The Frontiersmen Part 25

Preparations were now made for the effectual concealment of the women; and when this was done, the rifles were all examined and put in readiness. Scarcely had their preparations been concluded, when a loud shout from the Indians announced that they had discovered the empty boat. The path of the fugitives could easily be traced; and the latter did not doubt but that a few moments would bring one or more of their enemies in sight.

Not more than ten minutes had elapsed, ere Ichabod discovered a Seneca cautiously making his way along the path which they had taken, clinging to the willows.

"I'll give that fellow a taste of what his companions will get by calling on us," said Ichabod. "It wouldn't be civil to refuse him what he's come so far to get."

Taking aim, he discharged his rifle, and the Seneca fell lifeless, vainly grasping at the willows for support. The Indians who were behind, endeavored to press forward; but again and again the rifles of the defenders were discharged, and five or six dead or wounded Indians testified to Ichabod and his companions, that the place could be successfully defended. The Indians themselves saw the hopelessness of approaching the fugitives directly in the face, and rapidly retreated towards the boats.

But to the astonishment of the little party on the island, scarcely had the Senecas regained their boat, ere they heard a rapid discharge of rifles on their left, with loud shrieks and yells, testifying the arrival of another party of Indians. Were they friends or foes? The Tuscarora rapidly swung himself into one of the trees upon the Island, when with a yell of exultation which was answered from fifty throats he shouted, "the Oneidas,--the Tuscaroras!"

Rapidly Eagle's-Wing, Ichabod and Ralph retraced their way to the place where they had left the boat; when they beheld the Senecas moving as swiftly across the pond towards the south-west sh.o.r.e, as the nature of their c.u.mbrous raft would allow. The four Senecas in the canoe had already nearly reached the sh.o.r.e. On the left they beheld a large band of Oneidas and Tuscaroras, forty or fifty in number, who were following the retreating Senecas. In a few moments more the released party had re-entered their boat, and were following the Senecas upon the raft.

They had come within fair rifle-shot, as the raft touched the sh.o.r.e; their rifles were discharged, and the Senecas plunged hastily into the forest.

CHAPTER XXI.

"How would you be, If He, who is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that!

And mercy then will breathe within your lips Like man new made."

Measure for Measure

The now liberated party left the boat, and with mingled feelings of joyfulness for their delivery, and of sadness for the waste and desolation caused by the unmerciful savages, proceeded towards the spot where had once stood the dwelling of Barton. Scarcely a trace was left of the cottage, and nothing but a ma.s.s of half-consumed and charred and blackened timbers indicated that here had once been the habitation of a happy family. On the north, the trees had been stripped of their leaves, their trunks and boughs blackened and partially consumed, while the ground appeared to have been covered with a carpet of fire. The lawn about the cottage had been made desolate, and the shrubbery and flowers that had began to gladden the wilderness with new and unaccustomed beauties, had been trodden down and broken as with a wanton and malicious desire on the part of the Indians to destroy every vestige of civilization.

A portion of the friendly Oneidas and Tuscaroras had followed in pursuit of the Senecas, accompanied by Eagle's-Wing, who, on reaching the land, had rushed with frantic haste to join and lead the pursuers, over whom he was an acknowledged chief. Another portion, after going around the south sh.o.r.e of the pond, with feelings of curiosity, sought this scene of desolation, where they arrived a little before the party from the boat. The savages moved about the ma.s.s of smoking ruins with excited countenances and flashing eyes, and at every discovery of some blackened and despoiled article of domestic use, gave vent to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, either, of surprise or pleasure. As Barton, and the party from the boat approached, the Oneidas, with a courtesy and delicate appreciation of the feelings of Barton and his daughter, retired from the ruins towards the grove, where, gathered in knots, or lying lazily upon the ground, they gazed upon the pale-faces with mingled looks of curiosity and sympathy.

The cattle enclosure, which had stood by the side of the cottage, had also been mostly destroyed; that portion of it, however farthest from the dwelling, being least injured. The few cattle which had been shut up in it, had perished, and their bodies more or less consumed, were found among the ruins; but no traces were seen of the horses. The door of the enclosure seemed, from the fact that a portion of it was found on one side, unharmed, to have been broken open, and it was presumed, that the Indians had taken possession of them.

The barn, however, which was at a few rods distance, on the west, was wholly uninjured; and Ichabod and the negro, a.s.sisted by two or three of the Oneidas, began, at once, to put a portion of it in readiness for the temporary occupation of Barton and his daughter. It would, at least, afford a shelter; and however rude and uncomfortable it might be, it was a happy exchange for the mode of life to which they had been compelled on the previous night.

