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The frontiersmen

by Gustave Aimard · English · Gutenberg #39401 · 431,835 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The frontiersmen
        A novel

Author: Gustave Aimard


        
Release date: April 8, 2012 [eBook #39401]
                Most recently updated: April 3, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39401

Credits: Produced by Christine Bell, Camille Bernard and Marc D'Hooghe


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRONTIERSMEN ***

THE FRONTIERSMEN

_A NOVEL_.

By GUSTAVE AIMARD

NEW YORK:

THE F.M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY,

Nos. 72-76 Walker Street.

1854




CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.


In the year 1783, Western New York--or at least what was then deemed
Western New York--was an almost unbroken wilderness, scarcely known to
the inhabitants of the eastern and south-eastern portions of the State;
although the greater part of that large tract of territory then known as
Tryon County, was especially an unexplored country. It is true that
occasionally some adventurous pioneer had penetrated the wilderness, and
endeavored to form for himself and family a home, where, if he could not
enjoy the luxuries and comforts to be found in more populous sections,
he could at least be freed from many of the evils incident to the
growing settlements and cities. Some there were, who had not these
inducements, but, moved by a spirit of hardy enterprise, and with a love
for the excitements and dangers of a pioneer life, penetrated the
wilderness alone, with no companion but the rifle--a sure and steadfast
friend amidst the dangers which were certain to beset him.

Thus, an adventurous traveler, who perhaps fancied himself the first
white man who had ever toiled through the forests of this portion of the
State, would be surprised as he came upon the traces of civilization, in
a log hut, situated, perhaps, in the midst of a few acres of partially
cleared wilderness. When such happened to be the case, it would be no
occasion for wonder that the traveler and the _settler_ became at once
acquaintances and friends. The news from the settlements--inquiries for
friends, and political information, would gladly be exchanged for the
homely but welcome entertainment, which was at once provided.

At the period which we have chosen for our narrative, the County of
Tryon was inhabited by roving bands of Indians, mostly belonging to the
Six Nations. Some favorite localities were selected, which might be
deemed peculiarly the homes of these bands; although their roving
dispositions, the pursuit of game, or hostile encounters, would prevent
the permanent occupation of any one locality.

That portion of Tryon County with which the reader will become somewhat
acquainted in due course of this narrative, was more especially
inhabited by that division of the Iroquois, known as the Oneidas. But it
was not infrequent that bands belonging to other tribes of the
confederacy made incursions into this territory, in pursuit of game, and
occasionally on less peaceable missions.

It is well known that during the War of the Revolution, the different
tribes, composing the confederacy of the Six Nations, were divided in
their choice between England and the rebellious Colonies. The Oneidas,
and a part of the Tuscaroras and Mohawks, adhered to the Colonies, while
the other three nations of the confederacy were leagued with England,
under Col. Butler, and the notorious Johnson. It was under the former
officer that the Senecas, principally, aided by Tories, perpetrated the
Massacre of Wyoming. The Onondagas, at first, professed neutrality
between the belligerent parties; but as it was believed that they aided
in the more hostile operations of the Senecas, a detachment was sent
from Fort Stanwix, which destroyed their villages. This attack was
revenged by assaults upon the settlements of Schoharie and the western
borders of Ulster.

During the war, Tryon County contained a large number of Tories, who
were constantly inciting the Indians to acts of hostility against the
Colonies. But while they were successful with a large portion of the
Iroquois, they signally failed in all their attempts to abate the
fidelity of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras. This division in the councils of
the Six Nations, disturbed the amity which had previously existed
between the confederated tribes; and the bond which had so long united
them, was severed forever. More than once, were the Oneidas driven from
their villages, and compelled to seek protection from the whites; and
parties of the latter tribe, with a part of the Tuscaroras, actually
took up arms against their ancient brethren. It is said that the
notorious Col. Walter Butler was killed by an Oneida Chief, during his
flight after the battle of Johnstown.

At the time embraced by our narrative, it was not infrequent that
difficulties occurred between the separated parties of the confederacy,
and hostile encounters took place, which ended in bloodshed. Indeed, the
successful Colonies had not concluded any treaty of peace with the
Mohawks, Onondagas, Cayugas, and Senecas, until October, 1784. By that
treaty, those tribes consented to a release of prisoners, and also to a
cession of all their territory west of Pennsylvania.

The Six Nations, at the time of the Revolution, were considered the most
formidable of the Indian warriors to be found on the North American
Continent; and overtures were made to them, as well by the Congress of
the confederated Colonies, as by the English Government. The overtures
of the latter were made through Col. Guy Johnson--successor to Sir
William--and through the great influence he possessed over them, he was
able to induce them to take up arms against the peaceable and scattered
inhabitants of the frontier. The number of Indians of the Six Nations
who actually took up arms in favor of Great Britain, is estimated at
about 1200. The whole number of Indians, of all tribes, who were
employed by the British against the Colonies, was estimated by Captain
Dalton, (Superintendent of Indian Affairs in 1783.) at 12,690.

The histories of the time, relate the terrible sufferings endured by the
inhabitants of Tryon County. The valleys of the Schoharie, the Mohawk
and the Susquehanna, were swept, year after year, by the Indians;
villages were burnt--and, without discrimination of age or sex, the
whites who were supposed to be favorable to the Colonial cause, were
massacred. These events gave rise to the expedition of Gen. Sullivan
into the Onondaga, Cayuga and Seneca country, which was overrun and laid
waste; and it was hoped that the Indians, having lost their provisions
and stores, would cease their incursions upon the border settlements.
But all such hopes were vain; the depredations were renewed, and
continued until the end of the war. It is said by the author of the Life
of Brant, that "two years before the close of the war, one-third of the
population had gone over to the enemy--one-third had been driven from
the country, or were slain in battle, and by private assassination. And
yet among the inhabitants of the other remaining third, in June, 1783,
it was stated at a public meeting held at Fort Plain, that there were
three hundred widows and two thousand orphan children."

The country which is the immediate scene of the following narrative, was
little known in the time of the Revolution. The maps of the period
designated it as Indian country, and as an unexplored region. The
Tienaderack, or Unadilla River--one of the tributaries of the
Susquehanna--is given as the western boundary of the whites, beyond
which are the villages and hunting-grounds of the Oneidas and
Tuscaroras. It is into this unexplored region that we propose to conduct
the reader. We cannot promise a strict fidelity to truth, in the precise
incidents related in our narrative, but they have kindred features in
narratives related by the ancient settlers of this valley. There are
traditions, well authenticated, which might give rise to many of the
incidents. With this general view of the condition of Tryon County, at
the time of the Revolution, we will conduct the reader to that portion
of it in which we are more immediately interested.




CHAPTER II.


   "Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
    Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
    More free from peril than the envious court?
    Here feel we but the penalty of Adam--
    The season's difference."
                                        AS YOU LIKE IT.


It was, then, in the early part of the month of October, 1783, that two
travelers might have been seen, leisurely wending their way, on foot,
southwardly, along a somewhat narrow valley, through which flowed a
rapid but attractive river. That part of the valley which was now in
their view, was not more than half a mile in breadth. On the west, the
hills were low, and presented no peculiar attraction to the eye. On the
east, however, they attained a loftier height, and, in the golden
sunshine which fell from the autumn sky, excited the surprise and
admiration of our travelers. From the position they occupied, they could
trace the course of the valley for some six or seven miles, among the
hills, which became bolder and loftier, until it was lost in a sudden
turn to the westward. The river, along whose banks they had traveled for
some ten or twelve miles, was here from four to six rods in width; and,
as we have before observed, was attractive by the rapidity of its
current and the frequent but graceful curves in which it pursued its
course. The Indian name, which this river now bears, implies "the
Pleasant River."

The forest about them exhibited much variety of vegetation; and among
the trees which they observed, they saw fine specimens of the pine,
which towered above the surrounding forest, in the graceful superiority
of foliage and beauty. The maple, hemlock, beech, birch, walnut, and
chestnut, were abundant. It was at just the season of the year when the
leaf of the maple wears its choicest hue of red; and the beech and
chestnut assume their "sere and yellow." Blending with these varieties,
the unfading richness of the evergreen, it would excite no wonder, that
the younger of our travelers, at least, beheld with admiration the
gorgeous drapery which, in this climate, the forest assumes, preparatory
to the desolation of winter.

The younger of the two persons to whom we have called the attention of
the reader, might have been twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age. Of
middle stature, he exhibited a frame of much symmetry and power; and it
was apparent that he had been inured to labors which had fully
developed health and strength. His face was somewhat embrowned by
exposure to the weather; but his active and intelligent eyes, the firm
compression of his lips, and the ready play of his countenance, as he
listened to or answered some remark of his companion, made it apparent
that he had at least bestowed some labor upon the cultivation of his
mind; for inward discipline and culture always have their effect upon
the outward bearing. Besides this, there was in his countenance an
evidence of sincerity of purpose, which if it pursues but one path to
attain its end, and that frequently an _uncomfortable_ one, always
triumphs over temporary difficulties. Ralph Weston--for that is the name
of the young traveler--was ever honorable and upright, even where
worldly "prudence" would have admitted of a slight departure from the
rigid rules of propriety. He was not of that modern school, which makes
_expediency_ the touchstone of morality of conduct; but he always
disclaimed the artifices to which men too frequently resort to hide the
practices which are well enough in themselves, but which happen to
contravene popular opinions or customs. But, with this serious turn of
mind, he possessed a romantic disposition, which frequently led him into
acts that excited the surprise of more sedate or less romantic
acquaintances; but with no art, save a frank disposition, and a heart of
sympathy and friendship, Ralph Weston always found "troops of friends"
to whom he was little less than what we propose to make of him--a hero.

Ralph Weston, then, as might be readily supposed, in the dark hours when
the Colonies were struggling for life, embarked his hopes and fortunes
in the cause of his country. At the age of eighteen, he volunteered as a
private soldier, and after serving a short time in this humble capacity,
he had risen in rank, until at the close of the war, he held the
commission of a captain. His maternal aunt (for he had neither father
nor mother, both having died in his infancy) always insisted that he
should have been a general, at least; and perhaps, if merit were always
the true test of advancement, he would have attained a much higher rank.
But while he was always foremost in danger, he was ever a laggard in the
ranks of those who press eagerly forward for the spoils of victory, or
the honors which are more often worn than deserved. But we will suffer
the reader to become more intimately acquainted with him as we proceed
in our history.

His traveling companion, however, cannot be dismissed without notice;
for Ichabod Jenkins (familiarly called "Ike," by his too-presuming
acquaintances) had no small idea of his own importance. At the time when
he appears before us, he cannot be less than forty-seven or eight years
of age; when standing erect, he is full six feet two in stockings; but
as he generally appears in locomotion, you would make his height at
about five feet ten. His frame was not, apparently, robust, and a
stranger would have been surprised at any great indication of strength
on his part; yet few in the neighborhood of his residence, on any public
occasion, when feats of agility or strength were undertaken, would have
dared to match him in any game where these qualities were necessary. Yet
this was the least of Ichabod's merits, if his own judgment could be
trusted.

In his earlier days, a long struggle had taken place in his mind between
the love of wealth and literary pursuits. He recognized the distinctive
antipathy between these two mistresses; yet neither of them had ever
acquired a complete victory over the other; so he had compromised
between them by uniting a course of such reading as could then be
attained in general literature, with a strong speculative disposition,
which desired to leap at once, and by one bound, from rags into purple.
Now, it must be confessed, that Ichabod had succeeded about as well in
one pursuit as in the other--and to which of his mistresses to attribute
his ill success, he did not know. He had read Mrs. Bradstreet's poems,
who, in her day, was styled "the mirror of her age and the glory of her
sex"--he had much admired the poetry of George Wolcott, but he was
completely intoxicated with the "Simple Cobbler of Agawam," by Nathanial
Ward, although he did not adopt its fanatical sentiments; the
Revolutionary poets he had by heart, and for the reputation of Freneau,
he would have abandoned the fame of Shakespeare, had he possessed the
power of choice. He had at one time secluded himself from all of his
acquaintances for a month or two; and at last, when he emerged from his
solitude, he was seen with a quantity of manuscript, which he read to
his most intimate friends with exceedingly rhapsodical gestures. It was
even thought that this manuscript had been offered to some publisher,
but as its contents whatever they were, never appeared in print, it was
well understood that it had been rejected. It is certain, that from this
time he abandoned all ideas of winning a literary reputation, and set
earnestly to work to win the fortune of which he had so long been
dreaming. But Ichabod, with an innate love for the jingle of rhyme,
could, even at this day, repeat enough of the lyrical poetry of the
country to endanger the patience and temper of his warmest friend.

After attempting, at Boston, many schemes for the sudden acquisition of
wealth, which had all resulted in failure, he had, some time previous to
the war, shaken off the dust of the (to him) unprosperous city, and
traveled westward in search of a more congenial spot, where the
resources of his mind could be developed.

He had _finally located_ at one of the frontier settlements in the State
of New York--a small, but growing place--and unencumbered by wife or
family, he fancied himself certain of success at last. He had at one
time taken a trip to the shores of Long Island Sound, for the purpose
of making inquiry as to the prospect of realizing anything from the
buried money of Capt. Kidd; but he returned somewhat poorer than he
left. One time, while wandering on the shore of a small creek, in his
own neighborhood, devising means for the expenditure of his wealth when
it should be obtained, he was suddenly arrested by the glitter of some
fine, shining particles, in the sand. Certain that he had at length
discovered a gold mine, the land was purchased by him on contract, at an
extravagant price, by turning out what little money and few valuables he
possessed. His mysterious appearance and conduct, attracted towards him
the attention of the whole settlement; it was whispered that he was
always out of his boarding-house at night, and that he invariably slept
a portion of the day. He had been heard, too, to hint, in a solemn
manner, of his taking up his residence at Boston or New York, and of
building half a dozen blocks of brick buildings, and living in a style
of splendor that should astonish his early acquaintances, who had always
enviously predicted that he would never amount to anything. The
consequence was, that after much managing and prying, Ichabod's mine was
discovered, and the whole settlement rushed--men, women and children--to
share his good fortune. Trespass suits followed thick and fast, and at
length it was discovered that the glittering particles which had been
gathered so eagerly, were worth just as much as the sand in which they
were imbedded, and no more. The result of this speculation was, that
Ichabod lost both his gold and his land, and the little money he had
previously possessed.

But nothing disheartened, other schemes filled his mind; and he was
always the surest of success, just as he was the most certain to be
unsuccessful. Ichabod was altogether too busy in his financial
operations to volunteer as a soldier during the Revolutionary War,
although he had cast around earnestly to ascertain if there was any way
by which he could make his business and patriotism harmonize together.
But while he had refused to sacrifice his chances of a fortune by taking
up arms as a soldier, to his credit be it said, that in the frequent
Indian incursions which had been made on the frontier settlements of New
York, he had zealously engaged in the plans of defense, and had won an
enviable notoriety as an Indian fighter. Always cool and calculating, he
never suffered himself to be surprised; and he came at last to be
dreaded by the Indians, as bearing a charmed life, which could not be
taken. More than one Seneca, who had escaped from his rifle, bore the
marks of his bullets; and his name was never mentioned by them but with
a look of hatred. This feeling was cordially reciprocated; and even a
lucky chance at a fortune could scarcely have deterred him from an
attack, even in a time of peace, upon an Onondaga, Cayuga, or Seneca.

But with the return of peace, all ideas of war had vanished, and he now
felt that it was necessary to make a desperate effort for the fortune
which had been so long delayed. But it was necessary to possess some
little capital; and with the view of laying the foundation for the
capital desired, he had embraced the opportunity of guiding Ralph Weston
on his journey, which was now nearly completed. He also had an idea
about a speculation which he wished to look after; but of that
hereafter.

Armed with a rifle, which had been his constant companion in his
encounters with the Indians, and with a hunting-knife which he wore in a
leathern belt, it would have been difficult for a stranger to have
pronounced his vocation. There was little in his figure or appearance
which would have indicated the habits of a borderer of the period, yet
one would scarcely have ventured to guess at any other calling or
profession.

His hair, which was long and straight, and originally of a brownish
color, had become grizzly, and flowed from under his cap without order
or regularity. His face was embrowned by long exposure to the extremes
of weather, while its expression had a rigidity that was scarcely ever
discomposed. His eyes were of a grayish cast, and seemed always to be on
the alert, to detect dangers that might threaten either his person, or
the mental treasures which were just ready to be coined.

The travelers journeyed in a sort of path, which had evidently been made
some time before, but which had been little used. Occasionally, a tree
that could not be avoided had been felled, and the stump wholly or
partially removed; and often the path was obstructed by the trunk of a
decayed tree, which had fallen from old age, or had been overthrown by
the violence of the winds.

"Well, Ichabod," said Ralph, after the travelers had paused a while to
survey the valley which now opened upon their view, "we must be near our
journey's end. From the indications you gave me, we cannot be more than
a mile distant, at farthest."

"I should say not, Captain," replied Ichabod; "I was never hereabouts
but once before, and then I reckon we made something of a spec in the
way of Injins. The varmints! but they are a long way off now, I reckon."

"I have never heard," said Ralph, "that any battles of consequence were
fought in this section of the State. This region is too distant from the
settlements, and too much of a wilderness, to have been the scene of any
important conflict."

"I can't say, Captain, how important it may or mayn't have been to the
country at large; but this I _do_ calculate, that it was mighty
important to them that had the fighting on't. Three Injins to one man,
sartin; and they fought like devils, as they were, confound 'em! Why,
Captain, if you'll believe it, one of them red rascals and I ra'ally had
a pitched battle for the ownership of this here companion of mine,"
pointing to his rifle; "but we taught the cussed red-skins better
manners. We don't part company so easy;" and Ichabod grasped his rifle
with a still firmer hand; and then half said and half sung, from the old
ballad of "Lovewell's fight,"

  "'For, as we are informed,
      So thick and fast they fell,
    Scarce twenty of their number
      At night did get home well.'"

"I supposed," said Ralph, "that this country, through which we are now
traveling, was in the possession of the friendly Oneidas and
Tuscaroras?"

"Yes, it was in their possession," answered Ichabod, "except when it was
overrun by those devils of Senecas or Onondagas and that was pretty
tolerably often. They got lots of scalps, sometimes, and sometimes they
lost their own. The Tryon County boys, when they had a fair chance at
'em, always paid 'em off with interest. As the poet said:

  "'Come all you Tryon County men,
      And never be dismayed;
    But trust sincerely in the Lord,
      And He will be your aid.'"

"But, as I ginerally found, they had to trust a good deal to their
rifles."

"I had heard of the sufferings of the people at the settlements," said
Ralph, "and knew the fact that many sharp battles, which are little
known in the general history of the war, occurred; but I supposed they
were confined to the immediate neighborhood of the settlements."

"Why, you see, Captain, if we got the start of 'em at the settlements,
we weren't such fools as to let 'em go without a taste of our pluck; and
it was on one of them occasions that I was down here. But I say,
Captain," exclaimed he, as he approached a sudden bend in the river,
where there was a much more than usual current, "what d'ye think of the
chance of setting up a woolen factory down here, on this creek?"

Amused with the turn Ichabod had given to the conversation, Ralph
suggested that it might possibly be a profitable investment, provided he
could induce the Indians to become customers to his establishment, and
provided the requisite staples for the manufacture could be obtained.
Nothing daunted by the suggestion of obstacles, Ichabod proceeded to
explain to Ralph how a rapid fortune, in that line, could be
accumulated.

"Now s'pose, Captain, that we buy of these Oneidas and Tuscaroras a
water-privilege. Well, that's done. Then we'll put up a building. Plenty
of materials, you see, all around here; and we can get the machinery at
New York, or send for a good hand, and make it ourselves. Then, as you
say, we shall have to get the wool; and after it's manufactured, we
shall have to sell it. But why can't we raise sheep here? We can get a
small stock at the settlement, and what with them and the increase, we
shan't have any lack of wool: and for a market, haven't we got the whole
country? But you'll say, Captain, that the foreign importations will
ruins us? Well, that _is_ a difficulty; but it can't last, Captain; it
won't last. We'll conquer them foreign fellows in that business, yet, as
we did in the other. But I think we can, any way, get up a good-enough
home market among these Injins. I'll have a talk with 'em about it." And
we shall see that he did, on a subsequent occasion, faithfully perform
his promise.

But we will not follow the worthy Ichabod in his calculations upon the
profits of his speculation. He had scarcely reached the middle of his
figurings upon the profits to be realized from a thousand sheep, when
Ralph, who was wearied, yet amused, by the earnestness of his companion,
exclaimed:

"Arrived at last!"

