Wyandotte - James Fenimore Cooper
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"But this gun is not mounted; even if it were, it could only be set up
for show," observed the captain.
"Put that cannon up once, and I'll answer for it that no Injin faces
it. 'Twill be as good as a dozen sentinels," answered Joel. "As for
mountin', I thought of that before I said a syllable about the crittur.
There's the new truck-wheels in the court, all ready to hold it, and
the carpenters can put the hinder part to the whull, in an hour or two,
and that in a way no Injin could tell the difference between it and a
ra'al cannon, at ten yards."
"This is plausible, your honour," said Joyce, respectfully, "and it
shows that corporal Strides"--Joel insisted he was a serjeant, but the
real Simon Pure never gave him a title higher than that of
corporal--"and it shows that corporal Strides has an idea of war. By
mounting that piece, and using it with discretion--refusing it, at the
right moment, and showing it at another--a great deal might be done
with it, either in a siege or an assault. If your honour will excuse
the liberty, I would respectfully suggest that it might be well to set
the quaker on his legs, and plant him at the gate, as an exhorter."
The captain reflected a moment, and then desired the overseer to
proceed in his account. The rest of Joel's story was soon told. He had
mystified the strangers, according to his own account of the matter, so
thoroughly, by affecting to withhold nothing, that they considered him
as a sort of ally, and did not put him in confinement at all. It is
true, he was placed _en surveillance_; but the duty was so
carelessly performed, that, at the right moment, he had passed down the
ravine, a direction in which a movement was not expected, and buried
himself in the woods, so very effectually that it would have baffled
pursuit, had any been attempted. After making a very long _detour_,
that consumed hours, he turned the entire valley, and actually reached
the Hut, under the cover of the rivulet and its bushes, or precisely
by the route in which he and Mike had gone forth, in quest of Maud,
the evening of the major's arrival. This latter fact, however, Joel
had reasons of his own for concealing.
"You have told us nothing of Mr. Woods, Strides," the captain observed,
when Joel's account was ended.
"Mr. Woods! I can tell the captain nothing of that gentleman; I
supposed he was here."
The manner in which the chaplain had left the Hut, and his
disappearance in the ravine, were then explained to the overseer, who
evidently had quitted the mill, on his return, before the divine
performed his exploit. There was a sinister expression in Joel's eyes,
as he heard the account, that might have given the alarm to men more
suspicious than the two old soldiers; but he had the address to conceal
all he felt or thought.
"If Mr. Woods has gone into the hands of the Injins, in his church
shirt," rejoined the overseer, "his case is hopeless, so far as
captivity is consarned. One of the charges ag'in the captain is, that
the chaplain he keeps prays as regulairly for the king as he used to do
when it was lawful, and agreeable to public feelin'."
"This you heard, while under examination before the magistrate you have
named?" demanded the captain.
"As good as that, and something more to the same p'int. The 'squire
complained awfully of a minister's prayin' for the king and r'yal
family, when the country was fightin' 'em."
"In that, the Rev. Mr. Woods only obeys orders," said the serjeant.
"But they say not. The orders is gone out, now, _they_ pretend,
for no man to pray for any on 'em."
"Ay--orders from the magistrates, perhaps. But the Rev. Mr. Woods is a
divine, and has his own superiors in the church, and _they_ must
issue the commands that he obeys. I dare to say, your honour, if the
archbishop of Canterbury, or the commander-in-chief of the church,
whoever he may be, should issue a general order directing all the
parsons not to pray for King George, the Rev. Mr. Woods would have no
scruple about obeying. But, it's a different thing when a justice of
the peace undertakes to stand fugleman for the clergy. It's like a navy
captain undertaking to wheel a regiment."
"Poor Woods!" exclaimed the captain--"Had he been ruled by me, he would
have dropped those prayers, and it would have been better for us both.
But, he is of your opinion, serjeant, and thinks that a layman can have
no authority over a gownsman."
"And isn't he right, your honour! Think what a mess of it the militia
officers make, when they undertake to meddle with a regular corps. Some
of our greatest difficulties in the last war came from such awkward
hands attempting to manage machines of which they had no just notions.
As for praying, your honour, I'm no wise particular _who_ I pray
for, or _what_ I pray for, so long as it be all set down in
general orders that come from the right head-quarters; and I think the
Rev. Mr. Woods ought to be judged by the same rule."
