CHAPTER XIII
THE DROWNED LANDS
For two weeks my small patrol of six remained in the vicinity of theSacandaga, scouting even as far as Stony Creek, Silver Lake, and WestRiver, covering Maxon, too, and the Drowned Lands, but ever hoveringabout the Sacandaga, where the great Iroquois War Trail runs through thedusk of primeval woods.
But never a glimpse of Sir John did we obtain. Which was scarcelystrange, inasmuch as the scent was already stone cold when we firststruck it. And though we could trace the Baronet's headlong flight forthree days' journey, by his dead fires and stinking camp debris, and,plainer still, by the trampled path made by his men and horses and bythe wheel-marks of at least one cannon, our orders, which were to stopthe War Trail from Northern enemies, permitted no further pursuit.
Yet, given permission, I think I could have come up with him and hismotley forces, though what my six scouts could have accomplished againstnearly two hundred people is but idle surmise. And whether, indeed, wecould have contrived to surprise and capture Sir John, and bring himback to justice, is a matter now fit only for idlest speculation.
At the end of the first week I sent Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew intoJohnstown to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what we had seen and what weguessed concerning Sir John's probable route. De Luysnes and JohnnySilver I stationed on Maxon's honest nose, where the valley of theSacandaga and the Drowned Lands lay like a vast map at their feet, whileNick Stoner and I prowled the silent Iroquois trail or slid like a pairof otters through the immense desolation of the Drowned Lands, from thejungle-like recesses of which we could see the distant glitter ofmuskets where our garrison was drilling at Fish House, and a white speckto the southward, which marked the little white and green lodge atSummer House Point.
We had found a damaged birch canoe near the Stacking Ridge, and I thinkit was the property of John Howell, who lived on the opposite side ofthe creek a mile above. But his log house stood bolted and empty; and,as he was a very rabid Tory, we helped ourselves to his old canoe, andNick patched it with gum and made two paddles.
In this leaky craft we threaded the spectral Drowned Lands, penetratingevery hidden water-lead, every concealed creek, every lost pond whichglimmered unseen amid cranberry bogs, vast wastes of stunted willow,pinxter shrubs in bloom, and the endless wilderness of reeds. Nestingblack-ducks rose on clattering wings in scores and scores at ourstealthy invasion; herons and bitterns flapped heavily skyward; greatchain-pike, as long as a young boy, slid like shadows under our dippingpaddles. But we saw no Indians.
Nor was there a sign of any canoe amid the Drowned Lands; not a moccasinprint in swamp-moss or mud; no trace of Iroquois on the Stacking Ridge,where already wild pigeons were flying among the beech and oak trees,busy with courtship and nesting.
It was now near the middle of June, but Nick thought that Sir John hadnot yet reached Canada, nor was like to accomplish that terrible journeythrough a pathless wilderness under a full month.
We know now that he did accomplish it in nineteen days, and arrived withhis starving people in a terrible plight.[4] But nobody then supposed itpossible that he could travel so quickly. Even his own Mohawks neverdreamed he was already so far advanced on his flight; and this was theirvital mistake; for there had been sent from Canada a war party to meetand aid Sir John; and, by hazard, I was to learn of this alarmingbusiness in a manner I had neither expected nor desired.
[Footnote 4: One of his abandoned brass cannon is--or recentlywas--lying embedded in a swamp in the North Woods.]
* * * * *
I was sitting on a great, smooth bowlder, where the little trout stream,which tumbles down Maxon from the east, falls into Hans Creek. It was astill afternoon and very warm in the sun, but pleasant there, where theconfluence of the waters made a cool and silvery clashing-noise amongthe trees in full new leaf.
Nick had cooked dinner--parched corn and trout, which we caught in thebrook with one of my fish hooks and a red wampum bead from my moccasinstied above the barb.
And now, dinner ended, Nick lay asleep with a mat of moss over his faceto keep off black flies, and I mounted guard, not because I apprehendeddanger, but desired not to break a military rule which had becomealready a habit among my handful of men.