They had now approached near the northeastern shore of a small lake or
pond, which lay buried in the valley, completely surrounded by the
forest. Its eastern shore was about fifty rods from the river; and so
far as they could observe, it had neither inlet nor outlet. It was of an
almost perfect oval form, having on the eastern and a portion of the
southern shore a bluff of fifteen or twenty feet in height; but on the
southwest, the land gradually receded in an upward slope, into a hill of
fifty or sixty feet in height, while, towards the northwest, the land
rose sharply from the water's edge to an elevation of eighty or a
hundred feet. The northern shore seemed to be flat and marshy, and had
the appearance of having, at one time, been covered with the waters of
the pond. As we have said, it was of nearly an oval form, and was about
one hundred rods across, from east to west, while from north to south
the distance was still greater. The water was calm and clear, and
reflected, with the brightness and truthfulness of a mirror, the forms
of the trees which stood upon its western shore. Even Ichabod awoke from
his speculative dreams, and admired, with Ralph, the still and quiet
beauty of the scene.

Upon the brow of the hill which we have described on the southwestern
shore of the pond, in a clearing of few acres in extent, stood a
cottage, not much different from the general style of cottages, as they
were then built by the pioneers of the wilderness. Yet, in the distance
which intervened between it and our travelers, and in the calmness and
clearness of the day, which had now nearly reached its close, the
cottage possessed charms, in their eyes, which its intrinsic beauties,
either in situation or construction, did not perhaps merit. So far as
Ralph was concerned, perhaps, there were other reasons to lend it a
charm, beyond the beauty of the landscape or the golden rays thrown upon
it by the setting sun.

While they were yet observing it, with very different emotions, it was
apparent from an unwonted excitement among its inhabitants, that their
arrival had been observed, and the figure of a stout-looking elderly
man, followed by a negro, could be seen advancing towards them. But we
must leave the meeting to be recorded in the next chapter.




CHAPTER III.


  "'Tis pleasant, through the loop-holes of retreat,
      To peep at such a world; to see the stir
    Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;
      To hear the roar she sends, through all her gates,
    At a safe distance, where the dying sound
      Falls, a soft murmur, on the uninjured ear."
                                                      WILLIAM COWPER

The individual we have mentioned, who now came rapidly, towards Ralph,
was somewhat advanced in years--not less, perhaps, than sixty. Yet, in
his whole bearing and appearance could be seen the iron frame and
hardihood, which in these days have given place to a certain effeminacy
of manners. The hardy, robust race of men who cleared our forests, and
encountered cheerfully the sufferings and privations, and endured the
toil incident to a pioneer life, are passing away; and however much our
vanity may suffer in making the confession, their sons and successors
are apt to lack in those iron qualities which succeeded against
obstacles, the magnitude of which most of us do not appreciate.

The countenance of this individual exhibited tokens of the energy of
this now nearly departed class of men; yet upon it, at the same time,
glowed an expression of honesty and intelligence, which at once win the
heart and command confidence and respect. The frosts of time had but
lightly touched his hair, and at the first glance, one would have
guessed him at least ten years younger than he actually was.

Matthew Barton, for such was his name, about two years before the period
we have assigned for our narrative, had left one of the settlements at
the eastward, and removed with his family to this remote region. He had
been unfortunate in his pecuniary affairs, and his confidence had been
betrayed by a friend for whom he had incurred obligations nearly to the
amount of his small fortune. With the remains of his little property he
had removed to the west, advancing beyond the remotest dwelling in this
section of the State. He was satisfied that he had years of labor left
in him yet; and with a prudent foresight, he saw that a few years, at
most, would surround him with neighbors, who would be likely to follow
him to the fertile and beautiful valley he had selected. Suddenly,
perhaps, for one advanced to his age, and yielding partially to the
feelings of mortification he endured at the idea of struggling with
poverty among those who had seen him in a more prosperous condition, he
resolved upon this course, and it was at once adopted.

His wife had died a number of years before, leaving him but one child, a
daughter, who at this time had arrived at about twenty years of age. He
had purchased, with the remains of his property, a negro, to assist him
in his farming operations, and thus provided, we behold him in the new
house of his old age.

Ralph advanced rapidly forward to meet him, and hearty were the
greetings between them.

"Right glad am I to see you here, Ralph," said Barton, "yours is the
first friendly face I have seen from the settlements in many a day; and
I can say, too, that there is no other I would more gladly see. Oneidas
and Tuscaroras are well enough in their place, but it does one good to
see a little of the old eastern blood, once in a while."

The first greetings over, Ralph, with a blush--very faint indeed, but
still a blush--of which the old gentleman was entirely unconscious,
inquired about his old playmate, Ruth.

"Well and happy, Ralph--at least, as happy as one can be, so far from
friends; but she will be right glad to see you, I doubt not."

Ralph introduced Ichabod to Mr. Barton, as a worthy gentleman from the
settlements, who had been induced to accompany him through the
wilderness; and the party then proceeded towards the cottage, which, on
a nearer approach, if it lost some of the enchantments which distance
had lent it, gained on the score of adaptation to the purposes for which
it had been erected. It was situated in the midst of a few acres of land
which had been almost entirely cleared, and which showed abundant signs
of having already repaid, for the season, the labor which had been
bestowed upon it. A log barn had been erected, a short distance from the
house, and about the premises were seen the usual fixtures of a pioneer
habitation. The house itself was built of logs, but they had been hewn
and squared with some care; and, altogether, it had the appearance of a
neat and comfortable residence. It had, also, with a foresight against
contingencies which might occur, been adapted as a place of defense
against any attacks which might be made upon it by Indians.

"Stir your shanks, Sambo!" said Barton to the negro, "and inform your
mistress that she has visitors coming."

The negro hurried away on his errand, while the party proceeded more
leisurely towards the dwelling.

Ralph was welcomed by Miss Barton with all the warmth and pleasure that
might have been expected from their early friendship. Years had elapsed
since they had been separated, and, in the look of mutual joy and
pleased surprise at the changes which time had wrought in each other,
might be traced, perhaps, in both, the existence of a tenderer feeling
than belongs to mere friendship.

Ruth Barton, as we have already said, was about twenty years of age. In
figure, she was of the medium female height, but with a form fully
developed by healthful exercise; her countenance possessed a gentle
quietness, which was peculiarly feminine; but withal it gave evidence of
a confidence and self-reliance necessary to the women as well as to the
men of the frontier settlements of that period. She was, as her
appearance would indicate, the life of the family--always busy in the
labors and duties of the household; and, under her superintendence,
there were a regularity and neatness which, to the most fastidious of
housekeepers, might perhaps have been a little surprising. But these
were not the only qualifications which Ruth Barton possessed. She was
not satisfied with the mere routine of ordinary duties, but she had
found time to adorn her mind with many of the accomplishments of
education--far beyond most of those even, who were elevated above her by
the means and opportunity of acquiring a thorough education. Her mind
was of a somewhat imaginative cast, and she possessed a deep and quiet
love for the beauties of Nature. She loved her new home in the
wilderness--the beautiful valley which her father had selected,
possessed charms which she admired; and she had never wished to exchange
it, though solitary and neighborless, for the more populous country in
which she had once resided.

There was also present in the room an ill-clad, stout-looking man, by
the name of Guthrie, apparently about forty-five years of age. His
countenance had a vulgar cast; and it wore, besides, an ill-natured
expression, that repelled any attempt at an intimate acquaintance. This
Guthrie had, during the war of the Revolution, been a Tory; and it had
been suspected that he was one of the most active agents in inciting the
Indians of this locality to revolt. He resided at some distance below,
on the river, in a log shanty erected by him. He was a sort of squatter,
and tilled a few acres which had been partially cleared by the Indians
years before; but relied principally upon his gun and fish-pole for a
livelihood. Occasionally he went to the settlements with such skins or
other articles as he could exchange. He was merely tolerated in the
family of Mr. Barton, whenever he made his appearance; and knowing the
ill favor with which he was received, it was seldom that he intruded
himself upon them.

As the party entered the door, Guthrie, who had been sitting listlessly
by the fireside, arose with a sort of dogged air; but as the tall figure
of Ichabod met his eye, he shrank quietly back again, and endeavored, as
much as possible, to withdraw himself from observation. Ichabod did not
observe him, or, at least, exhibited no signs of recognition.

"We have been expecting you, Captain Weston, for some days," said Ruth;
"we learned by Guthrie, who came about a week ago from the settlements,
that you had returned from the army; and we have been awaiting the
fulfilment of an old promise to visit us."

"I left Philadelphia but a few weeks since," replied Ralph: "I was
mindful of my promise, and set out on my visit here as soon as my
business arrangements would allow; but I hardly think I should have
found my way here at all, had it not been for my friend, Mr. Jenkins. He
picked his way through your wilderness like an old acquaintance."

Ichabod acknowledged the attention which this remark attracted towards
him, by gradually elevating his form and replying:

"Well, these woods _are_ something like an old acquainance to me, seeing
as how I have been through here on some sharp war paths, afore now. It
was down yonder in them flats, we had a terrible skrimmage with them red
sarpints the Senecas and Onondagas; but we gave 'em a touch of
Independence, _con_-found 'em!"

"How long ago, Mr. Jenkins," asked Barton, "did the fight which you
mention occur?"

"Well, as near as I can calculate, I should think it was in the fall of
'79."

"That must have been the same affair which I have heard you mention,
Guthrie," said Barton, addressing that individual, who sat in the corner
of the large fireplace, with his hat drawn over his eyes.

"Yes," growled Guthrie, without moving.

"What! old veteran, was you there, too?" asked Ichabod, approaching him.

"No, I wan't there," replied Guthrie ferociously, partly turning his
face towards Ichabod.

"Well, you needn't be so savage about it, friend," said Ichabod, slowly.
"Them that fout there, so far as I know, hadn't nothing to be ashamed
on." Then turning away, he muttered to himself, "I've seen them features
afore, somewhere--down in the settlements, perhaps. But I say, Squire,"
turning towards Barton, "you've done a mighty smart business, clearing
up here, lately."

"Yes, something of a business. We have not been idle. Sambo and I have
got ten or fifteen acres pretty well cleared."

In the meantime, Ruth was busy making preparations for the family
supper, and providing otherwise for the comfort of their guests. Guthrie
took the opportunity quietly to leave the room, and with his rifle on
his shoulder, proceeded rapidly in a southerly direction.

The conversation then turned upon the political condition of the
country, the depreciated state of the currency, and the anticipated
proceedings of Congress.

"The greatest difficulty that lies in the way of a proper management
and settlement of our affairs," said Ralph, in reply to some remark of
Barton, "it seems to me, is in the limited powers of Congress. Impotent
for any purpose, it has a herculean task before it. I think it will be
found necessary to adopt a stronger government."

"No, no," replied Barton, who seemed to be tenacious of State rights,
and to labor under a great fear of the evil consequences of a
centralization of power. "Congress has power enough. The disorders under
which the country labors, would have been no less under any form of
government. Without resources, in a long and harassing war, the burden
of indebtedness and the depreciated condition of the currency, were
unavoidable; but all that will be necessary to restore us, will be a few
years of peace. Things will come round of themselves."

"But," said Ralph, "how is our indebtedness to be paid? The country is
already exhausted by taxation. The States themselves are overburdened
with their own debts: when to these are added those contracted by
Congress, it is very difficult, under the present order of things, to
see our way clearly out of our embarrassments. No credit in Europe--no
money at home--no confidence anywhere. With a few years of peace, had
Congress the power to levy impost duties, much might be done. Even the
late measure of a proposed impost duty of five per cent. has been lost
by the obstinacy of Rhode Island, which would not concur in the
measure."

"Say, the _patriotism_ of Rhode Island, rather," answered Barton, "if
that term may be applied to a State. I look upon that system of impost
duties as a direct robbery of the people. Give Congress that power, and
you give away the whole property of the nation. Duties would be laid
that would deprive the poorer classes of all the comforts--ay, of many
of the necessaries of life. That won't do."

"How, then," asked Ralph, "would you pay off our indebtedness, and
support the burthens of government?"

"By direct taxation!"

"But that system, you would find, I think," said Ralph, "would not
answer the purpose. It would only reach a certain class, and would be
very strongly resisted. But, by the other system, the trifling addition
to the cost of articles of general consumption would be little felt, and
after a time, would be generally acquiesced in. Besides, all classes of
persons would be reached, and almost universally in proportion to their
means."

"It is only a return to the principle of the stamp act," said Barton,
who was a little excited; "and our seven years of warfare and suffering
will have been useless, if, after all, we are to permit any authority,
in its discretion, to impose burdens upon us."

"I don't know about that, Squire," interrupted Ichabod, who had
listened to this discussion with much interest, and to whose mind the
factory speculation proposed to Ralph, recurred. "Wouldn't such a system
a little better allow us to take care of ourselves? Couldn't we a little
easier build up manufactories of our own? Just add that five or ten per
cent, to the profits of our own manufacturers, and pretty soon we'd hold
them _furrin_ manufacturers off at arm's length. You'd see factories of
all sorts starting up all over the country, and there would be a
pleasure in that, to a man who loved his own country--to wear cloth and
drive nails made at home. Now, couldn't _you_, Squire if a duty of ten
or fifteen per cent, was laid on woollen fixins', afford to go into the
factory business, on your own hook, on this river of your'n, here?"

"Fiddlesticks!" ejaculated Barton, "what could _I_ do in the factory
business?"

"Well, perhaps _you_ mightn't do anything at it, Squire," replied
Ichabod; "but somebody else might. Now, suppose somebody _should_ locate
a business of that kind down here, I'll tell you how you could make a
nice spec out of it, without laying out any capital at all--although it
would be kind'er fair to lend a helping hand, jist to start, perhaps,
seeing you could make so well out of it."

Barton looked at Ichabod, as if he began to doubt his sanity; but to
Ralph, the earnestness of the one and the surprise of the other, was a
matter of great amusement.

Ichabod continued, pleased at the surprised attention which Barton was
giving to him:

"You see, Squire, s'pose that business should be started down here, jist
opposite them flats, it would be necessary to bring in lots of people,
and you could lay out them flats into building-lots, and realize
something handsome out of it."

"Pshaw!" said Barton, "a city down here! Well, I'll tell you what I'll
do, Mr. Jenkins. I'll give you the land for your factory, together with
your water-privilege, and we'll divide the profits on the city lots;"
and the old gentleman laughed heartily at the suggestion.

"That's what I call fair," said Ichabod, slowly; "but _couldn't_ you,
Squire, do a little something towards furnishing the capital?"

"Furnishing the capital!" ejaculated Barton; "why, as to that, I haven't
capital enough to furnish my own farm, small as it is. No: I think, Mr.
Jenkins, I have made you a very fair offer."

Just at this moment, Sambo announced their supper to be ready, and
Ichabod was obliged to desist from the further prosecution of his
project. But, extremely well satisfied with the progress already made,
he began seriously to dream of the manufacturing firm of "Barton,
Weston, Jenkins & Co."




CHAPTER IV.

     _2d Fisherman_.--"Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea."

     _1st Fisherman_.--"Why, as men do on land--the great ones eat up
     the little ones."--PERICLES.

Ralph was now fairly installed as a member of the family of Mr. Barton.
He had found an opportunity, in the course of the evening of his
arrival, to exchange a few words of conversation with Ruth; and he was
now satisfied that the partiality with which, in former days, she had
regarded him, had not given place to indifference. The consciousness of
this fact amply repaid him for long years of absence, and led him to
look forward to such a future as only appears to the vision of those who
reason from the heart. The future, cold, impassable, dark, and filled
with mysterious dread, to him who has outlived the power of youthful
passion--to the young and the hopeful, is the unattained but attainable
region, where exist all the charms and raptures which can be bodied
forth by an ardent imagination. So different are the views of life which
can be made by a few active, busy years.

On the morning of the day after their arrival, Ralph and Ichabod,
accompanied by Barton, examined the farm and the improvements which had
been made by the energy of the latter. Some fifteen acres of forest had
already been cleared, and Sambo, on this morning, was engaged in still
farther invading the domains of the wilderness; and with his bare and
muscular arms was wielding the axe like a redoubtable soldier among a
multitude of enemies.

There is something pleasant to the eye in beholding the struggle of man
with the wilderness; to see old, mossy trees, that had stood for ages,
faithful guardians of the soil, whose long, leafy boughs and bushy
crowns, seemed to belong as much to the sky in which they waved and
nodded, as to the earth which sustained them, bow down their heavy heads
with a crash, that to the imaginative mind, seems, with its echoes, like
a mournful wail issuing from the surviving forest. As the tree falls,
the golden sunlight darts into a new and unexplored region, and the
melancholy forest abode recedes, as if pursued by an implacable enemy.
But it is a rescue of the earth from the long slumber of past time, and
an offering to the comforts and necessities of the future.

It is scarcely to be wondered at, that in earlier times, when the
imaginations of men overruled their powers of reason, the sombre,
melancholy forest abode was peopled with fanciful beings--children of
the shadow and of the forest--Fairies, Dryads, and Satyrs, with Arcadian
landscapes, and the good god Pan to preside over sylvan sports! But in
these days of utility, the reed of the shepherd and the music of the
sylvan gods are drowned in the clatter of saw-mills, and the hoarse song
of the woodchopper.

Ichabod, who had not forgotten the conversation of the previous evening,
endeavored, two or three times, to revive the project which on that
occasion he had proposed to Barton; but he was unsuccessful in his
attempts to renew the discussion. After a few hours thus spent, the
party returned to the cottage. Barton proposed, for the afternoon, a
fishing excursion upon the pond. "It is filled," said he, "with pickerel
and perch--both very delicious fish, and they are taken with the utmost
ease. This is just the season for them."

Ralph inquired if the streams contained any specimens of trout; and
Barton answered, "that the river contained some very fine specimens,
although they were not so numerous as in the smaller streams.
Occasionally we take pike, but they do not come so far up the river in
very large quantities. But," he continued, with a zeal that showed he
was not a stranger to the gentle art, "our brooks are filled--absolutely
filled--with trout. There is a stream, about a mile and a half west of
us, which comes from the northwest, through a wilderness, with which I
am almost wholly unacquainted, where they can be taken in great numbers.
In an hour, we can catch as many as it will be convenient to carry. If
you like, we will go over there to-morrow, or next day; but for to-day,
I am anxious to show you sport nearer by."

It was arranged, that in the afternoon the suggestion of Barton should
be followed; and hearing the latter giving some directions to Sambo,
which it will be unnecessary here to repeat, Ralph and Ichabod proceeded
leisurely towards the cottage.

"There is a charm, for me, about a life in the woods," said Ralph,
"which I cannot explain. Mingled with the idea of a nearer approach to
the Court of Nature, is that of separation from the passions and vices
of men in the world. One feels to exclaim with the Bard of Avon,

       "Is not this life more sweet
    Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
    More free from peril than the envious court?"

"I don't dispute the general idea," said Ichabod, "about the sweetness
of a life in the woods. I have never tried it very much, but I always
have a different sort of feeling from usual when I find myself in the
forest; but I reckon that it can't be considered very patriotic for a
Captain in the Revolutionary Army to be quoting Shakspeare, or any
other British poet. What did _he_ know about _our_ woods? All the woods
he ever saw were but a child's play-ground compared with the eternal,
never-ending forests of America. As for me, if I've got any poetry to
quote, I can find enough of our own manufacture. I believe in the home
manufacture of _that_ article, just as much as I do in that of the other
kind we were talking about last night."

Ralph smiled at Ichabod's literary bigotry. He answered:

"I do not know any reasonable objection to our admiring the men of
genius of a foreign or hostile nation, or their writings. Men of genius
are the property of the world. Whatever they may think or say that may
delight and instruct one people, may equally delight and instruct all
others. We are yet in the infancy of the poetic art, and have produced
no poets capable of winning a world-wide reputation."

"That's precisely what the British say, Captain; and if I didn't know
that your heart was true as steel to the American cause, I should be a
little _jealous_ of you. No poets of reputation! Did you ever read
Freneau, Captain? To my mind, he's got more poetry in his little finger
than Shakspeare had in his whole body. Now, did Shakspeare ever write
anything equal to Freneau's "Antiquity of America"?"

And Ichabod began reciting, in a loud voice--

  "'America, to every climate known,
    Spreads her broad bosom to the burning zone;
    To either pole extends her vast domain,
    Where varying suns in different summers reign.'"

"That's the way the poem begins, and it fully keeps up its pitch all the
way through."

Ralph had some knowledge of the poetical compositions of Freneau, who
had really produced some poems, full of a fine, poetic feeling, and who
was much beyond the mass of his poetical contemporaries in this country;
yet, although he entertained a feeling of respect for the ability and
services of the revolutionary poet, he could not share the high degree
of admiration which Ichabod entertained for him.

