was that?"

The crackle of a twig was heard on the western bank, and the eye of every Indian was instantly turned in that direction, while many a hand instinctively grasped its weapon more tightly. The bushes parted, and an Iroquois scout came forth from the cover of the forest and sought the eye of his chief. Evidently he had something of importance to communicate.

White Eagle left the batteaux and approached him. Then a few guttural exclamations passed between them, and the scout disappeared once more as quietly as he had come.

"Did you hear what he said, Panther?"

"Yes. The Algonquins, with whom we fought early this morning, have fallen in with another party under Le Grand Loup, a renowned chief, who is White Eagle's greatest enemy, and they have laid an ambush for us two miles further up the stream. In addition, help is expected from the fort within an hour," replied the brave.

"Snakes alive! What will the chief do?"

"Ugh! White Eagle no afraid. The Wacondah fights for him."

The scouts had done their work bravely and well. They had soon discovered the prints of Algonquin moccasins in the woods. Some they found had led towards the bend in the river where the ambush had been laid. They had even penetrated to this spot, past the enemy's scouts, and had learnt of the juncture of the two parties. They had also discovered the trail of an Indian runner in the direction of the fort, and had heard the drums of the French calling the men to arms.

"What's to be done, Jack? We're scarcely out of one fix before we're in another."

"It seems so!" said that worthy. "I don't know what the Eagle will do, but something will have to be done, and quickly, if we're to retain our scalp-locks."

"Look! What is the chief about? The men are dragging the canoes ashore and piling the brushwood around them."

"Why, he's going to burn them to prevent them falling into the hands of the enemy. 'Tis certain that we shall never get them past the next bend; so, after all, our labour has been in vain."

Jack's surmise was correct. Without a moment's hesitation, as soon as the scout had departed, the sachem ordered the boats to be so placed that at a given signal they could be immediately fired by a small party who were to be left in charge. The rest were to follow him and take the enemy unawares in the rear before the French could arrive to their support.

This plan was put into operation without a moment's delay, and leaving a small party of four in charge of the canoes, the rest entered the forest and moved quickly in the direction of the enemy. As they were likely to encounter the French, the lads decided to accompany the attacking party. They had not proceeded far when the scout met them who had reported the presence of the enemy.

"The paleface warriors are half-way from the fort. What will White Eagle do? They will be here before the sun is below the top-most branches of the pines," said the scout, addressing the chief.

"Ugh! Ugh!" merely remarked the Iroquois; then turning towards the two paleface warriors who accompanied him, he said–

"My brothers, Black Hawk and Red Feather, are great warriors from the land of Wabun. Can they delay the rifles of the French Father for one hour till they hear the scream of the Eagle, while my warriors take the scalps of the Algonquin dogs, who lie in wait like the serpent in the grass?"

"Give us but a dozen rifles, chief, and we'll hold them back for a day!" exclaimed Jack.

"Ugh! My brother will be a great chief before the snows have settled upon his head. Let him chose a dozen rifles from amongst my braves, and they shall accompany the paleface chiefs and follow their orders."

A dozen men were quickly chosen, including the scout and the Panther, and they at once started out, led by the scout through the forest in the direction whence the French must soon come.

Half-a-mile further on they selected a spot where they could await with advantage the arrival of the soldiers from the fort.

"Here! This spot will do! They will soon be here. Let us make ready," said Jamie. The Indians were soon under cover on either side of the rough track which led to the fort.

They could now hear plainly the drums of the advancing army. Soon they caught a glimpse of the white uniforms of the French through the vista of trees.

"There are over a hundred of them, Jamie! Can we hold them back for an hour?"

"We promised the chief that we would, and we must keep our promise," said Jamie, whose lips were compressed and whose brows were knit, as he narrowly watched the approaching French.

The drums were silent now as the foe, with shouldered rifles and martial equipment, marched boldly forward, threading their circuitous route through the forest glades. Careless of any ambush, they came forward singing and laughing, to show how much they despised the savage horde they were expecting shortly to encounter.

Suddenly the sound of distant firing burst upon them. Mingled with the shots were savage yells and whoops, which showed that the Iroquois had attacked the party at the bend of the river. Louder and louder became the din.

"Avancez, mes camarades! Allez vite donc! Il y a ces diables Iroquois!"

