CHAPTER XIV. THE PURSUIT ON THE RIVER
The story of the frontier is filled with heroines, from the far daysof Hannah Dustin down to the present, and Mary Newton, whom the unknownfigure in the dark had just aroused, is one of them. It had seemed toher that God himself had deserted her, but at the last moment he hadsent some one. She did not doubt, she could not doubt, because the bondshad been severed, and there she lay with a deadly weapon in either hand.The friendly stranger who had come so silently was gone as he had come,but she was not helpless now. Like many another frontier woman, shewas naturally lithe and powerful, and, stirred by a great hope, all herstrength had returned for the present.
Nobody who lives in the wilderness can wholly escape superstition,and Mary Newton began to believe that some supernatural creature hadintervened in her behalf. She raised herself just a little on one elbowand surveyed the surrounding thicket. She saw only the dead embers ofthe fire, and the dark forms of the Indians lying upon the bare ground.Had it not been for the knife and pistol in her hand, she could havebelieved that the voice was only a dream.
There was a slight rustling in the thicket, and a Seneca rose quicklyto his knees, grasping his rifle in both hands. The woman's fingersclutched the knife and pistol more tightly, and her whole gaunt figuretrembled. The Seneca listened only a moment. Then he gave a sharp cry,and all the other warriors sprang up. But three of them rose onlyto fall again, as the rifles cracked in the bushes, while two othersstaggered from wounds.
The triumphant shout of the frontiersmen came from the thicket, and thenthey rushed upon the camp. Quick as a flash two of the Senecas startedtoward the woman and children with their tomahawks, but Mary Newton wasready. Her heart had leaped at the shots when the Senecas fell, andshe kept her courage. Now she sprang to her full height, and, with thechildren screaming at her feet, fired one barrel of the pistol directlyinto the face of the first warrior, and served the second in the sameway with the other barrel when he was less than four feet away. Then,tomahawk in hand, she rushed forward. In judging Mary Newton, one mustconsider time and place.
But happily there was no need for her to use her tomahawk. As the fiverushed in, four of them emptied their double-barreled pistols, whileHenry swung his clubbed rifle with terrible effect. It was too muchfor the Senecas. The apparition of the armed woman, whom they had leftbound, and the deadly fire from the five figures that sprang upon them,was like a blow from the hand of Aieroski. The unhurt and wounded fleddeep into the forest, leaving their dead behind. Mary Newton, her greatdeed done, collapsed from emotion and weakness. The screams of thechildren sank in a few moments to frightened whimpers. But the oldest,when they saw the white faces, knew that rescue had come.
Paul brought water from the brook in his cap, and Mary Newton wasrevived; Jim was reassuring the children, and the other three were inthe thickets, watching lest the surviving Senecas return for attack.
"I don't know who you are, but I think the good God himself must havesent you to our rescue," said Mary Newton reverently.
"We don't know," said Paul, "but we are doing the best we can. Do youthink you can walk now?"
"Away from the savages? Yes!" she said passionately. She looked down atthe dead figures of the Senecas, and she did not feel a single trace ofpity for them. Again it is necessary to consider time and place.
"Some of my strength came back while I was lying here," she said, "andmuch more of it when you drove away the Indians."
"Very well," said Henry, who had returned to the dead camp fire withhis comrades, "we must start on the back trail at once. The survivingSenecas, joined by other Iroquois, will certainly pursue, and we needall the start that we can get."
Long Jim picked up one of the two younger children and flung him overhis shoulder; Tom Ross did as much for the other, but the older twoscorned help. They were full of admiration for the great woodsmen,mighty heroes who had suddenly appeared out of the air, as it were,and who had swept like a tornado over the Seneca band. It did not seempossible now that they, could be retaken.
But Mary Newton, with her strength and courage, had also recovered herforethought.
"Maybe it will not be better to go on the back trail," she said. "Oneof the Senecas told me to-day that six or seven miles farther on was ariver flowing into the Susquehanna, and that they would cross this riveron a boat now concealed among bushes on the bank. The crossing was at asudden drop between high banks. Might not we go on, find the boat, andcome back in it down the river and into the Susquehanna?"
"That sounds mighty close to wisdom to me," said Shif'less Sol."Besides, it's likely to have the advantage o' throwin' the Iroquois offour track. They'll think, o' course, that we've gone straight back, an'we'll pass 'em ez we're going forward."