"I'll grant," said Ralph, scarcely knowing how to reply to the irritated
Ichabod, "that Shakespeare never _did_ write precisely such a poem; and
I will admit that I do not believe he ever _could_ have written such an
one."

"I knew you were right at heart, Captain," exclaimed Ichabod, highly
elated over his equivocal victory. "Some of his verses have done as much
towards bringing down the British, as whole regiments of Continentals
could have done. But then, Freneau is only one of a whole circle of
poets. The British boast about their old ballads; now, I'll take an even
bet, that I can show 'em ballads, written here at home, that will make
'em ashamed. Why, we've had a woman that would eclipse 'em all, to my
mind--Mrs. Bradstreet, of whom another poet said:

  "'Her breast was a brave palace, a broad street,
    Where all heroic, ample thoughts did meet.'"

"Mrs. Bradstreet _did_ possess a sweetness of expression," said Ralph;
"and, with a higher cultivation, she might have written some fine
poetry."

"_Might_, Captain! Lord bless you, she did! Speaking of the Squire's
fishing expedition, what other poet ever said as fine things about
_fish_, for instance, as she did?

  "'Ye fish, which in this liquid region 'bide,
    That for each season have your habitation,
    Now salt, now fresh, where you think best to glide,
    To unknown coasts to give a visitation.
    In lakes and ponds you leave your numerous fry:
    So Nature taught, and yet you know not why,
    You wat'ry folk that know not your felicity.'"

Ralph was much amused at the earnestness of Ichabod, and he did not wish
to irritate him by any depreciating criticism upon verses which he
considered so extraordinary; but remarked:

"An admiration of poetic productions depends very much upon the quality
of our taste. I presume that I have very little taste for such things;
but I do think that our ballad poetry has done us good service. Written
in a popular style, and sung or recited by men who _felt_ the particular
sentiments usually contained in them, these ballads have frequently
proved effective in inspiring a proper, natural feeling."

"Them's my sentiments, Captain," said Ichabod; "and I'm glad to see that
you're right on that p'int. We've got ballads on all sorts of subjects,
from the time of King Philip's war down to these days. Did you ever read
the ballad of 'Lovewell's Fight,' Captain? I call it a great poem. After
speaking of the valiant Captain Lovewell, it goes on to say:

  "'He and his valiant soldiers
      Did range the woods full wide,
    And hardships they endured,
      To quell the Indian's pride.

 "''Twas nigh unto Pigwacket,
      Upon the eighth of May,
    They spied a rebel Indian
      Soon after break of day.
    He on a bank was walking,
      Upon a neck of land
    Which leads into a pond, as
      We're made to understand.'

"It then goes on to describe the fight between the company and the
Injins that laid in ambush, and winds up with telling who and how many
were killed.

  "'Our worthy Captain Lovewell
      Among them there did die;
    They killed Lieutenant Robbins,
      And wounded good young Frye,'

while the rest of the company started for home;

   'And braving many dangers
      And hardship in the way,
    They safe arrived at Dunstable,
      The thirteenth day of May.'"

"Very good, Ichabod--very good! It is really quite American in style, as
well as theme."

"But good as it is, Captain, it isn't a circumstance to some of 'em.
There's 'Brave Pawling and the Spy,' and 'Bold Hawthorne,' and 'American
Taxation.' That last poem, Captain, has got the true essence of poetry
in it. If I was the author of that, I'd die content. The poem goes on to
say.

  "'The cruel lords of Britain,
      Who glory in their shame,
    The project they have hit on
      They joyfully proclaim;
    'Tis what they're striving after,
      Our rights to take away,
    And rob us of our charter,
      In North America.'

"Then 'two mighty speakers, who rule in Piedmont,' propose to King
George a plan for taxation of the colonies, to which the king accedes,
and says:

  "'My subjects shall be taxed
      In North America

    Invested with a warrant
      My publicans shall go,
    The tenth of all their current
      They surely shall bestow:
    If they indulge rebellion,
      Or from my precepts stray,
    I'll send my war battalion
      To North America.'

"Then the people of the colonies address King George, and implore him
not to tax 'em; and finally say that if he does they'll fight about it,
and that

  "'We never will knock under,
      O George, we do not fear
    The rattling of your thunder,
      Nor lightning of your spear;

    Though rebels you declare us,
      We're strangers to dismay;
    Therefore you cannot scare us
      In North America.'

"It's a great poem, Captain; it was written by a schoolmaster in
Connecticut."

"It is patriotic in tone," replied Ralph; "it has that merit, at least.
Are you much acquainted with the old poets of the country?"

"A little, Captain; I've read them all. Besides Mrs. Bradstreet, there's
Roger Wolcott, Nathaniel Ward, Mather Byles, Joseph Green, Peter
Foulger, old Michael Wigglesworth, and hosts of others. A splendid
galaxy, Captain! There's 'The Day of Doom; or, a Poetical Description of
the Great and Last Judgment,' by Wigglesworth. It _is_ rather strong on
the old New England religion, but as a piece of poetical work, it's
really great. Was anything ever more terrible than the description of
the final judgment? After the sentence is pronounced, before the
condemned,

  "'They wring their hands, their caitiff hands,
      And gnash their teeth in terror;
    They cry, they war, for anguish sore,
      And gnaw their tongues for horror;
    But get away, without delay,
      Christ pities not your cry:
    Depart to hell--there ye may yell,
      And war eternally.'

"We can admire poetry, sometimes, when we don't precisely approve of the
sentiments. Did you ever see a more terrific piece of writing than that,
Captain?"

"It is full of horrors, I must confess," said Ralph, who was beginning
to get weary at the extent of Ichabod's poetical recollections; "but we
are near the cottage, and we must now make our preparations for the
fishing expedition. Are you anything of a fisherman, Ichabod?"

"I can't say that I am, Captain. With all respect for the taste of other
people, it always looked to me like rather poor sport. A man may do
that, as he does anything else, for a livelihood; but, for sport, give
me a rifle, a sharp eye, and a practised hand. Howsomever, I am with
you."

The afternoon seemed to prepare itself expressly for the accommodation
of the fishing party. Light clouds covered the sky and a gentle south
wind just stirred the face of the water. Sambo had been to the river and
caught for bait a quantity of small white fish; and, equipped with hooks
and line, Barton, with Ralph and Ichabod, proceeded to the pond, where
they entered a boat that had been made by hollowing out two halves of a
large log, some three feet in diameter and attaching them together.
Barton paddled towards the north-west side, and advanced some fifteen or
twenty rods from the shore.

"In this portion of the pond," said he, "the pickerel are most abundant.
Perch are found in large quantities near the south-east shore."

They then fastened the bait, which had been kept alive, to the hooks,
and threw them overboard. Ichabod was a stranger to this manner of
fishing, and he watched the proceedings with an evident degree of
interest. Ralph had been accustomed to it in his boyhood and therefore
needed no instructions.

Seeing that Ichabod did not understand the course of operations, Barton
said to him, "It is necessary, usually, for the purpose of securing the
fish, whenever it strikes the bait, to allow it to run with the line for
a short distance, when it stops and endeavors to swallow its prey. If it
succeeds in doing so, or if it finds itself hooked, it then runs. Then
is the time to pull; pull slowly, but steadily, and you have him."

"Hallo! ive got one!" shouted Ichabod; and, mindful of the directions he
had just received, he commenced jerking and pulling violently on his
line. The fish, which was of good size, and would weigh from two to
three pounds, came struggling towards the boat, as if not anxious to
make a more familiar acquaintance with the party. "Ah you varmint,--you
Seneca!" shouted Ichabod. "Pull will you! I'll show you a trick worth
two of that!" He had just got the fish close to the side of the boat,
and was eagerly bent over to grasp him, if necessary, when the pickerel,
with a desperate struggle, that splashed the water in all directions,
broke loose, and darted with the rapidity of light, as it seemed to the
eyes of Ichabod, back into the pond. The excitement, and the sudden
release of the prisoner, nearly capsized Ichabod. He fell towards the
other side of the boat, and and had it not been for Ralph, would have
tumbled overboard.

"Hallo, there!" said Barton, laughing, "it's no use going into the water
after him; you cannot catch him that way."

Ralph also laughed heartily at the accident; and Ichabod, much
disconcerted, quietly fastened another bait, determined to succeed
better on the next trial.

Just then, a pickerel of large size darted at Barton's bait, and Barton
eased off his line, while the fish ran with it some eight or ten feet,
and then commenced its efforts to swallow the captive it had seized. It
would have been amusing to one who had no experience in the excitements
of that species of fishing, to have Seen the evident anxiety of Barton.
To the sportsman, the excitement is of such a degree as almost to obtain
the mastery of his calmness, when, with a dart like a flash of sunlight,
the pickerel seizes the bait, and flies so suddenly that one can
scarcely say he saw it; then comes the violent twitching and jerking of
the line, as the monster endeavors in its eagerness to devour its prey.
Barton waited patiently, until by the rapid motion of his line through
the water, it was apparent that the pickerel was disposed to make off,
either entirely satisfied or very much dissatisfied,--when, with a
steady pull, he assisted the captive in its escape, and brought it
slowly, but struggling violently, back to the boat. In a moment it was
lifted in, and the capture was completed. One would have supposed from
the appearance of Barton, that he had triumphed in some great encounter
in another and more important field of action. But it is true, although
perhaps not strange, that we enjoy with as keen a relish, a triumph,
when we contend only with trifles, if our success is owing to our own
skill or wisdom, as we do, where we triumph over greater obstacles with
less skill, but with the assistance of accident.

Barton and Ralph both had extensively "good luck," and the boat began to
be loaded with the fish they had taken. Ichabod, who for some time had
watched their operations with much interest, had, of late, become
silent, and seemed to pay little or no attention to the sport. His first
failure, and the success of the others, had disconcerted him somewhat;
and his want of luck began to make him think he was engaged in rather
dull business.

At an interval of cessation in their sport, which had now become a
little like labor, Ralph turned to Ichabod, and said,

"How now, Ichabod--did that pickerel run away with your spirits? Wake
up, man; what are you dreaming about?"

"Confound the varmints!" exclaimed Ichabod. "The pervarse cree'turs
ain't worth talking about, to say nothing about skirmishing here half a
day after 'em. Give me a chance at them deer yonder in the woods, or the
wolves I've heered of round here, and we'd have something to talk about,
I tell you."

"Well we'll give you a chance," said Barton laughing; "you shall have an
opportunity to triumph in your own field. You don't like
pickerel-fishing, then?"

"Pickerel-fishing," replied Ichabod gravely; "may be good sport for them
as likes it, and have a cunning that way; but you see, I don't look upon
it as a reg'lar large business any way. Give me the sports one can unite
with business. Now you see, the man that's a good shot on a deer, may be
jist as good a shot, providing he has steady nerves, on an Injin; but
you can't catch Senecas or Onondagas with this kind of bait. No, I don't
like it, Squire." And Ichabod drew back into his former position of
listlessness.

"I say, Squire," said he, in a moment, with a twinkle of his eyes, as if
he had hit upon a happy idea. "I say, Squire, there's one way you might
make this pond profitable. This wasn't put here merely to grow these
cussed varmints in. Things has their uses; and the uses of this body of
water isn't to cover fish spawn, as any man can see with half an eye."

"Well, Ichabod, any more factory projects?" asked Barton with an attempt
at composure.

"There isn't anything to laugh at in that idea," said Ichabod. "You
haven't thought of it as much as I have. But I tell you, Squire, you
might jist as well build up this country here, and make your own spec.
out of it, as to allow some body else to come in here, and do it; for
'twill be done, I tell you. A country like this can't be kept out of all
its advantages a great while, any way. Now, you see, this pond, Squire,
providing--I say, _providing_--you can get a proper fall of water from
it, as I reckon you can, would make a great chance for a mill privilege,
or something of that sort; and you see, Squire, if that could be done,
you'd have a supply of water here, that----Creation, what _have_ I got
hold on?" and Ichabod commenced tugging violently at his line; for he
evidently had caught something that offered much more than ordinary
resistance to his efforts. His struggles attracted the attention of both
Barton and Ralph, who came to offer him any assistance that might be
necessary.

"Slow! steady!" said Barton.

"Yes, yes," shouted Ichabod: "I'll have him now. Ah! here he comes--ugh!
what in creation----" and in his astonishment he dropped his line, which
began to make off rapidly from the boat.

"A turtle!" exclaimed Barton, "a mud-turtle!" seizing the line, and
pulling in the turtle, which would weigh eight or ten pounds. "You have
triumphed at last, Jenkins. Nobody else has caught a turtle to-day--and
so large a one, too. It is a real victory--another Saratoga," and he
laughed so heartily that Ichabod showed some symptoms of getting angry.

"_Con_-found the victory, Squire," said he, "I'll tell you what, Squire,
I don't handle them traps any more. If you want to see slaughter among
your bears and wolves, bring 'em on: but I've got through with this
cussed business, any how."

"But, without jesting, Jenkins," said Barton, "that turtle is worth more
for eating than all the fish we've got here--their meat is delicious;
and I prize them highly."

"If that's so, Squire," said Ichabod, "you're entirely welcome to it.
The varmint! I've seen 'em down in the settlements: but I never heerd of
eating 'em, before; _I'd_ feed 'em to Senecas."

"They would be very thankful for them," said Barton. "It isn't every day
they get a turtle like this."

The lines were all taken in, and as they were now sufficiently wearied,
the boat was paddled towards the shore, where Sambo was waiting to
receive the fish.

"Golly!" said the negro, grinning "who caught dis ere fellar? he! he!
he!" pointing towards the turtle.

"_I_ caught that varmint!" replied Ichabod, gravely.

"Guess massa Jenkins let he bait die," said Sambo. "Dose fellars don't
bite like pickerel, no how. How massa Jenkins manage?"

"Manage! you black devil," said Ichabod, angrily, "I'll feed you to him,
if you ask any more questions."

Ralph and Barton were very much amused at Ichabod's discomfiture, which
did not at all pacify him; but the party proceeded towards the cottage,
Sambo being careful to keep out of Ichabod's way; but many were the
grins which he made at his expense, behind his back. Ichabod gave up the
idea of ever being a fisherman; but, as he seemed to be extremely
sensitive on that subject, neither Ralph nor Barton saw fit to make any
particular allusion to it.




CHAPTER V.

   "We rustled through the leaves like wind,
    Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;
    By night I heard them on the track,
    Their whoop came hard upon our back,
    With their long gallop, which can tire
    The hound's deep hate and hunter's fire."
      MAZEPPA

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, when they returned to the
cottage; and as the sun had again made its appearance, and there were no
indications of unpleasant weather. Ralph proposed to Miss Barton that
they should put in execution a project which she had mentioned, of
taking a ride on horseback down the valley.

The horses were at once brought out, by the negro. They were kept for
working horses by Barton; but they had sufficient life and activity to
make an excursion in that mode pleasant and agreeable.

Sambo, who was very much attached to his mistress, took the liberty of
cautioning her to be home again by nightfall, and muttered something
about "strange Injins" and wolves. Barton smiled at the fears of the
negro; but at the same time intimated that any possible danger might be
avoided by an early return.

"As for Indians," said he, "I haven't known many around here lately, and
they are all of the friendly sort. The King's Indians, as they are
called, have not been here, as I have known, since I have resided here.
As for wolves, they are sometimes dangerous, in winter; I have heard of
them pursuing people, at that season of the year, when they are
particularly voracious; but I never heard of such an instance so early
in the season--although it is possible that it might occur. But Ruth
knows the country," continued he, "and will know how to avoid any
dangers that are incident to it."

"I shall place myself wholly under the control of Miss Barton," said
Ralph; "she shall be both guide and guard."

"I can answer for the guide," replied Ruth, "if not for the guard. But I
have often taken the short excursion I proposed for to-day; and I will
promise to bring home Captain Weston safe and sound."

They mounted their horses, and proceeded slowly down the valley, along a
narrow path or road, but of sufficient width to allow two horses to
travel abreast. They had proceeded in this manner about a mile, in a
southerly direction, with little conversation, except such as was
suggested by their ride, when after rounding a hill which ran down
nearly to the river, they came in full view of the valley, which here
widened out into broad flats, and certainly offered to their observation
a high degree of beauty and attraction.

"Beyond the hill which you see yonder," said Ruth, "the valley attains a
much greater width. The river, on one side, flows at the base of the
eastern hills; and a pleasant stream, which, to translate the Indian
appellation, means a "swiftly running creek," flows at the base of the
hills on the west. At about a mile and a half below, they unite, and
finally empty into the Susquehanna. The excursion I proposed for to-day
was only to the spot where the junction of the two streams is formed. I
have been there a few times, and I have always been charmed with the
beauty of the place."

"The whole valley is beautiful," said Ralph, "beyond any ideas I
entertained before visiting it. Such a place will soon be populated. I
do not blame Ichabod for his schemes at speculation here; for with the
impulse which the country must now receive in population and wealth, so
beautiful and advantageous a region as this, will not long be
neglected."

They passed around the hill which Ruth had mentioned, where the valley,
as she had observed, became of a much greater width, wider than Ralph
had yet seen it. It was almost entirely covered with forest; although
here and there were places which had been partially cleared by the
savages, in former days. The forest in which they were encompassed shut
out any very extensive observation of the valley itself, except when
they were upon some of the high ground; but enough could be seen to give
one a good general idea of its shape and condition. The path had become
somewhat more narrow, and they were surrounded by a wilderness of
vegetation, which was peculiarly attractive to the eyes of Ralph and his
companion.

After about half an hour's further progress, they arrived at the place
which had been mentioned by Ruth. The river, just before it reaches the
spot where it receives the waters of the creek, makes a sudden turn to
the east, for about thirty rods, and then returns to nearly the same
point, in a north and south line, at a distance of only fifteen or
twenty rods, where the junction is formed. A portion of the waters of
the river, however escape from the main channel and flow directly
towards the south, making an island two or three acres in extent.

Having arrived at this spot, Ralph and his companion dismounted from
their horses, and fastening them to some small trees nearby, they gave
themselves up to the contemplation of the fine scenery around them. The
sun was then about an hour high, and the golden sunlight flashing upon
the variegated foliage of the forest--the calmness which reigned
undisturbed around them, the solitude of the wilderness in which they
were encompassed, all conspired to give a hue to feelings which both
possessed, but which they scarcely dared to breathe to each other.

"I have often dreamed," said Ralph, "of just such a spot as this. I am
something of a recluse by nature; but after all, I have some choice as
to the place of my isolation."

"I shall expect, then," answered Ruth, smiling, "to hear of Ralph
Weston, the hermit, occasionally, from those who may pass by here. Where
do you propose to establish your hermitage?"

"In truth, I cannot say," replied Ralph; "but I suppose it will be when
I, like the hermits of old, have become sufficiently disgusted with the
world, to make me fly from it with hatred; I will not fix the precise
time, just now--I will leave it to circumstances. But familiarity with
Nature--converse with the solitude of the forest, is the best antidote
to the disgust which many persons conceive of society. The man cannot be
all bad, who has any relish left in him for the beauties which Nature
can unfold to him."

"You are becoming very much of a philosopher, Captain Weston. You shall
have another title added to that of hermit. You shall be a philosophical
hermit."

"Ruth! you laugh at me! But you must pardon my caprice at the idea of a
forest life; for I am not much of a woodsman, you know. But I'll venture
to say, after all, that you agree with me."

"Yes," answered Ruth, earnestly, "I do like our new mode of life. We are
nearly shut out from the world,--but we have still a thousand pleasures,
perhaps the sweeter from our solitary position. We do not merely _find_
a home, we _create_ one. We see broad meadows starting out from the
forest, and know that they are ours by the best of titles--a reclamation
from the waste of Nature. I have often asked myself whether I would be
willing to abandon our present home for the old home in the settlements,
and I never yet could answer that I would."

"To a light, vain head," answered Ralph, "such a life would be tiresome;
but it seems to me, although how long the feeling would endure, I cannot
say--yet it seems to me, that the constant idea of dependence upon a
Power beyond and over men, which must be ever present to the minds of
those who dwell in the wilderness, would give life a higher and truer
aim, than can be attained in society. But familiarity with scenes like
these, blunts the mind, perhaps, and the idea is soon lost."

"I believe the remark is true," replied Ruth. "We cannot entirely forego
society, without injury to ourselves."

"Yes, perhaps it is so," said Ralph; "we can attain no such marvellous
degree of sentiment or independence as wholly to destroy our taste for
crowds and social intercourse. I think, after all, that if I were to
become a hermit, I should like a few familiar friends to share my
hermitage."

Ruth smiled as she replied, "your hermitage, then, Captain Weston, would
be a very different affair from the 'cave, rock and desert' of an
old-fashioned recluse, who

  "'Had nought to do but feed on roots,
      And gaze upon the stars!'"