As the captain saw no use in prolonging the dialogue, he dismissed his
companions. He then sought his wife, in order to make her acquainted
with the actual state of things. This last was a painful duty, though
Mrs. Willoughby and her daughters heard the truth with less of
apprehension than the husband and father had anticipated. They had
suffered so much from uncertainty, that there was a relief in learning
the truth. The mother did not think the authorities of the colony would
hurt her son, whom she fancied all men must, in a degree, love as she
loved. Beulah thought of her own husband as Bob's safeguard; while Maud
felt it to be comparative happiness to know he was unharmed, and still
so near her.
This unpleasant duty discharged, the captain began to bethink him
seriously of his military trust. After some reflection, and listening
to a few more suggestions from Joyce, he consented to let the "quaker"
be put on wheels. The carpenters were immediately set at work to
achieve this job, which the serjeant volunteered to superintend, in
person. As for Joel, his wife and children, with the miller, occupied
most of the morning; the day turning, and even drawing towards its
close, ere he became visible, as had formerly been his wont, among the
men of the settlement.
All this time, everything without the palisades lay in the silence of
nature. The sun cast its glories athwart the lovely scene, as in one of
the Sabbaths of the woods; but man was nowhere visible. Not a hostile
Indian, or white, exhibited himself; and the captain began to suspect
that, satisfied with their captures, the party had commenced its return
towards the river, postponing his own arrest for some other occasion.
So strong did this impression become towards the close of the day, that
he was actually engaged in writing to some friends of influence in
Albany and on the Mohawk to interpose their names and characters in his
son's behalf, when the serjeant, about nine o'clock, the hour when he
had been ordered to parade the guard for the first half of the night,
presented himself at the door of his room, to make an important report.
"What now, Joyce?" demanded the captain. "Are any of our fellows
sleepy, and plead illness?"
"Worse than that, your honour, I greatly fear," was the answer. Of the
ten men your honour commanded me to detail for the guard, five are
missing. I set them down as deserters."
"Deserters!--This is serious, indeed; let the signal be made for a
general parade--the people cannot yet have gone to bed; we will look
into this."
As Joyce made it matter of religion "to obey orders," this command was
immediately put in execution. In five minutes, a messenger came to
summon the captain to the court, where the garrison was under arms. The
serjeant stood in front of the little party, with a lantern, holding
his muster-roll in his hand. The first glance told the captain that a
serious reduction had taken place in his forces, and he led the
serjeant aside to hear his report.
"What is the result of your inquiries, Joyce?" he demanded, with more
uneasiness than he would have liked to betray openly.
"We have lost just half our men, sir. The miller, most of the Yankees,
and two of the Dutchmen, are not on parade; neither is one of them to
be found in his quarters. They have either gone over to the enemy,
captain Willoughby, or, disliking the appearance of things here, they
have taken to the woods for safety."
"And abandoned their wives and children, serjeant! Men would scarcely
do that."
"Their wives and children have deserted too, sir. Not a chick or child
belonging to either of the runaways is to be found in the Hut."
Chapter XIX.
"For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled."
_Richard III_
This was startling intelligence to receive just as night had shut in,
and under the other circumstances of the case. Touching the men who
still remained, captain Willoughby conceived it prudent to inquire into
their characters and names, in order to ascertain the ground he stood
on, and to govern his future course accordingly. He put the question to
the serjeant, therefore, as soon as he could lead him far enough from
the little array, to be certain he was out of ear-shot.
"We have Michael O'Hearn, Jamie Allen, the two carpenters, the three
niggers, Joel, and the three Dutchmen that last came into the
settlement, and the two lads that Strides engaged at the beginning of
the year, left," was the answer. "These, counting your honour and
myself, make just fifteen men; quite enough yet, I should think, to
make good the house, in case of an assault--though I fear everything
like an outwork must be abandoned."
"On the whole, these are the best of our men," returned the captain; "I
mean the most trustworthy. I count on Mike, Jamie, and the blacks, as
being as much to be relied on as we are ourselves. Joel, too, is a man
of resources, if he will but do his duty under fire."
"Corporal Strides is still an untried soldier, your honour; though
recruits, even, sometimes do wonders. Of course, I shall reduce the
guard to half its former strength, as the men must have some sleep,
sir."
"We must depend very much on your vigilance and mine, to-night, Joyce.
You shall take the guard till one, when I will stand it for the rest of
the night. I will speak to the men before you dismiss them. An
encouraging word, just now, may be worth a platoon to us."
