CHAPTER XVI
A TROUBLED MIND
That was a wild brant chase indeed! And although there were goodtrackers among us, the fleeing Canienga took to the mountain streams andtravelled so, wading northward mile after mile, which very perfectlycovered their tracks, and finally left us travelling in circles nearSilver Lake.
I now think St. Sacrament must have mirrored their canoes--God and theyalone know the truth!--for I never heard of any other Mohawks, or anyEnglishmen at all, or Frenchmen for that matter, who ever have heard ofthis Mohawk war party coming south to meet and rescue Sir John.[12] Nordo our own records, except generally, mention our measures taken to stopthe Sacandaga trail, or speak of the fight at the Big Eddy as a separateand distinct combat.
[Footnote 12: Years later, Thayendanegea made a reference to thisattempt, but the inference was that he himself led the war party, whichis not true, because Brant was then in England.]
It may be that this fight at the Big Eddy remained unnoticed because wesustained no losses. Also, we were losing our people all along thewilderness, from the ashes of Falmouth to the Ohio. I do not know. Butmy chiefest concern, then and later, was that the survivors among theseCaniengas got clean away, which misfortune troubled my mind, although myOneidas had a Dutch dozen of their scalps, all hooped and curing, whenwe limped into the Drowned Lands from our wild brant chase above.
* * * * *
Now, my orders being to stop the Sacandaga Trail, there seemed no betterway than to cut this same trail with a ditch and plant in it achevaux-de-frise; and then so dispose my men that even a scout mightremain in touch by signal and be prepared to fall back behind thisbarrier if Sir John crept upon our settlements by stealth.
Fish House could provision us, or the Point, if necessary; and any scoutof ours in the Drowned Lands ought to see smoke by day or fire by nightfrom Maxon's nose to Mayfield.
My scout of four and I passed in wearily between the rough, low redoubtsat Fish House, after sunset, and gave an account to Peter Wayland, thecaptain commanding the post, that the northward war-trail was now cleanas far as Silver Lake, and that I proposed to block it and watch itabove and below.
Twilight was deepening when we came to John Howell's deserted log-houseon the Vlaie, and heard the owls very mournful in the tamarack forestseastward.
A few rods farther on the hard ridge and one of my men challengedsmartly. In thick darkness he led us over hard ground along the vastwastes of bushes and reeds, to where a new ditch had been dug down tothe Vlaie Water.
Thence he guided us through our chevaux-de-frise; and I saw my ownpeople lying in the shadowy gleam of a watch-fire; and an Oneida slowlymoving around the smouldering coals, chanting the refrain of his firstscalp-dance:
SCALP SONG
"Chiefs in your white plumes! When your Tall Cloud glooms, And we Oneidas wonder To hear your thunder-- And the moon pales, And the Seven Dancers wear veils, Is it your rain that wails? Is it the noise of hail? Is it the rush of frightened deer That we Oneidas hear?"
And the others chanted in sombre answer:
"It is the weeping of the Mohawk Nation, Mourning amid their desolation, For the scalpless head Of each young warrior dead.
_A Voice from the Dark_
"It is the cry of their women, who bewail Their warriors dead, Not the east wind we hear! It is the noise of their women, who rail At those who fled, Not whistling hail we hear! It is the rush of feet that are afraid, Not the swift flight of deer!"
_Another Voice_
"Let them flee,--the East Gate Keepers-- Whose dead lie still as sleepers! Let the Canienga fly before our wrath, Scatter like chaff, When we Oneidas laugh! Koue!"
_Tahioni_
"Holder of Heaven, And every Chief named in the Great Rite! Dancers Seven! And the Eight Thunders plumed in white! At dawn I was a young man, Who had seen no enemy die. But my foe was a deer who ran, And I struck; and let him lie."
_The Screech-owl Dances_
"The Mohawk Nation has fled, But my war-axe sticks in its head! Koue!"
_The Water-snake Dances_
"Let the Wild Goose keep to the skies! Where the Brant alights, he dies! Koue!"
_Thiohero, their Prophetess_
"The Lodge poles crack in the East! The Long House falls. Who calls the Condolence Feast? Who calls?"