"Were I ever to choose the 'rock, cave and desert,'" said Ralph, "I
believe I should wish my solitary life, after all, to be terminated, as
was the Solitude of Edwin, in the ballad of Goldsmith; that is, if I
could ever hope that any Angelina would seek the solitude I sought. But
I suppose that "Angelinas" are the creatures of poetry."

"And why not Edwins, too?" inquired Ruth, with an arch smile.

"And why, since we are asking questions," asked Ralph, with a look that
brought a blush to the cheek of his companion, "may I not ask Miss
Barton----"

But the question, however important to the happiness of either, or both
of them, was interrupted by a sudden rustling of dry underbrush in their
immediate vicinity, as if trodden upon by a hasty foot. Ralph turned
suddenly round, and beheld the ill-natured countenance of Guthrie before
him. The squatter stopped short, leaning upon his rifle, and said, with
an attempt at civility, but in a gruff tone:

"You're a _stranger_ in these parts, friend, and don't know that you may
find it a little _dangerous_ traveling through this forest by night."

"Dangerous, Guthrie! how so?" inquired Ruth.

"You, who live up at the cottage, Miss Ruth, mayn't know it, but the
wolves have been prowling around here in reg'lar troops, for a few days
past; and it will be dark now, afore you can get back to the cottage. I
had a set-to with a rascally troop of them, last night."

Ralph thanked Guthrie for his caution, although he was half angry at the
interruption, at that particular moment of time, and intimated to Ruth
that perhaps they had better return. Ruth assented, the horses were
unfastened, and they proceeded at a leisurely pace towards home,
although more rapidly than they had come.

The labor and perplexity of making their way along the rough path and
among the underbrush were such as to prevent any continued conversation.
By the time they had traveled half a mile, the sun, with a broad, ruddy
glow, had sunk behind the western hills. The twilight in the midst of
the forest soon gave way to a deep shade, which rendered their path
still more difficult.

Ralph, who had at first inwardly cursed the interruption made by
Guthrie, in a conversation which had reached a point most deeply
interesting to him, now almost wished that it had occurred a little
earlier. Ruth evidently entertained the same thought, for her
countenance exhibited much anxiety.

"Guthrie's advice was reasonable, most certainly," she said, "although
it was not given in the most civil manner."

"It was somewhat later than I thought," answered Ralph, "but we shall
reach home in an hour more, at least. But who is this Guthrie? I believe
I saw him at your father's on the night of my arrival."

"Nothing is known of him, with certainty," replied Ruth. "He has a
shanty somewhere below here, where he lives alone, subsisting upon such
game as he finds, and upon the trade he drives at the settlements. He is
supposed to have been a Tory, and to have been leagued with the Indians
of this region; although we merely suspect it--we do not know it."

"He has an ill-favored countenance. He wears one of those peculiar
faces, that we always distrust. Is he often at your father's?"

"Not very frequently; we entertained the same distrust of him you have
expressed, on first seeing him, and that feeling has rather increased
than diminished, with only a very short acquaintance."

"He has certainly rendered us a favor on this occasion," said Ralph, who
found their progress was momently becoming more difficult, as the
darkness increased.

It was just at this instant, that a long howl was heard at some distance
behind them, but apparently from the westward. In the stillness and
darkness which encompassed them, it had a melancholy and threatening
sound, which was far from agreeable. Scarcely a moment had elapsed ere
the howl which they had heard was answered from the opposite direction;
and almost simultaneously it seemed to be echoed by a hundred discordant
throats.

"The wolves!" exclaimed Ralph and Ruth, together. "But," said Ralph,
"perhaps they have not scented us, and we may have nothing to fear from
them."

"Heaven grant that it may be so," earnestly replied Ruth; but as if at
once to end their hopes, the cries were again heard, sharper and wilder.
Just at this moment the moon arose, and began to throw a misty and
uncertain light through the forest. Ralph seized the horse upon which
Ruth was mounted by the bits, and the animals were at once urged to the
greatest speed which the difficulties of their path would allow. The
horses themselves felt the alarm, and readily yielded to the impulse of
their riders.

The cries seemed now to be nearly half a mile behind them; and Ralph
hoped, at the least, to be able to arrive so near the house of Mr.
Barton, that assistance could be immediately afforded. But in spite of
all their exertions, the path was so intricate, owing to the thick
underbrush and the overhanging branches of trees, together with the
rough and uneven surface of the ground, that the utmost care was
necessary to prevent the falling of the horses, on the one hand, and to
guard against being thrown from them by the branches which were
constantly projecting before them, on the other.

On they rode, with as much rapidity as the utmost limit of safety would
allow. They well knew that their only hope of safety depended upon their
being able to keep mounted and in flight; for were any accident to
happen to their horses, they would be left, in the midst of the
wilderness, at the mercy of the ferocious beasts that were on their
track. But their pursuers gained upon them; the howls which but a few
moments since seemed fully half a mile behind, were now evidently within
a much less distance. The woods appeared to be alive with their enemies.
The discordant cries filled every avenue of sound. Faster, faster ran
the horses--but still nearer approached the sound of the cowardly
pack--cowardly when few in numbers, but savage in multitude.

The moonlight lay in scattered patches in the forest, but every shadow
seemed occupied by an enemy. The pursuers had now approached so near,
that Ralph could hear the crackling of the dry underbrush and branches,
over and through which they ran, amidst the noise of their cries.
Looking behind him, he saw the leaders of the pack leaping upon their
track, and in the moonlight saw, with terrible distinctness, their
glaring eyes and protruded tongues. The horses strained every muscle,
quivering with affright, but the wolves were approaching--were almost
upon them! Snatching, with a hurried hand, a shawl from the shoulders of
Ruth, he threw it behind them. For a moment the chase ceased; and with
wild, ferocious cries, the pack gathered around the object which had
been so opportunely offered to them. At that instant, when the last hope
had nearly vanished, the eyes of the travelers encountered in the path
before them the form of an Indian, who, with outstretched arms,
requested them to stop. In a moment they approached him, when with a
rapid utterance, he exclaimed:

"Me friend; me Tuscarora--come!" and suddenly seizing the horses by the
bits, he led them three or four rods from the path, where they saw
before them, in the midst of the forest, a small log hut; although in an
extremely ruinous condition, it afforded the protection which, but a
few minutes before, seemed utterly withheld from them.

Again were heard the cries of the wolves, and the noise of their
approach! Ralph leaped from his horse, and at once lifted Ruth from the
saddle, who, until that moment, had preserved her courage and fortitude,
but now fell fainting into his arms. He bore her instantly into the hut,
where the Tuscarora rapidly brought in the horses after them; and the
door was closed, just as the ferocious pack came rushing into the open
space before the hut.




CHAPTER VI.


   "And then to mark the lord of all,
      The forest hero, trained to wars,
    Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall,
      And seamed with glorious scars."
                                     BRYANT.


Ralph, as we have said, bore his fainting burden into the hut and the
Tuscarora, having secured the frightened horses, at once hastened to his
assistance. Ruth, in a few moments, became partially restored; and a
blush lit up the pallor of her countenance, as she found herself
sustained in the arms of Ralph. Partially withdrawing from his support,
she said:

"You must be astonished, Captain Weston, that a woodman's daughter had
so little fortitude as to be unable to withstand the ordinary perils of
her condition. I almost feel that I owe you an apology."

"You have no reason to be ashamed of your want of fortitude, Miss
Barton," answered Ralph. "The courage with which you endured that
terrible ride was amazing. You have more, much more, than sustained your
reputation as a woodman's daughter."

Ralph now, for the first time, observed the Tuscarora, who was standing
silently before him leaning upon his rifle. The Indian was of little
more than medium height, and straight as an arrow. His form was rather
slight than otherwise, but was fully developed, and gave evidence of
great agility and strength. His countenance was open and frank; and in
his present attitude of repose, one would not have thought that he
possessed those peculiar qualities of the Indian, which we are apt to
associate with our recollections of that rapidly wasting race. He looked
like a true lord of the forest,--cold and impassive in demeanor,--but
concealing beneath that grave exterior a fountain of terrible passions.
He had not yet passed the age of "youth," for not more than thirty
times, to him, had the leaves of autumn fallen; yet his youth seemed
extinguished in the gravity of the warrior.

Ralph could not resist a feeling of admiration at the well-built frame
and noble countenance of the Tuscarora; and advancing towards him, he
grasped him by the hand.

"Tuscarora," said he, "you have this night rendered this young lady and
myself a service, for which we shall ever be grateful; you have
preserved our lives."

The Indian, with a modest gesture, seemed to disclaim the gratitude
which Ralph so freely expressed--then quietly said:

"Tuscarora friend to the colony pale-face--me no Kings Injin--me do my
duty to friend. Young people careless--all heart--no eyes--no mind
wolves;--me know--me waited for 'em."

"I did not know," said Ralph, "that the wolves of this section ever
attacked men."

"No often; but get hungry sometimes--then ugly--then must look out. Hear
that?"

Since our travelers had entered their place of safety, the forest seemed
to be alive with the unearthly howls of the beasts, whose din increased
at the loss of their prey. They had rushed up to the sides of the hut;
and, as the Tuscarora answered Ralph, a number of them had evidently
leaped against the door and the sides of the building with a savage
ferocity.

"Me have fun, now," said the Tuscarora, advancing towards one of the
numerous loop-holes of the hut, which had been made by its builder for
its defence. "Me shoot--give 'em something to howl for."

His rifle was discharged, and for a moment, the din outside completely
ceased; but as the pack saw one of their number fall, their cries
increased in ferocity, until they became almost deafening. Ralph
advanced to one of the loop-holes, and looked out upon the savage crowd
of beasts, which seemed determined to besiege them into a surrender. As
well as he could observe in the moonlight, there appeared to be forty or
fifty of them, standing before and prowling about the hut, with their
faces upturned--and their eyes gleaming like balls of fire.

The North American wolf is naturally a cowardly animal; and never, when
alone, dares to attack a man. The animal has become, in the section of
country of which we are now writing, entirely extinct. Mean, thievish,
cowardly in disposition, they always fled from an encounter with a human
creature, except when frenzied with hunger, and gathered in large packs.
At such times, they become extremely dangerous; yet, even then, any
resistance which seemed able to withstand their attack, at once
disconcerted them.

The Indian again loaded his rifle, and again it was discharged. Another
wolf was killed; and although they still kept up their clamor, they
began to retreat to a distance from an enemy who had so much advantage
of them.

"Wolf run," said the Tuscarora; "wolf no like rifle--they got no
heart--cowards!" and, as if he disdained the firing upon so mean a foe,
after reloading his rifle, he came towards Ralph, and quietly sat down
on a rough bench by the side of the hut.

"Wolf run away," said he--"they gone soon--then you go home."

"We have our lives to thank you for, Tuscarora," said Ruth, with a look
of gratitude, "and my father will always be glad to welcome you to the
cottage. Will you not return with us?"

"Not now--may be by-'m-by."

"Is your nation in this territory now?" asked Ralph.

"Me got no nation," said the Indian, sorrowfully. "Tuscaroras once
great--away south. Then had great many warriors--then they great
nation--but most all gone, now."

"Are not your people and the Oneidas brethren?"

"Oneidas are brothers--love Oneidas."

"Why are you here in this section alone, Tuscarora, with none of your
brethren near you?" abruptly asked Ralph.

The Indian looked at him steadily for a moment, and then replied:

"My young friend is wise. The white men all ask questions--no good for
Injin to answer questions;" and he fell into a gloomy and listless
posture, and refused, for the time, to hold any further conversation.

The silence of the Tuscarora was somewhat embarrassing to Ralph; and he
again went towards the loop-holes to reconnoitre the present position of
the enemy. The howls had almost entirely ceased; and what few were
heard, seemed to be twenty-five or thirty rods distant. Just as he
reached the loop-hole, he heard a rifle discharged on the outside, and a
voice which he recognized as that of Ichabod, which made the woods ring
again with a loud halloo.

The Indian started abruptly from his seat, and both he and Ralph
advanced towards the door. On opening it, they discovered at the
distance of ten rods three men who were rapidly approaching the hut. As
they came from among the shadows of the trees into the bright moonlight,
which lay in the small opening in front of the hut, Ralph recognized
Barton and Ichabod accompanied by the negro.

The moment they were discovered by the party, Barton ran towards Ralph,
exclaiming, "Is she safe, Ralph--is she safe?"

Scarcely was the question asked, before Ruth was in her father's arms.
"God bless thee, girl," said he; "I hardly dared hope ever to see thee
again," and the tears rolled down his manly face.

"For this joy, my father, we have to thank this good Indian here. He it
was who saved us."

The Indian, during this scene, had silently withdrawn into a deep shadow
which fell by the side of the hut. There he stood, leaning upon his
rifle, seemingly as passionless and unconcerned as the shadow within
which he stood.

Barton went up to him, and grasped him by the hand. "You have this day,"
said he, "in rescuing my daughter, saved both her life and my own. How
can I thank you?"

The Tuscarora remained unmoved. "No thanks," said he. "The Great Spirit
smiles when his children do their duty. Tuscarora likes colony
pale-face. The Great Spirit sent me here--thank him, not poor
Tuscarora."

"You say right, Tuscarora. God hath preserved my child this day. To Him
be thanks, who taketh and giveth."

Scarcely had the first sound issued from the mouth of the Tuscarora,
when Ichabod rapidly approached him. The Indian gave him a glance of
recognition, and silently took his hand.

"Eagle's Wing, as I live!" exclaimed he. "Glad to see you again, old
friend. I haven't seen you since we were down here on that last
war-path."

Canendesha, as the Tuscarora was named by his own people, bore also the
name of Eagle's Wing, which had been bestowed upon him not only for his
boldness in fight, but for the keenness and rapidity with which he
followed the trail of an enemy. When he heard himself thus called by his
name of honor, he drew himself up with pride as he replied:

"Three summers and winters have destroyed the marks of the war-path. I
have dwelt in the wigwams of my people, and near by the fires of the
Oneidas."

In the meantime Barton had approached Ralph, and testified scarcely less
joy at his deliverance than he had at that of Ruth. Ichabod and Eagle's
Wing had withdrawn still further from observation into the shadow.

"Eagle's Wing," said Ichabod, imitating the language of the Tuscarora,
"is wise. He dwells in peace in the wigwams of his people. But why is he
here--two days' march from his friends?"

The Indian remained silent for a few moments. At length he replied:

"I am in the hunting grounds of my people. The heart of Eagle's Wing is
filled with peace."

"Yes, yes, old friend," said Ichabod, resuming his usual manner of
expression. "You and I have been on a good many warpaths together. I
know a Tuscarora and Oneida just as well as I know a Seneca or Mohawk. I
know your people are gentlemen born, and I know them others are
reptiles. You can't deceive _me_, Eagle's Wing--you are on a trail?"

"The eyes of my brother are keen--he has followed the war-path. Has he
crossed the trail of an enemy?"

The Indian uttered this with a countenance so unmoved, and with such an
expression of sincerity, that Ichabod began to think the Tuscarora had
nothing to conceal from him. He said, however, in reply:

"I know your heart is true, Eagle's Wing; but I rather thought, at
first, you might be following up some devil of a Seneca. But them
varmints have left these parts, I s'pose."

"My brother is wise," softly replied the Tuscarora, but at the same time
with a quiet expression of victory in the glance which he cast towards
Ichabod. The glance was not unnoticed, and the latter at once saw that
his original suspicions were correct. But he knew it would be useless to
press the Tuscarora with questions. He said to him, however, in a tone
that convinced the Indian that Ichabod was not deceived:

"Well, old friend, you and I have been brothers in harder times than
these; and if you need the help of this rifle here, which is an old
acquaintance of your'n, I shall take it in dudgeon if you don't call on
me."

The Indian still remained unmoved; but Ichabod could see that the offer
was kindly received.

At this moment, Barton approached, and invited the Tuscarora to
accompany him to his dwelling. "You will always be welcome there, and I
hope I may have many opportunities to testify to you my gratitude."

The Tuscarora courteously declined the invitation for the present, and
the party prepared to depart. The horses were led out, and the party
proceeded towards the cottage, while Eagle's Wing, remained as long as
he could be observed, still leaning upon his rifle in front of the hut.

The party journeyed for some distance without conversation, until Ralph
at length asked Ichabod, who seemed to be much less talkative than
usual, how they who were at the cottage had so soon learned the danger
which Ruth and he were in, from the pursuit of the wolves.

"Learn!" answered Ichabod. "Why, you see the old Squire, 'long towards
dusk, began to get considerable uneasy, from some cause or other--either
because he had heard more about them infarnal varmints, lately, than he
chose to tell, or else because Sambo teazed him until he ra'ally thought
you was in some danger; and so he proposed to me to walk with him along
down the road, until we met you. We'd got in just about a mile of that
shanty, when we heard the yells of them pestiferous cre'turs. I tell
you, Captain, them would have been tough customers to have come to a
close fight with."

"I was entirely unarmed," said Ralph, "but I had no reason to expect
meeting an enemy of any kind; and least of all did I suppose we should
run any danger from such an enemy."

"Them varmints," replied Ichabod, "when they've once had a taste of
human blood, are as hungry for it as Senecas are for scalps--_con_-found
'em."

"I know the prevalent opinion in some portions of Europe--in Germany,
for instance, of the ferocity of wolves. There is an old superstition of
Weird-wolves, of which I have heard."

Ralph explained, by giving an account of this peculiar superstition. In
Germany, and in the Netherlands, and in some other portions of Europe,
the opinion had been prevalent among the people, that there were certain
sorcerers, who, having anointed their bodies with ointment, the
preparation of which, they had learned from the devil, and having put on
an enchanted girdle, so long as they wore it, appeared, to the eyes of
others, like wolves; and who possessed the same ferocity and appetite
for human blood, as the animals they were believed to resemble. A large
number of persons in these countries had been executed, who were
supposed to be guilty of that offence. They were generally known as
Weird-wolves.

This popular superstition, indeed, has survived in some portions of
Europe, until this day. In the "Arabian Night's Entertainments," the
unhappy subjects of this superstition were denominated "ghouls," but in
the west they were known by the name we have already mentioned. A
circumstance occurred in Paris, in 1849, which seemed to throw more
light upon the nature of this superstition, and to prove indeed, that
there was a pretty good foundation for the popular belief. Like the
delusion under which many of those unhappy persons labored in the days
of the "Salem witchcraft," who really believed themselves to be what
their judges pronounced them, so these Weird-wolves were undoubtedly
insane persons, who fancied themselves possessed of the wolfish form and
nature.

"I have heard," said Barton, who now joined in the conversation, "of
many instances in our northern settlements, where people have been
attacked by these animals; but, although it is a frequent occurrence for
them to disturb the whole country about here with their howls by night,
I had never apprehended any such danger from them. But we ought to be
thankful that there is no worse enemy about here."

Ichabod, whose mind, ever since his conversation with the Tuscarora, had
been occupied with thoughts that did not seem very agreeable to him,
started at this remark, and said, slowly--

"Well, squire, I hope you mayn't be able to change that last remark of
your'n by to-morrow this time."

Ralph, who knew Ichabod well enough to know that however unsafe his
opinion might be upon subjects relating to moneymaking, yet that, upon
all the perils and dangers incident to a forest life, he possessed an
excellent judgment, with some anxiety asked him for an explanation.

The whole party had caught the alarm; and Ichabod, with a mixture of
pride at finding himself in such an important position, and of sorrow at
the information he felt bound to communicate, answered--

"You see, Eagle's-Wing and I are old friends. We've _fout_ many a battle
agin them cussed Senecas and Onondagas; and I reckon I know an Injin,
and can read him through pretty tolerably easy. Now Eagle's-Wing isn't
down here for nothing; and though his Injin blood wouldn't let him tell
me what kind of speculation he _is_ on, yet I know he's on a trail of
some sort. You can always tell an Injin when he's after an enemy."

"But _what_ enemy," asked Barton, "can he be pursuing in this direction?
There can be no large body of hostile Indians in these forests; for
Guthrie, who is a woodsman, and who would at once have discovered the
fact, would have communicated the intelligence to us. I think there can
be no ground for apprehension."

"I don't know about that, Squire," replied Ichabod, "but I'm sure
something's in the wind; and if you take my advice, you'll prepare for
defence. As for Guthrie, as you call him, _you_ know best about _him_;
he's got a miserable, hang-dog face, any way."

Although there was much plausibility in the opinion of Barton and
Ichabod's apprehensions did not seem to be well-grounded, yet Ralph, who
knew that Ichabod had not given this advice without reflection, also
advised Barton at once to take means of defense against any attack which
might be made upon the cottage.