The serjeant seldom dissented from any suggestion of his commanding
officer, and the scheme was carried out on the spot. The lantern was so
placed as to permit the captain to see the heterogeneous row of
countenances that was drawn up before him, and he proceeded:
"It seems, my friends," he said, "that some of our people have been
seized with a panic, and have deserted. These mistaken men have not
only fled themselves, but they have induced their wives and children to
follow them. A little reflection will show you to what distress all
must be reduced by this ill-judged flight. Fifty miles from another
settlement of any size, and more than thirty from even a single hut,
beyond the cabin of a hunter, days must pass before they can reach a
place of safety, even should they escape the savage foe that we know to
be scouring the woods. The women and children will not have sufficient
art to conceal their trail, nor sufficient strength to hold out against
hunger and fatigue many hours. God forgive them for what they have
done, and guide them through the difficulties and pains by which they
are menaced! As for us, we must determine to do our whole duty, or, at
once to retire, with the consent of each other. If there is a man among
you, then, who apprehends the consequences of standing to his arms, and
of defending this house, let him confess it frankly; he shall have
leave to depart, with all that belongs to him, taking food and the
means of subsistence and defence with him. I wish no man to remain with
me and mine, but he who can do it cheerfully. The night is now dark,
and, by quitting the Hut at an early hour, such a start might be gained
over any pursuers, as to place him in comparative security before
morning. If any such man is here, let him now speak out honestly, and
fear nothing. The gate shall be opened for his march."
The captain paused, but not a soul answered. A common sentiment of
loyalty seemed to bind every one of the listeners to his duty. The dark
eyes of the negroes rolled along the short rank to see who would be the
first to desert their master, and grins of delight showed the
satisfaction with which they noted the effect of the appeal. As for
Mike, he felt too strongly to keep silence, and he muttered the passing
impressions aloud.
"Och!"--growled the county Leitrim-man--"Is it a good journey that I
wish the runaways? That it isn't, nor many a good male either, as they
trudge alang t'rough the woods, with their own consciences forenent
their eyes, pricking them up to come back, like so many t'ieves of the
wor-r-ld, as they are, every mother's son of 'em, women and all. I'd
nivir do _that_; no, not if my head was _all_ scalp, down to
the soles of my fut, and an Injin was at every inch of it, to cut out
his summer clothes of my own skin. Talk of religion amang sich
crathures!--Why, there isn't enough moral in one of thim to carry him
through the shortest prayer the Lord allows a Christian to utter. Divil
burn 'em say I, and that's my kindest wish in their behalf."
The captain waited patiently for this soliloquy to terminate; then he
dismissed the men, with a few more words of encouragement, and his
thanks for the fidelity they, at least, had shown. By this time the
night had got to be dark, and the court was much more so, on account of
the shadows of the buildings, than places in the open air. As the
captain turned aside to give his last instructions to Joyce, he
discovered, by the light of the lantern the latter held, a figure
standing at no great distance, quite dimly seen on account of its
proximity to the walls of the Hut. It was clearly a man; and as all the
males able to bear arms, a single sentinel outside the court excepted,
were supposed to be in the group that had not yet separated, the
necessity of ascertaining the character of this unlooked-for visiter
flashed on the minds of both the old soldiers at the same instant.
Joyce raised the lantern, as they moved quickly towards the motionless
form, and its light glanced athwart a pair of wild, glowing, dark eyes,
and the red visage of an Indian.
"Nick!" exclaimed the captain, "is that you?--What has brought you here
again, and how have you entered the palisades?--Do you come as a
friend, to aid us, or as an enemy?"
"Too much question, cap'in--too much like squaw; ask all togeder. Go to
book-room; Nick follow; tell all he got to say."
The captain whispered the serjeant to ascertain whether the watch
without was vigilant, when he led the way to the library, where, as he
expected, he found his wife and daughters, anxiously waiting his
appearance.
"Oh! Hugh, I trust it is not as bad as we feared!" cried the mother, as
the captain entered the room, closely attended by the Tuscarora; "our
men cannot be so heartless as to desert us at such a moment!"
The captain kissed his wife, said a word or two of encouragement, and
pointed to the Indian.
"Nick!" exclaimed all three of the females, in a breath. Though the
tones of their voices denoted very different sensations, at the
unexpected appearance of their old acquaintance. Mrs. Willoughby's
exclamation was not without pleasure, for _she_ thought the man
her friend. Beulah's was filled with alarm, little Evert and savage
massacres suddenly crossing the sensitive mind of the young mother;
while Maud's tone had much of the stern resolution that she had
summoned to sustain her in a moment of such fearful trial.
