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Ticonderoga; A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley

<h4>CHAPTER XXX</h4> We must go back for a very short time to the spot whence Edith and her Oneida captors set out upon what proved to the latter an unfortunate voyage across Lake Champlain, and to the very moment after their canoe had left the shore. The Long House, as the Five Nations were pleased to call their territory, extended from the great lakes and a point far west, to the banks of the Hudson and Lakes Huron and Champlain; but, as is always the case in border countries, the frontier was often crossed, both by wandering or predatory bands of Hurons and other nations under the sway of France, and by outlaws from the Iroquois tribes attached to England. The peculiar habits and laws of the Indian tribes rendered the incorporation of fugitives with other nations a very easy matter, although the language of the Five Nations would seem to be radically different from that of the tribes originally inhabiting the seaboard of America. Indeed, on the western shore of Lake Champlain not a few pure Hurons were to be found; for that tribe, during the successful campaigns of France against England, with which what is called the French and Indian war commenced, had somewhat encroached upon the Iroquois territory, supported in their daring by the redoubted name of Montcalm. With some of these, it would seem, Apukwa and his companions had entered into a sort of tacit alliance, and toward their dwellings they had directed their steps after their attack upon Edith and her little escort, in the expectation of readily finding a canoe to waft them over the lake. At first they had been disappointed, for the barks which had been there the day before were gone; and when they did find the canoe in which they ultimately commenced their voyage, the avaricious old man to whom it belonged would not let them use it without a world of bargaining; and it cost them a considerable portion of the little stock of ornaments and trinkets which they had found in Edith's plundered baggage, before the Huron consented to lend them that which they did not dare take by force. Thus more than an hour was passed, after they reached the lake shore, before they departed; and their taking their course so boldly across the bows of the French boats was more a matter of necessity than choice, although they little doubted a good reception from the inveterate enemies of England. No sooner, however, had the canoe shot out into the water than the figure of a tall, dark woman emerged from the bushes of the low point under which the skiff had lain, and she began wringing her hands with every appearance of grief and anxiety. "O, what will poor massa do!" she cried, in a piteous voice. "What will poor massa do! Him son killed, him daughter stolen, and Chaudo tomahawked! Ah, me! ah, me! What will we all do?" Her imprudent burst of grief had nearly proved destructive to poor Sister Bab. The old Huron had turned him quietly toward a small birch bark cabin in the forest hard by, and would never have remarked the poor negress if she had confined the expression of her cares to mere gesture; but her moans and exclamations caught the quick ear of the savage, and he turned and saw her plainly, gazing after the canoe. With no other provocation than a taste for blood, he stole quietly through the trees, with the soft, gliding, noiseless motion peculiar to his race, and making a circuit so as to conceal his advance, he came behind the poor creature just as she beheld the canoe which bore away her young mistress stopped and surrounded by the little flotilla of the French. Another moment would have been fatal to her, for the Indian was within three yards, when a large rattlesnake suddenly raised itself in his path and made him recoil a step. Whether attracted by the small, but never-to-be-forgotten sound of the reptile's warning, or some noise made by the Huron in suddenly drawing back, the poor negress turned her head and saw her danger. With a wild scream she darted away toward the lake, The savage sprang after her with a yell, and though old he retained much of the Indian lightness of foot. Onward toward the shore he drove her, meditating each moment to throw his hatchet if she turned to the right or left. But Sister Bab was possessed of qualities which would not have disgraced any of his own tribe, and even while running at her utmost speed she contrived continually to deprive him of his aim. Not a tree, not a shrub, not a mass of stone that did not afford her a momentary shelter, and of every inequality of the ground she took advantage. Now she whirled sharply round the little shoulder of the hill; now, as the tomahawk was just balanced to be thrown with more fatal certainty, she sprang down a bank which almost made the Indian pause. Then she plunged head foremost, like a snake, through the thick brushwood, and again appeared in a different spot from that where he had expected to see her. Still, however, he was driving her toward the lake, at a spot where the shores were open, and where he felt certain of overtaking her. On she went, however, to the very verge of the lake, gazed to the right and left, and seeing with apparent consternation that the banks rounded themselves on both sides, forming a little bay, near the center of which she stood, she paused for a single instant, as if in despair. The Huron sprang after with a wild whoop, clutching the tomahawk firmly to strike the fatal blow. But Sister Bab was not yet in his grasp, and with a bold leap she sprang from the ledge into the water. Her whole form instantly disappeared, and for at least a minute her savage pursuer