Barton yielded to the solicitations of Ralph and Ichabod; and the party
having arrived at the cottage, Sambo was at once despatched to drive in
the cattle into an enclosure which had been constructed upon the west
side of the house. This yard was guarded upon all sides by an enclosure
of logs some ten or twelve feet in height, and had been prepared
expressly for the purpose for which it was now used. Its construction
had been deemed necessary by Barton for the purpose of protecting his
cattle in case of an attack by Indians, as well as to protect them from
wolves or bears, which were occasionally seen prowling around the
premises.

The house itself, as we have before remarked, was adapted for defence
against any outward attack from such means of warfare as Indians would
be likely to attempt. The outside doors were heavy, and were secured by
strong bars, which would resist any ordinary force that might be applied
to them. The windows in the lower story were fitted with strong blinds,
which it would be impossible to remove from the outside. In the second
story, the windows were guarded by long hickory bars which had been
morticed into the logs, while loop-holes had been provided, through
which an attack might be repelled.

The house was put into a complete state of defense. The rifles were all
loaded, and placed in a position where they could be readily obtained,
in case they should be needed. Thus prepared, the family at length
retired to rest, the negro having been ordered to keep watch during the
night.




CHAPTER VII.


 "It is not a time for idle grief,
    Nor a time for tears to flow;
  The horror that freezes his limbs is brief--
    He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheaf
  Of darts made sharp for the foe."
                                       BRYANT.


As might be inferred from the scenes and excitements of the preceding
day, the inmates of the cottage did not seek the night's repose with the
accustomed feelings of tranquility and safety. Ruth went over again in
memory the events of the day, and she could not conceal from her own
mind the fact that Ralph Weston was much more to her than an ordinary
stranger. Having known him in youth, she had always esteemed the leading
traits of his character; and she now felt that esteem ripening into a
passion which bears a much more tender name.

As for Ralph, he had not needed to pass through any such excitements or
dangers, as Ruth and he had that day encountered, to adjust any wavering
balance of affection. He had seen enough to perfectly satisfy him that
Ruth looked upon him with no indifference; and notwithstanding the
preparations for defense and the unpleasant ideas which the prospect of
an Indian attack would be likely to excite, he sank into a pleasant
slumber, and was willingly borne off into the region of fairy dreams.

Ichabod had no such potent specific with which to drown care and
reflection. The Tuscarora, and his probable object in visiting the
valley--his mysterious manner during their brief conversation--were ever
present to his mind; and after tossing about restlessly on his bed until
nearly daylight, he arose with the resolution of seeking an explanation
of the mystery. His preparations were made in silence, and without
disturbing any of the inmates of the house. Throwing his rifle across
his arm, and fastening into a belt which he buckled around him a large
hunting-knife, he noiselessly descended into the lower part of the
building.

In the gloom which pervaded the room into which Ichabod entered, it was
some time before he discovered Sambo, who had been stationed there to
keep watch during the night. He at length espied him, sitting in a chair
before the huge fire-place, with his head bent upon his breast, in a
most unmistakable attitude of slumber. Ichabod had not forgotten the
grinning of the negro, at his exploits in fishing the day before, and he
was willing to give him a sufficient fright to punish him a little.
Advancing noiselessly towards him, he placed one hand on the top of his
woolly head, and with a rapid motion of the other imitated the circular
cutting used in the process of scalping, imprinting his thumb-nail with
sufficient force into the skin, to give the sleeping negro a distinct
impression of that disagreeable operation.

As the whole family for that night had retired to the upper part of the
house, Ichabod knew that he should be able to stifle the cries of the
negro, so that no one in the building would be alarmed.

The moment Sambo felt the impression of the thumb-nail on his skin, he
awoke with a scream of fear; but Ichabod rapidly closed his mouth with
one of his heavy hands.

"Oh gor-a-massy--massa Injin! I'm scalped. O Lor'! O Lor'!" exclaimed
the negro; and in his distress he tumbled down upon the floor under the
impression that he was about to give up the ghost.

Ichabod, who saw that he had carried the joke as far as safety to the
negro would allow, lifted him up into the chair.

"There, you black devil! go to sleep will you, when you're on duty? You
do that again, and we'll have you hung by the articles of war."

The negro, who was perfectly willing to escape a scalping for the
present, by a prospect of hanging in the future, speedily recovered from
his fright.

"O gor-a-massy, 'twas you, was it, Massa Jenkins? Know'd it was you, all
the while! Needn't think you could come possum over this nigger, any
how; I jist set down in the chair to listen a little."

Ichabod, who was amused at the assurance of the negro, advised him not
to listen in that manner any more, or he would get scalped in earnest.
Then unbarring the door, and bidding the negro to fasten it after him,
and to inform the Squire and Captain when they got up, that he should be
back in an hour or two, departed, in the direction of the shanty.

It was now nearly day-light; and the first silvery rays of the morning
were beginning to dispel the darkness. The moon had set sometime before,
and as in the midst of the forest, it was almost impossible to discern
his path, it was necessary that he should proceed with extreme caution.
Following noiselessly the rough path over which Ralph and Miss Barton
had journeyed the day before, he hoped to reach the shanty by day-light.

A walk through the forest in a new country by night, to one unaccustomed
to it, would not be likely to excite the most agreeable reflections. But
Ichabod had in other times been used to all the dangers of the
wilderness, and this morning walk had to him sufficient excitement to
make it decidedly a pleasure. As he journeyed on, the silence by which
he was surrounded was occasionally broken by the distant howl of a wolf.
Scarcely had the melancholy sound died in the echoes of the forest, ere
an owlet's shriek would be heard, sharp and piercing, by his side--and
in the next moment it would be answered by a cry that came mellowed from
the distance. Then, perhaps, the rustling of dry leaves, or the cracking
of a dry bough, indicated that some small animal was flying from his
presence. Occasionally stopping for a moment, to listen if he could not
catch sounds which would indicate the presence of something against
which it would be necessary to guard himself he continued to advance in
the direction of the hut, where on the evening before he had encountered
the Tuscarora.

This hut or shanty, the precise location of which, with reference to the
surrounding country, we have not described, was situated about a mile
below the residence of Barton, at the foot of a hill which gradually
rose on the western side to the height of one hundred and fifty or two
hundred feet. On the east, at the distance of about thirty rods, was the
river. Beyond the river were flats extending nearly half a mile in
width; while nearly opposite the hut, a small stream came from the
north-east, down a narrow valley, which gave to the valley just opposite
the hut the appearance of a much greater width than it really possessed.

Ichabod arrived at the shanty at just about the hour he had calculated
upon. The light of the morning had begun to creep through the woods,
giving to objects an uncertain appearance. He approached it cautiously,
listening if he might not hear some sound that would indicate the
presence of the Tuscarora. Not receiving any such indication, he touched
the door, which noiselessly opened, when he entered the hut. It was
entirely deserted, and every trace of its recent occupation had been
removed.

This caution on the part of the Tuscarora was strong evidence to Ichabod
that enemies were near, and he at once saw the object of it. In case the
hut should be visited, the Indian wished it to appear as if it had not
been disturbed, so that no clue could be obtained to his motions.

Ichabod, who was an adept in the Indian mode of warfare, endeavored to
discover in which direction the Tuscarora had departed. But this was no
easy undertaking. He looked cautiously about for a trail, but the ground
had been so much trodden the night before, it was a long time ere he
could discover the print of the occasional foot of the Indian, and then
only by the side of the hut where he had conversed with him. At length,
moving off to the distance of six or eight rods from the shanty, he
commenced walking about it in a circle with his eyes fastened upon the
ground. He had proceeded but a few rods in this round before he
discovered the footprint for which he was searching. The Indian, on
leaving the hut, had evidently gone in a south-easterly direction
towards the river.

The point, proceeding in the line taken by the Tuscarora, as which he
would reach the river, would be at just about a hundred rods from the
shanty. Ichabod followed, at once, in this direction; but advancing with
extreme caution. His progress was necessarily slow, as he was obliged
not only to examine the ground with great care to discover the
footprints which the light step of the Indian had made, but also to
observe if there were any signs of other Indians in the vicinity. At
length, he approached the river, the margin of which, here, was covered
with a thick growth of willows of about eight or ten feet in height,
which rendered it almost impossible to get a glimpse of the water.

He had arrived within two rods of the shore, when, at once, he lost all
traces of the Tuscarora. He was searching the ground intently to regain
the trail he had lost, when he heard a slight sound in the direction of
the river, like that made by a paddle slightly rubbing the side of a
canoe. Stooping so as to be more thoroughly hidden by the willows, which
were much thicker towards the ground, he advanced close to them, and
endeavored to get sight of the object which had attracted his attention.

It will be necessary to explain, a little more fully, the precise
situation of Ichabod with reference to the river. The line of willows we
have mentioned, was about six or eight feet in width, and run in a north
and south line, parallel with the course of the river; but immediately
below where he stood, there was a thick clump of them, which extended
some twenty feet from the apparent course of the river, directly towards
the forest; so that Ichabod was not only protected by those in front,
but he occupied a sort of cover formed by them in the sudden turn which
they took towards the west.

Carefully pulling back a few of the twigs of the willows which skirted
the river, and which impeded his observation, he now distinctly heard
the sound of a canoe approaching from below. The river was here about
six rods in width, and was of considerable depth, although the current
was strong; which latter fact accounted for the sound he had heard--some
effort being required to urge the canoe against the force of the water.

Shortly the canoe came in sight. Ichabod started as he beheld three
Indians in it, whom he at once knew to be Senecas. His first impulse was
to raise his rifle; but a moment's reflection taught him that such a
course would be unwise. In the first place, although the new government
had concluded as yet no formal treaty of peace with the hostile tribes
of the Six Nations, yet as it was tacitly understood that such a treaty
would soon be made, and all encounters had therefore been mutually
suspended it would be criminal and improper to attack them except in
self-defence, or the defence of his friends. Another reason, also came
to his aid--although it is proper to mention that it was the last one
that occurred to him--and that was, that if he succeeded in killing or
disabling one of the Indians, he would still have the remaining two upon
his hands, without possessing any adequate means of defending himself;
while it was more than probable that there were other Senecas in the
vicinity.

The Indians were moving very slowly against the current, and were
evidently in search of some object which they expected to discover along
the shore. Ichabod recognized one of these Indians as a subordinate
chief of the Seneca Nation, whom he had encountered in some of the
conflicts of the war; but who possessed a high reputation among his
people, for boldness and cunning. The name of this chief was Panther,
which he had received from the characteristics we have mentioned. As
they came in sight, the canoe was not more than twenty feet from the
position occupied by Ichabod, and he could distinctly hear the
conversation between the chief and his companions, although they
conversed in a low tone. Ichabod had learned enough of the dialect which
was common to the Six Nations, to understand at once, the purport of the
conversation. We will endeavor to translate, for the benefit of the
reader, the language of the Senecas:

"Me no understand," said Panther; "saw canoe here, somewhere. No get out
of water without seeing it."

"Canoe light; gone up river p'raps," said one of his companions.

"Canendesha got quick eye," said the other Seneca; "he cunning Injin. He
won't let scalp go, if he can help it."

A gleam of ferocity passed across the swarthy face of Panther.
"Canendesha _is_ cunning and brave. His enemies will say that; but he
has got the scalp of a Seneca, and I shall be ashamed to go back to the
wigwams of my nation, if I do not take his. The Senecas are not squaws,
to let a Tuscarora run off with their scalps."

Slowly moving against the current, the three Indians had got both out of
sight and hearing of Ichabod. Immediately behind him was a small knoll
four or five feet in height. He had commenced moving towards it with the
intention of getting a further view of the Senecas, whose business he
now understood, when his attention was attracted by a slight waving of
the willows in the centre of the clump which we have mentioned. Glancing
sharply in that direction, with his rifle raised in a position to fire
should it be necessary, he saw an Indian emerging from the willows, whom
he knew at once to be the Tuscarora.

"No get _my_ scalp this time;" said Eagle's-Wing. "I get another scalp
first;" and he pointed to a bleeding trophy of a recent encounter, with
all the pride with which a victorious general would have pointed to the
capture of the standards and munitions of war of a vanquished enemy.

"What's the meaning of all this, Eagle's-Wing?" asked Ichabod, with
evident disgust at beholding the bleeding trophy. "Why has Canendesha
dug up the hatchet, when the pale-faces and their Indian allies have
buried it?"

"I no dig it up," answered the Tuscarora, with energy; "Seneca dig it
up. I must have Panther's scalp too," and he was about following the
canoe up the river.

"Stop a moment, Eagle's-Wing," exclaimed Ichabod, who laid his strong
hand on the shoulder of his friend. "I want to know the meaning of all
this; you must not go after them Injins now. I hate a Seneca, on general
principles, as much as you do; but it won't do to go scalping round in
these days, without good reason for it. Let me know what's the matter,
and if it's anything where a friend can help with an easy conscience,
I'll rush into the speculation."

Thus urged, the Indian, after a sufficient time had elapsed to satisfy
the dignity of a chief, proceeded to relate one of those romances of the
forest, which, in general feature, may not be very dissimilar to those
of civilized life--the only difference consisting in the darker and
wilder coloring which belongs to pictures of savage life. We will not
attempt to give it in the precise words and with the manner of the
Tuscarora, although we hope to exhibit in some degree the energy with
which some portions of it were related.

It seemed that a short time before, a band of Senecas, for some purpose,
had been hanging about the villages of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras,
situated some fifty miles north of that portion of the valley about
which we are now writing. Their business did not seem to be of a warlike
nature, and frequent visits of ceremony had been exchanged between the
chiefs of the once hostile tribes: and professions were made by the
Senecas of a desire to unite once more the severed bond of union between
the different nations of the confederacy. This condition of things
existed for a few days, when it was announced by the Senecas that they
were about to depart towards their own villages. The Tuscarora, the day
before that announced for the departure of the Senecas, made them a
visit of ceremony, accompanied by his young wife, whose Indian name,
translated into English, was Singing-Bird. The visitors were treated
with the utmost distinction, although Eagle's-Wing fancied that on one
or two occasions he observed symptoms of a revival of the old feeling of
hostility towards him, which the late conflicts had engendered. The band
of Senecas consisted of about thirty-five warriors, under the command of
Panther, whose treacherous and perfidious nature Eagle's-Wing was well
acquainted with.

But the Tuscarora was brave, and if he felt, did not exhibit any
symptoms of the suspicions which occupied his mind. At length on the
approach of evening, the Tuscarora announced his departure. Panther
courteously accompanied him a short distance from the lodge, when
suddenly a number of Indians who had been secreted in ambush, sprang
upon the Tuscarora and the young squaw, and they were at once bound and
brought back to the lodge. The Indians made immediate preparations for
departure--as would be necessary, indeed, after such an act of
perfidy--for the Tuscaroras and Oneidas, whose villages were situated
but a few miles distant, would shortly suspect the treachery, and come
in search of the prisoners. Panther's motive in this double act of
treachery and inhospitality, was supposed to be a feeling of revenge
towards the Tuscarora--who had signalized himself during the war, by his
friendship for the cause of the Colonies--and also a desire to obtain
the beautiful Singing-Bird for his own wigwam.

The Senecas, with their prisoners, had marched all that night in a
southerly direction, making use of all the devices of which an Indian is
capable, to conceal the direction of their march. Near morning, the
Tuscarora, although closely guarded, had found means to escape; but
instead of retracing his steps to get assistance from his own people or
from the Oneidas, he followed on the trail of the Senecas, hoping that
he should find some means to release Singing-Bird from her captivity. He
also hoped that his brethren, discovering, as they certainly would, the
treachery that had been used towards him, would send out a party of
warriors to rescue him.

The Senecas had passed along the valley on the day when we first
introduced the Tuscarora to the reader. They had encamped on the flats,
about two miles below the shanty we have mentioned, but in a direction
much nearer the river than that taken by Ralph and Miss Barton, in their
journey of the day before.

The Tuscarora, after the party, on the night before, had left the
shanty, carefully obliterated all traces of the recent occupancy of the
hut, and proceeded towards the encampment of the Senecas. He had nearly
accomplished his purpose of delivering Singing-Bird, who was confined in
a temporary wigwam which had been erected for her, when he was
discovered by a young warrior of the Senecas. A conflict, brief but
terrible, had ensued, which resulted in the death of the Seneca; and
although this conflict had prevented the execution of his purpose, he
succeeded in bearing away the usual Indian trophy of victory.

A sufficient party had been left to guard the wigwam in which
Singing-Bird was confined, and the remainder of the Indians, almost
twenty-five in number, had set off in immediate pursuit of Eagle's-Wing.
The latter discovered, in his flight, which was along the course of the
river, a light bark canoe, which had been constructed by Guthrie; and
at once entering it, rapidly urged it up the stream. By so doing,
although the Senecas who were pursuing him by land, might pass him, yet
he could be able to secrete himself until day-light, certainly, and
leave no trail which could be followed. On the day before, in noting the
course of the river, and the means of shelter, should he find it
necessary to take to a hiding place, he had marked the clump of willows
we have mentioned, which to all appearance was merely a thicker and more
extensive growth than was elsewhere observed. But, as he now showed
Ichabod, in the centre of this clump was a small body of water connected
with the river--a sort of cove--the mouth of which was completely
guarded by a thick undergrowth of willows. To a person in a canoe on the
river, there was nothing to indicate, except with the very closest
attention, but that the line of the willows was the shore of the river.
Thus, by separating the willows, he had forced the canoe into this small
cove, where he was completely hidden from all observation, as well from
the land, as from the water.

Ichabod, who was much excited by this forest romance, at once entered
into the feelings of the Tuscarora.

"I don't blame you any, Eagle's-Wing," said he: "I don't like this
scalping business, but I s'pose you've got to fight according to your
natur'; but I'll tell you this, Eagle's-Wing,--here's my hand on a
bargain,--and I'll stick to it, whether the speculation's good or
bad--we'll rescue Singing-Bird, any way; but don't let us have any more
scalping, just now. We must deceive them rascals. I never knew a
scoundrel of a Seneca yet, but could be cheated some way or other."

Notwithstanding the interest which this conversation had excited, the
Tuscarora and Ichabod had both been intent in watching the course of the
canoe. It had now advanced some twenty-five or thirty rods up the river,
when Panther, evidently believing he had passed the spot where the
Tuscarora had been observed, now headed the canoe downstream, with the
intention of making a more diligent search.

Ichabod was about to propose a retreat towards the forest, when he
suddenly beheld in that direction a small party of Indians advancing
towards them. The intelligence was silently communicated to the
Tuscarora, when they both rapidly entered the clump of willows, and
seated themselves in the canoe. Their rifles were examined, and they
both adjusted their knives so that they would be in readiness, if it
should be necessary to use them.

The Indians who were approaching from the forest perceived Panther and
his companions in the canoe, and signs were at once made to attract
their attention. Panther observed them, and the canoe was immediately
brought to the shore, where the other Indians had now arrived. The
Senecas who had come from the woods occupied the precise spot where
Ichabod had first observed the canoe of Panther. The latter had brought
his canoe to the edge of the willows, and putting them aside, sprung
lightly through them to the land.

The Senecas were now not more than ten or fifteen feet from the hiding
place of the Tuscarora, so that their conversation could be easily
overheard.

Panther, speaking to Deersfoot, who was the leader of the small party
which had been sent to scour the forest, asked if any trace had been
found of the fugitive. Deersfoot replied that he had not been able to
find any trail.

Luckily for both Eagle's-Wing and Ichabod, the Indians who had visited
the shanty, since the latter left it in the morning, had not taken the
pains to discover the trail of the Tuscarora which Ichabod had done; and
they had also followed the same direction in approaching the river, but
without examining the ground with sufficient care, to discover the
footmarks of either Eagle's-Wing or Ichabod. The consequence was, that
now, so far as any clue could be obtained to their position from that
source, they were perfectly safe, as the Senecas, in traveling in the
same direction, had completely obscured the signs which, with a little
more care, they might have discovered.

Panther and Deersfoot now held a whispered consultation, which Ichabod,
although he reached forward as far as his safety would permit, could not
distinctly overhear. But he was quite sure that he heard something said
about the pale-faces at the cottage. He was certain from this that the
Indians would visit the house of Barton; and he was extremely anxious to
return there, so that he might communicate the intelligence as soon as
possible.

If such was the intention of the Senecas, it appeared that they did not
intend to put it in execution immediately; for after this consultation
was finished, Panther directed the Indians to follow along down the
shore, while he examined it from the canoe.

Panther returned to his canoe; while Deersfoot with his party, passing
around the cove, proceeded diligently to search for the enemy whom they
were leaving in security, at least for the present, behind them.

