Wyandotte - James Fenimore Cooper
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"Your memory must be short, to say this! I thought an Indian kept a
better record of what passed."
"No man _dare_ strike Wyandotte!" exclaimed the Indian, with
energy. "No man--pale-face or red-skin, _can_ give blow on back of
Wyandotte, and see sun set!"
"Well--well--Nick; we will not dispute on this point, but let bye-gones
be bye-gones. What _has_ happened, _has_ happened, and I hope
will never occur again."
"Dat happen to Nick--Sassy Nick--poor, drunken Nick--to Wyandotte,
nebber!"
"I believe I begin to understand you, now, Tuscarora, and am glad I
have a chief and a warrior in my house, instead of a poor miserable
outcast. Shall I have the pleasure of filling you a glass in honour of
our old campaigns?"
"Nick alway dry--Wyandotte know no thirst. Nick, beggar--ask for
rum--_pray_ for rum--_t'ink_ of rum, _talk_ of rum, _laugh_ for rum,
_cry_ for rum. Wyandotte don't know rum, when he see him. Wyandotte
beg not'in'; no, not his scalp."
"All this sounds well, and I am both willing and glad, chief, to
receive you in the character in which you give me to understand you
have now come. A warrior of Wyandotte's high name is too proud to carry
a forked tongue in his mouth, and I shall hear nothing but truth. Tell
me, then, all you know about this party at the mill; what has brought
it here, how you came to meet my son, and what will be the next step of
his captors. Answer the questions in the order in which I put them."
"Wyandotte not newspaper to tell ebbery t'ing at once. Let cap'in talk
like one chief speaking to anoder."
"Then, tell me first, what you know of this party at the mill. Are
there many pale-faces in it?"
"Put 'em in the river," answered the Indian, sententiously; "water tell
the trut'."
"You think that there are many among them that would wash white?"
"Wyandotte _know_ so. When did red warriors ever travel on their
path like hogs in drove? _One_ red-man there, as Great Spirit make
him; by his side _two_ red-men as _paint_ make 'em. This soon
told on trail."
"You struck their trail, then, and joined their company, in that
manner?"
Another nod indicated the assent of the Indian. Perceiving that the
Tuscarora did not intend to speak, the captain continued his
interrogatories.
"And how did the trail betray this secret, chief?" he asked.
"Toe turn out--step too short--trail too broad--trail too plain--march
too short."
"You must have followed them some distance, Wyandotte, to learn all
this?"
"Follow from Mohawk--join 'em at mill. Tuscarora don't like too much
travel with Mohawk."
"But, according to your account, there cannot be a great many red-skins
in the party, if the white men so much out-number them."
Nick, now, raised his right hand, showing all the fingers and the
thumb, at each exhibition, four several times. Then he raised it once,
showing only the fore-finger and thumb.
"This makes twenty-two, Nick--Do you include yourself in the number?"
"Wyandotte, a Tuscarora--he count _Mohawks_"
"True--Are there any other red-men among them?"
"Oneida, so"--holding up four fingers only. After which he held up a
single finger, adding--"Onondaga, so."
"Twenty-two Mohawks, four Oneidas, and a single Onondaga, make twenty-
seven in all. To these, how many whites am I to add?--You counted them,
also?"
The Indian now showed both hands, with all the fingers extended,
repeating the gestures four times; then he showed one hand entire, and
two fingers on the other.
"Forty-seven. Add these to the red-skins, and we get seventy-four for
the total. I had supposed them rather stronger than this, Wyandotte?"
"No stronger--no weaker--just so. Good many ole womans, too, among
pale-faces."
"Old women!--You are not speaking literally, Nick? All that I have seen
appear to be men."
"Got beard; but ole woman, too. Talk--talk--talk;--do not'in'.
_Dat_ what Injin call ole woman. Party, poor party; cap'in beat 'em,
if he fight like ole time."
"Well, this is encouraging, Wilhelmina, and Nick seems to be dealing
fairly with us."
"Now, inquire more about Robert, Hugh"--said the wife, in whose
maternal heart her children were always uppermost.
"You hear, Nick; my wife is desirous of learning something about her
son, next."
During the preceding dialogue, there had been something equivocal in
the expression of the Indian's face. Every word he uttered about the
party, its numbers, and his own manner of falling in with it, was true,
and his countenance indicated that he was dealing fairly. Still, the
captain fancied that he could detect a covert fierceness in his eye and
air, and he felt uneasiness even while he yielded him credence. As soon
as Mrs. Willoughby, however, interposed, the gleam of ferocity that
passed so naturally and readily athwart the swarthy features of the
savage, melted into a look of gentleness, and there were moments when
it might be almost termed softness.