I was seated, as I say, on a bowlder, with my legs hanging over theswirling water and my rifle across both knees. And I was thinking thosevague and dreamy thoughts which float ghost-like through young men'sminds when skies are blue in early summer and life seems but an endlessvista through unnumbered aeons to come.
Through a pleasant and reflective haze which possessed my mind movedfigures of those I knew or had known--my honoured father, grave,dark-eyed, deliberate in all things, living for intellectual pleasurealone;--my dear mother, ardent yet timid, thrilled ever by what was mostbeautiful and best in the world, and loving all things made by God.
I thought, too, of my silly kinsman in Paris, Lord Stormont, and how Ihad declined his pompous patronage, to carve for myself a career, aidedby the slender means afforded me; and how Billy Alexander did use mevery kindly--a raw youth in a New York school, left suddenly orphanedand alone.
I thought of Stevie Watts, of Polly, of the DeLancys, Crugers, and otherKing's people who had made me welcome, doubtless for the sake of my LordStormont. And how I finally came to know Sir William Johnson, and hisgreat kindness to me.
All these things I thought of in the golden afternoon, seated by HansCreek, my eyes on duty, my thoughts a-gypsying far afield, where I saw,in my mind's eye, my log house in Fonda's Bush, my new-cleared land, myneighbors' houses, the dark walls of the forest.
Yet, drifting between each separate memory, glided ever a slender shapewith yellow hair, and young, unfathomed eyes as dark as the velvet onthe wings of that earliest of all our butterflies, which we call theBeauty of Camberwell.
Think of whom I might, or of what scenes, always this slim phantomdrifted in between the sequences of thought, and vaguely I seemed to seeher yellow hair, and that glimmer which sometimes came into her eyes,and which was the lovely dawning of her smile.
War seemed very far away, death but a fireside story half forgotten. Formy thoughts were growing faintly fragrant with the scent of appleblossoms--white and pink bloom--sweet as her breath when she hadwhispered to me.
A strange young thing to haunt me with her fragrance--this girlPenelope--her smooth hands and snowy skin--and her little naked feet,like whitest silver there in the dew at Bowman's----
Suddenly, thought froze; from the foliage across the creek, scarcetwenty feet from where I sat, and without the slightest sound, steppedan Indian in his paint.
Like a shot squirrel I dropped behind my bowlder and lay flat among theshore ferns, my heart so wild that my levelled rifle shook with theshock of palsy.
The roar of the waters was loud in my ears, but his calm voice camethrough it distinctly:
"Peace, brother!" he said in the soft, Oneida dialect, and lifted hisright hand high in the sunshine, the open palm turned toward me.
"Don't move!" I called across the stream. "Lay your blanket on theground and place your gun across it!"
Calmly he obeyed, then straightened up and stood there empty handed,naked in his paint, except for the beaded breadth of deer-skin that fellfrom belt to knee.
"Nick!" I called cautiously.
"I am awake and I have laid him over my rifle-sight," came Nick's voicefrom the woods behind me. "Look sharp, John, that there be not othersambuscaded along the bank."
"He could have killed me," said I, "without showing himself. By hispaint I take him for an Oneida."
"That's Oneida paint," replied Nick, cautiously, "but it's war paint,all the same. Shall I let him have it?"
"Not yet. The Oneidas, so far, have been friendly. For God's sake, becareful what you do."
"Best parley quick then," returned Nick, "for I trust no Iroquois. Youknow his lingo. Speak to him."
I called across the stream to the Indian: "Who are you, br
other? What isyour nation and what is your clan, and what are you doing on theSacandaga, with your face painted in black and yellow bars, and freshoil on your limbs and lock?"
He said, in his quiet but distinct voice: "My nation is Oneida; my clanis the Tortoise; I am Tahioni. I am a young and inexperienced warrior.No scalp yet hangs from my girdle. I come as a friend. I come as mybrother's ally. This is the reason that I seek my brother on theSacandaga. Hiero! Tahioni has spoken."
And he quietly folded his arms.
He was a magnificent youth, quite perfect in limb and body, and as lightof skin as the Mohawks, who are often nearly white, even when purebreed.
