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

"Ugh! My paleface brother has often told me of the sacred writings in the land of the sun-rising, and how the Great Spirit has spoken to his white children; why, then, should he disbelieve the words of the Wacondah?"

This conversation was suddenly interrupted by an Indian whoop, which seemed to come from the distant camp.

"What can that mean? Listen! There it comes again," said Jack. This time it was repeated from several quarters.

"It simply means that they have been joined by another party of their friends," said the Indian.

"What can they be doing so far away from their own hunting-grounds?"

"Depend upon it, they are here for no good. They're out for scalps, and to harass their inveterate foes, the Iroquois, and any Yengeese woodsmen they can lay hands upon."

"Must we remain here, like rats in a hole, Young Eagle? Is there nothing that we can do?" said Jack.

"Yes! We must watch all their movements, and if they move, follow them, leaving a broad trail that White Eagle can follow in the dark."

"Lead the way, then, Eagle, and we'll follow your trail."

Then they crept stealthily from their lair, and cautiously advanced through the tangled forest, in the direction of the camp, for now that the enemy were excited by the arrival of their allies perhaps they would be a little off their guard.

Soon they struck the trail that they had seen on the previous evening, and followed it carefully; sometimes creeping on their hands and knees, crawling through the brushwood, watching furtively the while for any signs of the outlying scouts who were sure to be guarding the camp.

Suddenly the hiss of a serpent caused them to start. It came from the direction of the young Indian, who was but a few paces in advance, and was the signal for them to halt and lie still. Immediately they became as dead logs, hugging the ground.

Had the Eagle seen the first scout?

Yes, surely! What was that dark object creeping through the forest, not fifty yards away? Was it not the skulking form of a redskin prowling about like a wolf, and all the while coming nearer and nearer. He had evidently not seen them as yet, for he still continued to approach, but he seemed so wary and so alert that if he continued he must discover them within another minute. Jamie covered him with his rifle, but he was too wise to shoot, unless all other measures failed, as the crack of a rifle so near the camp would alarm the whole party and bring the Algonquins upon them in a moment.

Slowly, slowly the seconds passed, and each one seemed in itself an age. They scarcely dared to breathe, lest the slightest sound or movement should attract the attention of the scout.

He was only ten paces from the young chief when he halted, as though his suspicions had been aroused. He was looking full in the direction of his enemies, when some fluttering object in a bush, near the Iroquois lad, caught his attention. He would examine that particular bush before giving the alarm, so he advanced cautiously, looking warily around him.

He was a young warrior, perhaps out for his first scalp. How kingly it would be to return to the camp with a scalp at his girdle, and without boasting, quietly to take his place at the council fire, while all eyes were fixed upon that trophy which he had won, unaided and alone.

The dark-eyed Indian maidens, too–how they would glance at him with love-lit eyes and point out the trophy, and sing of his courage when he returned home. Perhaps these thoughts were in his mind as he approached the bush. One thing, however, he must avoid, that was, creating a false alarm and thereby making himself a laughing-stock amongst his comrades by mistaking a tree or a log for an enemy.

This temerity cost him dear. To reach the bush which had aroused his suspicions, he had to pass within a few feet of Young Eagle. As he did so, the latter made a sudden bound, like a panther springing upon his prey, and cleft his skull with his keen hatchet.

Without a groan even, the Algonquin sank to the ground, and his spirit passed to the hunting-grounds of his people. The youths turned their faces away, whilst the young chief secured his first scalp. Having obtained this trophy, he next dragged the lifeless form of the scout into the forest and hid it away amongst the bushes, lest its discovery should bring down upon them a swarm of hornets, in the shape of the inmates of the neighbouring camp. Then he proudly retraced his steps in the direction of his companions, who were eagerly awaiting his return.

"Was it well done, Young Eagle, to risk all our lives and our chances of saving the hunter for a single scalp?" asked Jamie, who felt somehow that his redskin friend might have left the scalp alone, for the present, at any rate, forgetting in his anxiety to save the paleface that an Indian will go without food willingly for a whole week in order to obtain one scalp.

"Young Eagle is a warrior! He saw only an Algonquin dog!"

"But prudence is a virtue, even in a great warrior!"