"It's certainly the best plan," said Henry, "and it's worth our whileto try for that hidden boat of the Iroquois. Do you know the generaldirection?"
"Almost due north."
"Then we'll make a curve to the right, in order to avoid any Iroquoiswho may be returning to this camp, and push for it."
Henry led the way over hilly, rough ground, and the others followed in asilent file, Long Jim and Tom still carrying the two smallest children,who soon fell asleep on their shoulders. Henry did not believe that thereturning Iroquois could follow their trail on such a dark night, andthe others agreed with him.
After a while they saw the gleam of water. Henry knew that it must bevery near, or it would have been wholly invisible on such a dark night.
"I think, Mrs. Newton," he said, "that this is the river of which youspoke, and the cliffs seem to drop down just as you said they would."
The woman smiled.
"Yes," she said, "you've done well with my poor guess, and the boat mustbe hidden somewhere near here."
Then she sank down with exhaustion, and the two older children, unableto walk farther, sank down beside her. But the two who slept soundly onthe shoulders of Long Jim and Tom Ross did not awaken. Henry motionedto Jim and Tom to remain there, and Shif'less Sol bent upon them aquizzical and approving look.
"Didn't think it was in you, Jim Hart, you old horny-handed galoot," hesaid, "carryin' a baby that tender. Knew Jim could sling a little blackbar 'roun' by the tail, but I didn't think you'd take to nussin' soeasy."
"I'd luv you to know, Sol Hyde," said Jim Hart in a tone of highcondescension, "that Tom Ross an' me are civilized human bein's. In faceuv danger we are ez brave ez forty thousand lions, but with the littlean' the weak we're as easy an' kind an' soft ez human bein's are evermade to be."
"You're right, old hoss," said Tom Ross.
"Well," said the shiftless one, "I can't argify with you now, ez thegeneral hez called on his colonel, which is me, an' his major, which isPaul, to find him a nice new boat like one o' them barges o' Clepatrythat Paul tells about, all solid silver, with red silk sails an' goldoars, an' we're meanin' to do it."
Fortune was with them, and in a quarter of an hour they discovered, deepamong bushes growing in the shallow water, a large, well-made boat withtwo pairs of oars and with small supplies of parched corn and venisonhidden in it.
"Good luck an' bad luck come mixed," said the shift-less one, "an' thisis shorely one o' our pieces o' good luck. The woman an' the childrenare clean tuckered out, an' without this boat we could never hev gotthem back. Now it's jest a question o' rowin' an' fightin'."
"Paul and I will pull her out to the edge of the clear water," saidHenry, "while you can go back and tell the others, Sol."
"That just suits a lazy man," said Sol, and he walked away jauntily.Under his apparent frivolity he concealed his joy at the find, which heknew to be of such vast importance. He approached the dusky group, andhis really tender heart was stirred with pity for the rescued captives.Long Jim and Silent Tom held the smaller two on their shoulders, butthe older ones and the woman, also, had fallen asleep. Sol, in order toconceal his emotion, strode up rather roughly. Mary Newton awoke.
"Did you find anything?" she asked.
&
nbsp; "Find anything?" repeated Shif'less Sol. "Well, Long Jim an' Tomhere might never hev found anything, but Henry an' Paul an' me, threeeddicated men, scholars, I might say, wuz jest natcherally bound to findit whether it wuz thar or not. Yes, we've unearthed what Paul would callan argosy, the grandest craft that ever floated on this here creek,that I never saw before, an' that I don't know the name uv. She's bein'floated out now, an' I, the Gran' Hidalgo an' Majordomo, hev come totell the princes and princesses, an' the dukes and dukesses, an' all theother gran' an' mighty passengers, that the barge o' the Dog o' Veniceis in the stream, an' the Dog, which is Henry Ware, is waitin', settin'on the Pup to welcome ye."
"Sol," said Long Jim, "you do talk a power uv foolishness, with yourDogs an' Pups."
"It ain't foolishness," rejoined the shiftless one. "I heard Paul readit out o' a book oncet, plain ez day. They've been ruled by Dogs atVenice for more than a thousand years, an' on big 'casions the Dog comesdown a canal in a golden barge, settin' on the Pup. I'll admit it 'pearsstrange to me, too, but who are you an' me, Jim Hart, to question theways of foreign countries, thousands o' miles on the other side o' thesea?"
"They've found the boat," said Tom Ross, "an' that's enough!"