As soon as they had passed out of sight, Ichabod insisted that
Eagle's-Wing should accompany him to the cottage. The Indian at first
refused, from the idea that his presence there would bring danger upon
the family of Barton; but as Ichabod assured him of the certainty of
holding out the cottage against any attack which the Senecas might make
upon it, and also of the joy with which Barton and his daughter would
welcome him, he finally yielded; and leaving the canoe in its shelter,
they rapidly proceeded thitherward through the forest.




CHAPTER VIII.


    "But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be
    smiled at, their offences being so capital?"
                                                      WINTER'S TALE.


When Ichabod and the Tuscarora reached the cottage, they found the
inmates much alarmed, owing to the long absence of the former; and Ralph
was just about setting out in pursuit of him. Ichabod had perfectly
succeeded, without any effort on his part, in ingratiating himself into
the favor of all. There was something in his frank, hearty manner, that
at once gave him a place in the affections of those who were capable of
being moved by such qualities. The simplicity and earnestness with which
he pursued his schemes of pecuniary speculation, if they excited the
smiles or ridicule of those who saw their groundlessness, did not
detract from his reputation as a man of excellent judgment, on all
matters out of the range of that one idea.

In a life such as we are now depicting, which was essentially new--where
men were not living on the labors of others, or eating up the substance
which others had gained, but where each relied upon his own effort to
procure the necessaries of life--there was a general simplicity of
manners, which is seldom to be found in these latter days. Although, as
in comparison with the history of population in Europe, we are
immediately connected in point of age, with the times of which we are
writing, yet in the rapidity of our own history, the seventy years which
have intervened have a much greater signification, and seem to extend
over a length of time sufficient to give the broadest play to the
imagination. We, who are now in the prime of life, and witness a broad,
fine country, thoroughly subdued to the uses of the farmer--cities and
villages connected by the ties of commerce--splendid mansions, which
already begin to wear the venerable appearance of age, can scarcely
realize that our fathers and grandfathers were the pioneers before whose
vigorous efforts the forests disappeared, and the wilderness gave place
to spacious fields, teeming with harvests, and homes where happiness
asked no aid from wealth, and virtuous simplicity paid no tribute to
overreaching avarice.

Ichabod, there, was welcomed with a degree of warmth which he had no
reason to expect; but the excited state of mind which had been produced
by the events of the day before, and the probability of future troubles,
served to magnify the dangers which it was supposed he was likely to
encounter in his morning adventure.

The Tuscarora, too, was heartily welcomed; and the morning meal, which
had been left waiting for Ichabod, was at once served. The Tuscarora ate
but little; for, however so much disposed an Indian may be to give way
to a gluttonous disposition in "piping times of peace," when on the
war-path, he is always abstemious to a degree; and he holds in great
contempt the man who suffers his appetite to overcome his necessary care
and watchfulness. Ichabod, however, had no such scruples; and he did as
ample justice to the "good things" which were set before him, as if such
an animal as a Seneca had never existed.

Having finished their breakfast, Ichabod proceeded to communicate to
Ralph and Barton what he had witnessed, together with a brief account of
the treachery of Panther towards Eagle's-Wing. It was at once resolved
that the Tuscarora should be protected.

"For," said Barton, "if the Senecas should dare to attack the cottage,
they will find that we have ample mean of defence. But I do not think
they will do so; they will not dare so openly to violate the neutrality
which now exists."

"That tribe is proverbially treacherous," said Ralph, "and from
Eagle's-Wing's story, the chief of this party is especially so. I think
they will attack us, if they learn that the Tuscarora is sheltered here,
but I agree with you that we are bound to protect him. The cottage is in
a good state of defence, and we can defend it against twice the number
of this party.

"Yes, and were they ten times as strong," answered Barton, "the
Tuscarora should not be surrendered. His services in our behalf are too
recent to be so soon forgotten; and besides, I would protect any
individual of the Oneida or Tuscarora nation, against those perfidious
rascals."

The old man said this with an animation and energy that settled the
question.

The Tuscarora, however, did not seem to assent, willingly, to the
arrangement. With a sensitiveness and courtesy which are almost peculiar
to the Indian warrior, he endeavored to decline a shelter which would be
likely to bring Barton and his family into some peril on his behalf.

"No," he said, "let Canendesha go. He knows the woods, and the warrior
likes the woods. _There_ is plenty chance to fight--plenty good place to
hide. Warrior can't fight here--can't take any scalp here."

Sambo put his hand to his head, with a vivid remembrance of the _joke_
of the night before; and even Barton and Ralph were a good deal shocked
at the cool-blooded way in which the Tuscarora spoke of this peculiar
mode of Indian warfare. Barton felt called to enter his protest, at
once.

"Tuscarora," he said, "it isn't _Christian_ to scalp. I supposed that
the Tuscaroras and Oneidas had better notions than to do so."

"What Christian do, eh?" asked Eagle's-Wing, quietly.

"A Christian never mutilates his enemy, after he has conquered him,"
replied Barton.

"What that?" inquired the Tuscarora, with a look of incomprehension.

"A Christian warrior," said Barton, who found himself somewhat puzzled
to explain clearly, to the comprehension of the Indian, the idea he had
in his mind; "A Christian warrior _kills_ his enemy; he don't----"

"Christian _kill_ enemy, eh?" said Eagle's-Wing, quickly "What scalp
good for to enemy, after he killed? Good to warrior to show squaw--good
to show chiefs--good many scalps make great chief."

"Yes, but why not bear off some other trophy? why not take a portion of
the enemy's dress, or something of that sort?"

"Warrior can't carry away _all_:--some other Injin get some,--make _him_
great warrior too. No--no--Injin got but _one_ scalp: he 'spect to have
it taken; and if he killed, _must_ lose it."

Eagle's-Wing evidently thought he had exhausted the argument; and, in
truth, he had. It would have been utterly impossible to have held any
such controversy with him, with any prospect of success, and have
admitted the right to slay an enemy at all.

Ichabod chuckled over the victory which had been gained by his friend;
not that he justified the practice, but that he thought it would be
utterly useless to endeavor to improve an Indian, in that respect. It
was a practice which had been taught in infancy, and become an instinct;
for the warrior having slain the enemy, secures the scalp, or his
victory is but half won.

Just at this point in the conversation, Sambo, who had left the house a
few moments before, came running in, saying that Guthrie had just come
in sight, and was approaching the cottage. By a sort of instinctive
feeling, the whole party, except the Tuscarora, who did not seem to be
familiar with the name, looked as if they expected some new scene in
this forest drama was about to be enacted. But with an appearance of
unconcern, they prepared to receive him; and in a moment more, the door
opened, and the heavy, coarse figure of Guthrie was in the room.

As he opened the door, the Tuscarora made a sudden movement of surprise,
which Ichabod saw, although it was unnoticed by either Ralph or Barton.
The Indian immediately resumed his appearance of composure, and looked
at the visitor with an air of indifference; but Ichabod saw that
Eagle's-Wing had made some discovery which might be of extreme
importance in the events which were likely to occur. As has been before
remarked, Ichabod had a distinct impression that he had before seen
Guthrie's face--but _where_, he could not recollect. With a feeling of
distrust, which the sudden gesture of the Tuscarora he served to
enliven, he now waited to earn the object of the visit. "Good day,
Guthrie," said Barton, "what news do you bring from below."

"O nothing in particular, Squire; but I thought I'd come up and tell you
that there's a large lot of Injins round."

"I suppose there is nothing very singular in that," answered Barton, "so
long as this may be considered Indian territory, as yet."

Now, Barton had always looked upon Guthrie with a feeling of distrust;
and for this reason he thought it best to appear ignorant of facts he
well knew, as by so doing, he might better ascertain the true object of
his visit.

He therefore continued: "I am a kind of tenant at sufferance of the
Oneidas here, myself; and I certainly cannot object to their visiting
their own territory."

"But these Injins arn't Oneidas, Squire. If I know one Maqua from
another, they're Senecas," said Guthrie.

"Senecas!" exclaimed Barton, with the appearance of surprise, "what
business have the Senecas here, I should like to know?"

"I ra'ally can't tell, Squire, what kind of business they did _come_ on
out here; but they've got into a raging passion since they've been here,
and I am ra'ally afeard of trouble."

"They have had no occasion, certainly, for anger with me or mine, and I
cannot suppose that they intend me any injury."

"Well, the truth is, Squire, they say that this Injin you've got here,"
pointing to the Tuscarora, "has got the scalp of one of their young men;
and they declare they'll take him, any way; if they can't by fair means,
they will by foul."

"You do not think they would dare to attack the cottage for the purpose
of capturing him?" said Barton.

"There's no telling what them Senecas _won't_ do, Squire, when they're
angry; but I rather reckon they will, if they know you've got him here."

"What would you advise me to do, Guthrie? You understand the ways of
this nation pretty well."

"As for understanding the ways of the Senecas, in particular Squire,"
answered Guthrie somewhat hastily, "I can't say that I do; but a man
can't live in the woods as long as I have, without knowing _something_
about the Injins in general: but as for what you'd better do, I ra'ally
can't say. But the way it looks to me is, that if you want your
buildings burnt down, and may be yourself and family taken prisoners,
you'll keep him; but if you don't, you'll send him away. But it arn't
for me to say."

"Now, Guthrie," said Barton, with the appearance of doubt. "I'll put it
to you as a question of honor, under all the difficulties you mention:
this Tuscarora saved my daughter's life, yesterday; now, can I, as an
honorable man, surrender him to his enemies?"

"Well Squire, that _is_ a pretty _tight_ spot, that's sartin," said
Guthrie. "But you see, if he did save Miss Barton's life yesterday, it
is no reason why he should put it in danger to-day; and yours and your
guests besides."

"Why, Guthrie, you talk as if I couldn't defend myself here, if I really
tried. You seem to take it for granted, that if we _are_ attacked,
_they_ must conquer. I am not so certain of that."

"I know," said Guthrie, "you've got a pretty tolerably strong fix of a
place here; but I _do_ reckon you couldn't hold out much of a siege.
I've seen stronger places taken by fewer Indians, in my day."

"Why, how many Senecas do you think there are, Guthrie?" asked Barton.

"Well, I ra'ally don't know; but I should think I'd seen pretty nigh a
hundred on 'em."

Barton smiled. The object of Guthrie was now perfectly evident. For some
reason, he had endeavored to induce Barton to surrender the Tuscarora,
and had thus magnified the force of the enemy, and cast doubt upon the
ability of Barton to maintain the defence of his dwelling.

Ralph, although very indignant at this dishonest intention of Guthrie,
maintained the appearance of composure. The Tuscarora one would have
judged to have been totally devoid of the sense of hearing; for no
motion or gesture betrayed that he supposed himself the subject of this
back-woods diplomacy. As for Ichabod, he had with difficulty restrained
himself, so far, from breaking into the conversation. Now, however, he
suddenly broke in by advancing towards Guthrie, and exclaiming--

"I say, _stranger_, you can't be very good at reckoning, for a man who
has lived all his life in the woods, and ought to know the number of his
enemies at first sight. _Only_ thirty-five, counting that red _reptile_
that lost his scalp. And as for them thirty-five, if they want
Eagle's-Wing, all they've got to do, you see, is to come and take him."

Guthrie, who saw at once that his plan had failed, and that Barton knew
accurately the number of the Senecas with whom, at the worst, he would
have to contend, now changed his tactics.

"Well, friend," said he to Ichabod, "you might have been a little more
civil, even if you _are_ right, and I'm wrong. I didn't count 'em--I
only saw 'em a long ways off, through the woods, and might be mistaken,
you know. But," said he, with a manner of perfect frankness, turning to
Barton, "whether there's thirty-five or a hundred, I don't know nor
don't care, so far as I'm concerned; if you say fight, here I am,
Squire, and I'll help you out with it, any way."

Barton suffered his feelings of distrust to be overcome at once.
Grasping Guthrie's hand, he exclaimed--"That's right, friend. You and I
are neighbors here, and there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends,
at such a time as this. The Tuscarora has been deeply wronged by these
Senecas, and if he has revenged himself, it's Indian law, and we can't
blame him for it. No--I can't surrender him; and if they want to fight
about it, why we'll get out of it the best we can."

Barton, who was extremely gratified at this addition to the force of the
cottage, at once led Guthrie about the building and grounds, to show him
his preparations for defence. Ralph was not at all pleased with the
manner of Guthrie; but as he knew that Baron was much better acquainted
with him than he pretended to be, he could not object to receiving the
aid which was so frankly offered, and which might be needed. After the
departure of Barton and his new ally, Ichabod and the Tuscarora fell
into an earnest but whispered conversation, and Ralph left the apartment
in search of Miss Baron, whom he had not seen since the events of the
day before.

"I say, Eagle's-Wing," said Ichabod, "I don't half like this business.
That stranger seems to be a kind of white Seneca. I never knew an honest
man who was afraid to look another honest man in the eye. I don't like
him."

"You guess right: I know him. He King George's man," said the Tuscarora,
quietly.

"What! a Tory!" exclaimed Ichabod. "How do you know that, Eagle's-Wing?"

"Know? Know it sartin. Saw him down here on war-path. He fought with
Senecas. No recollect?"

"That's it. Heavens and airth! why didn't I think of that? Here I've
been trying for two days to remember where I've seen that hang-dog face.
He was one of the leaders of them venomous _reptiles_. Nothing can beat
an Indian for recollecting things."

"Indians got long memory. Know enemy always. Don't forget him."

"I say, Eagle's-Wing, do you think the sarpent recollects _us_?"

"Yes--sartin. He recollect you--saw that. Recollect _me_, too. Most got
his scalp: he recollect that, well, I know."

"How's that, Eagle's-Wing?"

"When Seneca run, he run too. I shoot, and he fell. I run to get
scalp--but Seneca warriors turn--too many of 'em--and they take him off.
He 'members that, sartin."

"Now Eagle's-Wing, that sarpent has come here to practise some deviltry
on us. He's fairly cheated the old Squire, and I s'pose he thinks he has
cheated us, too. What shall we do with him?"

"I know what _I_ do," and he significantly pointed to his knife.

"No--that won't do at all. You see, if he is in league with them
Senecas, there's only _one_ way that he can help _them_ and injure _us_.
Being inside here, he reckons he can open the door to 'em."

"Yes, that's the way--no other way."

"Well, you see, Eagle's-Wing, we'll let him play his game out, but we'll
try and be there to see it done. Now, mind, Eagle's-Wing, until that
does happen, we mustn't seem to know him at all."

"Yes, yes; make b'lieve friend--that the way."

"I reckon we'll hear from them reptiles to-night; and if we do,
Eagle's-Wing, we'll thin out their numbers a little, and then to-morrow
for the Singing-Bird. You'll see her again to-morrow, and no mistake."

A melancholy smile passed over the countenance of the Tuscarora. It was
immediately followed by such a gleam of deadly ferocity, that even
Ichabod started.

"Panther got lying tongue--I tear it out. Panther got bad heart--I tear
it out. He take _my_ squaw--he never see his own squaw again."

"I don't blame you. Eagle's-Wing, for your feelings towards that
reptile; but I do wish you Injins could learn a civilized mode of
warfare. I shan't argue with you: I know better than that; but I ra'ally
don't see how any Injin of your qualities can have such a strong desire
for tearing scalps off from all his enemies. But it's Injin natur' I
s'pose. When white people offer bounties for such things, I don't much
blame Injins for speculating in that kind of article: but to do it when
nothing's to be made out of it, beats my comprehension."

But we must leave Ichabod and the Tuscarora to their conversation, while
we follow Ralph to the interview which he sought with Miss Barton.

Proceeding directly towards the front portion of the house, and entering
a room which was fitted up tastefully, and adapted to "state occasions,"
if we may be permitted to apply that term to an apartment designed as
well for a family room as a parlor, he found Ruth, who seemed to be yet
suffering from the agitation and excitement of the day before.

"I am happy to see you, Miss Barton," said Ralph, "suffering no more
from your perilous night-ride. That was an adventure which, I think, we
shall remember."

"I shall not forget it very soon, at least," she replied. "I think you
must confess that I showed you more of the peculiarities of forest life,
than was arranged beforehand."

"Had you advertised me of precisely what we saw, we might have been a
little better prepared," said Ralph: "but that adventure would make an
excellent theme for a ballad, in the German style. It possessed
sufficient of the mysterious and terrible for that purpose, certainly."

"You have visited us, Captain Weston," said Ruth, with seriousness, "in
an unfortunate time for yourself. I hear that we are threatened with an
attack from Indians."

"Do not say unfortunate. Miss Barton: rather, I deem myself most
fortunate, in happening to be here at this time, should the attack which
is threatened be made."

"I hope it may not be. O! it is horrible to think that this home I love
so much should be the scene of such a conflict."

"I think that in no event can our safely be endangered," replied Ralph;
"and that we have nothing to fear from the attack, should it be made. We
have abundant means of defence, and the enemy is not strong enough, with
the stout hearts we shall have within these walls, to force the cottage.
But I can sympathize with your sorrow, Miss Barton. God has made this
country too beautiful to be marred by the strife of men."

"It is a terrible blot on human nature," said Ruth, "that men dwelling
so far from society, in the midst of the forest, where every object
should excite sacred emotions, can engage in these unholy conflicts with
each other. It is a proof--a strong proof, of the wretched condition of
poor human nature, unassisted by the light that shines from above."

"Such is the nature of men," replied Ralph, "and surely perhaps, it will
always be. The first men were warriors, and if ignorance and brutality
always exist, the last men will be warriors, also. The whole history of
the world has been written with the sword--places most sacred have been
profaned by the bloody stains of human passion, and themes the most holy
have given rise to the deadliest hatred and contention. We cannot expect
that men educated in the ways of the forest, shall be wiser than those
who boast of their civilization."

"But is there no way," asked Ruth, "in which this conflict can be
avoided?"

"None, perhaps, that would be honorable." Ralph then gave an account of
the wrongs which the Tuscarora had received from the Senecas, together
with the capture of his squaw. Ruth acknowledged the impossibility of
complying with the demands of the Senecas. Her heart at once sympathised
with the wrongs of the Tuscarora; and the picture which her imagination
drew of Singing-Bird in captivity in the hands of those unrelenting and
unmerciful enemies, brought tears to her eyes.

"No, no," said she; "the Tuscarora has been our friend, and we cannot
deliver him to his enemies. In such a cause, I could be a soldier
myself."

Although Ruth had been educated to a far different manner of life, and
in former times had enjoyed many of the luxuries which would then be
afforded by persons in "comfortable" circumstances, yet she possessed
sufficient of that heroism of character which the times had engendered,
to enable her to throw off the habits of early education, and adopt the
character of fortitude and patience in the midst of suffering, peculiar
to the class of women in the station in which she then moved. Thus,
although she viewed with dread the prospect of a strife with the savage
and unmerciful enemies by whom they were then about to be attacked, she
did not suffer herself to yield to the terrors which such an idea would
be likely to inspire. The women of the times of the Revolution lost none
of their feminine graces, by bearing with fortitude the perils and
dangers by which they were encompassed.

Ralph gazed with admiration on that beautiful countenance, thus excited
by a tender sympathy for the sufferings which she felt must be endured
by the Tuscarora and Singing-Bird.

"With such soldiers," said he, "we could not but succeed; but we shall
scarcely call upon Miss Barton to fall into the ranks, at present. We
shall only do that as a last resort."

At this moment, their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of
Sambo, who informed Ralph that Mr. Barton desired his presence
immediately. Ralph at once obeyed the summons; but its object we shall
leave to the next chapter to unfold.




CHAPTER IX.


   "Here, Persian, tell thy embassy! Repeat
    That, to obtain my friendship, Asia's prince
    To me hath proffered sovereignty of Greece."
                                        LEONIDAS.


Ralph found Mr. Barton and his companions in consultation upon some
subject of apparent importance, from the anxiety which was manifested in
their countenances. Two Indians of the Seneca Nation were seen
approaching the cottage; and although as they were unarmed, no immediate
hostility could be expected, yet it was evident they were coming upon
some errand relative to the shelter of the Tuscarora. If such were the
case, this departure from the ordinary caution of the Indian, might be
evidence either of the desire not to come in conflict with the whites,
or of a confidence, on their part, in their ability to succeed in any
attack they might make upon the dwelling.

It was decided that Ralph, the Tuscarora and Gauthrie should remain in
the cottage, while Barton and Ichabod should meet the approaching
Indians, and ascertain the nature of their errand. With this view the
two latter proceeded to a small grove which had been left uncleared,
except of the underbrush, a short distance south of the dwelling.

The two Indians approached with an apparent feeling of security. They
were to all appearance unarmed; and they exhibited a manner of
confidence and amity intended to convince the persons with whom they
were to deal, that their mission was a friendly one. One of these
Indians was Deersfoot, whom we have already mentioned; the other was of
a much less warlike appearance. He was small of stature, with a quick,
cunning glance, and was celebrated among his people for oratory. His
name was Snake-tongue,--given to him evidently, by reason of greater
powers with his eloquence than with his rifle.