"Good to have moder"--said Nick, kindly. "Wyandotte got no squaw--wife
dead, moder dead, sister dead--all gone to land of spirits--bye'm-by,
chief follow. No one throw stone on his grave! Been on death-path long
ago, but cap'in's squaw say 'stop, Nick; little too soon, now; take
medicine, and get well.' Squaw made to do good. Chief alway like 'e
squaw, when his mind not wild with war."
"And _your_ mind, Wyandotte, is not wild with war, now," answered
Mrs. Willoughby, earnestly. "You will help a mother, then, to get her
son out of the hands of merciless enemies?"
"Why you t'ink merciless? Because pale-face dress like Injin, and try
to cheat?"
"That may be one reason; but I fear there are many others. Tell me,
Wyandotte, how came you to discover that Robert was a prisoner, and by
what means did he contrive to give you his letter?"
The Indian assumed a look of pride, a little blended with hauteur; for
he felt that he was manifesting the superiority of a red-man over the
pale-face, as he related the means through which he had made his
discoveries.
"Read book on ground," Nick answered gravely. "Two book alway open
before chief; one in sky, t'other on ground. Book in sky, tell
weather--snow, rain, wind, thunder, lightning, war--book on ground,
tell what happen."
"And what had this book on the ground to do with my son, Wyandotte?"
"Tell all about him. Major's trail first seen at mill. No moccasin--
much boot. Soldier boot like letter--say great deal, in few word. First
t'ink it cap'in; but it too short. Den _know_ it Major."
"This sounds very well, Nick," interrupted the captain, "though you
will excuse me if I say it is going a little too far. It seems
impossible that you should know that the print of the foot was that of
my son. How _could_ you be certain of this?"
"How _could_, eh? Who follow trail from house, here, to Hudson
river? T'ink Nick blind, and can't see? Tuscarora read _his_ book
well as pale-face read bible." Here Nick looked round him a moment,
raised his fore-finger, dropped his voice, and added earnestly--"see
him at Bunker Hill--know him among ten, six, two t'ousand warrior. Know
dat foot, if meet him in Happy Hunting Ground."
"And why my son's foot, in particular? The boot is often changed, can
never be exactly like its predecessor, and one boot is so much like
another, that to me the thing seems impossible. This account of the
boot, Nick, makes me distrust your whole story."
"What distrust?" demanded the Indian like lightning.
"It means doubt, uncertainty--distrust."
"Don't believe, ha?"
"Yes, that is it, substantially. Don't more than _half_ believe,
perhaps, would be nearer to the mark."
"Why, ole soldier alway distrust; squaw nebber? Ask moder--ha!--you
t'ink Nick don't know son's trail--handsome trail, like young chief's?"
"I can readily believe Nick might recognise Bob's trail, Hugh"--
expostulated Mrs. Willoughby. "He has a foot in a thousand--you may
remember how every one was accustomed to speak of his beautiful foot,
even when he was a boy. As a man, I think it still more remarkable."
"Ay, go on, Nick, in this way, and my wife will believe all you say.
There is no distrust in a mother's partiality, certainly. You are an
old courtier, and would make your way at St. James's."
"Major nebber tell about foot?" asked Nick, earnestly.
"I remember nothing; and had he spoken of any such thing, I must have
heard it. But, never mind the story, now; you saw the foot-print, and
knew it for my son's. Did you ask to be admitted to his prison? or was
your intercourse secret?"
"Wyandotte too wise to act like squaw, or boy. See him, widout look.
Talk, widout speak--hear, widout ear. Major write letter, Nick take
him. All done by eye and hand; not'in' done by tongue, or at Council
Fire. Mohawk blind like owl!"
"May I believe you, Tuscarora; or, incited by demons, do you come to
deceive me?"
"Ole warrior look two time before he go; t'ink ten time before he say,
yes. All good. Nick no affronted. Do so himself, and t'ink it right.
Cap'in _may_ believe all Nick say."
"Father!" cried Maud, with simple energy, "I will answer for the
Indian's honesty. He has guided Robert so often, and been with him in
so many trying scenes, he never _can_ have the heart to betray
him, or us. Trust him, then he may be of infinite service."
Even captain Willoughby, little disposed as he was to judge Nick
favourably, was struck with the gleam of mamy kindness that shot across
the dark face of the Indian, as he gazed at the glowing cheek and
illuminated countenance of the ardent and beautiful girl.
