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

"'Here we will hunt the red deer and the beaver, and from these clear streams we will take the sturgeon and the salmon, and here, when the Manitou calls us, we will die, where we see not the smoke of the paleface, nor hear the sound of his axe.' Was it well then, chief, to bring hither the children of the East Wind?"

The old man ceased speaking and sank down once more upon the rude log that served as a dais, and the silence became even yet more intense when the White Eagle rose again and said–

"Once a mighty paleface came to the lodge of Keneu. Hungry and weary, he came from the land of Wabun, driven here by the cruel laws of his people, and he brought to us the thunder and the lightning, and he taught my people knowledge and wisdom from the sacred writings in the shining land of Wabun. He became the brother and the friend of the red man, and we taught him to hunt the moose and the deer and the beaver, and the Great Sagamore loved him, and gave him a place at the council fire of my people."

"He is the friend of Keneu, and since many moons his lodge stands empty; but who are these? Are they the children of Miquon?" abruptly asked the aged chief, "or the children of the Canadas?"

"They are the children of the Yengeese, and they raised their hands to help the Eagle when his wings were pinioned by the French of the Canadas, and the red man forgets not his friends, when his fetters are freed, else would the Manitou be angry. They are my brothers, and the white blood has been washed from their veins. Will the great father turn them from his lodge?"

This speech produced a wonderful transformation in the faces of all who heard it, and when several other warriors had spoken of the prowess and courage of Red Feather and Black Hawk, a gentler look came over the Sagamore's face as he spoke.

"It is well!" he said. "The Wacondah has willed it. They shall dwell in the lodges of the Iroquois, and my young men shall teach them to hunt the swift deer and the beaver." Then the council broke up, and the men repaired to their wigwams.

This formal introduction over, the youths were shown to a lodge, next the one that awaited the return of the paleface hunter just referred to, and during the weeks and months of their sojourn amongst the tribe they were treated with all the respect and esteem that belonged to an Indian brave. The war hatchet had been buried for a while, so they joined the hunting-parties that often scoured the forests, and they soon became expert in the arts and crafts of these children of the forest, until each could handle a canoe, shoot the rapids and hunt the deer like a true Indian.

"Come with me, my paleface brothers," said White Eagle one day, just before the first snow of winter. "Come with me and I will show you how the Manitou provides for his red children."

So they took their canoes and paddled all day, and then next day they carried their canoes over a portage until they reached the sweet waters of the Tioga River. As soon as the sun had gone down the chief took a pine torch and held it, lighted, over the stream. Almost immediately a dozen fine salmon, attracted by the torch, came to the very edge of the stream. Then a fire was kindled close to the bank, and immediately the river seemed full of living creatures of the finny tribe.

"Look! What a glorious sight!" exclaimed Jamie; "the water is alive with fish." And it was true, for, attracted by the huge blaze, they came tumbling over each other, leaping out of the water by dozens, until the whole surface glowed and shimmered, green and red and purple.

Then the Indians who had accompanied them in order to get a supply for the tribe, entered the water, and with long spears made of hard wood, something after the fashion of a trident, speared and hooked the salmon to their heart's content.

As the youths stood spellbound, gazing at this almost miraculous sight, the chief tapped them on the shoulder and said–

"Does the Manitou fill the rivers of the palefaces with fish and their forests with furs?"

"We have never seen such plenty, chief, in the land of the palefaces. Very often if a man takes a fish from a stream, or a deer from the forest, he is sent to prison and sometimes put to death."

"Humph!" said the chief in a tone of surprise. "Now I know why the paleface comes over the Salt Water to the hunting-grounds of his red brother."

The lads were so dumfounded by this unusual sight that their thoughts turned instinctively to that little burn that sang its way down through a wood-lined vale far away in another land, where to land a single fish was a heinous crime, and yet how they loved that little spot, now so far away; but the voice of the chief awoke them from their reverie, saying–

"Come, my brothers, and fill your canoe with the gifts of the Manitou."

They needed no second bidding, and the next minute they, too, were enjoying the magnificent sport. Very soon all the canoes were filled, and then after a hearty supper of fresh salmon, the fish were sorted, dressed and prepared for drying, after which they were carried home for the winter's supply.

CHAPTER XIII

THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST

During their stay amongst the Iroquois, which had now extended over rather more than a year, the two English youths had gained the esteem and 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, had gained his title of "Swift Arrow" because he was so fleet of foot that he 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 had come again, in hunting and fishing, often staying for weeks together in the fastnesses of the forest. They became well-nigh inseparable. Many were the adventures and escapades, and many the dangers, too, that they braved in each other's company.