Tears came into the eyes of Ruth, as she surveyed the desolation by which she was surrounded. Scarcely a vestige could be found of those delicate and womanly labors by which she had adorned her dwelling; and it was with a feeling of momentary anguish that her eyes ran over the familiar places, and found nothing upon which to rest but the marks of violence and brutality. The whole party shared this feeling, and they surveyed the scene, for a few moments, with a melancholy silence.

Ichabod was the first who gave voice to his feelings:

"Don't be cast down, Miss Ruth; and you, Squire, keep up a good courage.

I've seen many an unfortunate speculation in my day; but somehow or other, there is always a kind of philosophy in these things. The first feeling is a hard one; it swells up the heart, and is apt to provoke rebellious and unnatural thoughts; but it comes round all right in the end. You'll yet be happy in another home, and then all these things will be forgotten, except that _one_ lesson, that they teach, and that is, that all speculations are in the hand of Providence."

"You are right, Ichabod, you are right," said Barton. "In our own escape, the loss shall be forgotten. But the severest reflection is, that we must now leave this valley forever; but we shall carry away with us, the recollection of many happy days."

Ruth smiled with a look of joy, that momentarily lit up the melancholy of her countenance, at this feeling on the part of her father. It was for him that she felt the most deeply. Youth, with the prospect of many years, may rise renewed and hopeful from desolation; but, age, without the means of reparation, is apt to sink beneath the load of misfortune.

Seeing, then, that her father bore his loss with resignation, and with a happy idea of conforming to his altered circ.u.mstances, she a.s.sumed a cheerfulness which she did not, perhaps, wholly feel.

Scarcely an hour had elapsed, after the flight of the Senecas, when a yell of exultation from beyond the grove, announced the return of the party who had gone in pursuit of them. Words were heard in the Iroquois tongue, which produced an unusual excitement in the savages, who were wandering about the ruined dwelling. Then could be seen the returning warriors advancing leisurely towards the ruins, while guarded among them, they led an Indian bound as a prisoner.

Eagle's-Wing came in advance, with a quiet look of triumph upon his countenance, but illy disguised beneath the usual immobility of face of the Indian. Mingled with this look, was a glow of satisfied revenge, and savage exultation. He came up to the party at the ruins, while the rest of the Indians remained in the grove.

"Well, Eagle's-Wing, what news from the Senecas?" asked Ralph.

"Ask Panther," answered the Tuscarora. "He yonder."

"Such is the fortune of war," said Ichabod: "now a victor--now a prisoner. But I am glad to see, Eagle's-Wing, that you're ra'ally improving under my instructions. It's a great step towards civilization, that you didn't take the fellow's scalp at once."

Wild and fiendish was the glance that shot from the dark eye of the Indian; but no words were given to its terrible significance. Turning leisurely about, he moved slowly towards the grove.

In the meantime, Barton and Ruth, together with Singing-Bird, took possession of the temporary dwelling that had been fitted up for them.

Sambo, who had gone up through the clearing, towards the forest, soon was seen returning with the horses, which he was leading with the most frantic exclamations of joy. He had discovered the marks of their hoofs upon the ground, and had followed on their track, until he found them on the edge of the forest. It was with scarcely less joy than that which Sambo displayed, that Barton beheld them--the only remains of his little property. They had been abandoned by the Senecas in their sudden surprise, and thus the most serious difficulty in the removal of Barton and his family to the settlements, was obviated.

But we will follow Eagle's-Wing to the grove where the Indians were now collected. Panther had been securely confined to a tree, and the change which had come over him, under his reverse of fortune, was most wonderful and striking. When in command of his party, he had preserved a quiet dignity of demeanor--the natural consequence, to a manly mind, of the power of command. His face had worn an expression of solemn gravity, and there was, in all he said and did, an air of courtesy and sincerity, which had struck his prisoners as inconsistent with his reputation for cunning and cruelty. But now, deprived of his freedom, and in the power of his enemies, his whole manner was changed. With head erect--with flashing eyes, and nostrils that quivered with untameable ferocity, he glared upon the Indians by whom he was surrounded. As Eagle's-Wing approached, his glance fell upon him with a look of savage malice. The Tuscarora came up directly before him, and with folded arms, gazed into the eyes of his prisoner.

"Seneca," said he, "you are a lying chief of a lying nation. You must die. I have been told that the Senecas have the hearts of girls. I wish to see the tears in your eyes."

