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

<h4>CHAPTER XXXII</h4> Day dawned bright and clear over the wild woods, the green savannas, and the lakes and mountains that lay between Horicon or Lake George and the small chain of Indian lakes. The advanced party of the Oneidas were up bustling with the earliest beam--bustling, but in their quiet way. Each was active, clearing away every trace of their sojourn from the face of the savanna as far as possible, and preparing to betake himself to the shade of the neighboring woods; but Sister Bab was still sound asleep. Amongst those who have traveled over that part of the country there may be some who remember a beautiful and rich green meadow, extending for almost a third of a mile from its inland extremity to the shores of Horicon. It has now--and it is not much altered since the time I speak of--a sloping ground to the northward of this grassy plot, well covered with wood, and there is on the south a rocky but still wooded bank, in which several small caves are to be observed. In one of these caves lay the negress, on the morning I have just mentioned, and though the Indians moved about in different directions, and removed even a large iron pot of European workmanship, which had been placed near the entrance of the cavern, the good woman, in the sleep of fatigue and exhaustion, showed no sign whatever of waking. Few had been the explanations which she had given on the preceding night. She was too weary to indulge in her usual loquacity, and her Indian friend had sat quietly before her, after having supplied all that she required, seeing her eat and drink, but putting no questions. Now, however, he approached the hollow in the rock, and after gazing at her for an instant as she lay, he moved her with his moccasined foot. She started up and rubbed her eyes, looking round with evident surprise; but the Indian said: "Get up and follow into the woods, if thou wouldst see the Black Eagle. We must leave the ground that has no shadow, now that the day has come." "Ah, me!" cried Sister Bab. "What shall I do for my poor Missy? She is a prisoner with the French, not more than a few miles hence, and, what is worse still, the Woodchuck is with her, and all our people said he was going to give himself up to save Massa Walter." Quietly and deliberately the Indian seated himself on the ground, and remained silent for a moment or two. He then asked, without the slightest appearance of interest: "Where is the daughter of Prevost? Is she at the Castle of the Sounding Waters?" Sister Bab replied, "No"; and, as far as she could describe it, explained to her companion where Edith was, and gave him no very inaccurate notion of the sort of field-work on which she had stumbled the night before. Still not a muscle of the man's face moved, and he merely uttered a sort of hum at this intelligence, sitting for full two minutes without speaking a word. "What can we do, brother, to save them?" asked Sister Bab, at length. "I don't think there's any danger indeed, to Missy or Massa Woodchuck, 'cause the young man in the blue coat seemed very civil; but den if Massa Woodchuck not get away, your people will kill Massa Walter, for six months will be over very soon." "Five days ago six moons had grown big and small since the Black Eagle spoke," said the Indian, gravely. "But we will see whether there be not a trail the prisoners can tread. You must get up and walk before me to where you left them, like a cloud upon the mountain side, quickly, but without noise." "It's a long way," said the poor woman, "and my feet are all cut and torn with yesterday's ramble." "We will give thee moccasins," answered the Indian. "The way is not long, even to the house of the Sounding Waters, if you keep the trail straight. Thou must show me if thou wouldst save Prevost's daughter. Her fate is like a toppling stone upon the edge of a precipice--a wind may blow it down. The French Hurons do not spare women. Come, get up; eat, and talk not! I must know this place, and that quickly!" The last words were spoken somewhat sternly; and Sister Bab rose up and followed to one of the little groups of Indians, where she seated herself again, and ate some cakes of maize, and dried deer's flesh, while the chief who had been speaking with her held a consultation with several of the other warriors. Not much time was allowed her for her meal, for in less than five minutes she was called upon to lead the way, and, followed by a party of six Indians, she proceeded for a mile or two, till they reached a spot where the trail divided into two. She was about to take the left-hand path, knowing that it was the one which she had followed on the preceding night, but the chief commanded her, in a low voice, to turn her steps upon the other, adding: "We shall come upon thy footprints again speedily." So indeed it proved, for she had wandered during the night far from the direct course; and after walking on for some ten minutes they cut into the former path again, where to Indian eyes the traces of a negro foot were very apparent. Twice the same thing occurred, and thus the distance was shortened to nearly one-half of that which she had traveled on the preceding night, between the little masked redoubt of the French and the Indian camping place. At length the objects which Sister Bab saw around her gave warning that she was approaching the spot of which they were in search. From time to time Mount Defiance was seen towering upon the right, and the character of the shrubs and trees was changed. The first hint sufficed to make the Indians adopt much greater precautions than those which they had previously used. They spread wide from the broad trail, the chief taking Sister Bab with him, and slowly and noiselessly they pursued their way, taking advantage of every tree and every rock to hide behind and gaze around. Before five minutes more were over, Sister Bab paused suddenly and pointed forward. The Indian gazed in silence. To an unpracticed eye nothing would have been apparent to