Once, in descending the rapids of a neighbouring stream, their canoe had struck a rock which capsized her and hurled all the occupants into the boiling surf. This was nothing unusual, but they were expert swimmers, and immediately struck out for the bank. Arrived there, the Young Eagle missed one of his paleface friends. It was Jack, who had struck the rock in falling and was rendered unconscious, and carried away down the stream. The other two, exhausted with their desperate struggle in the rapids, were hardly able to reach the shore; but Young Eagle, arriving there first, and seeing the unfortunate youth being carried away, immediately leapt into the boiling surf, and succeeded, after a desperate 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 misfortune to lose his footing, and when he attempted to rise the bear was just in the 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 bound these friends together, and the English youths could scarcely bear to think 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 was not to end here, and their desire to help their country, either on land or sea, during the present war with the French, which, though it had commenced on the continent of Europe, and had been continued on the high seas, had yet had its echo in the forests and backwoods of the North American Colonies, and, indeed, was destined to have its end there.

Once, during the latter part of the summer of the year 1759, they had been absent from their lodges for several weeks, hunting the shaggy brown bear, the jaguar, the fox, and the wolf, for their skins, in that part of the forest which stretched far away from the head waters of their own streams to the Mohawk River, when one afternoon they suddenly struck 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?" demanded Jack. "By your demeanour I should say that you've struck the trail of a serpent."

"I like it not," merely remarked the Indian youth.

All four of them now got down to the work of examining the trail. Every bit of turf, every leaf or broken twig was carefully examined. Then they cautiously followed the trail, with bent figures and cocked rifles. At any moment they might be ambushed, if it should prove to be an enemy that had passed that way.

"Why do you suspect that it is an enemy, when we are so near the hunting-grounds of the Oneidas and the Mohicans?" asked Red Feather.

"Look! This no Iroquois moccasin," said the Young Eagle, stooping to pick up a worn-out, discarded moccasin, worked with beads after the pattern 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 on the discarded footgear.

When they had finished their scrutiny of this moccasin, one word broke from 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 they continued their keen search for any little trifle which might help to explain these things, for to the Indian the forest is an open book, and every twig and leaf may be a written page.

They followed the trail cautiously for another quarter of an hour, until they came to a spot where the footprints showed more deeply in the soft black earth, and after another careful examination, Swift Arrow declared that there were at least fifteen or twenty of the enemy, and that they must be a war party, out for scalps, and to harass the enemies of the Canadas.

"Look! This is not an Algonquin moccasin that has left this mark," said Red Feather, who for some minutes had been examining a footprint that was both broader and longer than the rest, and also of a different pattern. "Here, get down to it, Eagle, and examine it for yourself."

The young chief did as he was requested, and measured the print with the palm of his hand, and compared it with the others.

"You see, the heel mark is deeper than any of the other prints, as though the man had walked like this–" and here Jamie imitated the carriage of a man who plants his heels firmly on the ground when he walks.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Eagle, rising from the ground. "My paleface brother 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 a whisper, for the first time since the trail had been discovered.

"Then it must be a French officer who is in command of the party!" and this 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, so they 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 to camp in a little bower near by, where the overhanging trees afforded them a secluded spot, not easy for an enemy to find.

They did not light a fire, lest it should discover their position to the enemy. In silence they ate their evening meal, which consisted of a little dried venison. Then they resolved to wait till morning before they followed the trail further.

"Let my paleface brothers sleep, and Young Eagle and Swift Arrow will watch," said the young chief.

"That's not quite fair," said Jamie, "for you'll never wake us till sunrise, and you must be just as much fatigued as we are, for you did more than your share in carrying the canoes at the portage."

"Young Eagle all ears and eyes when an enemy is near. He feels not fatigue. Let my brothers sleep."

The English youths had to give way, for they had to confess that though they had learnt many things during their sojourn amongst the Iroquois, yet their sense of alertness and keenness of perception could in no wise be matched against these children of the forest. Soon, therefore, the young palefaces were fast asleep upon a bed of leaves and spruce branches, 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 hearing these the Young Eagle gave a significant look at Swift Arrow, and without speaking a word, the latter arose, quietly pushed aside the branches, and disappeared into the forest in the direction of the sounds.

It was quite dark now, for there was no moon, and the stars showed but faintly through the thick foliage of the trees overhead.