At this command the French advanced more quickly, lest the fighting should be all over before they arrived, and the drums beat out again bravely. Their whole attention was engrossed by the distant firing, and they knew not that already the head of their column was entering an ambush, and that fourteen rifles were levelled at their leading files.

"Fire!" shouted Jack, and a deadly hail of bullets followed a blinding flash and a report that echoed through the forest. Taken thus suddenly by surprise, the head of the column staggered and wavered. Many a man fell to rise no more. A panic seized the whole party, and for a few moments it seemed doubtful whether their officers would succeed in rallying them, so susceptible even are the bravest troops to sudden fright when unexpectedly ambushed by an unseen foe.

A second volley was poured in upon the confused mass, and a scene of indescribable terror prevailed. Hoarse shouts of command were heard. The cries of the wounded and the wild yells of the Iroquois resounded through the woods.

The second fire revealed the position of the Iroquois as well as the paucity of their numbers, and the French commander shouted out–

"A moi, camarades! Suivez-moi! Voilà l'ennemi!" and waving his sword he dashed towards the revealed ambush followed by half his troops with fixed bayonets.

Like chaff before the wind the Indians scattered and sought cover in the deeper shades of the forest, leaping from tree to tree, and bush to bush, firing upon the foe, who were compelled to deploy and enter the thicket in single file. This was Indian warfare with a vengeance, for neither party came into the open. For an hour this was kept up, and the French, who could never come to grips with the wily foe, who always retreated like a phantom before their bayonets, were compelled to retire, for their leader had at length come to see that the whole aim of the enemy was merely to delay their approach to the Algonquins.

Suddenly, from a distance, the scream of the Eagle was heard twice in rapid succession.

"Our work is done now, Jamie! Let's give the French a final salute and depart."

A parting volley was let loose upon the enemy, and then the two paleface chiefs led back their band quickly, and rejoined the victorious warriors of the Iroquois chief, who had driven the Algonquins across the river with great slaughter. Only two were wounded, and none were missing, as Jack looked at his dusky warriors, but of the French quite twenty had been killed and wounded.

CHAPTER XII

THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOIS

"The Algonquins are reeds that bend, but my paleface brothers are like the oak-tree!" exclaimed the Iroquois chief, as soon as he beheld the youths.

Thus briefly did the savage warrior pay a graceful tribute to the skill and courage of his friends who had held back the French, and at the same time refer modestly to his own victory.

"There is no time to lose!" exclaimed Jack. "The soldiers from the fort are close upon our heels, we did but delay their approach till we heard your signal. What is to be done? They are in a mood for vengeance."

"Ugh! Let the boats be burnt!"

The howl of the wolf, repeated twice, was given, and the next moment a column of smoke was observed in the direction of the canoes, followed by several loud explosions, as the kegs of gunpowder, which formed part of the lading, blew up.

The next instant the head of the French column appeared through the trees, and White Eagle, seeing the uselessness of continuing the fight against such overwhelming odds, withdrew across the stream with his warriors.

"The Wacondah calls us to our wigwams," he said; and now, lightened of their loads, and carrying only their rifles and scalps, the Iroquois struck across the forest in a south easterly direction, and soon put several leagues between themselves and the French, who arrived soon afterwards, only to find the ashes of the fire and the fragments of the canoes strewn around.

Chagrined and vexed beyond measure that they had once more been baulked of their prey, and that the "Iroquois devils" had got the best of them, they discontinued the useless pursuit, and returned to the fort.

The Indians travelled quickly, and soon reached the head waters of the Genesee River, and on the afternoon of the fifth day, from a lofty eminence they looked down upon the lodges and wigwams of their tribe in the peaceful valley below.

A triumphant yell broke from their lips as they beheld this welcome sight, for ever welcome to the soul of the returning warrior is the lodge that he calls his home. The village was quickly deserted by its inhabitants, for every stripling and maiden, all the squaws and children came dancing and shouting to receive them.

With all the agility and suppleness of the deer, the Indian youths came bounding forth to caper about the braves, to finger those gruesome trophies that hung at their girdles, and to carry their rifles and tomahawks. Their faces were radiant with the lofty hero-worship that burned in their young hearts. How they longed to leave the comparative security of the village and join the war parties!