"Is it really true?" asked Mrs. Newton.
"It is," replied Shif'less Sol, "an' Henry an' Paul are in it, waitin'fur us. We're thinkin', Mrs. Newton, that the roughest part of your tripis over."
In another five minutes all were in the boat, which was a really fineone, and they were delighted. Mary Newton for the first time broke downand wept, and no one disturbed her. The five spread the blankets on thebottom of the boat, where the children soon went to sleep once more, andTom Ross and Shif'less Sol took the oars.
"Back in a boat ag'in," said the shiftless one exultantly. "Makes mefeel like old times. My fav'rite mode o' travelin' when Jim Hart, 'steado' me, is at the oars."
"Which is most o' the time," said Long Jim.
It was indeed a wonderful change to these people worn by the wilderness.They lay at ease now, while two pairs of powerful arms, with scarcely aneffort, propelled the boat along the stream. The woman herself lay downon the blankets and fell asleep with the children. Henry at the prow,Tom Ross at the stern, and Paul amidships watched in silence, but withtheir rifles across their knees. They knew that the danger was far fromover. Other Indians were likely to use this stream, unknown to them, asa highway, and those who survived of their original captors could pickup their trail by daylight. And the Senecas, being mad for revenge,would surely get help and follow. Henry believed that the theory ofreturning toward the Wyoming Valley was sound. That region had been sothoroughly ravaged now that all the Indians would be going northward.If they could float down a day or so without molestation, they wouldprobably be safe. The creek, or, rather, little river, broadened,flowing with a smooth, fairly swift current. The forest on either sidewas dense with oak, hickory, maple, and other splendid trees, oftenwith a growth of underbrush. The three riflemen never ceased to watchintently. Henry always looked ahead. It would have been difficult forany ambushed marksman to have escaped his notice. But nothing occurredto disturb them. Once a deer came down to drink, and fled away at sightof the phantom boat gliding almost without noise on the still waters.Once the far scream of a panther came from the woods, but Mary Newtonand her children, sleeping soundly, did not hear it. The five themselvesknew the nature of the sound, and paid no attention. The boat wentsteadily on, the three riflemen never changing their position, and soonthe day began to come. Little arrows of golden light pierced through thefoliage of the trees, and sparkled on the surface of the water. In thecast the red sun was coming from his nightly trip. Henry looked down atthe sleepers. They were overpowered by exhaustion, and would not awakeof their own accord for a long time.
Shif'less Sol caught his look.
"Why not let 'em sleep on?" he said.
Then he and Jim Hart took the oars, and the shiftless one and Tom Rossresumed their rifles. The day was coming fast, and the whole forest wassoon transfused with light.
No one of the five had slept during the night. They did not feel theneed of sleep, and they were upborne, too, by a great exaltation. Theyhad saved the prisoners thus far from a horrible fate, and they werefirmly resolved to reach, with them, some strong settlement and safety.They felt, too, a sense of exultation over Brant, Sangerachte, Hiokatoo,the Butlers, the Johnsons, Wyatt, and all the crew that had committedsuch terrible devastation in the Wyoming Valley and elsewhere.
The full day clothed the earth in a light that turned from silver togold, and the woman and the children still slept. The five chewed somestrips of venison, and looked rather lugubriously at the pieces theywere saving for Mary Newton and the children.
"We ought to hev more'n that," said Shif'less Sol. "Ef the worst comes tothe worst, we've got to land somewhar an' shoot a deer."
"But not yet," said Henry in a whisper, lest he wake the sleepers. "Ithink we'll come into the Susquehanna pretty soon, and its width will bea good thing for us. I wish we were there now. I don't like this narrowstream. Its narrowness affords too good an ambush."
"Anyway, the creek is broadenin' out fast," said the shiftless one,"an' that is a good sign. What's that you see ahead, Henry--ain't it ariver?"
"It surely is," replied Henry, who caught sight of a broad expanse ofwater, "and it's the Susquehanna. Pull hard, Sol! In five more minuteswe'll be in the river."
It was less than five when they turned into the current of theSusquehanna, and less than five more when they heard a shout behindthem, and saw at least a dozen canoes following. The canoes were filledwith Indians and Tories, and they had spied the fugitives.
"Keep the women and the children down, Paul," cried Henry.