An hour passed–two hours–but the Indian youth returned not. Had he scented danger? Was the enemy lurking near? Then why did he not return? Surely nothing had happened to him. The young chief noticed that Jamie's sleep began to be troubled. Once or twice he had murmured something in his sleep, and Young Eagle had touched his lips, as if to close them, lest the sounds might betray them.

"The Wacondah is speaking to my paleface brother," said the young chief inwardly, "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 to why this particular dream should recur to him so often. He dreamt that he was a little bairn again, far away across the Big Salt Lake, in the Homeland; and that a rough but kindly man took him on his knee, and spoke to him in tones of melting tenderness. "Poor motherless bairn!" he said, 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 of his sleeping companion, causing him to start, and to open his eyes for an instant, but he quickly closed them again.

Then his dream continued, but it changed suddenly. Side by side with Jack, and his two dusky companions, he ranged the forest, hunting the bear, and trapping the beaver in his lodges of bark and logs, when suddenly they came upon an Indian camp in a little clearing of the forest, and there with his back to an elm-tree, tied hand and foot, was an old paleface hunter, undergoing torture at the hands of a band of cruel red men.

Bravely he suffered it all, like a hero, and not a cry of pain escaped his lips. A dozen arrows, knives and hatchets pierced the tree about his head and face, and although the coup de grâce had not been given, yet the blood flowed freely from several wounds. His lips were compressed, and not a groan escaped them, but inwardly he prayed to God that death might bring him release from this slow and cruel torture.

A fierce-looking chief taunted him with being a paleface snake, and a Yengeese, and urged his warriors to prolong the torture.

"Let us see if a cursed Yengeese has red blood in his veins, or whether he has the heart of a Delaware," he cried.

"Your tongue is forked, Muskrat, and your warriors tremble at the sight of a paleface, so that their knives cannot find his heart!" cried the hunter, in the hope of urging his enemies to end his torture by a fatal blow.

"My young men wish to know if a Yengeese can bear pain like a red warrior."

"Your young men are squaws! Go tell your Canada Father to find them petticoats!"

This stinging insult brought a shower of tomahawks and knives about his head. One of them pierced his arm, and pinioned it to the tree, but he bore the pain bravely, and smiling grimly back upon his captors, said–

"Let your young men come nearer, chief, so that a paleface may show them where lies his heart, for they are weak and unsteady with the fire-water of 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 that he fears not the hatchet and the tomahawk. Let us see if he fears the spirit of the flames."

A shout of hellish delight greeted this suggestion of their leader, and the Indians scattered into the forest to collect brushwood and dead timber, for an Indian delights in prolonging the torture of his prisoner.

Quickly the faggots were piled at the feet of the hunter, and the match was about to be applied, when the intense agony and suspense of the moment burst open the gates of slumber, and Jamie opened his eyes, and awoke suddenly.

The first faint tinge of dawn was lighting up the eastern horizon. He sprang to his feet, immensely relieved, and murmuring to himself–

"Thank God! 'Twas only a dream, then! And yet it was the same face that I have seen so often in my dreams. What can it mean?"

Then he turned and beheld the Young Eagle and the sleeping form of Black Hawk, but Swift Arrow was missing. He forgot his troubled sleep in an instant when he remembered that Young Eagle had watched with sleepless vigilance throughout the whole night, and said–

"My red brother is too kind. He should have called me, and let me watch, while he slept."

"Hist!" remarked the other, rising suddenly, and holding up a finger to indicate silence, as a slight rustle was heard amongst the bushes a few yards away. Both instinctively grasped their rifles, and stood ready for 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 lying still as a log, at other times crawling and wriggling like a snake, or crouching like a panther. He had discovered the scouts of a cruel enemy, within ten arrow-flights of their present abode. He had done more.

He had succeeded in passing the scouts unobserved, and in penetrating to the very edge of the hostile camp. His unsleeping vigilance had saved the lives of his comrades, and he had even covered up his own tracks in returning to the camp, by taking a circuitous route and wading for some distance in the bed of a little stream, and had so well timed his efforts that he reached the camping-ground just as dawn was breaking.

Beyond the customary "Ugh!" he remained silent; though even Jack, who had now awakened, could see that he had something of importance to communicate, but he seemed already possessed of all the restraint of his tribe, and quietly sat down with the rest to a breakfast, which consisted of a little pemmican and hominy, which was soon finished.

"My brother has seen an enemy?" said Young Eagle, when the meal was over.

"Ugh!" replied Swift Arrow, as though he considered the news of little importance and scarcely worth the telling.