"Nick seems disposed to make a truce with _you_, at least, Maud,"
he said, smiling, "and I shall now know where to look for a mediator,
whenever any trouble arises between us."
"I have known Wyandotte, dear sir, from childhood, and he has ever been
my friend. He promised me, in particular, to be true to Bob, and I am
happy to say he has ever kept his word."
This was telling but half the story. Maud had made the Indian many
presents, and most especially had she attended to his wants, when it
was known he was to be the major's guide, the year previously, on his
return to Boston. Nick had known her real father, and was present at
his death. He was consequently acquainted with her actual position in
the family of the Hutted Knoll; and, what was of far more consequence
in present emergencies, he had fathomed the depths of her heart, in a
way our heroine could hardly be said to have done herself. Off her
guard with such a being, Maud's solicitude, however, had betrayed her,
and the penetrating Tuscarora had discerned that which had escaped the
observation of father, and mother, and sister. Had Nick been a pale-
face, of the class of those with whom he usually associated, his
discovery would have gone through the settlement, with scoffings and
exaggerations; but this forest gentleman, for such was Wyandotte, in
spite of his degradation and numerous failings, had too much
consideration to make a woman's affections the subject of his
coarseness and merriment. The secrets of Maud would not have been more
sacred with her own brother, had such a relative existed to become her
confidant, than it was with Saucy Nick.
"Nick gal's friend," observed the Indian, quietly; "dat enough; what
Nick say, Nick mean. What Nick _mean_, he _do_. Come, cap'in;
time to quit squaw, and talk about war."
At this hint, which was too plain to be misunderstood, captain
Willoughby bade the Indian withdraw to the court, promising to follow
him, as soon as he could hold a short conference with Joyce, who was
now summoned to the council. The subject of discussion was the manner
in which the Tuscarora had passed the stockade, and the probability of
his being true. The serjeant was disposed to distrust all red-men, and
he advised putting Nick under arrest, and to keep him in durance, until
the return of light, at least.
"I might almost say, your honour, that such are orders, sir. The advice
to soldiers carrying on war with savages, tells us that the best course
is to pay off treachery with treachery; and treachery is a red-skin's
manual exercise. There is O'Hearn will make a capital sentinel, for the
fellow is as true as the best steel in the army. Mr. Woods' room is
empty, and it is so far out of the way that nothing will be easier than
to keep the savage snug enough. Besides, by a little management, he
might fancy we were doing him honour all the while."
"We will see, serjeant," answered the captain. "It has a bad
appearance, and yet it may be the wisest thing we can do. Let us first
go the rounds, taking Nick with us for safety, and determine
afterwards."
Chapter XX.
"His hand was stay'd--he knew not why;
'Twas a presence breathed around--
A pleading from the deep-blue sky,
And up from the teeming ground.
It told of the care that lavish'd had been
In sunshine and in dew--
Of the many things that had wrought a screen
When peril round it grew."
Mrs. Seba Smith.
The desertions gave not only the captain, but his great support and
auxiliary, the serjeant, the gravest apprehensions. A disposition of
that nature is always contagious, men abandoning a failing cause much
as rats are known to quit a sinking ship. It is not a matter of
surprise, therefore, that the distrust which accompanied the unexpected
appearance of the Tuscarora, became associated with this falling off in
the loyalty of the garrison, in the minds of the two old soldiers.
"I do think, your honour," said Joyce, as they entered the court
together, "that we may depend on O'Hearn, and Jamie, and Strides. The
latter, as a matter of course, being a corporal, or serjeant as he
calls himself; and the two first, as men who have no ties but such as
would be likely to keep them true to this family. But here is the
corporal to speak for himself."
As this was said, corporal Strides, as the serjeant persisted in
terming Joel, on the ground that being but one step higher himself, the
overseer could justly claim no rank of greater pretension, approached
the captain, taking care to make the military salute which Joyce had
never succeeded before in extracting from him, notwithstanding a
hundred admonitions on the subject.
"This is a distressing affair, captain Willoughby," observed Joel, in
his most jesuitical manner; "and to me it is altogether onaccountable!
It does seem to me ag'in natur', for a man to desart his own household
and hum' (Joel meant '_home_') in the hour of trial. If a fellow-
being wunt (Anglice 'wont') stand by his wife and children, he can
hardly be expected to do any of his duties."
"Quite true. Strides," answered the confiding captain, "though these
deserters are not altogether as bad as you represent, since, you will
remember, they have carried their wives and children with them."