"Let him alone, Jamie. For an Indian to leave an enemy's scalp behind is a disgrace, and just as dishonourable as for a paleface to leave his ensign in the hands of the enemy," said Jack.

Their present position was one of great danger, though for the moment the death of the scout had reduced the chances of their being discovered. Nevertheless, their only chance to avoid the enemy was to find a spot where they could lie hidden till dark, for the scout would be sure to be missed shortly, and then a search would be made for him.

A spot was found not twenty yards away, on the edge of a little rivulet that ran through the forest. They, therefore, took a circuitous route to this stream, and then walked cautiously down the bed of the rivulet, so that the water would wash away their footprints in the sandy bottom. Having gained this secluded spot, they were hidden from sight of an approaching enemy, owing to the branches of the willows and alders drooping to the ground and meeting the tangled undergrowth, and they could yet watch the surrounding forest through the interstices of the branches.

Here they lay hidden during the rest of that day. As the afternoon wore on they several times heard the whoops and yells of the Algonquins, and once they heard the report of a rifle, and Jamie feared that it denoted the end of the paleface prisoner, but the young chief said that that was very unlikely.

This close confinement at length became very irksome, and the youths were so wearied and impatient that it needed all the influence and sagacity of the Indian to urge them to remain till sunset. How wise this counsel was will shortly be seen.

"Hist! What does that mean, Young Eagle?" said Jamie, when rather late in the afternoon a sound very much like the "cawing" of a rook was heard to proceed from a spot scarce a hundred yards away. No answer was given, and the sound was repeated twice; each time it sounded a little nearer.

The Indian did not speak, for he was keenly scrutinising the forest in the direction of the sound, and at the same time unconsciously fingering his tomahawk, while his every sense seemed alert.

"'Tis another scout who seems to expect a reply from his fallen comrade, I fear, Jamie," said Jack, "and he can't understand why he gets no answer."

"Ah! He is becoming suspicious. He is searching for him, and–and–he's coming this way," whispered Jamie.

"Look! I can see him now through the trees. What if he finds his dead comrade? Hist! He's looking this way."

Nearer and nearer came the Algonquin. He was within forty yards now, and within twenty feet of where his companion had been slain. Suddenly he started and a half-smothered exclamation escaped his lips. He was looking at the ground, examining it carefully. He knelt down and carefully removed the turf and leaves, raising his head every few seconds, as though expecting to see his comrade.

Had he discovered a trail, or something worse? He was only thirty feet away from the mangled corpse of the first scout. He was only ten feet away from the spot where the death-blow had been given. It was the trail of his lost comrade that he had discovered, but what next?

It was a moment fraught with intense excitement for the watchers. The issues to these three adventurers were life or death. Once he discovered the truth that was hidden in those bushes, a single call for assistance would fill the forest with blood-thirsty hornets, and all would be lost.

What could be done? He was too far away to be dispatched like his comrade, and a rifle-shot would alarm the camp. Step by step he advanced. Then his eager eyes caught sight of the fresh blood-marks and evidences of the recent scuffle.

The Indian gazed at the red spots, and followed their trail to the bushes. Then, as his eyes caught sight of the mangled corpse, he uttered a blood-curdling yell that made the dark aisles of the forest resound. At the same instant Jamie's rifle spoke out, and the Indian fell to the ground.

Five seconds had scarcely passed when from the camp there came the answering yell. It was a wild, fierce cry of revenge that brought the whole pack upon their trail.

CHAPTER XV

THE TRAGIC CIRCLE

There was not a moment to lose. The two youths seized their rifles and plunged into the forest.

"This way, Jack. Come!"

"Lead on, quickly!"

Young Eagle remained but a few seconds to take the victim's scalp and to give the defiant war-whoop of the Iroquois, and then he, too, followed in their trail.

On they went. Their only chance of saving their lives now lay in putting as great a distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers, and in keeping up the race till dusk. 'Twas getting dark already, but they stumbled on through the tangled undergrowth, over fallen trunks lying prostrate across their pathway.

Several times they heard the yells of the Algonquins, and once they heard the crack of a rifle, followed by an Iroquois yell.

"Listen! That's Young Eagle's rifle, I'll swear. He's either missed our trail, or he's purposely misled them to give us a chance of getting away."