_She Dances Very Slowly_
"Who calls the Roll of the Dead? Who opens the door? The Fire in the West burns red, But our fire-place burns no more! Thendara--Thendara no more!"
It was plain to me that my Indians meant to make a night of it--eventhose who, dog weary, had but now returned with me from the futile brantchase and sat eating their samp.
The French trappers squatted in a row, smoking their pipes and lookingon with that odd sympathy for any savage rite, which, I think, partlyexplains French success among all Indians.
Firelight glimmered red on their weather-ravaged faces, on their gaudyfringes and moccasins.
Near them, lolling in the warm young grass, sprawled Nick and Godfrey. Isat down by them, my back against a log. My Saguenay crept to my side. Igave him to eat, and, for my own supper, ate slowly a handful of parchedcorn, watching my young Oneidas around the fire, where they moved intheir slow dance, singing and boasting of their first scalps taken.
The little maid of Askalege came and seated herself close to me on myright.
"I am weary," she murmured, letting her head fall back against the log.
"Tell me," said I in English, "is there any reason why this Saguenay,who has proved himself a real man and no wolf, should not sing his ownscalp-song among our Oneidas?"
"None," she repeated. "The Yellow Leaf is a real man."
"Tell him so."
The girl turned her head and spoke to the Saguenay in his own gutturals.I also watched to see what effect such praise might have.
For a few minutes he sat motionless and without any expression upon hisnarrow visage, yet I knew he must be bursting with pride.
"Tahioni!" I called out. "Here, also, is a real man who has taken scalpsin battle. Shall not our _brother_, Yellow Leaf, of the Montagnais, singhis first scalp-song at an Oneida fire?"
There was a pause, then every Oneida hatchet flashed high in thefirelight.
"Koue!" they shouted. "We give fire right to our brother of theMontagnais, who is a real man and no wolf!"
At that the Saguenay hunter, who, in a single day, had became a warrior,leaped lightly to his feet, and began to trot like a timber wolf aroundthe fire, running hither and thither as an eager, wild thing runs whensearching.
Then he shouted something I did not understand; but Thioherointerpreted, watching him: "He looks in vain for the tracks of a poorSaguenay hunter, which once he was, but he can find only the footprintsof a proud Saguenay warrior, which now he has become!"
Now, in dumb show, this fierce and homeless rover enacted all that hadpassed,--how he had encountered the Canienga, how they had mocked andstoned him, how we had captured him, proved kind to him, released him;how he had returned to warn us of ambuscade.
He drew his war-axe and shouted his snarling battle-cry; and all theOneidas became excited and answered like panthers on a dark mountain.
Then Yellow Leaf began to dance an erratic, weird dance--and, somehow, Ithought of dead leaves eddying in a raw wind as he whirled around thefire, singing his first scalp-song:
"Who are the Yanyengi,[13] that a Saguenay should fear them? They are but Mowaks,[14] and Real men jeer them! I am a warrior; I wear the lock! I am brother to the People of the Rock![15] Red is my hatchet; my knife is red; Woe to the Mengwe, who wail their dead! I wear the Little Red Foot and the Hawk; Death to the Maquas who stone and mock!
Koue! Hai!"
_An Oneida_
"Hah! Hawasahsai! Hah!"
_The Saguenay_
"Who are the Yanyengi, that Real men should obey them? We People of the Dawn were Born to slay them! I eat twigs in winter when there is no game; What does he eat, the Maqua? What means his name? To each of us a Little Red Foot! To each his clan! Let the Mengwe flee when they scent a Man! Koue! Hai!"
[Footnote 13: The Huron for Canienga.]
[Footnote 14: A Mohican term of insult, but generally used to expresscontempt for the Canienga.]
[Footnote 15: Oneida.]
And
"Hah! Hawasahsai!"
chanted the Oneidas, trotting to and fro in the uncertain red light,while we white men sat, chin on fist, a-watching them; and the littlesorceress of Askalege beat her palms softly together, timing the rhythmfor lack of a drum.
An hour passed: my Indians still danced and sang and bragged of deedsdone and deeds to be accomplished; my young sorceress sat asleep, herhead fallen back against me, her lips just parted. At her feet a toad,attracted by the insects which came into the fire-ring, jumped heavilyfrom time to time and snapped them up.