"I believe they have, sir--yes, that must be allowed to be true, and
that it is, which to me seems the most extr'or'nary. The very men that
a person would calcilate on the most, or the heads of families, have
desarted, while them that remain behind are mostly single!"
"If we single men have no wives and children of our own to fight for,
Strides," observed Joyce, with a little military stiffness, "we have
the wife and children of captain Willoughby; no man who wishes to sell
his life dearly, need look for a better motive."
"Thank you, serjeant," the captain said, feelingly--"On _you_, I
can rely as on myself. So long as I have _you_, and Joel, here,
and Mike and the blacks, and the rest of the brave fellows who have
stood by me thus far, I shall not despair. _We_ can make good the
house against ten times our own number. But, it is time to look to the
Indians."
"I was going to speak to the captain about Nick," put in Joel, who had
listened to the eulogium on his own fidelity with some qualms of
conscience. "I can't say I like the manner he has passed between the
two parties; and that fellow has always seemed to me as if he owed the
captain a mortal grudge; when an Injin _does_ owe a grudge, he is
pretty sartain to pay it, in full."
"This has passed over my mind, too, I will confess, Joel; yet Nick and
I have been on reasonably good terms, when one comes to remember his
character, on the one side, and the fact that I have commanded a
frontier garrison on the other. If I have had occasion to flog him a
few times, I have also had occasion to give him more rum than has done
him good, with now and then a dollar."
"There I think the captain miscalcilates," observed Joel with a
knowledge of human nature that would have been creditable to him, had
he practised on it himself. "No man is thankful for rum when the
craving is off, sin' he knows he has been taking an inimy into his
stomach; and as for the money, it was much the same as giving the
liquor, seem' that it went for liquor as soon as he could trot down to
the mill. A man will seek his revenge for rum, as soon as for anything
else, when he gets to feel injuries uppermost. Besides, I s'pose the
captain knows an injury will be remembered long a'ter a favour is
forgotten."
"This may be true, Strides, and certainly I shall keep my eyes on the
Indian. Can you mention any particular act, that excites your
suspicion?"
"Don't the captain think Nick may have had suthin' to do with the
desartions?--A dozen men would scarce desart all at once, as it might
be, onless someone was at the bottom of it."
This was true enough, certainly, though Joel chose to keep out of view
all his own machinations and arts on the subject. The captain was
struck by the suggestion, and he determined to put his first intention
in respect to Nick in force immediately. Still, it was necessary to
proceed with caution, the state of the Hut rendering a proper watch and
a suitable prison difficult to be obtained. These circumstances were
mentioned to the overseer, who led the way to the part of the buildings
occupied by his own family; and, throwing open the doors,
ostentatiously exhibited Phoebe and her children in their customary
beds, at a moment when so many others had proved recreant. His
professed object was to offer a small closet in his own rooms as a
prison for Nick, remarking he must be an ingenious savage indeed, if he
could escape the vigilance of as many watchful eyes as would then be on
him.
"I believe you, Strides," said the captain, smiling as he walked away
from the place; "if he can escape Phoebe and _her_ children, the
fellow must be made of quicksilver. Still, I have a better prison in
view. I am glad to see this proof, however, of your own fidelity, by
finding all your family in their beds; for those are not wanting who
would have me suspect even _you_"
"Me!--Well, if the captain can't count on his own overseer, I should
like to ask such persons on whom he _can_ count? Madam Willoughby
and the young ladies isn't more likely to remain true than I am,
myself, I should think--What in reason, or natur', or all lawful
objects, could make _me_----"
Joel was about to run into that excess of vindication that is a little
apt to mark guilt; but, the captain cut him short, by telling him it
was unnecessary, recommending vigilance, and walking away in search of
Nick.
The Indian was found standing beneath the arch of the gateway, upright,
motionless, and patient. A lantern was kept burning here, the place
being used as a sort of guard-house; and, by its light, it was easy to
perceive the state of the still unhung leaf of the passage. This leaf,
however, was propped in its place, by strong timbers; and, on the
whole, many persons would think it the most secure half of the gate.
Captain Willoughby observed that the Indian was studying this
arrangement when he entered the place himself. The circumstance caused
him uneasiness, and quickened his determination to secure the Indian.
"Well, Nick," he said, concealing his intention under an appearance of
indifference, "you see our gates are well fastened, and steady hands
and quick eyes will do the rest. It is getting late, and I wish to have
you comfortably lodged before I lie down myself. Follow me, and I will
show you to a place where you will be at your ease."