When they had approached within fifteen or twenty feet of the position
occupied by Barton and Ichabod, the former advanced towards them with a
smile, and welcomed them to his cottage.

"It is not often," said he, "that I have an opportunity to honor the
young warriors of the Senecas. It is seldom that they visit the country
of the Oneidas, in time of peace."

"The Oneidas and Senecas are brothers," said Deersfoot. "A cloud
sometimes has passed between them; but there is no cloud now. They are
brothers still. The young men of the Senecas came to look on the hunting
grounds of their brothers."

"The country of the Senecas is not a good country, then?" asked Barton,
"I had heard that the Senecas dwelt in a garden--that they owned large
lakes that are filled with fish, and forests that are filled with deer."

"My father," said Deersfoot, in deference to the grey hairs of Barton,
"my father tells the truth; such is the country of the Senecas. The
Great Spirit has given us a good land to dwell in. He has given us lakes
that are full of fish, and forests that are full of deer. The Senecas
and Oneidas belong to the same nation;--together they conquered the
Sennape; and the Senecas are proud when they hear of the fame of the
Oneidas. Why should we not love to look upon the country of our
brothers?"

"I am glad that you like to look upon this valley, Deersfoot. I am glad
to hear that there is no cloud between the Senecas and the Oneidas. It
would not be well if there were."

Barton had carefully abstained from touching the point which was likely
to be that of controversy. It never comports with the dignity of an
Indian to show haste or curiosity; and he knew that he could maintain a
better position on the question which would probably arise, if he
suffered them, without any manifestation of curiosity on his part, to
unfold the nature of their errand.

"The Five Nations were once a great nation," said Deersfoot, "they could
travel a great many day's journey and not leave their country: the wolf
that howled amidst the snows north of the great lakes, they had a right
to hunt; and to gather fruits from under the warm sun of the south. But
it is not so now. We are now weak; and the pale-faces are strong. The
Great Spirit has willed it, and we cannot help it: we would help it if
we could. But it does no good to talk. We grow weaker every day."

"The Great Spirit," said Barton, "has not been so unkind to the Five
Nations. The warriors of the Five Nations have not always been wise. If
they had listened to the words of the Christian teachers who have talked
to them, they would have been a stronger nation. But they dug up the
hatchet against their brothers of the Colonies, and they lost a great
many warriors."

A gleam of deadly ferocity passed over the face of Deersfoot for a
moment, and his wild, dark eyes shot forth glances of hatred--but in an
instant he recovered his composure.

"It may be that my father speaks wise. The Indians know but a little,
and may be they were wrong. They lost a great many warriors, it is true.
But they pleased the eyes of their old men and squaws with many scalps
of their enemies. A white man followed every warrior of the Senecas, in
the path that leads to the happy hunting grounds of the Great Spirit."

The tone in which this reply of the Seneca was uttered was sufficiently
startling. Ichabod stretched his tall form as if he was about to intrude
upon the conversation, but at a gesture from Barton, he remained
silent.

Deersfoot, after a moment's silence, continued: "We have come to have a
talk with the pale-faces of the cottage. The Senecas have not got forked
tongues. They have buried the hatchet with the Yengeese, and with the
Colony pale-faces. They would not dig it up again. Let my brothers hear
and be wise. Snake-tongue will speak."

With these words, he stepped back, with dignity, while Snake-tongue,
after a few moment's hesitation, advanced towards Barton. In a low but
musical voice, he commenced his harangue:

"My name is Snake-tongue. It is a good name for friends to bear--it is a
bad name for enemies. The warrior is known by his name.

"Deersfoot has said that the Five Nations are weak, and that the
pale-faces are strong. It may be so; I cannot dispute it. I have seen
the Yankee pale-faces fight the Great King over the water for seven
winters and summers--they must be strong. Deersfoot has spoken the
truth.

"Deersfoot has said that the Five Nations grow weaker every day. We are
now _Six_ Nations, and we are weaker than when we were _Five_ Nations.
Why is it so? The pale-faces have slain a great many of our warriors;
but that has not made us weak. It is because the Great Spirit has turned
the hearts of his red children against each other. If a pale-face slays
an Indian, it is wrong; but it is not so wrong as it is for one Indian
to slay another. The sad spirit of the dead warrior goes on its path,
and complains to the Great Spirit, that its enemy does not follow him,
and the Great Spirit is angry. We must shed the blood of the murderer.
It is the law of the Great Spirit, and it is a good law.

"The Yankee pale-faces are strong, when they come together in armies;
but are they strong _here_? My father is away from his friends in the
settlements; he has but two or three pale-paces with him. Are two or
three pale-faces a match for the young warriors of the Senecas? Let my
father pause and think."

"There are five of us, Snake-tongue, with plenty of rifles and powder;
and good walls behind which we can stand and pick out our enemies," said
Barton, who saw the tendency of this harangue, and who was disposed to
meet the issue half way.

Snake-tongue continued, cold and impassive. "My father speaks the truth.
There are _five_ warriors to defend the cottage of the pale-faces. There
are _four_ pale-faces, and a red man. But we have buried the hatchet
with the pale-faces:--we are no longer enemies, but friends. We do not
care whether there are five warriors or twenty in the cottage. We are at
peace with the pale-faces. It makes no difference to us. We are
friends."

"Why then, does Snake-tongue make us this long war-speech? It is true
that we are friends; let us continue so."

"My father speaks wise. Let us remain friends. There is no cloud between
us and the pale-faces, that the pale-faces cannot put away. A young
warrior of the Senecas has been killed, and his enemy has got his scalp.
Did the pale-faces do that? No,--the pale-faces do not take scalps; but
an Indian always does; a scalp looks good in his eyes. We would find the
scalp of our young warrior! Where is it?"

"I am sorry," answered Barton, "if any of your young men have been
killed; but Snake-tongue speaks true; he was not killed by the
pale-faces. I do not know where his scalp is."

"But we know where it is," continued Snake-tongue. "It is hid beneath
the belt of Canendesha. He has hid it from his friends; but he cannot
hide it from the Senecas. Their eyes are sharp; they can see an enemy a
great way off,--and they can find his trail if he hides. Canendesha is
in the cottage of the pale-faces. We are at peace with the pale-faces;
but we want the Tuscarora. He has killed a warrior of the Senecas. The
Tuscarora must die. It is Indian law. It was taught us by the Great
Spirit that we must punish our enemies. We want the Tuscarora."

The Indian paused, as if waiting for a reply. Barton answered--

"My brother has a bad tradition; it is not true; the Great Spirit does
not teach the red men to punish their enemies. The red men have not
heard right; their ears have been shut. The Great Spirit has said that
the red men must love their enemies."

"I have heard," answered Snake-tongue, "of such a tradition among the
pale-faces. It must be a false tradition, for the pale-faces do not
believe it; _they_ punish their enemies. _We_ believe in _our_
tradition. It is a good one."

"I do not deny," said Barton, who saw that the conversation must be
terminated, "but that the Tuscarora may have killed one of your young
men; but did not the young Seneca try to prevent him from getting his
squaw? We have heard that Panther has stolen the squaw of the Tuscarora,
and will not give her up. Is that right? Do red men treat their brothers
so, and expect that their hearts will be filled with peace?"

"The young squaw," answered Snake-tongue, quietly, "is in the wigwam of
Panther; she can go if she does not wish to stay there; but her eyes
like to look on Panther. He is a great warrior."

Ichabod could be restrained no longer. This slander of Singing-Bird was
more than his friendship for Eagle's-Wing, would allow him to bear.

"See here, Snake-tongue," said he, "you're a sort of ambassador here,
and its again all law to make war on that sort of people; but I don't
know of any law to prevent my telling you that you lie like a rascally
Seneca."

Both Deersfoot and Snake-tongue started at this defiant speech of
Ichabod; and at the first impulse put their hands to their belts as if
to grasp their knives; but in a moment they resumed their composure,
and seemed to await the reply of Barton, who said, at length:

"We have heard your demand, Snake-tongue. The Tuscarora is our friend.
He has been wronged by the Senecas. We do not believe that Singing-Bird
wishes to remain in the wigwam of Panther. It cannot be true, although
Panther _is_ a great warrior. We cannot give up the Tuscarora. He is our
friend."

"And furthermore," said Ichabod, "we demand that you should release
Singing-Bird; and tell your lying chief, that if she isn't sent along
instanter, we'll come after her. I've fou't Senecas before."

"My brothers have spoken," said Snake-tongue, quietly; "I will give
their words to the warriors of the Senecas. Perhaps they have spoken
wise. It is not for me to say."

Thus saying, the two Indians withdrew from the grove, as quietly as they
had entered it.

"The lying reptile!" exclaimed Ichabod. "To insinuate that Singing-Bird
has a liking for that rascally red-skin. If he hadn't been an
ambassador, I would have made him swallow his words on the spot."

"The Seneca lied, undoubtedly," said Barton; "but we have now got to
defend ourselves. The language and tone of Snake-tongue implied nothing
less. I am getting very much interested in the history of Singing-Bird,
myself; and we will find some means, in case we succeed in repelling the
Senecas from the cottage, to aid the Tuscarora in rescuing her."

"That's right, Squire," said Ichabod. "Eagle's-Wing and I have sworn to
do that; and Providence permitting, I'll have a chance at that
foul-mouthed rascal yet."

Barton and Ichabod now entered the house, where they found Guthrie and
the Tuscarora engaged, apparently, in a friendly conversation. The
result of the "talk" was communicated; and although it was agreed that
the Senecas would make an attack upon the cottage, yet no one seemed to
think that they would immediately do so. The arrangements for defence
were now, however, all made, and the duty of each individual assigned,
so far as it could now be done. When this was accomplished, the party
separated; each, however, taking it upon himself to watch warily for the
first signs of the attack.

Ralph walked out into the grove, where the recent conversation with the
Senecas had taken place. He felt much anxiety for the result of the
coming conflict; not that he really feared that the Indians would
succeed; but he well knew that the issues of such encounters are never
certain. Perhaps his warm attachment towards Ruth had much to do with
this feeling; for in the event of failure in defending the cottage, were
the Indians disposed to reap all the advantages of their success, as
would probably be the case, in the heat of their excitement and
passion, the situation of Ruth would be extremely dangerous. He would
have been much better satisfied at that moment, were Ruth at the
settlements, or in some place of safety, where she would not be exposed
to the accidents of the impending encounter. But it was now too late to
allow of her flight, even if it had been deemed advisable. While engaged
in these thoughts, Ruth, who had observed him from the cottage,
approached him, and laid her light hand on his shoulder. Ralph started,
but smiled as he recognized Miss Barton.

"How now, Sir Knight?" said Ruth, "you do not seem to be occupied with
very pleasant thoughts."

"They ought to be of a pleasant nature, certainly," said Ralph, "for I
was thinking of no one else than Miss Barton."

"I am sorry," said Ruth, "if so unworthy a person as I can give Captain
Weston such a serious countenance."

"Miss Barton, I do not wish to say anything to alarm you, but all our
exertions will be required to defence our lives to-night."

"Is it certain we are to be attacked so soon?" inquired Ruth, with a
slight look of alarm.

"I think there can be no doubt of it; and at such a time with so few
defenders, and so unmerciful and vigilant an enemy, although we have not
much cause to fear defeat, yet that result is possible."

"I did not think our situation was so serious," said Ruth, now evidently
alarmed. "What _can_ we do?"

"Nothing, but use such means as we possess for defending ourselves; and
I think we shall succeed in doing so. But," said Ralph, with a slight
embarrassment, "at such a time as this--when we are threatened with such
a danger, it is not surprising that you should have found me thinking
earnestly upon the situation of one so dear to me as yourself. Let me,
Ruth," he continued, taking her hand, which reposed not unwillingly in
his own, "tell you how much I esteem and love you, and that my whole
happiness now depends upon you."

He paused, and whatever might have been the answer of Ruth, he saw that
in her countenance which informed him that his wishes were well
understood and answered.

In that fond dream of happiness in which all present danger was
forgotten, they wandered through the grove, filled with those delightful
thoughts and fancies, which are only born in the sweet hopes of requited
affection.

The shades of approaching evening were creeping slowly over the valley.
The long shadows of the trees fell upon the cleared meadow-land, the
perfect picture of repose. Never sank a brighter sun among more lovely
clouds--crimsoned in deep curtained folds, with golden edges, giving
full promise of a fair to-morrow.

"It is a beautiful evening," said Ralph: "one of those hours when fair
hopes are fairer; and the natural world seems to reflect the happiness
of our souls. May this not be a promise for the future?"

"May it be so," answered Ruth; "but what events may take place, before
that sun rises again!"

"Let us not fear too much," said Ralph. "We must meet the danger
bravely, and when it is over, dear Ruth, we shall be none the less happy
that it is past."

"Hush!" whispered Ruth suddenly, "look there!" pointing to a grove of
small trees but eight or ten rods distant. Ralph looked in the direction
indicated by her, and he beheld three Indians who were slowly creeping
towards them. The Indians, who had no cover behind which to advance, had
necessarily exposed their persons, and in this manner had progressed
unobserved for a number of rods. They now saw that they were discovered,
and rising with a wild whoop, rushed towards them.

Ralph and Miss Barton were just about equi-distant from the Indians and
the cottage. Impulsively, Ralph, who was entirely without means of
defence, caught Ruth in his arms and ran towards the building. The
Indians pursued, and rapidly gained upon the fugitives. One of the
pursuers far outsped the others, and had already reached within twenty
feet of Ralph, when the discharge of a rifle was heard, and he leaped
with a yell into the air and fell struggling upon the ground. In another
moment Ralph and his precious burden were inside the door; but as it
closed, the tomahawk of another pursuer quivered in the post beside it.
Instantly the grove was filled with enemies.




CHAPTER X.


   "That wicked band of villeins fresh begon,
    That castle to assaile on every side,
    And lay strong siege about it far and wyde."
                          CHAUCER--FAERIE QUEENE.


This sudden appearance of the Indians indicated that they could not have
been far distant at the time of the interview between Deersfoot and
Snake-tongue on the one side, and Barton and Ichabod on the other; and
that upon the refusal of the latter to surrender the Tuscarora, they had
at once resolved upon an attack upon the cottage.

On the entrance of Ralph and Miss Barton, they, together with Barton and
the negro, who had remained below, at once proceeded to the upper
apartment, where they found the remainder of the party stationed at the
loop-holes on the south side of the house. Ichabod was loading his
rifle.

"I have no particular reason to boast of uncommon accuracy with the
rifle," said the latter as Ralph entered the room, "but I'm most always
good for a Seneca. That rascal almost had his hand in your hair,
Captin."

"It was a good service, Ichabod, and I hope to live to thank you for
it," said Ralph, grasping his hand.

"Don't say anything about it, Captin: Eagle's-Wing would have done it in
the hundredth part of a second more. It's only one reptile the less."

The cottage, the precise situation of which, with reference to
surrounding objects, we have not yet described, was situated upon a
slight eminence, which rose gradually westward from the small lake or
pond, which we have before mentioned. Behind the cottage, on the west,
the land gradually rose, spreading out into a wide plain with a rolling
surface. On the north, however, at the distance of only three or four
rods, there was a steep descent into a ravine some forty feet in depth,
in the bottom of which flowed a small brook. This ravine had not yet
been cleared, and the forest approached, consequently, to within four
rods of the cottage. On the south, the land gradually sloped downwards
for four or five rods, while at about twice that distance was left
standing a grove of small trees of two or three acres in extent. It was
in this grove that the Senecas were first discovered.

It was obvious that the most dangerous point of attack was from the
north; as in that direction, the forest approached so near the cottage,
that the Senecas might obtain a cover behind the trees, and should such
be their object, find some means to set the buildings on fire.

The Senecas, however, still remained in the grove, and did not show any
immediate intention of proceeding to the attack. They were gathered
together, while Panther, who was easily recognized by Ichabod, was
haranguing them; but although his words could not be heard, there was no
difficulty in understanding from his manner and gestures that he was
explaining the mode in which the attack should be made.

"I reckon," said Ichabod, "that I might easily pick off that varmint,
even at this distance."

"No," said Ralph, "we are on the defensive, and we will not commence the
fight. If they make an attack upon us, then we will all try to do our
duty."

"I fancy it was something pretty nigh an attack," said Ichabod, "that
them rascals just made on you and Miss Ruth. But, perhaps, it's all
right, Captin. That account was settled on the spot; and may be it won't
be agin law for us to wait until the scoundrels open another."

A small room had been constructed near the centre of the main apartment,
supposed to be entirely secure from any stray bullet that might chance
to enter the loop-holes.

Into this small apartment, Ruth had entered, on reaching the upper part
of the house: but now she made her appearance among the little garrison,
with a great confidence, and a determination to make herself of service
if possible.

"Do not remain here, Ruth," said Barton: "you may be exposed to danger
from some stray shot. It would be much better that you should be
entirely out of danger."

This request was seconded by Ralph, with a look of earnest entreaty.

"I do not fear any danger," answered Ruth. "I can certainly be of no
service shut up in that narrow cell; while I may possibly be of some
little service to you here. I can act as a lookout, you know," advancing
quietly to one of the loop-holes.

"No good for squaw to be in fight," said the Tuscarora, quietly; "squaw
hide when warriors fight, that best for squaw."

"I am not going to shoulder a rifle, Eagle's-Wing, without it is
absolutely necessary; but I want to look on, and see how warriors can
fight."

It was evident that Ruth was not to be dissuaded from sharing the
danger, if danger there was, to which the defenders of the cottage were
exposed. Ichabod, who during this brief conversation had remained
watching intently the motions of the enemy, now exclaimed:

"There are twenty of the red varmints, sartin, but they don't seem very
anxious to begin the fight. What d'ye think they mean to do,
Eagle's-Wing?"

"Mean to 'tack cottage; that what they mean: wait till dark, then see
what they do."

"There's some motion among 'em now," said Ichabod, "there go the
_reptiles_, creeping off through the wood. They're diving now, but
they'll come up again somewhere, I reckon."

"I rather calculate," said Guthrie, who had thus far remained silent,
"that they're going to give up the business as a bad job. That's the
best thing they can do, any way."

"Warriors mean to surround cottage. That what it means," said the
Tuscarora. "Pretty soon hear 'em over there,--hear 'em all round--see
'em, may be, if watch."

Night was now rapidly approaching, and surrounding objects had already
become indistinct. One by one, the stars made their appearance, glaring
with the peculiar brightness of an autumn evening. Yet the darkness
would soon be sufficient to prevent any observation of the motions of
the enemy, unless they should make their appearance within the little
clearing that surrounded the cottage. There would yet be three hours
before the moon would rise; and during that time the very closest
observation would be necessary to detect the whereabouts of the savages,
except as their position should be manifested by an open attack.

Ichabod and the Tuscarora now took a position upon the north side of the
apartment, while Ralph and Barton remained at the south side. Sambo was
stationed on the west, towards the cattle enclosure, while Guthrie was
directed to keep a look-out on the east or front of the house. This was
apparently the least dangerous point, as the land on this side was
partially cleared quite to the shore of the pond.

But a few minutes had elapsed after this disposition of the forces of
the little garrison, before it was evident to the Tuscarora and Ichabod,
that a portion of the enemy had taken a position in the ravine. The
night was so still, that the slightest sound could be heard from that
distance, and the Tuscarora quietly called the attention of his
companion to a slight snapping of dry underbrush which had been trodden
upon by the foot of some careless Seneca; but, as if to deceive the
defenders of the cottage as to the point from which the main attack
would be made, suddenly, and as if by one impulse, the silence was
broken by the yells of the enemy from all directions, and a general
discharge of their guns at the building.

"Yell and fire, you infernal reptiles," said Ichabod. "They must have
plenty of ammunition, to waste it in that style."

"That done to cheat," said Eagle's-Wing.

"Well, they've commenced the skrimmage, any way," said Ichabod, "and
now, let one of them miserable creturs get before this rifle of mine and
I'll settle an account with him."

"We shall be over nice in our scruples," said Ralph, "if we hesitate any
longer to treat them as enemies. They have certainly committed an overt
act of war; and duty to ourselves will no longer allow us to remain
inactive."

Since the first demonstration on the part of the Senecas, no other had
been made; and the silence without was as perfect and uninterrupted as
though no enemy surrounded them.

It was obvious that the two most serious dangers to be encountered, were
past--an attempt on the part of the enemy to get under cover of the
walls of the cottage, where they would be in a great measure protected
from the rifles inside, and where they might find means to force the
doors; and, secondly, an attempt to set fire to the buildings.