excite the slightest suspicion of a neighboring enemy, but some of the pine branches of what seemed a low copse in front were a shade yellower than the other trees. Besides, they did not take the forms of young saplings. They were rounder, less tapering, without showing shoot or peak. A grin came upon the Indian's countenance, and pointing with his finger to the ground he seemed, without words, to direct the negress to remain on the same spot where she stood, behind a great butternut tree. He then looked round him for his companions, but their movements were well combined and understood. Though at some distance from each other, each eye from time to time had been turned toward him as they advanced; and the moment it was perceived that he stopped, each of the others stopped, also. His raised hand brought them all creeping quietly toward him, and then, after a few whispered words, each Indian sank down upon the ground, and creeping along like a snake, disappeared amongst the bushes. Sister Bab found her situation not altogether pleasant. The slightest possible rustle in the leaves was heard as her dusky companions disappeared, but then all sounds ceased, except from time to time, when the wind, which had risen a little, bore her some murmurs from the redoubt, as if of voices speaking. Once she caught a few notes of a merry air, whistled by lips that were probably soon after doomed to everlasting silence. But that was all she heard, and the stillness grew oppressive to her. After waiting for a moment or two, she sought a deeper shelter than the butternut tree afforded, and crept amongst some thick shrubs at the foot of a large oak. She thought her Indian companions would never return, but at length one of the redmen looked out from the bushes, and then another, and both gazed round as if in search of her. Following their example, she crept forth, and the chief, approaching, beckoned her away, without speaking. When far enough off to be quite certain that no sound of voices could reach the redoubt, he stopped suddenly and gazed in her face, saying: "You love the daughter of the paleface; you followed her when there was danger. Will you go where there is no danger, to bear her the words of warning?" "I will go anywhere to do her any good," answered the woman, warmly. "I am not afraid of danger. I had enough of it yesterday to make me careless of it to-day." "Well, then," said the chief, "thou seest this trail to the left. Follow it till it crosses another. Then take to the right on the one it crosses--it is a broad trail, thou canst not miss it. It will lead thee straight into the Frenchman's ambush. They will not hurt thee. Ask for the daughter of the paleface Prevost. Tell them thou hast passed the night in the woods, seeking for her, and they will let thee stay with her. Say to her she shall have deliverance before the sun has set to-morrow, but tell her when she hears the war-whoop and the shot of the rifle to cast herself down flat on the ground beneath the earth heap, if she be near at the time. She knows the Oneida people; she can tell their faces from the Hurons, though the war paint be bright upon them. She need not fear them. Tell her secretly, when none hears; and what I tell her to do, do thou, if thou wouldst save thy life!" "But," said Bab, with more foresight than the Indian, "perhaps they will not keep her there till to-morrow. They may send her into the fort--most likely will." "Bid her stay! bid her stay!" said the chief. "If they force her away, I have no arm to hold her. Go on! I have said!" The negress shook her head, as if much doubting the expediency of the plan proposed, but she obeyed without further remonstrance, and walking on upon the little narrow path which the Indians pointed out, she reached, in about a quarter of an hour, the broader trail, along which Edith had been taken on the preceding night. Turning to the right, as directed, she followed it with slow and somewhat hesitating steps, till suddenly a sharp turn brought her in sight of two sentinels pacing backward and forward, and a group of Indians seated on the ground round a fire, cooking their food. There she halted suddenly, but she was already seen, and receiving no answer to his challenge, one of the sentinels presented his musket as if to fire. At the same moment a voice exclaimed: "What's that? What's that?" in French, and a man in the garb of a soldier, but unarmed, came forward and spoke to her. She could make no reply, for she did not understand a word he said, and taking her by the wrist, the man led her into the redoubt, saying to the sentinel with a laugh: "It's only a black woman; did you take her for a bear?" The next instant poor Bab beheld her young mistress quietly seated on the ground, with a fine white tablecloth spread before her, and all the appurtenances of a breakfast table, though not the table itself, while the officer she had seen in the redoubt the night before was applying himself assiduously to supply her with all she wanted. In a moment the good woman had shaken her wrist from the man who held it, and darting forward, she caught Edith's hand and smothered it with kisses. Great was Edith's joy and satisfaction to see poor Bab still in life, and it was soon explained to the French officer who she was and how she came thither. But the object of her coming had nearly been frustrated before she had time to explain to her young mistress the promised rescue; for ere she had been half an hour within the works a non-commissioned officer from Ticonderoga appeared with a despatch for the commander of the party, who at once proposed to send the young lady and her dark attendant under his charge to the fortress, expressing gallantly his regret to lose the honor and pleasure of her society; but adding that it would be for her convenience and safety. The suggestion was made before he opened the despatch, and Edith eagerly caught at a proposal which seemed to offer relief from a very unpleasant situation; but as soon as the officer had seen the contents of his