The Forest King

by Hervey Keyes

  CHAPTER II.

  "Fresh from the fountains of the wood A rivulet to the valley came, And glided on for many a rood, Flushed with the morning's ruddy flame; The air was fresh and soft and sweet, The slopes in spring's new verdure lay, And, wet with dewdrops, at my feet Bloomed the young violets of May. No sound of busy life was heard Amid those forests lone and still, Save the faint chirp of early bird, Or bleat of deer along the hill. I traced the rivulet's winding way, New scenes of beauty opened round. Where woody shades of brightest green And lovely blossoms tinged the ground. 'Ah, happy valley stream,' I said, 'Calm glides thy waters 'mid the flowers, Whose fragrance round my path is shed Through all the joyous summer hours.'"

  After the storm of the Revolution had passed away, and the Angel ofPeace once more brooded over the forest, there was a daring hunter withhis family found living in the Valley of the Adaca, now called OtegoCreek, by the name of Mayall, who had become perfectly familiar withevery hill, mountain, valley and glen for many miles around his humblecottage. He led a wild and romantic life, living and lodging wherevernight overtook him, when the distance was so great that he could notreach his home, where the smoke of his cottage fire curled in bluewreaths over the forest trees, whilst its walls furnished a safe abodefor his wife and children from the wild beasts of the forest. His cabinwas strongly built of logs, with small windows, which looked more likeport-holes to a fort than windows. A deep hole was dug beneath hiscottage floor, from which there was a secret passage leading under thefoundation outside, that one might make his escape, if necessary. A bedof straw was thrown down into this hole, and here his children slept,descending by means of a trap-door, which was closed in time of danger,and made a safe retreat against the wild beasts of the forest in hisabsence. There was abundance of game scattered over the forest, and themultitude of furred animals that inhabited the valleys and congregatedalong the streams, living on the swarms of fish that then abounded inevery mountain rill, made it an easy matter to support his table withfresh and dried venison, choice fowls and speckled trout, whilst thefurred animals, that were abundant, would furnish him with clothing toprotect him from the frosts of winter.

  About the year 1774 this wild forester was found cultivating a smallspot of ground near a little crystal rill that flowed from a deep gorgein the hill. Eastward of his cabin was a high bluff of rocks, crownedwith lofty pines, that overlooked the valley, which stretched awaytowards the Susquehanna. From this rocky promontory the forest appearedunbroken, excepting the small spot cleared by his own hands, and seemedto lie beneath this rocky throne in tranquil loveliness. Here at hiscottage, when at home, his wife cooked his frugal but delicious repast.The Oneida tribe of Indians made their main path to the SusquehannaValley through the Valley of the Otego Creek, for the purpose ofprocuring their yearly supply of lead, which they used to carry away inabundance. The first settlers of this valley used to say that they wouldleave Laurens Village, and, after an absence of two or three hours,return loaded with their yearly supply; yet, with all the search thathas been made by the white race, this mine remains a secret, known onlyto the red man to this day, and probably will remain so until the end oftime, unless found by accident. This state of affairs moved on quietlyuntil the breaking out of the Revolution. Great Britain, with herwarlike bands, invaded the eastern and southern coast, whilst the Indiantribes westward, aided by the Canadians and Tories, swarmed through allthe western forests.

  Mayall began to shun them as much as convenient. They appeared verydifferent from the Oneidas, and seemed now to be hunting for men andplunder, instead of wild game. They cleared away and made theirwar-paths more plain along the broad-armed Susquehanna and hertributaries. They came, painted and plumed for the fray, with theirscalp-locks waving in the air; and the frightful war-whoop echoedthrough the valley and died away upon the mountain top, frightening thewild beasts to their lair, as they marched towards the nearestsettlements, to kindle the terror-awakening fire, and massacre andplunder the inhabitants. The war-whoop awoke the child from thecradle--the infant was torn from its mother's arms, the aged fell by thetomahawk and scalping-knife, and the earth fattened with their blood.Such was the state of affairs when autumn arrived, and hung out her flagof many colors from the forest trees over hill and vale, as the sun,with fiery crest, gilded every forest tree with the glory of the season,whilst the bold hunter gathered in the ripening fruit to increase hisscanty winter store. The furred animals had now put on their winterrobes, which nature so wisely prepares for their comfort during thefrosts of winter.