He stood unarmed, except for the knife and war-axe swinging fromcrimson-beaded sheaths at his cincture. Still, I did not rise or showmyself, and my rifle lay level with his belly.
I said, in as good Oneida as I could muster:
"Young Oneida warrior, I have listened to what you have had to say. Ihave heard you patiently, oh Tahioni, my brother of the great Oneidanation who wears an _Onondaga name_!" For Tahioni means _The Wolf_ inOnondaga dialect.
There was a silence, broken by Nick's low voice from somewhere behindme: "Shall I shoot the Onondaga dog?"
"Will you mind your business?" I retorted sharply.
The Oneida had smiled slightly at my sarcasm concerning his name; hiseyes rested on the rock behind which I lay snug, stock against cheek.
"I am Tahioni," he repeated simply. "My mother's clan is the OnondagaTortoise."
Which explained his clan and name, of course, if his father was Oneida.
"I continue to listen," said I warily.
"Tahioni has spoken," he said; and calmly seated himself.
For a moment I remained silent, yet still dared not show myself.
"Is my brother alone?" I asked at last.
"Two Oneida youths and my adopted sister are with me, brother."
"Where are they?"
"They are here."
"Let them show themselves," said I, instantly bitten by suspicion.
Two young men and a girl came calmly from the thicket and stood on thebank. All carried blanket and rifle. At a sign from Tahioni, all threelaid their blankets at their feet and placed their rifles across them.
One, a stocky, powerful youth, spoke first:
"I am Kwiyeh.[5] My clan is the Oneida Tortoise."
The other young fellow said: "Brother, I am Hanatoh,[6] of the OneidaTortoise."
[Footnote 5: The Screech-Owl.]
[Footnote 6: The Water-Snake.]
Then they calmly seated themselves.
I rose from my cover, my rifle in the hollow of my left arm. Nick camefrom his bed of juniper and stood looking very hard at the Oneidasacross the stream.
Save for the girl, all were naked except for breech-clout, sporran, andankle moccasins; all were oiled and in their paint, and their headsshaven, leaving only the lock. There could be no doubt that this was awar party. No doubt, also, that they could have slain me very easilywhere I sat, had they wished to do so.
There was, just below us, a string of rocks crossing the stream. Isprang from one to another and came out on their bank of the creek; andNick followed, leaping the boulders like a lithe tree-cat.
The Oneidas, who had been seated, rose as I came up to them. I gave myhand to each of them in turn, until I faced the girl. And then Ihesitated.
For never anywhere, among any nation of the Iroquois Confederacy, had Iseen any woman so costumed, painted, and accoutred.
For this girl looked more like a warrior than a woman; and, save for herslim and hard young body's shape, and her full hair, must have passedfor an adolescent wearing his first hatchet and his first touch of warpaint.
She, also, was naked to the waist, her breasts scarce formed. Two braidsof hair lay on her shoulders, and her skin was palely bronzed and smoothin its oil, as amber without a flaw.
But she wore leggins of doe-skin, deeply fringed with pale green andcinctured in at her waist, where war-axe and knife hung on her leftthigh, and powder horn and bullet pouch on her right. And over these shewore knee moccasins of green snake-skin, the feet of which weredeer-hide sewn thick with scarlet, purple, and greenish wampum, whichglistened like a humming-bird's throat.
I said, wondering: "Who is this girl in a young warrior's dress, whowears a disk of blue war-paint on her forehead?"
But Nick pulled my arm and said in my ear:
"Have you heard of the little maid of Askalege? Yonder she stands, thankGod! For the Oneida follow their prophetess; and the Oneida are with usin this war if she becomes our friend!"
I had heard of the little Athabasca girl, found in the forest bySkenandoa and Spencer, and how she grew up like a boy at Askalege, withthe brave half-breed interpreter, Thomas Spencer; and how it was herdelight to roam the forests and talk--they said--to trees and beasts bymoonlight; how she knew the language of all things living, and couldhear the tiny voices of the growing grass! Legends and fairy tales, butby many believed.
Yet, Sir William had seen the child at Askalege dancing in the stream ofsparks that poured from Spencer's smithy when the Oneida blacksmithpumped his home-made bellows or struck fire-flakes from the cherry-rediron.
