The Boy Scouts of Bob's Hill Part 33

"Washington was great stuff, all right," said Skinny, shaking his head sadly, "but everything has been discovered now, and explored, and Injuns ain't much good outside a show. There ain't anything for a feller to do any more."

CHAPTER XIX

ON HISTORIC GROUND

WE were one more night on the road before reaching the Connecticut River.

"This trip is going to be a great part of the fun," Mr. Norton had told us, "and the best part of it is that we can go as slowly or as fast as we please. We'll cross over the mountain to-day, stopping whenever we feel like it, and go into camp somewhere on the other side. I want to have you do some of our Scout stunts on the way."

I don't know which was the most fun, walking along the mountain road, which wound through green woods and across laughing brooks, or pitching our camp at night and, after a good supper of our own cooking, listening to Mr. Norton's stories, around the campfire.

We started bright and early in the morning, carrying only our bows and arrows and Skinny's hatchet. The other things were on the wagon. Mr.

Norton drove because we boys wanted to play.

Skinny was George Washington, making his way through the wilderness. He carried the hatchet because he might have to build a raft to get across Deerfield River. Benny was bound to be Christopher Gist. Bill had a right to first choice, on account of being corporal, but Benny wanted to be Gist and Bill didn't care. He said he'd rather be White Thunder, anyhow; it sounded so nice and noisy. Hank said that he'd be the Half King, whatever that was.

"His name was Tanacharisson," said Mr. Norton. "He was a Seneca chief of great note in those days. He was called 'Half King' because he wasn't a whole king. He was under the chief of the Six Nations."

I don't know what the rest of us were, but I do know that we had a fine time, scouting through the forest and along the road. When we came to the town of Florida, on top of the mountain, Skinny told us that it was the Indian village of Venango, where we'd find the French outposts. He wanted to surround it, but White Thunder was for pushing on because he was getting hungry, although it was still quite early in the forenoon.

So we trudged along, and down the mountain road on the other side, until we came to Deerfield River.

We found a bridge across the river and didn't have to make a raft. There wasn't water enough to float one over the rocks, anyhow, although there was more than usual on account of the big rain.

By night we had left the Florida Mountain far behind. Along in the afternoon of the next day we marched into Deerfield, which is on the Connecticut River. Say, the people came out of their houses to see us pa.s.s, with our uniforms on and Skinny in front, swinging his rope and hatchet.

"This is historic ground," Mr. Norton told us. "At the campfire to-night we'll have a story of some fights with Indians which were the real thing. They ought to make your hair stand on end. That stream over there got its name 'b.l.o.o.d.y Brook' from one of those fights."

We camped that night on the bank of Connecticut River, and it seemed a long way from home.

"This river was discovered by the Dutch," said Mr. Norton, after we had eaten a big supper and were lying on the river bank in the twilight of the evening, tired and happy. "The permanent settlements, however, were made by the English. The river was explored by a Hollander six years before Gabriel's English ancestors came over in the _Mayflower_. The first English settlements, you know, were made along the Atlantic coast.

Some years later a few of those settlers hiked over to the Connecticut Valley, or came up the river, and started a number of towns. One of them was Deerfield.

"It is hard for us to imagine this fertile and cultivated valley in a wild state, with a few white settlers here and there surrounded by Indians. The whites considered themselves a superior race and probably showed it by their actions. Gradually the savages, who at first had been kind, grew more sullen and dangerous. This growing hatred on the part of the Indians made it very difficult for the settlers, but there was another thing which made it harder. In Europe, two great nations, England and France, were in almost constant warfare, and each was striving to get the better of the other in the settlement and possession of America.

"There were some early Indian wars, with which the French did not have anything to do, but they had much to do with the later wars and attacks by Indians. One of those early struggles is known as King Philip's war, named after a wily Indian chief. It occurred just one hundred years before the Revolution, where our patrol leader lost his ancestor. Even at that early day there were one hundred and twenty-five people in Deerfield. In that war the Indians attacked the town twice."

"Was that what made the brook b.l.o.o.d.y?" asked Benny.

"No. The b.l.o.o.d.y event which gave the brook its name happened during the same war but not during an attack on the town itself. September 18, 1675, I believe, was the date. A company of young men, commanded by Captain Lothrup, marched out of the town and along a road leading toward the brook. They were acting as guard and teamsters for a number of loaded carts, which were being taken to some settler's home. It was a beautiful day and everything seemed as peaceful as it does now. All were happy and there was no thought of danger. Some had even placed their guns in the carts and were walking unarmed.

"At the brook a band of Indian warriors lay in ambush, waiting. On came the young men, laughing and whistling and chatting with one another.

They stopped occasionally to gather some wild grapes, which grew along the way. Concealed in the long gra.s.s, on each side of the road, lay the painted savages, motionless and unseen. Their eyes gleamed with hatred and exultation as they watched their victims approach. Their eager hands tightly grasped their weapons. Impatient for the slaughter to begin, they awaited the signal."