"Swift Arrow will tell us what he has seen?" said Jack, and then the young warrior spoke briefly and as follows–

"Ten arrow-flights towards the sun-rising is an Algonquin camp, of twenty-four braves–and one prisoner...."

"And the prisoner? Who–what is he?" asked Jamie, remembering his dream.

"It is the great paleface hunter, the friend of White Eagle."

CHAPTER XIV

SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARS

"The paleface hunter, did my brother say? Is he the prisoner?" exclaimed Jamie, leaping to his feet, trembling with suppressed excitement.

"Hist! my brother forgets that an enemy is near!" said Young Eagle, raising his finger to request caution.

At this moment, after several cabalistic signs, Swift Arrow left the camp and quietly disappeared in the forest, and Jamie, expressing regret at permitting his feelings to gain the mastery over him at such a moment, resumed his seat on the ground.

"Whither away, Swift Arrow?" called Jack softly, as the Indian youth glided past him, but he either did not hear him, or heeded not his question.

"Swift Arrow has gone to the wigwams of the White Eagle, to say that his friend is in the hands of the Algonquins," said the Young Eagle, who had now assumed all the gravity and demeanour of an Iroquois chief.

"Phew! That means a journey of sixty miles at least. Rather a long step for a lad, who hunted all day yesterday and scouted all last night. When will he get there?"

"When the sun touches the tree-tops to-morrow White Eagle will know!" replied the young chief.

"Then he will come with all the warriors who are not away hunting, and fight the Algonquins?" asked Jamie.

"Ugh!" said the Indian, signifying yes.

"Perhaps that may be too late to save the paleface. I fear they will have put him to death," said Jamie gloomily. "Cannot we go and save him now?"

"Why, what's the matter, old chap? You seem very despondent," said Jack, as his comrade heaved a sigh deep enough to break his heart. "Do you despair of your life, that you want to throw it away so cheaply? If we are discovered by yonder crew, our lives are not worth a toss, and our scalps will be carried to the Canada lodges."

"The Wacondah has spoken to my brother, and his heart is heavy," said the Indian, looking straight at Red Feather with his piercing eyes.

"What is it, Jamie? Out with it. We agreed that there should be no secrets between us," said Jack, half in jest and half in earnest.

"Jack," said his friend solemnly, "I dreamt last night that I saw this paleface hunter in the clutches of the Algonquins. He was bound to a tree, and they were practising upon him every conceivable torture that even a red devil can invent. I saw him pierced and wounded, and the blood flowing freely from his head and face. Then, having tormented him to the utmost bounds, and finding that his brave heart quailed not beneath it all, they brought faggots and brushwood and kindled them at his feet. They were going to burn him to death, yes, roast him alive, while they danced around him in mad delight. But just as they kindled the fire, and my heart was bursting with grief and agony, because I was unable to help, I awoke, for I could bear it no longer. Then Swift Arrow returned and told what he himself had seen, but I believe that I saw even more than he did, for he saw not the tortures–and–and–I fear that we shall be too late when the chief arrives with his braves. That is why I wished to go straight to the camp now, and what is more, the face of that hunter is as familiar to me as your own, that is by night, for I have often dreamt of him before, but by daylight his features become indistinct, and I cannot recall his face. So now that is why my heart is so heavy! Cannot we do anything to save him?"

This last question was addressed to the young chief, who had been a serious listener to all that Jamie had just said, for the Indians take dreams very seriously, and treat them as messages from the Manitou.

"The Grey Badger is a great hunter, and his rifle has often left its mark upon the Algonquins, as well as the bear and the panther. Red men no kill him quickly. He is too great a prize. They will keep him till the new moon, and then kill him," replied the Indian.

"When is the new moon?" asked Red Feather hastily.

"Two days!"

"And when will our friends arrive?"

The young chief made the circle of the sun's course twice, and then pointed to the zenith.

"Then there is just a chance that we may be able to save him after all."

"Yes. For why should the Wacondah speak a lie?" said the Indian earnestly.

"What do you mean? I don't understand you!"

"Why, Jamie, it's as clear as noon-day what he means. He says, 'Why should the Wacondah speak a lie?' That is, if the Great Spirit has put it into your heart to save this paleface hunter, why should he withhold the means to do it, when He is all-powerful? The lad's faith in his God is greater than your own. So cheer up, and we'll save him yet, or we'll know the reason why."

"Young Eagle, I thank you. You have lifted a load from my heart, and your faith is greater than mine, though I have been bred in a Christian country," said Jamie.