  Mayall, who styled himself one of that religious sect called Friends, inorder to soothe the fears of his enemies, always hailed them, whereverhe met them, as friends.

  Autumn, with him, was the season for rambling and hunting to lay in hiswinter store of furs and provisions, and he prepared for a huntingexcursion up the Cherry Valley Creek. The next morning, when the firstrays of light appeared in the east, he was seen to emerge from his cabinwith a knapsack of provisions on his back, a bundle of traps thrown overhis shoulder, powder-horn and bullet-pouch by his side, and his trustygun in his hand. Thus equipped, he took an eastward course for theCherry Valley Creek. At the head of that creek was the nearestsettlement, where he sometimes went to dispose of his furs and purchasestores and ammunition, distant from his home about twenty-seven miles.As soon as he reached the mouth of the stream, which is a tributary ofthe Susquehanna, he began to reconnoitre the stream, and set his trapswherever signs appeared of beaver, animated with the prospect of a richharvest of furs and venison. He had not proceeded far before he saw afine buck, which had come to the creek to drink. He instantly raised histrusty gun to his face. A flash and report, and the noble animal felldead upon the bank of the stream. The day had now far advanced, and hedrew his knife from its sheath and dressed his venison with dispatch. Hethen hung up three of the quarters upon the trees, cutting off a limb toform a hook on which it would hang safely from the wolves that werenightly prowling along the stream. He then took the remaining quarterand wrapped it up in the skin of the buck, retired into a thick, darkswamp that lay near the stream, until he reached a large, spreadinghemlock, that afforded a convenient resting-place at its root. Here, inthis dense thicket, he built a small fire, examined his trusty gun, andlaid down to rest. He afterward said he used every caution, for he hadthree enemies upon his track--the panther, the wolf and the red man. Thenight seemed to pass away quietly, excepting the howling of a wolfoccasionally upon a distant hill, which gave him no uneasiness. Rosymorn soon appeared, and he could see the sun send his blush upon thehighest hills, from his camping-ground in the swamp. He then preparedhis breakfast, and feasted on the loin of the buck that he had killedthe day previous. Emerging from the swamp, he intended to examine histraps, and then take the skin of the buck and the choicest part of thevenison to his family. In this calculation he was sadly disappointed;for, as he proceeded along a path near the stream, suddenly three Indianwarriors appeared in the path before him. He walked directly up to theparty and said, "Good morning, brothers." They returned the complimentby saying, "Good morning, brother." One of the party said, "Let me seeyour gun." He handed it out. The Indian took from his pocket a knife andturned back the screws that held the lock, and then took the lock andput it in his pocket, handing the gun back to Mayall, informing him thathe must go with them. Mayall bit his lips in silence, to think a hunterwho had faced his enemies in every form could be so easily frustrated inhis plans. They then informed him that they were on the war-path and hemust consider himself their prisoner, to which he made no reply.

  They immediately commenced their march in the following order: thestoutest Indian led the march, next came Mayall, the prisoner, followedby two Indian warriors. In this manner they marched down the creek, andthen down the Susquehanna, to a place near where the Schenevus mingleswith and loses its name in the waters of the Susquehanna. Here theyencamped for the night, and after starting their ca
mp-fire in a thicketof hemlocks, they all four eat their supper from the venison cooked byMayall in the morning. Then, binding their prisoner's hands behind him,and tying his feet firmly together, they laid down to sleep, with anIndian on each side and the remaining one to keep guard. As soon as theblaze of the fire died away, Mayall tried to disengage his hands, whichbegan to pain him cruelly, but all in vain. If he could once freehimself, he could reach his home before the sun could rise again, andonce more see his wife and children; but six miles of forest parted themat this time, on a straight line. Oh, the misery of being dragged fromhome! And who could foretell his fate? Was he to wear the bearskinmoccasin, and be tied to the fatal stake and burned for Indians' sport,and his poor family left to starve and perish amid the frosts of a long,dreary winter? He dreamed of the red war-post, the terrific dance of thered man round his burning victim, and all the refined torture of thesavage. Morning broke his dreams; the sun again kissed the mountain-top.Mayall was unbound--his mind became calm, his resolution was formed. Itwas the last night that he was to endure the horrors of being bound.Little did the Indians know the danger of driving to desperation soterrible a foe, who was perfectly acquainted with the forest manyleagues around them. The Indian warriors soon resumed their march in thesame order of the previous day, but with greater haste. They movedforward rapidly, as if they feared an enemy in the rear. Mayall scannedevery movement with the eye of the vulture, for a chance to deal thedeadly blow upon his captors. The day seemed to wear away without anopportunity for the deadly combat, until they halted at a ford abovewhere the village of Unadilla now stands. Here they held a parley, asthe stream was swollen and rapid. Mayall looked on in sullen silence, ashe began to feel the demon rise. He said he soon felt the courage of alion, and the strength of a Samson before he had trifled with Delilah.