"The Tuscaroras are women," began the Seneca, in a quiet voice, and with a look of contempt. "They once dwelt in the land of the sun, where the snows of the winter never come, and their hearts became soft, and the pale-faces made them slaves. That was all they were fit for. They did not know how to fight their enemies, and the pale-faces took the hatchets and the bows from their hands, and made them work in the fields. Then the Iroquois took pity on them, and wrapped them in their blankets, as the squaws do the pappooses; and they brought them up into the land of braves, and gave them villages and hunting-grounds; but they could do nothing but sit shivering by the fire. They were afraid of the rifles of the Colony men, and they deserted the Iroquois. They are worse than women--they are dogs! They are _little_ dogs, that run barking at our heels, and dare not bite! It is a shame for a warrior to fall into their hands. The death of the brave warrior, in the midst of his enemies, is the triumph of his glory. The Great Spirit smiles, as the warrior endures the torture, and lifts him up to the happy hunting-grounds with the hand of a father; while his name goes down in the traditions of his enemies, as a brave who died without fear! But I am ashamed. The Tuscaroras have no traditions! They are dogs! and however so brave I may be, my name will be forgotten, as though I died in the midst of dogs!

"The Oneidas are liars! They have forgotten how to be brave. They live with the dogs of the Tuscaroras, and think they are men. They smile in the faces of the red-men, and throw their hatchets at their backs. They sit down and listen to the medicine-men, (missionaries,) of the pale-faces, and learn new traditions. They forget that they are Indians, and try to worship the Great Spirit of the pale-faces. They are liars; and I am ashamed to die in the midst of liars and dogs!"

These contemptuous words excited the anger of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras to the highest degree; and with a shout of rage, tomahawks were brandished, and knives drawn from their belts, while three or four of them darted forward with the determination of at once terminating the life of the insulting Seneca; but at a gesture from Eagle's-Wing, they retired.

"Poor thief of a Seneca!" said Eagle's-Wing, "whose sharpest weapon is that of a woman; he can only hurt his enemies with his tongue. If we had him in our villages, we would put on him the dress of a squaw, that he might scold, while the warriors stood around and laughed! It is a pity that an Iroquois can only hurt his enemies with his tongue. I have killed a great many Senecas; they all die like women, and scream when they feel the knife on their scalps. I have got some of them here,"

throwing back his blanket, and displaying to the pa.s.sionate eyes of the Seneca three or four gory scalps. "They are not fit for a warrior to wear; and I will not hang them in the council-room of my nation. I will give them to the pappooses to play with," and turning with a gesture of contempt he walked back into the crowd of Indians.

But while the preparations were being made for the torture of Panther, Barton and his friends had concluded their arrangements for their return on the next day to the settlements. But little preparation was necessary, and the possession of the horses had obviated the greatest difficulty in their removal. There was little or nothing to be transported, as the Senecas had destroyed nearly every valuable upon the premises.

Their arrangements were all made, and that peculiar and natural solemnity of feeling, which attends the abandonment of a cherished home, laid waste and desolate, prevented any continued conversation.

"The friendly Indians will accompany us a portion of the way, I suppose," said Barton; "but only for a few miles, as their path lies northward, while ours is more to the eastward. They will, doubtless, take their prisoner with them."

"That would be an useless trouble, I should think," said Ralph. "It would be better for them to let him go at once. But perhaps, as a matter of pride, they wish to display a Seneca chief in their villages, as a prisoner."

It was at this moment, that the shout was heard, which attended the ebullition of anger on the part of the Indians at the contemptuous language of Panther. Each individual of the party, excepting Ichabod and Singing-Bird, started;--it recalled, for a moment, with vivid distinctness, the memory of the perils from which they had just escaped.

"What is the meaning of that shout?" asked Barton.

"It is, perhaps, an attempt to terrify their prisoner," said Ralph, "or perhaps it may be," and he started at the sudden conjecture, rising hastily upon his feet, "that they are about to put him to torture."

"Oh! they will not do that!" exclaimed Ralph. "It cannot be, that Eagle's-Wing can imitate the cold-blooded cruelty of Panther. Say it is not so, Singing-Bird."

"Eagle's-Wing great chief," said the Indian, quietly, "he know how to punish enemy."

Ruth seemed astonished by this unlooked-for confirmation of her fears.

"Ralph! Ichabod!" said she, "prevent this murder, if possible. Do not let such a horrid act sully our last recollections of this place."

Ichabod bowed his head for a moment with a shudder, and then said:

"Miss Ruth, all people have their customs; an Englishman shuts up his prisoners in old hulks, where they die of foul air, and filthiness, and starvation; and the most civilized people, will punish their prisoners in some way; and an injin can't be expected to be better than those that have some other light than the light of Natur' to walk by. It's their way, Miss Ruth--it's their way; and there's no use trying to prevent it."

"I will go," she answered; "I will beg for his life; perhaps I may not plead in vain."