"Yes, Nick--Sassy Nick," repeated the Indian, in his guttural
voice--"Ole friend--you no glad see him?"
"That will depend on your errand," interposed the captain. "Are you one
of the party that is now lying at the mill?--but, stop; how did you get
within the palisades? First answer me _that_."
"Come in. Tree no good to stop Injin. Can't do it wid branches, how do
it widout? Want plenty of musket and plenty of soldier to do _dat_.
Dis no garrison, cap'in, to make Nick afeard. Always tell him
too much hole to be tight."
"This is not answering my question, fellow. By what means did you pass
the palisades?"
"What means?--Injin means, sartain. Came like cat, jump like deer,
slide like snake. Nick great Tuscarora chief; know well how warrior
march, when he dig up hatchet."
"And Nick has been a great hanger-on of garrisons, and should know the
use that I can make of his back. You will remember, Tuscarora, that I
have had you flogged, more than once, in my day."
This was said menacingly, and with more warmth, perhaps, than was
prudent. It caused the listeners to start, as if a sudden and new
danger rose before their eyes, and the anxious looks he encountered
warned the captain that he was probably going too far. As for Nick,
himself, the gathering thunder-cloud is not darker than his visage
became at the words he heard; it seemed by the moral writhing of his
spirit as if every disgracing blow he had received was at that instant
torturing his flesh anew, blended with the keenest feelings of
ignominy. Captain Willoughby was startled at the effect he had
produced; but it was too late to change his course; and he remained in
dignified quiet, awaiting the workings of the Tuscarora's mind.
It was more than a minute ere Nick made any reply. Gradually, but very
slowly, the expression of his visage changed. It finally became as
stoical in expression as severe training could render the human
countenance, and as unmoved as marble. Then he found the language he
wanted.
"Listen," said the Indian, sternly. "Cap'in ole man. Got a head like
snow on rock. He bold soldier; but he no got wisdom enough for gray
hair. Why he put he hand rough, on place where whip strike? Wise man
nebber do _aat_. Last winter he cold; fire wanted to make him
warm. Much ice, much storm, much snow. World seem bad--fit only for
bear, and snake, dat hide in rock. Well; winter gone away; ice gone
away; snow gone away; storm gone away. Summer come, in his place.
Ebbery t'ing _good_--ebbery t'ing _pleasant_. Why t'ink of
winter, when summer come, and drive him away wid pleasant sky?"
"In order to provide for its return. He who never thought of the evil
day, in the hour of his prosperity, would find that he has forgotten,
not only a duty, but the course of wisdom."
"He _not_ wise!" said Nick, sternly. "Cap'in pale-face chief. He
got garrison; got soldier; got musket. Well, he flog warrior's back;
make blood come. Dat bad enough; worse to put finger on ole sore, and
make 'e pain, and 'e shame, come back ag'in."
"Perhaps it would have been more generous, Nick, to have said nothing
about it; but, you see how I am situated; an enemy without, my men
deserting, a bad look-out, and one finding his way into my very court-
yard, and I ignorant of the means."
"Nick tell cap'in all about means. If red-men outside, shoot
_'em_; if garrison run away, flog garrison; if don't know, l'arn;
but, don't flog back, ag'in, on ole sore!"
"Well, well, say no more about it, Nick. Here is a dollar to keep you
in rum, and we will talk of other matters."
Nick heeded not the money, though it was held before his eyes, some
little time, to tempt him. Perceiving that the Tuscarora was now acting
as a warrior and a chief, which Nick would do, and do well, on
occasion, the captain pocketed the offering, and regulated his own
course accordingly.
"At all events, I have a right to insist on knowing, first, by what
means you entered the palisades; and, second, what business has brought
you here, at night, and so suddenly."
"Ask Nick, cap'in, all he right to ask; but, don't touch ole flog. How
I cross palisade? Where your sentinel to stop Injin? One at gate; well,
none all round, t'other place. Get in, up here, down dere, over yonder.
Ten, twenty, t'ree spot--s'pose him tree? climb him. S'pose him
palisade?--climb him, too. What help?--Soldier out at gate when Nick
get over t'other end! Come in court, too, when he want. Half gate half
no gate. So easy, 'shamed to brag of. Cap'in once Nick's friend--went
on same war-path--dat in ole time. Both warrior; both went ag'in French
garrison. Well; who crept in, close by cannon, open gate, let pale-men
in. Great Tuscarora do _dat_; no flog, _den_--no talk of ole
sore, dat night!"