All knew that Henry and Shif'less Sol were the best shots, and, withouta word, Long Jim and Tom, both powerful and skilled watermen, swungheavily on the oars, while Henry and Shif'less Sol sat in the rear withtheir rifles ready. Mary Newton awoke with a cry at the sound of theshots, and started to rise, but Paul pushed her down.
"We're on the Susquehanna now, Mrs. Newton," he said, "and we arepursued. The Indians and Tories have just seen us, but don't be afraid.The two who are watching there are the best shots in the world."
He looked significantly at Henry and Shif'less Sol, crouching in thestern of the boat like great warriors from some mighty past, kings ofthe forest whom no one could overcome, and her courage came back. Thechildren, too, had awakened with frightened cries, but she and Paulquickly soothed them, and, obedient to commands, the four, and MaryNewton with them, lay flat upon the bottom of the boat, which was nowbeing sent forward rapidly by Jim Hart and Tom. Paul took up his rifleand sat in a waiting attitude, either to relieve one of the men at theoars or to shoot if necessary.
The clear sun made forest and river vivid in its light. The Indians,after their first cry, made no sound, but so powerful were Long Jimand Tom that they were gaining but little, although some of the boatscontained six or eight rowers.
As the light grew more intense Henry made out the two white faces in thefirst boat. One was that of Braxton Wyatt, and the other, he was quitesure, belonged to the infamous Walter Butler. Hot anger swept throughall his veins, and the little pulses in his temples began to beat liketrip hammers. Now the picture of Wyoming, the battle, the massacre,the torture, and Queen Esther wielding her great tomahawk on the boundcaptives, grew astonishingly vivid, and it was printed blood red on hisbrain. The spirit of anger and defiance, of a desire to taunt those whohad done such things, leaped up in his heart.
"Are you there, Braxton Wyatt?" he called clearly across the interveningwater. "Yes, I see that it is you, murderer of women and children,champion of the fire and stake, as savage as any of the savages. Andit is you, too, Walter Butler, wickeder son of a wicked father. Come alittle closer, won't you? We've messengers here for both of you!"
He tapped lightly the barrel of his own rifle and that of Shif'less Sol,and repeated his request that they come a little
closer.
They understood his words, and they understood, also, the significantgesture when he patted the barrel of the rifles. The hearts of bothButler and Wyatt were for the moment afraid, and their boat dropped backto third place. Henry laughed aloud when he saw. The Viking rage wasstill upon him. This was the primeval wilderness, and these were nocommon foes.
"I see that you don't want to receive our little messengers," he cried."Why have you dropped back to third place in the line, Braxton Wyatt andWalter Butler, when you were first only a moment ago? Are you cowards aswell as murderers of women and children?"
"That's pow'ful good talk," said Shif'less Sol admiringly. "Henry,you're a real orator. Give it to 'em, an' mebbe I'll get a chance at oneo' them renegades."
It seemed that Henry's words had an effect, because the boat of therenegades pulled up somewhat, although it did not regain first place.Thus the chase proceeded down the Susquehanna.
The Indian fleet was gaining a little, and Shif'less Sol called Henry'sattention to it.
"Don't you think I'd better take a shot at one o' them rowers in thefirst boat?" he said to Henry. "Wyatt an' Butler are a leetle too furaway."
"I think it would give them a good hint, Sol!" said Henry. "Take thatfellow on the right who is pulling so hard."
The shiftless one raised his rifle, lingered but a little over his aim,and pulled the trigger. The rower whom Henry had pointed out fell backin the boat, his hands slipping from the handles of his oars. The boatwas thrown into confusion, and dropped back in the race. Scatteringshots were fired in return, but all fell short, the water spurting up inlittle jets where they struck.
Henry, who had caught something of the Indian nature in his long stayamong them in the northwest, laughed in loud irony.
"That was one of our little messengers, and it found a listener!"he shouted. "And I see that you are afraid, Braxton Wyatt and WalterButler, murderers of women and children! Why don't you keep your properplaces in the front?"
"That's the way to talk to 'em," whispered Shif'less Sol, as hereloaded. "Keep it up, an' mebbe we kin git a chance at Braxton Wyatthisself. Since Wyoming I'd never think o' missin' sech a chance."
"Nor I, either," said Henry, and he resumed in his powerful tones: "Theplace of a leader is in front, isn't it? Then why don't you come up?"
Braxton Wyatt and Walter Butler did not come up. They were not lackingin courage, but Wyatt knew what deadly marksmen the fugitive boatcontained, and he had also told Butler. So they still hung back,although they raged at Henry Ware's taunts, and permitted the Mohawksand Senecas to take the lead in the chase.