letter his views were changed, and he explained to his young prisoner that for particular reasons the commander-in-chief thought it best that there should be as little passing to and fro, during the period of daylight, between the fortress and the redoubt as possible. He would, therefore, he said, be obliged to inform his superior officer, in the first place, of her being there, and of the circumstances in which she had fallen under his protection, as he termed it, adding that probably after nightfall, when the same objection could not exist, he would receive instructions as to what was to be done, both with herself and her companions, and with the Indians in whose power he had found her. He then sat down to write a reply to the despatch he had received, and occupied fully half an hour in its composition, during which time all that Sister Bab had to say was spoken. The very name of the Oneidas, however, awakened painful memories in Edith's breast, and notwithstanding all the assurances she had received from Otaitsa, her heart sank at the thought of poor Walter's probable fate. She turned her eyes toward Woodchuck, who had refused to take any breakfast, and sat apart under a tree not far from the spot where Apukwa and his companions, kept in sight constantly by a sentinel, were gathered round their cooking fire. His attitude was the most melancholy that can be conceived; his eyes were fixed upon the ground, his head drooping, his brow heavy and contracted, and his hands clasped together on his knee. Edith moved quietly toward him and seated herself near, saying: "What is the matter, my good friend?" and then added, in a low voice: "I have some pleasant news for you." Woodchuck shook his head sadly, but made no answer; and Edith continued, seeking to cheer him: "The poor negro woman who was with me when we were attacked escaped the savages, it seems, and has brought an intimation that before to-morrow's sunset we shall be set free by a large party of the Oneidas." "It is too late, my dear! It is too late!" replied Woodchuck, pressing his hands tightly together. "Too late to do anything for your poor brother! It was him I was thinking of!" "But there are still four or five days of the time," said Edith, "and----" "I've been a fool, Miss Prevost," replied Woodchuck, bitterly, "and there's no use of concealing it from you. I have mistaken moons for months. The man who brought me the news of what that stern old devil Black Eagle had determined, said the time allowed was six months, and I never thought of the Indians counting their months by moons till I heard those Honontkoh saying something about it this morning. No, no, it's all useless now! It's all useless!" Edith turned deathly pale, and remained so for a moment or two, but then she lifted her eyes to a spot of the blue sky shining through the trees above, and with a deep sigh she answered: "We must trust in God, then, and hope He has provided other and less terrible means. He can protect and deliver according to His will, without the aid or instrumentality of man. You have done your best, Woodchuck, and your conscience should rest satisfied." "No! no!" he answered, bitterly. "If I had but thought of what I knew quite well, I should have gone a fortnight sooner, and the poor boy would have been saved. It's all the fault of my stupid mistake. A man should make no mistakes in such emergencies, Miss Edith!" He fell into a fit of thought again, and seeing that all attempt to comfort him was vain, Edith returned to the side of the black woman, and inquired eagerly if she had heard any tidings of Walter amongst the Oneidas. Sister Bab was more cautious than poor Woodchuck had been, however, and denied stoutly having heard anything; adding that she could not think they had done any harm to her young "massa," or they would not be so eager to help her young "missy." The smallest gleam of hope is always a blessing; but still the day passed sadly enough to poor Edith. The commandant of the redoubt was occupied with military business which she did not comprehend, and which afforded no relief to her thoughts even for a moment. She saw the soldiers parading, the sentinels relieved, the earthworks inspected, and the Indians harangued, without one thought being withdrawn from the painful circumstances of her own fate. Shortly after dusk, however, the same sergeant who had brought the despatch in the morning appeared with another letter, which the French commandant read, and then carried to Edith in the little hut where she was seated, with her lamp just trimmed and lighted. "The Marquis of Montcalm informs Captain Le Comtois that it will be greatly inconvenient to receive any additional mouths into Fort Carillon. Should he think fit, he can send the lady who has fallen into his hands, with the English gentleman, her companion, back to Crown[4] Point or Fort St. Frederick, as early to-morrow as he thinks fit. If the lady earnestly prefers to retire to Fort Carillon at once, the Marquis of Montcalm will not be so wanting in courtesy as to refuse; but he begs to warn her that she may be subjected to all the inconveniences of a siege, as he cannot at all tell what course of operations the enemy may think fit to pursue. The Indians, if willing, as they say, to serve may be usefully employed within the redoubt, but with caution, and must not be suffered to operate upon the flanks, as usual." "It is for you to say, mademoiselle," said Monsieur Le Comtois, "whether you will now go to the fort or not." Edith, however, declined, saying that the reasons given by Monsieur de Montcalm were quite sufficient to induce her to remain till it was convenient to send her elsewhere; and thus ended that eventful week. The following day was Sunday, a day not fit to be desecrated by human strife, but one which was destined to behold, on that very spot, one of those bloody scenes which write man's shame in letters of blood upon the page of history. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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