"Then I fear it's all up with him," cried Jamie, who was a little way in advance. "That second scalp has cost him too dear."

'Twas getting quite dark now, and they were compelled to slacken their pace, partly from sheer exhaustion, and partly because they were constantly being tripped up by ground vines, trailers and fallen trunks.

Once they got separated, and Jamie thought that he heard Jack call him. He halted and listened, but hearing the swish of branches close behind him he thought that his comrade was following, and continued for another ten minutes, when, coming to a little clearing, he glanced back, but saw no one following.

"Jack!" he called softly. "Where are you?" but no answer came back from the gloom.

Again he called–louder still, but only the cry of the night-raven and the screech of an owl gave reply. Then he retraced his footsteps across the clearing, but he failed even to discover the spot where he had left the forest. Five–ten minutes he remained there, searching for his own trail, but in the darkness he had lost his bearings, and not only Jack, but he himself was lost!–lost!

Endless leagues of trackless forest, of brown tree-trunks, and dark, dank undergrowth, closing in upon him like a thick screen, separated him from the nearest habitation, and even the nearest fort. What was to become of him?

In his despair he threw himself down upon a rough, raised bank that ran part way round the clearing; then he remembered that fancied cry, back there by the swamp, when he had thought for an instant that Jack had called him by name.

"'Twas not fancy, after all!" he murmured. "It was Jack calling for help; it must have been. Perhaps he sank in the swamp, or perhaps the Indians attacked him from the rear suddenly and quietly and he died calling my name."

Then the agony of his soul knew no bounds, for he felt that he had wilfully deserted his comrade, and in his despair he longed to die.

"Ah–to die! That would be easy, if only Jack were here. We have too often faced death together to be afraid, but this wild loneliness unmans me," and here the lad broke down and sobbed in his bitterness.

This weakness, if such it can be called, was of short duration, however, for certain sounds fell upon his ear in the stillness, that told him something or somebody was approaching. A rustling amongst the branches, a heavy but stealthy tread amongst the tangled undergrowth. All this came from the forest not fifty feet away.

There was just enough light to see half-way across the small clearing. His every faculty became alert, and he instinctively raised his rifle, examined its priming, and fixed his eyes at that spot where the object must leave the forest to enter the clearing.

Perhaps it was Jack–at last. Should he call? Better wait and see. Perhaps it was an Indian, though the footfall seemed too heavy. What could it be?

The next instant a shaggy head was thrust out from amongst the bushes, scarce twenty feet away from where he sat, and then a huge brown bear shambled into the clearing, stopping every few yards to raise his snout, and to sniff the air, as though it scented danger.

Jamie's left hand slid down, almost unconsciously, to feel if his hunting-knife were there, lest his rifle should fail him. The bear caught the movement, quick as it was, and looked suspiciously in the direction of the youth.

Having reached the middle of the clearing, the huge monster reared itself up on its hind legs, and beating the air with its fore-paws, began to advance in the direction of Jamie.

Jamie forgot every other danger in the face of this new one that now threatened. He forgot also all his fears, in his desire to overcome the bear. 'Twas to be a fair fight and no favour, and unless he killed "Bruin," then the beast would kill him.

With steady eye and steady nerve Jamie levelled his rifle, as the bear shambled towards him, uttering a low growl, and preparing to hug his victim in a fatal embrace. The youth knew the vulnerable spot in that thick, shaggy hide, and if he could only place his bullet there it would end the combat, but on a dark night like this could he do it?

He was about to pull the trigger when a strange diversion, entirely unexpected, occurred.

A plumed and painted warrior, from the Algonquin camp, hot upon the trail of the young paleface, quickly entered the clearing and almost rushed into the embrace of the huge monster. Discovering his mistake, and uttering a sudden exclamation of horror, the warrior fell back in dismay, and dashed into the forest, followed by Bruin, who left his erstwhile enemy and suffered him to escape. The branches closed upon the bear and the Indian, and they were hidden from sight.

"Thank God I didn't fire!" exclaimed Jamie, as he slipped quietly into the forest in another direction, thanking Heaven for this double escape, and taking hope, for he felt that God had not deserted him, and would somehow deliver him from his still terrible plight.