An intense silence brooded over that vast wilderness called the DrownedLands; not a bittern croaked, not a wild duck stirred among the reeds.
Very far away in the mist of the tamaracks I heard owls faintlyhalooing, and it is a melancholy sound which ever renders me uneasy.
I was weary to the bones, yet did not desire sleep. A vaguepresentiment, like a mist on some young peak, seemed to possess mysenses, making me feel as lonely as a mountain after the sun has set.
I had never before suffered from solitude, unless missing the beloveddead means that.
I missed them now,--parents who seemed ages long absent,--or was it I,their only son, who tarried here below too long, and beyond a reasonabletime?
* * * * *
I was lonely. I looked at the scalps, all curing on their hoops, hangingin a row near the fire. I glanced at Nick. He lay on his blanket,sleeping.... The head of the little Athabasca Sorceress lay heavy on myshoulder; she made no sound of breathing in her quiet sleep. Both herhands were doubled into childish fists, thumbs inside.
Johnny Silver smoked and smoked, his keen, tireless eyes on the ScalpDancers; Luysnes, also, blinked at them in the ruddy glare, his powerfulhands clasping his knees; de Golyer was on guard.
I caught Godfrey's eye, motioned him to relieve Joe, then dropped myhead once more in sombre meditation, lonely, restless, weary, andunsatisfied....
And now, again,--as it had been for perhaps a longer period of time thanI entirely comprehended,--I seemed to see darkly, and mirrored againstdarkness, the face of the Scottish girl.... And her yellow hair and darkeyes; ... and that little warning glimmer from which dawned that faintsmile of hers....
That I was lonely for lack of her I never dreamed then. I was content tosee her face grow vaguely; sweetly take shape from the darkness under myabsent gaze;--content to evoke the silent phantom out of the stuff thatghosts are made of--those frail phantoms which haunt the secret recessesof men's minds.
* * * * *
I was asleep when Nick touched me. Thiohero still slept against myshoulder; the Yellow Leaf and the Oneidas still danced and vaunted theirprowess, and they had set a post in the soft earth near the shore, andhad painted it red; and now all their hatchets were sticking in it,while they trotted tirelessly in their scalping dance, and carved theflame-shot darkness with naked knives.
Wearily I rose, took my rifle, re-primed it, and stumbled away to takemy turn on guard, relieving Nick, who, in turn, had replaced Godfrey,whom I had sent after Joe de Golyer.
They had dug our ditch so well that the Vlaie water filled it, making,with the pointed staves, an excellent abattis against any who came bystealth along the Sacandaga trail.
Behind this I walked my post, watching the eastern stars, which seemedpaler, yet still remained clearly twinkling. And no birds had yetawakened, though the owls had become quiet in the tamaracks, and neitherinsect nor frog now chanted their endless runes of night.
Shouldering my rifle, I walked to and fro, listening, scanning thedarkness ahead.... And, presently, not lonely; for a slim phantom keptsilent pace with me as I walked my post--so near, at times, that mynostrils seemed sweet with the scent of apple bloom.... And I felt herbreath against my cheek and heard her low whisper.
Which presently became louder among the reeds--a little breeze whichstirs before dawn and makes a thin ripple around each slender stem.
Tahioni came to relieve me, grave, not seeming fatigued, and, in hiseyes, the shining fire of triumph still unquenched.
I went back to the fire and lay down on my blanket, where now all wereasleep save my Saguenay.
When he saw me he came and squatted at my feet.
"Sleep you, also, brother," said I. "Day dawns and the sunset is faraway."
But the last time I looked before I slept I saw him still squatting atmy feet like a fierce, lean dog, and staring straight before him.
And I remember that the fresh, joyous chorus of waking birds was likethe loud singing of spirit-children. And to the sweet sound of thatblessed choir I surrendered mind and body, and so was borne on wings ofsong into the halls of slumber-land.
* * * * *
The sun was high when our sentinel hailed a detail from Fish House,bringing us a sheep, three sacks of corn, and a keg of fresh milk.
I had bathed me in the Vlaie Water, had eaten soupaan, turned over mycommand to Nick, and now was ready to report in person to the Commandantat Summer House Point.