  They hesitated for a short time over the danger. The foremost warriorfinally ventured into the stream with his rifle and it was with greatdifficulty he kept his footing. He struggled against the rushing waters,and finally reached the opposite bank; the second one now stepped intothe stream and ordered Mayall to follow. Mayall made every appearance ofpreparing to follow, until the Indian reached the rapid current; then,turning suddenly upon the Indian on the shore, at one blow with thestock of his gun he laid him dead at his feet. As quick as thought,before his body had fairly reached the ground, Mayall seized his rifleand shot the Indian in the stream. Then tearing the Indian's belt fromhis body (for it was hurrying times), he jumped behind the trunk of thenearest tree that would shelter him, as a ball from the Indian's rifleon the opposite bank whistled by his head, which he had anticipated, andmoved as quickly as possible, to avoid his deadly aim. They now stood onopposite banks, each behind the trunk of a tree, with an empty rifle intheir hands. The rifles were quickly loaded and prepared for the deadlycombat, and the life of one at least must be sacrificed. After Mayall'sgun was in readiness he cautiously peered out; but seeing the Indian'srifle aimed directly at him he dodged suddenly back, just in time tosave his life; for the very instant Mayall dodged back his head, a ballfrom the Indian's rifle grazed the bark of the tree, and whistled awayamong the forest trees. Mayall now thought of taking the advantage ofthe Indian by aiming his rifle directly at his hiding-place and firingat the first appearance of the Indian's head, but in this he wasdisappointed; for the Indian, seeing Mayall's rifle aimed at his head,drew it back so quickly that the ball cut a channel in the bark wherethe Indian's eye appeared. Mayall loaded again as hastily as possible,and stood for a moment, hesitating what course to pursue, satisfied thatthe Indian warrior was his equal in aim and courage. He cast his eyeback into the forest, and readily saw the trees stood thick, and bydrawing the Indian's fire he could make a quick and safe retreat. Butthat would not answer--he would be hunted down and surprised, and hislife would never be safe. Mayall quickly resolved that the Indian orhimself must fall on that ground, and the only means now left him wasstratagem. He drew his ramrod from his rifle, and putting his hat on theend, pushed it out carefully, to prevent the Indian from discovering thedeception. It had the desired effect; for scarcely had the hat shown itsfull size outside the trunk of the tree, before the Indian sent a ballfrom his rifle through the hat, which Mayall lowered quickly to theground, and then listened with breathless anxiety the result. In thiscondition he waited a long time.

  All was silent as the tomb, excepting now and then the scream of afish-hawk or the singing of a hermit-thrush that had approached the bankof the river after the firing had ceased, and seemed singing the funeraldirge of the red warriors who had already fallen. All of a sudden thethrush flew past Mayall into the forest, and the practiced ear of Mayallheard a rippling in the stream, like running water dashing against someslight obstruction. Anticipating the approach of the Indian warrior, hestepped suddenly from behind the tree, whilst the Indian was strugglingwith the current, and sent a ball from his rifle through the warrior'sheart. He then floated down the rapid current, and sunk in the deepwater below the rift.

  Mayall then took his gunlock from the pocket of the Indian on the shore,who had stayed behind to engineer and direct the crossing, placed itupon his own gun, dragged the Indian into the current of the river, andhe, too, floated down, and sunk with the first two in the deep, darkwaters of the Susquehanna. He then washed out all traces of the bloodystrife, and bent his course homeward. He hurried on, avoiding thetrodden path of the red man, until he reached the mouth of the OtegoCreek, when night's sable curtain began to darken the landscape aroundhim. He then ascended a high peak of the mountain, that not onlyoverlooked the Valley of the Susquehanna, but also overlooked the lovelyValley of the Otego Creek. Here, after finding a suitable spot, andexamining his rifle, and seeing that all was right, he laid down, wearyand exhausted, to rest, without kindling a fire.