"Great snakes!" whispered Bill.

"Snakes is the word. Like snakes in the gra.s.s they lay, as silent as the grave. At last the signal was given. With fierce cries they sprang upon the surprised whites, and the little brook ran red with blood.

Sixty-four men in all, from the various settlements, were killed that day. Of seventeen young men, who went out from Deerfield that morning, not one returned.

"Too late, another company of men came to the rescue. They found n.o.body left to rescue. The Indians then were plundering the wagons. The savages outnumbered the rescuing party ten to one, but the little band did not hesitate. They fought desperately for five or six hours. They were unable to drive the savages away, however, and were just going to retreat, when some soldiers from Northampton, down the river, appeared and put the Indians to flight. There was sadness in Deerfield that day."

"I don't believe I want to play Indian any more," said Benny, drawing closer to the fire and looking around as if he might see some savages hiding in the gra.s.s. It made us all feel scary.

"We hardly can imagine it now," Mr. Norton went on, "after more than two hundred years. Later there were other wars and many attacks by Indians.

The Deerfield people built a stockaded fort, into which all would run at the first alarm. These later attacks by the savages were a part of the fight between England and France for the possession of America. The French induced the Indians to help them drive the English out, but Englishmen do not drive worth a cent, and at last, as you know, France was obliged to give up Canada to England, in whose possession it has remained ever since.

"First came King William's war, in which Deerfield was attacked several times; then Queen Anne's war, and during that the town was captured and a great part of it burned."

"Tell us about that," I said.

"War is always a terrible thing, but in those days it seems to have been more than usually savage and cruel. Take the capture of Deerfield, for example. The French commander in Canada sent three hundred soldiers to butcher the people in this little town, in order to make himself solid with some Indians. The attack occurred a little before daybreak, and some terrible scenes were enacted. I'll show you an old door up in Memorial Hall to-morrow, which went through that fight. It was so solid that they could not break it down. You will see where a hole was cut through it with axes and bullets.

"That ma.s.sacre occurred February 29, 1704, about two hundred years ago.

Then came other French and Indian conflicts, until finally England triumphed. Later the United States Nation was born, and President Jefferson bought all of the American territory that France had left.

"Everything is peaceful here now, but think how you would feel, to know that you might be surrounded by savages, fierce and bloodthirsty, creeping toward you in the darkness, without a sound, until near enough to strike, and then----"

All of a sudden there came some awful yells and whoops that made our blood run cold, and a crashing in the bushes that sounded as if all kinds of Indians were after us.

We jumped to our feet and looked, even Mr. Norton. Benny grabbed tight hold of my hand, and I could see Skinny feeling around in the gra.s.s for his hatchet.

Then it came again, nearer than before, only worse and over to one side. It was awful. I don't know about Mr. Norton, but the rest of us were just going to run, when the yell ended with three caws, like a crow in the Bellows Pipe at home.

"Shucks!" said Skinny, in disgust. "It's only Bill Wilson!"

We camped there on the river bank nearly a week and never had more fun in our lives, boating, fishing, swimming, doing Scout stunts and playing Scout games, and, with it all, eating our heads off, almost.

I can't remember every little thing that we did there, and the boys say that it will be all right to skip that part in writing this history.

There didn't anything much happen, anyhow, although Mrs. Wade was sure some of us would get drowned and even Ma told us that she would not feel real easy in her mind until we were at home again.

"We'll go a little earlier than we intended," said Mr. Norton, when it was getting near the time for going back. "I want to see some more of that beautiful Deerfield valley, before the river leaves the mountains.

Perhaps we might do a little exploring on our own account."

We came in sight of Florida Mountain on our homeward trip, not far from Hoosac Tunnel. The longest part was behind us, but the hardest part, the climb over the mountain, was ahead.

Wild? Say, if you want to see a wild country, follow Deerfield River as it fights its way down from Vermont, until finally it breaks through the mountains and runs off to join the Connecticut. When you get in among those mountains you will think that you are Christopher Columbus discovering America.

"The Rockies are higher," said Skinny, when we had stopped to rest and look around a little. "I read it in a book. Besides, Mr. Norton told us about Lewis and Clark climbing over them. But these are some mountains all right; believe me."

That was what we all thought. They were all tumbled and jumbled together in a topsy-turvy way, with the river winding around in every direction, trying to get through, and the railroad following the river.

Mr. Norton pointed it out to us and stood there with his hat in his hand, looking. His eyes were shining, and red was coming into his cheeks, as if he was seeing something which we boys couldn't see at all.

And maybe he was, for I have noticed that grown folks sometimes can't see and hear the things which we boys see and hear; at any rate, not in the same way.