My Saguenay had slain a gorgeous wood-duck with his arrows; and now,brave in fresh paint and brilliant plumage, he sat awaiting me in thepatched canoe which had belonged, no doubt, to John Howell.
I went down among the pinxter bushes and tall reeds to the shore; and sowe paddled away on the calm, deep current which makes a hundredsnake-like curls and bends to every mile, so that the mile itselfbecomes doubled,--nay, tripled!--ere one attains his destination.
It was strange how I was not yet rid of that vague sense of impendingtrouble, nor could account for the foreboding in any manner, being fullof health and now rested.
My mind, occupied by my report, which I was now reading where I hadwritten it in my _carnet_, nevertheless seemed crowded with otherthoughts,--how we would seem each to the other when we metagain,--Penelope Grant and I. And if she would seem to take a pleasurein my return ... perhaps say as much ... smile, perhaps.... And we mightwalk a little on the new grass under the apple bloom....
A troubled mind! And knew not the why and wherefore of its ownrestlessness and apprehension. For the sky was softly blue, and thewater, too; and a gentle wind aided our paddles, which pierced thestream so silently that scarce a diamond-drop fell from the sunlitblades.
I could see the Summer House, and a striped jack flying in the sun. Thegreen and white lodge seemed very near across the marshes, yet it wassome little time before I first smelled the smoke of camp fires, andthen saw it rising above the bushes.
Presently a Continental on guard hailed our canoe. We landed. A corporalcame, then a sergeant,--one Caspar Quant, whom I knew,--and so we werepassed on, my Indian and I, until the gate-guard at the Point halted usand an officer came from the roadside,--one Captain Van Pelt, whom Iknew in Albany.
Saluted, and the officer's salute rendered, he became curious to see thefresh scalps flapping at my Saguenay's girdle, and the new war-paint andthe oil smelling rank in the sweet air.
But I told him nothing, asking only for the Commandant, who, he gaveaccount, was a certain Major Westfall, lodging at the Summer House, andlately transferred from the Massachusetts Line, along with other Yankeeofficers--why?--God and Massachusetts knew, perhaps.
So I passed the gate and walked toward the lodge. Sir John's bloo
dedcattle were grazing ahead, and I saw Flora at the well, and Colas busyamong beds of garden flowers, spading and weeding under the south porch.
And I saw something else that halted me. For, seated upon a low limb ofan apple tree, her two little feet hanging down, and garbed inpink-flowered chintz and snowy fichu, I beheld Penelope Grant,a-knitting.
And by all the pagan gods!--there in a ring around her strolled andlolled a dozen Continental officers in buff and blue and gold!
There was no reason why, but the scene chilled me.
One o' these dandies had her ball of wool, and was a-winding of it as hesat cross-legged on the turf, a silly, happy look on his beardless face.
Another was busy writing on a large sheet of paper,--verses, nodoubt!--for he seemed vastly pleased with his progress, and I saw herlook at him shyly under her dark lashes, and could have slain him forthe smirk he rendered. Also, it did not please me that her petticoat wasshort and revealed her ankles and slim feet in silver-buckled shoon.
I was near; I could hear their voices, their light laughter; and,rarely, her voice in reply to some pointed gallantry or jest.
None had perceived me advancing among the trees, nor now noticed mewhere I was halted there in the checkered sunshine.
But, as I stirred and moved forward, the girl turned her head, caught aglimpse of me and my painted Indian, stared in silence, then slid fromher perch and stood up on the grass, her needles motionless.
All the young popinjays got to their feet, and all stared as I offeredthem the salute of rank; but all rendered it politely.
"Lieutenant of Rangers Drogue to report to Major Westfall," said Ibluntly, in reply to a Continental Captain's inquiry.
"Yonder, sir, on the porch with Lady Johnson," said he.
I bared my head, then, and walked to Penelope. She curtsied: I bent toher hand.
"Are you well, my lord?" she asked in a colourless voice, which chilledme again for its seeming lack of warmth.
"And you, Penelope?"
"I am well, I thank you."
"I am happy to learn so."
That was all. I bowed again. She curtsied. I replaced my mole-skin cap,saluted the popinjays, and marched forward. My Indian stalked at myheels.
God knew why, but mine had become a troubled mind that sunny morning.