I said: "Are you sure, Nick? For never have I seen an Indian maid playboy in earnest."
"She is the little witch-maid of Askalege--their prophetess," herepeated. "I saw her once at Oneida Lake, dancing on the shore amid awhirl of yellow butterflies at their strawberry feast. God send shefavours our party, for the Oneidas will follow her."
I turned to the girl, who was standing quietly beside a young silverbirch-tree.
"Who are you, my sister, who wear a little blue moon on your brow, andthe dress and weapons of an adolescent?"
"Brother," she said in her soft Oneida tongue, "I am an Athabascan ofthe Heron Clan, adopted into the Oneida nation. My name is Thiohero,[7]and my privilege is Oyaneh.[8] Brother, I come as a friend to liberty,and to help you fight your great war against your King.
[Footnote 7: The River-reed.]
[Footnote 8: The noble or honourable one. The feminine of Royaneh, orSachem, in the Algonquin.]
"Brother, I have spoken," she concluded, with lowered eyes.
Surprised and charmed by this young girl's modesty and quiet speech, butnot knowing how to act, I thanked her as I had the young men, andoffered her my hand.
She took it, lifted her deep, wide eyes unabashed, looked me calmly andintelligently in the face, and said in English:
"My adopted father is Thomas Spencer, the friend to liberty, and Oneidainterpreter to your General Schuyler. My adopted uncle is the greatwar-chief Skenandoa, also your ally. The Oneida are my people. And arenow become your brothers in this new war."
"Your words make our hearts light, my sister."
"Your words brighten our sky, my elder brother."
Our clasped hands fell apart. I turned to Tahioni:
"Brother, why are you in battle-paint?" I demanded.
At that the eyes of the Oneida youths began to sparkle and burn; andTahioni straightened up and struck the knife-hilt at his belt with aquick, fierce gesture.
"Give me a name that I may know my brother," he said bluntly. "Even atree has a name." And I flushed at this merited rebuke.
"My name is John Drogue, and I am lieutenant of our new State Rangers,"said I. "And this is my comrade, Nicholas Stoner, of Fonda's Bush, andfirst sergeant in my little company."
"Brother John," said he, "then listen to this news we Oneidas bring fromthe North: a Canada war-party is now on the Iroquois trail, looking forSir John to guide them to the Canadas!"
Taken aback, I stared at the young warrior for a moment, then,recovering composure, I translated for Nick what he had just told me.
Then I turned again to Tahioni, the Wolf:
"Where is this same war-party?" I demanded, still scarce convinced.
"At West River, near the Big Eddy," said he. "_They have taken scalps._"
"Why--why, then, i
t _is_ war!" I exclaimed excitedly. "And what peopleare these who have taken scalps in the North? Are they Caniengas?"
"Mohawks!" He fairly spat out the insulting term, which no friendlyIroquois would dream of using to a Canienga; and the contemptuous wordseemed to inflame the other Oneidas, for they all picked up their riflesand crowded around me, watching my face with gleaming eyes.
"How many?" I asked, still a little stunned by this reality, though Ihad long foreseen the probability.
"Thirty," said the girl Thiohero, turning from Nick, to whom she hadbeen translating what was being said in the Oneida tongue.
Now, in a twinkling, I found myself faced with an instant crisis, andmust act as instantly.
I had two good men on Maxon, the French trapper, Johnny Silver andBenjamin De Luysnes; Nick and I counted two more. With four Oneida, andperhaps Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew--if we could pick them up on theVlaie--we would be ten stout men to stop this Mohawk war-party until thegarrisons at Summer House Point and Fish House could drive the impudentmarauders North again.
Turning to Thiohero, I said as much in English. She nodded and spoke tothe others in Oneida; and I saw their eager and brilliant eyes begin toglitter.
Now, I carried always with me in the bosom of my buckskin shirt a_carnet_, or tablet of good paper, and a pencil given me years ago bySir William.
And now I seated myself on a rock and took my instruments and wrote:
"Hans Creek, near Maxon Brook, June 13th, 1776.