On he stumbled in the darkness, till he came to a little stream. Here he stooped to quench his burning thirst and to bathe his face, for he was fevered with excitement, after the quick transitions of feeling he had undergone since they alarmed the camp.

Then he followed the path of the brook some little way, hiding the trail of his moccasins in the bed of the stream, for unlike the soft, oozy mould of the forest the water yields no secret. Then, after a while, he struck into the forest again. Forward he went, lest the murdering Algonquins should discover his trail once more, and a tomahawk end his career. Once or twice he thought he heard the stealthy tread of an Indian behind him, but he stayed not in his fierce flight.

The moon was rising now, and it was becoming much lighter, and Jamie was able to make more rapid progress; but he was becoming exhausted, and felt that he must stop soon, when suddenly he noticed that the giant pines and firs were becoming fewer and fewer, and the undergrowth less tangled.

A tiny red glow–the glow of a camp-fire, appeared through the trees, and the next moment he halted breathlessly on the outskirts of a deserted camp.

Now at length help is at hand, he thought, and he prepared to enter the place.

Horror of horrors! It was the same camp from which he had so blindly fled two hours before. Some malevolent deity had led his bewildered footsteps in a tragic circle, a mistake not uncommon, even for experienced travellers, who crossed the forest hastily, and without due precaution.

Where was now the Providence that had guided his footsteps? He almost cursed his ill-luck and his bad fortune, and yet, as kindly fate would have it, this was the best thing that could have happened to him.

He had indeed been guided by Providence, for while both Jack and Young Eagle had been made prisoners, Jamie, by walking up the watercourse, and unconsciously doubling back upon the deserted camp, had thrown even the quick-witted Algonquins off the scent, who never suspected such cunning in a paleface.

I have said that the camp was deserted, although the fire still burned, and the evening meal remained untouched, for at the first sound of that fatal cry from the woods every inmate of the camp, except the paleface prisoner, started in pursuit of the daring enemy who had scalped their warrior. In this sudden call to arms the prisoner was for a while forgotten, as we shall shortly see.

Jamie's heart sank with dismay as he beheld the fatal error he had made. Wearied and exhausted, he was ready to sink and perish, but even thus a new feeling of terror seized him, the terror of the returning Algonquins. What if they discovered him here?

Once more he plunged into the thicket, for a strange new strength had come to him, but it was the strength of despair, occasioned by fear.

Torn, lacerated and bleeding, his hair dishevelled, and his clothes in tatters, he rushed madly away from the spot. Whither he went he cared not. Anywhere–away from that terrible camp. He rushed blindly on, until at the end of half-an-hour he sank down, utterly exhausted, beneath the friendly shelter of an elm-tree, and careless now whether the wild beasts or the Algonquins tracked him to his doom.

His brain reeled; his heart beat wildly, and he swooned away rather than sank into sleep; but soon his breathing became more regular, and his slumber more peaceful.

The moon rose above the topmost branches, climbed to the meridian, and sank once more amongst the pines. Then the golden orb of day unbarred his eastern shutters, tinged the far horizon with saffron and yellow, and flooded the landscape of forest, and river, and lake, with gold, but still the youth slept on. Would he never awake?

At length, when the sun was high above the tree-tops, Jamie stretched himself, then opened his eyes. As he did so his first gaze fell upon a man, somewhat past middle-age, but still strong and sturdy. He was in the garb of a hunter, for he wore a hair-fringed hunting-shirt, moccasins, and Indian leggings, while on his head was a beaver cap.

Jamie started, but felt relieved when he saw it was no redskin that bent over him.

This man sat upon a fallen tree-trunk, against which leaned his rifle also. His arms were folded across his broad chest, and while he vigorously puffed wreaths of smoke from his pipe, he was complacently looking at the lad, as though he had been keeping watch.

"The same face–" murmured Jamie. "It is–it must be–the great paleface hunter!"

CHAPTER XVI

THE PALEFACE HUNTER

Jamie half rose from the ground, rubbed his eyes, and appeared surprised and mystified at this unexpected turn of events.

"Am I still dreaming?" he wondered. "I have seen this man many a time in my dreams, but never, to my knowledge, have I seen him before in the flesh. Who can he be, that he thus haunts me, asleep and awake?"