The Tuscarora understood the captain's object the instant he spoke of
giving him comfortable lodgings, a bed being a thing that was virtually
unknown to his habits. But, he raised no objections, quietly treading
in the other's footsteps, until both were in the bed-room of the absent
Mr. Woods. The apartments of the chaplain were above the library, and,
being in the part of the house that was fortified by the cliff, they
had dormer windows that looked toward the forest. The height of these
windows the captain thought would be a sufficient security against
flight; and by setting Mike and one of the Plinys on the look-out, to
relieve each other at intervals of four hours, he thought the Tuscarora
might be kept until the return of light. The hour when he most
apprehended danger was that which just precedes the day, sleep then
pressing the heaviest on the sentinel's eyelids, and rest having
refreshed the assailants.
"Here, Wyandotte, I intend you shall pass the night," said the captain,
assuming as much courtesy of manner as if he were doing the honours of
his house to an invited and honoured guest. "I know you despise a bed,
but there are blankets, and by spreading them on the floor, you can
make your own arrangements."
Nick made a gesture of assent, looking cautiously around him, carefully
avoiding every appearance of curiosity at the same time, more in pride
of character, however, than in cunning. Nevertheless, he took in the
history of the locality at a glance.
"It is well," he said; "a Tuscarora chief no t'ink of sleep. Sleep come
standing, walking; _where_ he will, _when_ he will. Dog eats,
den lie down to sleep; warrior always ready. Good bye, cap'in--to-
morrow see him ag'in."
"Good night, Nick. I have ordered your old friend Mike, the Irishman,
to come and sit in your room, lest you might want something in the
night. You are good friends with Mike, I believe; I chose him on that
account."
The Indian understood this, too; but not an angry gleam, no smile, nor
any other sign, betrayed his consciousness of the captain's motives.
"Mike _good_" he answered, with emphasis. "Long tongue--short
t'ink. Say much; mean little. Heart sound, like hard oak--mind, like
spunk--burn quick, no too much strong."
This sententious and accurate delineation of the county Leitrim-man's
characteristics induced a smile in the captain; but, O'Hearn entering
at the moment, and possessing his entire confidence, he saw no use in
replying. In another minute the two worthies were left in possession of
the bed-room, Michael having received a most solemn injunction not to
be tempted to drink.
It was now so late, the captain determined to let the regular watches
of the night take their course. He held a short consultation with
Joyce, who took the first ward, and then threw himself on a mattrass,
in his clothes, his affectionate wife having done the same thing, by
the side of her daughters and grandson in an adjoining room. In a short
time, the sounds of footsteps ceased in the Hut; and, one unacquainted
with the real state of the household, might have fancied that the peace
and security of one of its ancient midnights were reigning about the
Knoll.
It was just two in the morning, when the serjeant tapped lightly at the
door of his commanding officer's room. The touch was sufficient to
bring the captain to his feet, and he instantly demanded the news.
"Nothing but sentry-go, your honour," replied Joyce. "I am as fresh as
a regiment that is just marching out of barracks, and can easily stand
the guard till daylight. Still, as it was orders to call your honour at
two, I could do no less, you know, sir."
"Very well, serjeant--I will just wash my eyes, and be with you in a
minute. How has the night gone?"
"Famously quiet, sir. Not even an owl to trouble it. The sentinels have
kept their eyes wide open, dread of the scalping-knife being a good
wakener, and no sign of any alarm has been seen. I will wait for your
honour, in the court, the moment of relieving guard being often chosen
by a cunning enemy for the assault."
"Yes," sputtered the captain, his face just emerging from the
water--"if he happen to know when that is."
In another minute, the two old soldiers were together in the court,
waiting the return of Jamie Allen with his report, the mason having
been sent round to the beds of the fresh men to call the guard. It was
not long, however, before the old man was seen hastening towards the
spot where Joyce had bid him come.
"The Lord ha' maircy on us, and on a' wretched sinners!" exclaimed
Jamie, as soon as near enough to be heard without raising his voice on
too high a key--"there are just the beds of the three Connecticut lads
that were to come into the laird's guard, as empty as a robin's nest
fra' which the yang ha' flown!"
"Do you mean, Jamie, that the boys have deserted?"
"It's just that; and no need of ca'ing it by anither name. The Hoose o'
Hanover wad seem to have put the de'il in a' the lads, women and
children included, and to have raised up a spirit o' disaffection, that
is fast leaving us to carry on this terrible warfare with our ain
hearts and bodies."