"To the Officer comm{d'ng} ye Garrison at ye Summer House on Vlaie,
"Sir:
"I am to acquaint you that this day, about two o'clock, afternoon, arrived in my camp four Oneidas who give an account that a Mohawk War Party is now at ye Big Eddy on West River, headed south.
"By the same intelligence I am to understand that this War Party _has taken scalps_.
"Sir, anybody familiar with the laws and customs of the Iroquois Confederacy understands what this means.
"Murder, or mere slaying, when not accompanied by such mutilation, need not constitute an act of war involving nation and Confederacy in formal declaration.
"But the taking of a single scalp means only one thing: that the nation whose warrior scalps an enemy approves the trophy and declares itself at war with the nation of the victim.
"I am aware, sir, that General Schuyler and Mr. Kirkland and others are striving mightily in Albany to placate the Iroquois, and that they still entertain such hope, although the upper Mohawks are gone off with Brant, and Guy Johnson holds in his grasp the fighting men of the Confederacy, save only the Oneida, and also in spite of news, known to be certain, that Mohawk Indians were in battle-paint at St. John's.
"Now, therefore, conscious of my responsibility, and asking God's guidance in this supreme moment, lest I commit error or permit hot blood to confuse my clearer mind, I propose to travel instantly to the West River with my scout of four Rangers, and four Oneidas, and ask of this Mohawk War Party an explanation in the name of the Continental Congress and His Excellency, our Com{'nder} in Chief.
"Sir, I doubt not that you will order your two garrisons to prepare for immediate defense, and also to support my scout on the Sacandaga; and to send an express to Johnstown as soon as may be, to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what measures I propose to take to carry out my orders which are _to stop the Sacandaga trail_.
"This, sir, it is my present endeavour to do.
"I am, sir, with all respect,
"Yr most obedient
"John Drogue, L{ieut} Rangers."
When I finished, I discovered that Nick and the Oneidas had fastened ontheir blanket-packs and were gathered a little distance away in animatedconversation, the little maid of Askalege translating.
Nick had fetched my pack; I strapped it, picked up my rifle, and walkedswiftly into the woods; and without any word from me they fell into fileat my heels, headed west for Fish House and the fateful river.
My scout of six moved very swiftly and without noise; and it was not anhour before I caught sight of a Continental soldier on bullock guard,and saw cattle among low willows.
The soldier was scared and bawled lustily for his mates; but among themwas one of the Sammons, who knew me; and they let us through with littledelay.
Fish House was full o' soldiers a-sunning in every window, and underthem, on the grass; and here headquarters guards stopped us until thecaptain in command could be found, whilst the gaping Continentalscrowded around us for news, and stared at our Oneidas, whose quietdignity and war paint astonished our men, I think. To the west andsouth, and along the river, I saw many soldiers in their shirts,a-digging to make an earthwork; and presently from this redoubt came aContinental Captain, out o' breath, who listened anxiously to what newsI had gathered, and who took my letter and promised to send it by anexpress to Summer House Point.
A quartermaster's sergeant asked very civilly if I desired to drawrations for my scout; and I drew parched corn, salt, dried fish, jerkedvenison, and pork from the brine, for ten men; and Nick and I and myOneidas did divide between us the burthen.
"The dogs!" he kept repeating in a confused way--"the dirty dogs, totake our scalps! And I pray God your painted Oneidas yonder may do thelike for them!"
I saw a horse saddled and a soldier mount and gallop off with my letter.That was sufficient for me; I gave the Continental Captain the officers'salute, and looked around at my men, who had made a green fire for me onthe grass in front of the house.
It was smoking thickly, now, so I took a soldier's watch-coat by theskirts, glanced up at Maxon Ridge, then, flinging wide the garment abovethe fire, kept it a-flutter there and moved it up and down till thejetted smoke mounted upward in great clots, three together, then one,then three, then one.
Presently, high on Maxon, I saw smoke, and knew that Johnny Silverunderstood. So I flung the watch-coat to the soldier, turned, and walkedswiftly along the river bank, where sheep grazed, then entered theforest with Nick at my heels and the four Oneidas a-padding in histracks.