The maidens, too, well versed in all the art and coquetry of the forest, their long raven tresses decked with flowers, their dark eyes beaming with love, welcomed home their sweethearts with unfeigned joy. But there is always a fly in the honey, and the joy of victory was somewhat marred by the bitter lamenting of those squaws whose husbands and sons returned no more.

A hasty meal was then prepared and set before the Indians in wooden platters and gourds, and as soon as this was cleared away by the attendant squaws, a fire was lit and the braves seated themselves in a circle and waited solemnly for the passing round of the peace-pipe and the council that was to follow. A feeling of reverence and awe seemed to pervade the very atmosphere, and the paleface youths became not a little uneasy, wondering what important event was about to happen next.

The two strangers had caused no little curiosity by their presence, especially amongst the squaws and striplings, but so far no one had addressed them personally. Evidently they were all waiting for some explanation as to why these two palefaces returned home with the braves and were not treated as prisoners. Their curiosity was soon to be satisfied.

A low murmur of voices ran around the council fire, and as if by instinct the braves rose to their feet, and in one place the serried ranks opened to admit a very aged chief, who came from one of the lodges near the "painted post" and slowly made his way to the assembly. He was accompanied by several other aged chiefs, but none amongst them looked so wise or even so old, by a generation at least, as the Sagamore, who now toiled painfully across the ground.

His form had once been straight like the fir-tree, but it was now bent, and he leaned heavily on his staff. His face was covered with wrinkles, and his white locks carried the snows of more than a hundred winters. Not till this aged chief had taken his seat at the post of honour amongst the chiefs that formed the front circle did the Indians deign to follow his example.

Then the sacred pipe, the calumet, was lit and solemnly passed from mouth to mouth, and amid a silence that could almost be felt, the blue smoke curled upwards around the fire and scented the still air of the early evening.

At last the White Eagle rose to speak, and as he did so every eye was intently fixed upon him; even the squaws, who stood at a respectful distance from the charmed circle, stayed their gossip and strained their ears to listen to the weighty words of this renowned sachem.

"Father, you see that we come not back with empty hands. The wigwams of the Algonquins are empty. Their squaws and their children gaze no longer upon their braves, for the scalps of their warriors hang at the girdles of my children."

A hum of satisfaction arose from every part of the circle at these words.

"The Great Spirit has called ten of my braves to the happy hunting-fields out there beyond the sunset," continued the chief, raising his right hand as he spoke and pointing to where the sun had just set amongst the pines, leaving a train of red and gold. "But they had no wounds upon their backs, for their faces were never turned away from their enemies. Their squaws and their children shall be provided for. I have spoken, for the words of a chief are few!"

A low buzz of conversation went round the circle as White Eagle resumed his seat, and many an eye was turned towards the palefaces, as though some explanation of their presence was needed. At length the aged chief rose slowly, assisted by two other chiefs.

Every voice immediately lapsed into silence as the old Sagamore, with flowing locks that were white as the driven snow, began to speak. So aged was he that the oldest warrior in that grim circle could scarcely remember him otherwise than he now was. The children of his generation, and the generation that followed him, had passed away like leaves before the north wind.

"My children!" he began, and his voice at first was low and broken, but they listened to him with all the reverence that awe and superstition can give.

"Many suns have risen and set since 'Keneu,' the war-eagle of his tribe, led his people forth to battle. A hundred winters have whitened the forests and the plains since he first followed the trail of the deer. Then we were chiefs and sagamores from the shores of the Great Salt Lake, far back to the Gitche Gumee and the mountains beyond the plains where, amid the eternal snows, the Manitou dwells in the Silence. Then the forests were full of deer, the plains were full of herds, and the streams were filled with fish; and no paleface was to be found in all the land, for the Wacondah had placed his red children in a land of plenty, and the smoke from the council fire and the calumet, the peace-pipe, rose from every valley, and beside every stream were their lodges, for my people were happy."

"Ugh!" came the ready cry of assent from many a dark-skinned warrior, and many a furtive glance was cast in the direction of the two palefaces.

"Then from the land of the sun-rising," continued the Sagamore, "in his white-winged birch canoe, that brought the thunder and the lightning, came the paleface; and he laid the forest low before him, and he drove my people westward, for the face of the Manitou was turned in anger from his children. Then we turned our faces westward, towards the land of the setting sun, and the regions of the Home-Wind, and we said–