"So you've woke up at last, youngster! I was beginning to fear that you might never wake again," said the stranger, in a kindly and not unfamiliar voice that awoke the echoes of memory.

"Then you've been watching over me? Guarding me, perhaps, whilst I slept?"

The stranger nodded assent.

"Who are you? Tell me your name, that I may thank you, for friends are not too numerous hereabouts, and I have already lost two comrades since I came on this trail. Tell me who you are, if you please?" for the lad saw by the stranger's kindly manner, his honest, sunburnt face, and his clear but piercing eyes, that he was no enemy.

"My real name doesn't matter, my lad, though I am well known in these parts, for the Indians on this side the lakes know me for a trapper, and they call me the 'Paleface Hunter,' and sometimes the 'Grey Badger.'

"But how came you here?"

"This is my home–this forest! I have lived here for fifteen years," said the trapper, indicating the wide stretch of forest land with a broad sweep of his hand.

"And how did you happen to find me, just when I needed a friend, too? When I sank down last night I never expected to see the light of another sun."

"I stumbled across you here at dawn. You were fast asleep, and I saw by your torn clothes and the scratches and flesh wounds on your hands and face that the Indians had been hot on your trail. I half feared to find your scalp-lock missing, but when I examined you I found that you were living, but so exhausted and dead-beat that to wake you up might finish you, so I just carried you in here, covered up your trail, and waited for you to awake."

"And for four hours," replied Jamie softly, and with tears in his voice–"for four hours, since dawn, you have watched over me like a child in a cradle, though any moment the Algonquins might have discovered your trail."

"Tut! tut! my lad! That's nothing–"

"Paleface–if I may so call you–you have saved my life, and I thank you with all my heart, though last night, when I lost my best friend, I cursed my fate and wished to die."

"'Tis more likely you who have saved my life."

"How so?"

"Was it you who fired that shot last evening just before sunset?"

"Which shot?"

"The one that alarmed the camp!";

"You mean when the scout was–"

"Scalped."

"Yes, I fired it."

"Who took the scalp? I reckon that is not your gift, my lad."

Jamie shuddered at the remembrance, and said, "No. I should hope not."

"Then you were not alone? Who was the redskin that was with you?"

"An Iroquois youth, named 'Young Eagle.'"

"The son of White Eagle, the great chief?"

"The same. There was another also–a young paleface friend of mine. We lost each other in the forest, after dark, when the redskins were hot on our trail. After that I missed my way, and wandered back to the camp in mistake. Then, filled with terror and despair, I plunged madly back into the forest, until I sank exhausted, where you found me; but tell me, trapper, how did I save your life? for 'tis all a mystery to me."

"When you fired that shot at sunset, I was in a tight corner, for I was a prisoner in the Algonquin camp. Red Wolf, the Algonquin chief, is a great enemy of mine. Long he has tried to trap me, but I have always been able to circumvent him. This time he took me unawares. He and six of his braves pounced upon me suddenly in the forest three days ago, when I was splitting a few logs for my fire, and before I had a chance to defend myself I was tied up."

"And they tortured you, did they not?" asked Jamie.

"See here what the fiends did!" and the hunter showed a dozen scars and open wounds that had not yet healed.

"The monsters! How did you escape?"

"You know their custom of torturing their prisoners from sunset till dawn."

"Yes."

"Well, after all this they made a fire, and after a few more tortures I believe the varmint would have burnt me to death, for one fiend had made an iron red-hot, with which to sear and brand me, when suddenly the half-uttered yell of their scout, followed by the crack of your rifle, burst upon their ears."

"Yes! yes! What happened then?" asked Jamie impatiently.

"Why, every man Jack of them seized their rifles and tomahawks, and bolted out of the camp to the help of the scout, leaving me alone, bound hand and foot to a tree."

"And how did you free yourself?"

"Why, the scamp who had been threatening to brand me, when he bolted with the rest, dropped the hot iron at my feet, so that it burnt this hole in my moccasin. See here. The opportunity was too good to be lost, so I wriggled and shuffled my feet till the iron came in contact with the lowest thong. It was burnt through in less than a minute, and in another five minutes I was free."