"This is all true enough, Wyandotte"--This was Nick's loftiest
appellation; and a grim, but faint smile crossed his visage, as he
heard it, again, in the mouth of one who had known him when its sound
carried terror to the hearts of his enemies--"This is all true,
Wyandotte, and I have even given you credit for it. On that occasion
you were bold as the lion, and as cunning as a fox--you were much
honoured for that exploit."
"No ole sore in _dat_, um?" cried Nick, in a way so startling as
to sicken Mrs. Willoughby to the heart. "No call Nick dog, dat night.
He _all_ warrior, den--all face; no _back_."
"I have said you were honoured for your conduct, Nick, and paid for it.
Now, let me know what has brought you here to-night, and whence you
come."
There was another pause. Gradually, the countenance of the Indian
became less and less fierce, until it lost its expression of malignant
resentment in one in which human emotions of a kinder nature
predominated.
"Squaw good," he said, even gently, waving his hand towards Mrs.
Willoughby--"Got son; love him like little baby. Nick come six, two
time before, runner from her son."
"My son, Wyandotte!" exclaimed the mother--"Bring you any tidings, now,
from my boy?"
"No bring tidin'--too heavy; Indian don't love to carry load--bring
_letter_"
The cry from the three females was now common, each holding out her
hand, with an involuntary impulse, to receive the note. Nick drew the
missive from a fold of his garment, and placed it in the hand of Mrs.
Willoughby, with a quiet grace that a courtier might have wished to
equal, in vain.
The note was short, and had been written in pencil, on a leaf torn from
some book of coarse paper. The handwriting however, was at once
recognised as Robert Willoughby's though there was no address, nor any
signature. The paper merely contained the following--
"Trust to your defences, and to nothing else. This party has many white
men in it, disguised as Indians. I am suspected, if not known. You will
be tampered with, but the wisest course is to be firm. If Nick is
honest, he can tell you more; if false, this note will be shown, even
though it be delivered. Secure the inner gates, and depend more on the
house itself, than on the palisades. Fear nothing for me--my life can
be in no danger."
This note was read by each, in succession, Maud turning aside to
conceal the tears that fell fast on the paper, as she perused it. She
read it last, and was enabled to retain it; and precious to her heart
was the boon, at such a moment, when nearly every sensation of her
being centred in intense feeling in behalf of the captive.
"We are told to inquire the particulars of you, Nick," observed the
captain; "I hope you will tell us nothing but truth. A lie is so
unworthy a warrior's mouth!"
"Nick didn't lie 'bout beaver dam! Cap'in no find him good, as Indian
say?"
"In that you dealt honestly, and I give you credit for it. Has any one
seen this letter but ourselves, yourself, and the person who wrote it?"
"What for ask? If Nick say no, cap'in t'ink he lie. Even fox tell trut'
some time; why not Injin? Nick say no."
"Where did you leave my son, and when?--Where is the party of red-skins
at this moment?"
"All pale-face in hurry! Ask ten, one, four question, altogeder. Well;
answer him so. Down here, at mill; down dere, at mill; half an hour,
six, two, ten o'clock."
"I understand you to say that major Willoughby was at the mill when you
saw him last, and that this was only half an hour since?"
The Tuscarora nodded his head in assent, but made no other reply. Even
as he did this, his keen eyes rolled over the pallid faces of the
females in a way to awaken the captain's distrust, and he resumed his
questions in a tone that partook more of the military severity of his
ancient habits than of the gentler manner he had been accustomed to use
of late years.
"You know me, Nick," he said sternly, "and ought to dread my
displeasure."
"What cap'in mean, now?" demanded the Indian, quietly.
"That the same whip is in this fort that I always kept in the other, in
which you knew me to dwell; nor have I forgotten how to use it."
The Tuscarora gazed at the captain with a very puzzling expression,
though, in the main, his countenance appeared to be ironical rather
than fierce.
"What for, talk of whip, now?" he said. "Even Yengeese gen'ral hide
whip, when he see enemy. Soldier can't fight when back sore. When
battle near, den all good friend; when battle over, den flog, flog,
flog. Why talk so?--Cap'in nebber strike _Wyandotte_."