stood gazing at the lake in surprise and disappointment, when suddenly he saw a black object appear at the distance of twenty or thirty yards, and suddenly sink again. A few moments after it rose once more, still farther out, and then the brave woman was seen striking easily away toward the south. Rendered only more eager by the chase, and more fierce by disappointment, the Huron ran swiftly along the shore, thinking that he could easily tire her out or cut her off; but, in sunny waters in far distant lands, she had sported with the waves in infancy, and taking the chord of the bow where he was compelled to take the arc, she gained in distance what she lost in speed. So calm was she, so cool, that turning her eyes from her pursuer, she gazed over the water in the direction where she had seen her beloved young mistress carried, and had the satisfaction of beholding the canoe towed along by one of the French boats. Why she rejoiced she hardly knew, for her notions on such matters were not very definite; but anything seemed better than to remain in the hands of the murderers of poor Chaudo. Her thoughts were still of Edith, and she asked herself: "Where are they taking her to, I wonder. Perhaps I may come up with them if that redskin would but leave off running along by the shore and let me land and cross the narrow point. He may run the devil foot. He can't catch Bab. I'll dive again. He think her drowned." Her resolution was instantly executed; and whether it was that her stratagem was successful, or that the Huron had less than Indian perseverance and gave up the chase, when she rose again she saw him turning toward the woods, as if about to go back to his lodge. But Bab had learned caution, and she pursued her way toward the small peninsula where stood the French fort of Crown Point, which at the period I speak of had been nearly stripped of its garrison to reinforce Ticonderoga. She chose her spot, however, with great care, for though in her wanderings she had made herself well acquainted with the country, she was, of course, ignorant of the late movements of the troops, and fancied that the French posts extended as far beyond the walls of the fortress as they had formerly done. A little woody island, hardly separated from the mainland, covered her approach, and the moment her feet touched the shore she darted away into the forest and took the trail which led nearly due south. The neck of the point was soon passed, and once more she caught sight of the French boats still towing the canoe on which her thoughts so particularly rested. The short detention of the French party, and the advantage she gained by her direct course across the point, had put her a little in advance, and she ran rapidly on till she reached the mouth of the small river now called Putnam's Creek, which, being flooded by the torrents of rain that had fallen in the earlier part of the day, made her pause for a moment, gazing at the rushing and eddying waters coming down, and doubting whether she had strength left to swim across it. The boats, by this time, were somewhat in advance, and when she gazed after them she naturally came to the conclusion that they were bound for what she called, after the Indian fashion, Cheeonderoga. Suddenly, however, as she watched, she saw their course altered, and it soon became evident that they intended to land considerably north of the fort. Running up the creek, then, till she found a place where she could pass, she followed an Indian trail through the woods, lying a little to the west of the present line of road, and at length reached an eminence nearly opposite to Shoreham--a spur of Mount Hope, in fact--when she once more caught a view of the lake, just in time to see the disembarkation of the French troops and the Indians. Notwithstanding her great strength, the poor negress was by this time exceedingly tired; but still that persevering love which is one of the brightest traits of her unfortunate race, carried her on. "If I can catch sight of them again," she thought, "I can carry ole massa tidings of where she is." Encouraged by this idea, she pushed on without pause; but night overtook her before she had seen any more of the party, and poor Bab's spirit began to fail. More slowly she went, somewhat doubtful of her way, and in the solitude, the darkness, and the intricacy of the woods, fears began to creep over her which were not familiar to her bosom. At length, however, she thought she heard voices at a distance, and a minute or two after she found herself on the bank of a small brook. She paused and listened. The voices were now more audible, and without hesitation she crossed and crept cautiously along in the direction from which the sounds came. A moment or two after, the flickering of a fire through the trees attracted her attention, and more and more carefully she crept on upon her hands and knees, through the low brush, still seeing the blaze of the firelight, when she raised her eyes, but unable to perceive the spot whence it proceeded. A small pine, cut down, next met her hand as she crept along, and then a number of loose branches tossed together; and now Sister Bab began to get an inkling of the truth. "It must be what dey call an ambush," she thought, and raising herself gently, she found that she was close to a bank of earth over which the firelight was streaming. The sounds of voices were now distinctly heard, but she could not understand one word, for it seemed to her that they were speaking in two different languages, if not more, but each of them was strange to her. At one time she fancied she heard Edith's voice, but still the language spoken was a strange one, and although the bank of earth was not