Any object of the size of a man could readily, notwithstanding the
darkness, be seen at the distance of four or five rods; and the garrison
were certain, thus far, that no enemy had approached within that
distance. Ichabod and the Tuscarora, as has been observed, were
stationed upon the north side of the apartment. The position which had
been chosen by the former, was near to the north-eastern angle, whence,
with a little trouble, he might also keep a look-out on the east. This
position had been chosen by him, owing to the distrust he entertained of
the fidelity of Guthrie; for there was nothing in the conduct of the
latter since his return to the cottage, that had been calculated to
dispel any suspicions which Ichabod had entertained of his real
character. He had taken little or no part in the plans of defence, and
had maintained a moody silence that had rarely been broken, except by
brief answers to such questions as were put to him.

"I say, friend," said Ichabod, addressing Guthrie, "you keep a sharp
look-out over there, don't you?"

"I've been a woodsman all my life, I reckon," answered the latter, "and
I don't need any instructions on that point."

"I don't suppose you do, friend," said Ichabod, "and least of all from
me. I can't say as _I_ have been a regular woodsman, although I've had a
little experience in the way of savages. A man who has spent a few years
fighting for his life, learns, after a while, to know when it's in
danger; but can you guess what that black lump may be, out yonder--right
ahead of your eyes?"

"Well, if I can see straight, it's a stump, and nothing more."

"I ain't much acquainted in these parts, friend, and it may be you've
got stumps here that wander round the lots at pleasure, but _I_
calculate that object ain't nothing but a venomous reptile," said
Ichabod, taking sight over his rifle upon the object which attracted his
attention. "Now, you see, if that's a stump, this bullet won't hurt it
much; but if it's an Injin, he'll signify it some way."

The rifle of Ichabod was discharged; and the Seneca--for an Indian it
was--who, creeping to reach a cover under the walls--rose to his feet
with a leap, and then staggered and fell.

Again was that wild yell renewed, but in a moment all was silent.
Guthrie ashamed, became angry, and turned with a fierce scowl on
Ichabod.

"You havn't a very civil way to _strangers_, friend," said he, "and we
may find time to settle this business. You may bully Injins, but you
won't me."

"I've just did my duty on that red varmint there," answered Ichabod
coolly; "and all I've got to say, friend, is, that we've got enemies
enough out-doors to attend to, without any civil war inside; but I ain't
particular."

"Ichabod! Guthrie!" exclaimed Barton, "let there be no ill-blood between
you now; the mistake of Guthrie might easily have been made by any one,
however experienced."

Guthrie turned again towards the loop-hole, muttering indistinctly. As
for Ichabod, he quietly reloaded his rifle saying:

"That's right, Squire, I'm a man of peace, any way--except with them
infarnal Senecas. If I have any particular gift of which I can boast, it
is in another sort of speculation. Give it to 'em Eagle's-Wing!" said
he, as at this moment, he saw the Tuscarora about discharging his rifle.
At the discharge, the whole ravine seemed to pour out a tempest of
shrieks.

"That Injin," said Eagle's-Wing, "won't fight any more--great pity lose
his scalp though."

"Never mind the scalp, Eagle's-Wing," replied Ichabod, "if you fix the
owner, so that he won't have any more use for it; that's my doctrine."

"That bad doctrine for Injin--good doctrine for pale-face p'raps."

Notwithstanding the utmost watchfulness, on the part of the besieged, no
further demonstration was made by the Senecas, for nearly an hour;
until, at length, they began to hope that the contest might already be
terminated, and that the loss of three of their warriors, without having
been able to inflict any injury upon the garrison, had discouraged the
Indians. As time passed by, no further attack being made, even Ichabod
and the Tuscarora began to yield to the belief which Barton had
expressed, but they did not for a moment relax their watchfulness.

Barton, Ralph and Ruth, had finally withdrawn from the loop-holes, while
Guthrie lounged moodily about.

"I think," said Barton, "we shall have nothing more to apprehend
to-night. The savages have doubtless repented of their temerity in
attacking a place so well defended as this."

"Heaven grant it may be so," replied Ruth. "We have had but little
experience, thus far, in the terrors of Indian warfare but as it is, it
is horrible."

"I hope, with you, Miss Barton," said Ralph, "that the Indians have
abandoned the attack; and yet I know so well their treacherous mode of
warfare, that it would not be surprising to me, were the severest part
of our labor yet to come. Ichabod seems, by his actions, to have the
same opinion."

"Yes, Captin," answered Ichabod. "I _do_ mistrust these infarnal
villians; and I shall mistrust 'em till day-light, sartin. You'll find
that they're plotting some deviltry which we shall know about before we
are many hours older."

"It is strange," said Ruth, "that these savages should so resist all
attempts for their improvement; and that they should persist in their
cruel mode of warfare, after having received so much instruction from
Christian teachers."

"I do not think it so very strange, perhaps," answered Ralph. "Their
habits--their modes of life, are the result of ages of barbarity, and
traditions communicated from father to son. No continuous effort has
ever been made to Christianize them; and it would be a miracle, were we
to find them now with Christian sentiments--adopting an entirely new
mode of life."

"That's my opinion, Captin," said Ichabod. "That speculation has been a
failure, and it always will be a failure. You might as well talk of
civilizing wolves. Why, there's the Oneida nation, who have pretty much
all been to school, and sat under sermons month after month,--let them
hear the war-hoop, and they're as crazy as devils, and don't think of
anything but scalps. There's Eagle's-Wing, being just as good a
gentleman, for an Injin, as ever wore moccasins--I'll warrant you some
foolish missionary reckons _him_ for a convarted Injin; and yet," said
he, with a whisper, "you'll find that infernal Seneca's scalp somewhere
about him now. Don't talk to me of convarting Injins. I don't think they
were ever intended to be convarted."

"You remember the divine injunction to the apostles, Ichabod?" asked
Ruth; "that they were to go into all the world, and preach the gospel to
every creature?"

"Lord love you, girl!" answered Ichabod, "you don't suppose that meant
to come over to America among these tomahawking savages! You see, in the
first place, it would have been something of a job for one of them
apostles to have got here; and in the second place, he'd wished himself
away again, in a hurry."

"I agree with Miss Barton," said Ralph, "that there is no reason why
these savages might not learn to cherish Christian principles. The
efforts of the Jesuits show that something can be done to civilize them;
and the labors of Elliot among the New England Indians prove that they
_can_ be Christianized."

"I reckon there's two sides to that question," answered Ichabod, "I've
heard that those Injins were more troublesome than them that didn't have
any preaching. Their religion all stopped with drinking Christianized
rum. No, Captin, you can't give me any faith in that expectation, any
way."

"I'm afraid Mr. Jenkins," said Ruth, "that the same reasons you urge
against the conversion and improvement of the Indians, would apply as
well to all mankind generally as to them. There are but few, of all who
listen to the Scriptures, who act upon their precepts. They hear, as you
say the Indians do, and at once forget, in their worldly intercourse,
that there is such a book as the Bible."

"Well. I can't dispute that p'int," replied Ichabod. "In these new
settlements, where men have so much to do, they ar'nt so much to blame,
if they can't understand what the preachers in the city are quarreling
about. I've lived a long while in the woods, and about the new
settlement, Miss Ruth, and havn't had much time to settle doctrinal
controvarsies; but I've got a faith of my own, which wouldn't, perhaps,
answer for you; and yet I'm willing to live by it, and die by it."

"Of how many articles does your faith consist?" asked Ralph, smiling.

"Well, Captin, that may be as you've a mind to classify the different
p'ints. I don't coincide quite, in my views of future life, with old
Michael Wigglesworth, who had no marcy for anybody but his own sect--not
for infants even. You recollect the varses on infants, Captin, where he
says that although in bliss--

     "They may not hope to dwell,
    Still unto them he will allow
      The easiest room in hell."

No, Captin, a man cannot live in the forests, and look continually at
the works of God, and forget that He exists; and I reckon that a man who
always bears Him in mind, whether he be felling the trees, planting the
ground, turning his hand in an honest speculation, or shooting a Seneca,
will have marcy shown to him eventually. That's my doctrine."

"It is a creed that has the merit of being short, if not orthodox," said
Ralph. "But I must acknowledge, that while I have not paid the attention
to religious matters that I ought to have done, and have been too
forgetful of claims that have been imposed upon all men, yet, from all
my doubts, I have ever returned to the Bible as the only sure anchor of
faith. Its opening revelations are corroborated in the history or
tradition of all nations; its divine teachings, interpreted according to
the simple understanding of one's own heart, accord with our
reason--satisfy our hopes--alleviate our sorrows--cheer us in death. The
uninstructed feelings of the heart, in this matter, are a purer, more
excellent wisdom, than all the pride of intellect."

"Well, Captin," said Ichabod, "I never dispute on creeds--so you are
welcome to yours: but on _facts_, I've got a right to express my
opinion. Now, as for them opening chapters being corroborated by the
history of all nations--that's a question of fact, which I'm willing to
leave to Eagle's-Wing, whose nation, according to their traditions, is
older than I'd like to vouch for. Now, he'll tell you that the first
thing that was made was a tortoise and that the earth was then made and
placed upon its back. I say, Eagle's-Wing----Thunder and lightning!"
exclaimed he, springing towards the stairway.

The fact was, that Ichabod had been so much engaged in this
conversation, relying upon the prudence and watchfulness of the
Tuscarora, that he had given up all his attention to it. But upon making
his appeal to the Tuscarora, he had turned towards the position lately
occupied by him when he discovered that both he and Guthrie were
missing.

Scarcely had he sprung towards the stairway, ere there rang through the
cottage a shriek of agony, immediately followed by the sound of a heavy
body falling upon the floor, in the room below. This was succeeded by a
tempest of shrieks, which apparently came from the whole body of the
enemy, who were now close under the cover of the building, in front of
the south door.

Ichabod was followed by Barton and Ralph, down the stair-way. As they
came towards the door, they beheld the Tuscarora standing silently
beside it, while at his feet lay a black mass, indistinct in the
darkness, which they took to be the body of Guthrie.

"What is the meaning of this, Eagle's-Wing?" demanded Barton.

The Tuscarora quietly pointed towards the door, the bar of which was
partially raised. "He traitor; got bad heart; meant to open door and let
Seneca come in. Can't do it _now_, if he try ever so much."

"Eagle's-Wing," said Barton, with emotion, "you have saved our lives
to-night. We owe you a double debt of gratitude."

"I suspected that fellow from the beginning," said Ichabod, "and
Eagle's-Wing and I agreed to watch him; but you're a better warrior than
I, old friend; you don't suffer yourself to be divarted by doctrinal
p'ints."

It was now evident that some important movement was taking place out of
doors. Scarcely had Ichabod ceased speaking, ere the door received a
violent blow, as from a log thrown against it with great force.

"We can't stand that thumping," said Ichabod. "We've been on the defence
agin them red devils long enough. Let's open the door and give 'em
fight."

After some deliberation, this course was resolved upon. The party within
doors were to range themselves in front of the door, where they would
not at once be discovered in the darkness, by those outside; and as the
log was next thrown, and while the Indians would probably be unprepared
for this sudden attack, the door was to be suddenly thrown open, when
the whole party would deliver their fire. In the surprise, they might as
suddenly close it, should it be deemed necessary. This attack, from its
very boldness and seeming temerity, would be likely to succeed.

Scarcely was the resolution formed and the party arranged ere the door
received another shock, and was immediately thrown wide open by Barton.
There were gathered before it ten or twelve Indians, four of whom held
in their hands a log of five or six inches in thickness and about twelve
feet in length, with which they were endeavoring to force the door.
Immediately the five rifles inside were discharged, and two of the
Indians fell. The remainder, surprised at this sudden attack, for a
moment seemed paralysed. The Tuscarora, no longer to be restrained, but
impelled not only by his Indian instincts, but by his hatred of the
Senecas, leaped from the door, with his knife in his hand, upon one of
the prostrate Indians.

At this sudden appearance of the Tuscarora, the Senecas filled the air
with shrieks, and rushed towards him. But ere they had reached him, he
rose erect with the scalp of the Seneca in his hand, and waving it over
his head, uttered his defiance with a ferocious scream. Ichabod and
Ralph, in a moment, were by his side; and now commenced a hand-to-hand
combat, most desperate, indeed, on the part of the besieged. Barton and
the negro, who had again loaded their rifles, once more discharged them
upon the Senecas, and then sprang to the assistance of their friends.
Another Indian had fallen, so that now there was no such fearful
disparity of odds as when the strife commenced. Had it not been for the
impulse of the Tuscarora, the _ruse_ of Ichabod would have been
completely successful; but Ralph, although engaged warmly in the melee,
saw the unfortunate position in which they were now placed. There were
at least a dozen more of the Senecas about the cottage, who would be
immediately attracted hither by the noise of the conflict, while the
cottage was now entirely undefended, and Ruth exposed to the hostility
of any savage who might take advantage of the conflict to force his way
into the building.

"To the door!" cried he; "retreat towards the door at once."

The darkness added to the terror and difficulty of the conflict. Ichabod
found himself, at first, engaged with Snake-tongue; but a blow from the
butt-end of his rifle ended the unequal conflict, and the Seneca lay
disabled. "Take that, you infarnal slanderer," he cried, as he dealt the
blow. "Learn to use your cussed snake's tongue with more moderation,
when speaking of respectable females." But Deersfoot now rushed upon
him, and a strife commenced, more equal; both strong and powerful in
frame, they were well matched. Ichabod caught the first blow of the
tomahawk upon his rifle, and then, ere the Indian could use his knife,
his long, muscular arms were about him. For a moment they wavered, as in
an equal struggle, when both fell to the ground. At the same moment, a
number more of the enemy came leaping to join the conflict.

"To the door, for your lives!" shouted Ralph. The contest was now
desperate; and slowly retreating, they reached the door, the Tuscarora,
being last to cross the threshold. The Indians followed, leaping into
the doorway; but the Tuscarora, with the sweep of his rifle, for a
moment drove them backwards, then springing within, the door was closed.

None of the party had escaped without injury; and it was not until the
door was closed, and the air rang with triumphant yells from the
Senecas, that it was discovered that Ichabod was missing. The first
impulse was again to open the door, and rescue him, at any odds; but a
moment's reflection taught Ralph, that such a course, now that the
Senecas were reinforced, would only put their own lives in the utmost
jeopardy, without their being able to assist their friend.

"No good for _you_ to open door," said Eagle's-Wing, "I go and save
friend."

"No, no, Eagle's-Wing," exclaimed Barton, "you cannot save him now; and
you will only lose your own life, and peril ours. They will not take
_his_ scalp, but they will _yours_."

"That true--won't kill him to-night, any way. He great warrior--they
like to torture great warriors. We save him to-morrow, some way."

It was with a feeling of sorrow that Ralph acknowledged their inability
to do anything for the rescue of Ichabod. Willingly would he have risked
his own life; but there was Ruth--who together with the others, might be
sacrificed by the imprudent attempt. With a feeling of deep grief, he
was obliged to leave him to his fate.

It was now discovered, too, that Guthrie was gone. Could it be that his
body had been removed by a Seneca during the conflict? It was not
possible; and it was evident, that while in the darkness, he was
supposed to have been slain by the Tuscarora, he had counterfeited
death, hoping to find some means of escape. With beating hearts, Ralph
and Barton proceeded up the stairway. They reached the apartment which
they had so recently left: but it was empty. From the window, near which
Guthrie had stood, the fastening had been removed from the frame work of
bars, and it was certain that through this window Guthrie had escaped,
and had carried with him the unfortunate Ruth.




CHAPTER XI.


   "'Tis vain to sigh! the wheel must on;
    And straws are to the whirlpool drawn
      With ships of gallant mien."
                                    FRENEAU


No sooner had Barton realized his loss, than he gave himself up to the
bitterest feelings of despair. This interim was succeeded by a burning
thirst for revenge. "Come, Ralph!--Come, Eagle's-Wing! let us pursue
them--let us destroy them! Oh, my God! thus in my old age to suffer this
heavy blow!" and, excited to madness, he fled down the stairway,
followed by Ralph and the Tuscarora. Before they could overtake him, he
had unbarred the door, and crossed the threshold but no enemy was there.

Ralph, himself overwhelmed with grief, endeavored to console the old
man; but there was no balm for such a wound, and he fell fainting into
the arms of Ralph.

Ralph, although overborne by grief, possessed a firmness of mind that
sought a remedy for affliction, where a remedy was attainable, instead
of tamely yielding. Anxiously he and the Tuscarora counseled together
upon the course to be pursued. Whether Ruth had been taken prisoner
either by Guthrie or the Indians, the result would be the same--she
would be a captive among the Senecas. They did not believe any attempt
would be made upon her life; but they did fear that the Indians, who
had, for the present at least, abandoned their attack upon the cottage,
satisfied with the prisoners they had taken, might at once attempt a
march to the country of the Senecas, and thus hold their prisoners in a
long and tedious captivity. It was, then, with much anxiety that they
consulted together upon the course now to be adopted. But we will leave
them for the present, to follow the fortunes of Ichabod.

After he had been deserted, unintentionally, by his companions, the
strife between him and Deersfoot was no longer equal. Scarcely had the
Senecas been foiled in their attempt to follow their intended victims
into the cottage, ere Ichabod was seized, and his arms securely
pinioned. The Senecas manifested their joy by the most ferocious yells,
when they discovered that they had in their possession an enemy so
formidable.

"Yell, you red devils!" exclaimed Ichabod: "Ten to one ain't worth
crowing about. But I'll tell you what--give me that rifle of mine, and
I'll tackle any five of you, any way. But I never did know a Seneca that
had a particle of the gentleman about him."

The Indians did not deign any reply to this proposition, but at once
made preparations to remove their prisoner. Four of the Senecas were
placed as a guard about him, and the march was begun towards their
encampment. The remainder of the party bore the dead bodies of their
companions, who had been killed in the affray: but Ichabod noticed that
there were only fifteen in this party, and consequently there must be
eight or ten more either about the cottage, or else already on the march
towards their camp.

The route pursued by the Senecas, was that which we have already
described as the one traveled by Ralph and Miss Barton on a former
occasion, until they passed the shanty, when they struck off towards the
left, in the direction of the river.

The encampment, or temporary village of the Senecas, was located in the
widest portion of the flats we have before noticed, and at a distance of
about ten or fifteen rods from the river, which at this point flowed for
nearly a hundred rods in a north and south line. But before reaching
this point, the course of the stream was extremely serpentine, making
several long windings through the valley.

The encampment was in a clearing of an acre or two in extent; which had
evidently been cleared many years before; for the ground was covered
with a rich green-sward, while three or four old stumps, scattered about
the field, denoted that years had elapsed since it had been rescued from
the dominion of the forest. It was in an oval form, and entirely
surrounded by wilderness. In the midst of this field or clearing, there
had been erected five or six temporary huts, by the use of some small
saplings and boughs, sufficient to answer for a protection from the sun,
as well as from the rains. These huts were arranged in a circle, and in
the centre was one smaller than the others; and from the fact, that it
was more neatly as well as securely constructed, Ichabod _guessed_ that
it must be occupied by Singing-Bird.

The party accompanying Ichabod, had reached the clearing soon after
sunrise, when he was led to one of the outer huts, where, after his
captors had securely fastened his feet, he was left upon a bed of leaves
and boughs to digest his thoughts as he was best able under the
circumstances. He had not remained a long time in this condition, before
he heard the noise of the arrival of another party; and he readily
imagined, from the joy with which they were received, that they, also,
had brought with them a captive from the cottage. Who this could be, he
could not conjecture; and this fact rendered his position still more
uneasy. He had already devised half-a-dozen plans, through some of
which, he calculated upon his escape, together with the rescue of
Singing-Bird. But if the new captive should happen to be the Tuscarora,
then the desire for vengeance, on the part of the Senecas, might
forestall his plans, before they could be put in operation. He did not
believe that the Indians intended _him_ any bodily injury; for although
he knew their crafty and murderous natures, he did not think they would
dare, in the present condition of the Colonies, to violate a peace,
which would be likely to draw upon them the vengeance of the whites.
Uneasy at the conjecture that Eagle's-Wing might be the new captive, and
pained by the tightness of the withes which had been bound about his
feet and hands, he made a desperate effort to free himself from them.
While engaged in this effort, a shadow darkened the doorway of the hut,
and Panther and Snake-tongue stood before him. They had evidently
detected the effort of Ichabod; but no expression upon their
countenances denoted the fact.

The two chiefs approached the bed occupied by Ichabod, and surveyed
their captive silently for a few moments; when Panther, directing his
conversation to Snake-tongue, exclaimed:

"This is the warrior of whom we have heard. He is a great warrior; he
has killed many Senecas; his eye is sharp on the war-path; his rifle is
sure. Our old men and squaws have heard of him beyond the lakes. It is
pleasant to have him in our han

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