"They're not going to give us a chance," said Henry. "I'm satisfiedof that. They'll let redskins receive our bullets, though just nowI'd rather it were the two white ones. What do you think, Sol, of thatleading boat? Shouldn't we give another hint?"
"I agree with you, Henry," said the shiftless one. "They're comin'much too close fur people that ain't properly interduced to us. Thispromiskus way o' meetin' up with strangers an' lettin' 'em talk to youjest ez ef they'd knowed you all their lives hez got to be stopped. It'syour time, Henry, to give 'em a polite hint, an' I jest suggest that youtake the big fellow in the front o' the boat who looks like a Mohawk."
Henry raised his rifle, fired, and the Mohawk would row no more. Againconfusion prevailed in the pursuing fleet, and there was a decline ofenthusiasm. Braxton Wyatt and Walter Butler raged and swore, but, asthey showed no great zeal for the lead themselves, the Iroquois did notgain on the fugitive boat. They, too, were fast learning that the twowho crouched there with their rifles ready were among the deadliestmarksmen in existence. They fired a dozen shots, perhaps, but theirrifles did not have the long range of the Kentucky weapons, and againthe bullets fell short, causing little jets of water to spring up.
"They won't come any nearer, at least not for the present," said Henry,"but will hang back just out of rifle range, waiting for some chance tohelp them."
Shif'less Sol looked the other way, down the Susquehanna, and announcedthat he could see no danger. There was probably no Indian fleet fartherdown the river than the one now pursuing them, and the danger was behindthem, not before.
Throughout the firing, Silent Tom Ross and Long Jim Hart had not said aword, but they rowed with a steadiness and power that would have carriedoarsmen of our day to many a victory. Moreover, they had the inducementnot merely of a prize, but of life itself, to row and to row hard. Theyhad rolled up their sleeves, and the mighty muscles on those arms ofwoven steel rose and fell as they sent the boat swiftly with the silvercurrent of the Susquehanna.
Mary Newton still lay on the bottom of the boat. The children had criedout in fright once or twice at the sound of the firing, but she andPaul bad soothed them and kept them down. Somehow Mary Newton had becomepossessed of a great faith. She noticed the skill, speed, and successwith which the five always worked, and, so long given up to despair,she now went to the other extreme. With such friends as these comingsuddenly out of the void, everything must succeed. She had no doubt ofit, but lay peacefully on the bottom of the boat, not at all disturbedby the sound of the shots.
Paul and Sol after a while relieved Long Jim and Tom at the oars. TheIroquois thought it a chance to creep up again, but they were drivenback by a third bullet, and once more kept their distance. Shif'lessSol, while he pulled as powerfully as Tom Ross, whose place he hadtaken, nevertheless was not silent.
"I'd like to know the feelin's o' Braxton Wyatt an' that feller Butler,"he said. "Must be powerful tantalizin' to them to see us here, almostwhere they could stretch out their hands an' put 'em on us. Like reachn'fur ripe, rich fruit, an' failin' to git it by half a finger's length."
"They are certainly not pleased," said Henry, "but this must end someway or other, you know."
"I say so, too, now that I'm a-rowin'," rejoined the shiftless one,"but when my turn at the oars is finished I wouldn't care. Ez I've saidmore'n once before, floatin' down a river with somebody else pullin' atthe oars is the life jest suited to me."
Henry looked up. "A summer thunderstorm is coming," he said, "and fromthe look of things it's going to be pretty black. Then's when we mustdodge 'em."
He was a good weather prophet. In a half hour the sky began to darkenrapidly. There was a great deal of thunder and lightning, but whenthe rain came the air was almost as dark as night. Mary Newton and herchildren were covered as much as possible with the blankets, and thenthey swung the boat rapidly toward the eastern shore. They had alreadylost sight of their pursuers in the darkness, and as they coasted alongthe shore they found a large creek flowing into the river from the east.
They ran up the creek, and were a full mile from its mouth when therain ceased. Then the sun came out bright and warm, quickly dryingeverything.
They pulled about ten miles farther, until the creek grew too shallowfor them, when they hid the boat among bushes and took to the land.Two days later they arrived at a strong fort and settlement, where MaryNewton and her four children, safe and well, were welcomed by relativeswho had mourned them as dead.