more than shoulder high, she did not venture at first to rise to her whole height in order to look over it. At length, however, came some words of English, and the voice, which she judged to be Edith's, was plainly heard, saying: "This gentleman is asking you, my good friend, if you will not go and take some supper with him where the people have spread a cloth yonder." Bab could resist no more, but raised herself sufficiently to bring her eyes above the top of the breastwork, and gazed over into the little rude redoubt. On the right, and at the farther part of the enclosure, were a number of Indians seated on the ground; and, besides the fire already burning, several others were being piled up amidst the various groups of natives. Somewhat on the left, and stretching well nigh across the western side of the other space, were the French soldiers, in groups of five or six, with their arms piled near them. Other straggling parties were scattered over the ground, and two sentinels, with musket on shoulder, appeared on the other side of the redoubt; but the group which attracted the poor woman's chief attention was on her right, near a spot where some small huts had been erected. It consisted of three persons, a gaily dressed French officer, a man in the garb of a soldier, but with his arms cast aside, and lastly, a short, powerful man, in a yellowish-brown hunting shirt, whom Sister Bab at once recognized as her old acquaintance the Woodchuck. That sight was quite enough, and sinking down again amongst the bushes, she crept slowly away to a little distance, and there lay down to meditate as to what was next to be done. At one time she was tempted to enter the French redoubt and remain with her young mistress. Several considerations seemed in favor of this course; and let it be no imputation upon poor Bab that hunger and the savory odors which came wafted over the earthwork were not without their influence. But then she thought: "If I do, how will ole Massa ever know where Missy is?" and this remembrance enabled her to resist the strong temptation. "I will stay here and rest till the moon get up," thought the poor woman. "I know dey must be coming up de lake by dis time, and I can catch dem before to-morrow." To prevent herself from sleeping too long if slumber should overtake her, she crept farther out of the thick wood and seated herself in a more open spot, with her clasped hands over her knees, but with nothing else to support her. Various sorts of fears suggested themselves to her mind as she thus sat; but oppressive weariness was more powerful than thought, and in a few moments her head was nodding. Often she woke up during the first hour, but then she slept more profoundly, bending forward till her forehead touched her knees. It is probable, too, that she dreamed, for in the course of the next two hours several broken sentences issued from her lips in a low murmur. At length, however, she woke with a start, and found the moon silvering the whole sky to the eastward, where some bold heights towered up, still obscuring the face of the orb of night. She sat and gazed somewhat bewildered, hardly knowing where she was. But the musical voice of the falling waters, which have gained for the outlet of Lake Horicon an ever enduring name, and the grand outline of Mount Defiance seen through the trees, soon showed her that she was on that narrow point of land lying between Front Brook and the falls. She waited till the moon had fully risen, and then stole quietly away again, keeping a southwestern course nearly up the current of the brook, and for three hours she pursued her way with a rapid and untiring foot. She had no idea of the time, and wondered if the day would never break. But the moonlight was beautifully clear, and the calm beams, as if they had some affinity with the woodland solitude, seemed to penetrate through the branches and green leaves even more easily than can the sunshine. Her fears had now nearly passed away, for she knew that she must be far beyond the French and Huron posts, and could only expect to meet with the scouts and outposts of the English army, or with parties of friendly Indians, and she consequently went on without care or precaution. Suddenly she found herself emerging from the wood into one of those low, open savannas, of which I have already spoken, close to the spot where the embers of a fire were till glowing. The grass was soft and her tread was light, but the sleep of the Indian is lighter still, and in an instant three or four warriors started up around her. "I am a friend! I am a friend!" cried the negress in the Iroquois tongue. "Who be you--Mohawks?" "Children of the Stone," replied the man nearest to her, gazing at her earnestly by the moonlight. "I have seen the Dark Cloud before, but does she not dwell in the house of our brother Prevost?" "Yes, yes!" cried Sister Bab, eagerly. "I'm his slave girl, Bab, who came to the Oneida Castle with my own Missy. But now she is the prisoner of bad men, and I have escaped, tired and hungry, and am nearly dead!" "Come with me," said the Indian. "I will take thee where thou shalt have rest to comfort thee and meat to support thee, till the Black Eagle come. He will not be long, for he will keep the warpath night and day till he is here, and his wings are swift." The poor woman shuddered at the name of the terrible chief, for it was closely connected in her mind with the circumstances of her young master's fate; but wearied and exhausted, the prospect of food and repose was a blessing, and she followed the Indian in silence to the other side of the savanna. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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