  The experience of the last two days had taught him a lesson long to beremembered. As the night grew dark and chilly, he could see the firefrom his own cottage window gleam warm and bright from his loftymountain bed, distant twelve miles. The night seemed long and wild, andstill wilder round his lonely bed. The war was now raging between theUnited States and Canada. The inhabitants of Cherry Valley had beenmassacred, and he had come near losing his own life and liberty, andtime would only tell what would become of himself and family. TheOneidas knew his home and place of rest, but at present they were hisfriends; but how should he escape these western savage tribes, thatdelighted in kindling the terror-awakening fire, and causing themidnight to glitter with the blaze of some solitary dwelling, whilstthey stood at the door with the scalping-knife and tomahawk, to deal thedeath-blow to the inmates, and triumph with savage glee over theiruntimely death? Such were the reflections of Mayall, solitary and alonein his mountain bed, when the wild beasts of the forest were in motion,and no human being within twelve miles of his mountain camp. At lengththe morning dawned; the sun arose in all his glory, throwing a rosyblush, as it touched one peak and then another along the Catskillmountains, which he could see clothed in all their autumnal glory abovethe intervening hills. Long lines of clouds lay along the highest peaksof these mountains, painted with all the hues of vermilion and gold, butsoon faded to a leaden hue, as they began to veil the sun.

  Mayall was now aware of the approaching storm, which he considered astroke of good luck. He took the Indian's rifle, which he had broughtthus far with him, and secreted it in a hollow log, lest it might be atell-tale of what had happened. He then took a general survey with hispracticed eye, to see if there was any smoke rising from the valleys. Hecould see none but his own in the distance. He then hurried down fromthe mountain, and took the nearest path to his home with rapid andhurried steps, in order to get as near home as possible, that the rainmight wash out all traces behind, and took special care to avoid softground, as he well knew the shrewdness of the Indians on the track ifthey should miss their tribesmen. He reached home before the rain beganto descend, and had hardly closed the door before the wind began to blowand the rain fell in torrents.

  H
is family were surprised to see him return, after three days' absence,with nothing but his gun and ammunition, and appearing careworn, wearyand hungry. He walked to the door and looked out, and said, "Natureweeps for me!"

  Mayall was a bold, daring man, and none was found more brave; but whenhe looked upon his little prattling children and lovely wife, he thoughtof the three Indian warriors lying at the bottom of the dark, deepstream, and he wept, thinking they might have wives and fatherlesschildren, who would look out evening and morning for their fathers andhusbands, who would never return again to their homes.

  His wife and children hailed him with joy, but nothing they could sayseemed worth his notice; he seemed to be wrapped in deep meditation--nota smile was seen to light up his sunburnt countenance. No one could readthe secret of his meditation.

  Autumn quietly wore away, and Mayall confined his hunting excursions tohis own quiet valley, where game appeared quite plenty, until the snowsof winter began to whiten the hills. He then remained most of the timeat home, excepting now and then, when the weather was favorable, he madean excursion up or down the valley in quest of deer, to supply hisfamily with fresh venison. The deep snows had drifted over the war-pathof the red man, and Mayall had enjoyed a quiet season, spending most ofhis time by a warm winter fire.

  At length winter began to resign his sway, and took up his march for hisnorthern icy throne. The rays of the sun began to dissolve the deepsnow, the southern breeze began to whisper among the dumb branches ofthe forest trees, the warm rains pattered down, the little mountainstreams were swollen, and noisily hurrying down to pour their tributeinto the Otego, which overflowed its banks and inundated the lowlandsalong the streams, and Spring began to put on her glorious robes ofbeauty. The violet opened its young leaves with all its youthful blush,the honeysuckle displayed its glistening cups of gold, and the foresttrees were again clothed with living green, while every tree that borethe fruits of Autumn was dressed with Nature's fairest wreaths, whichart can scarcely imitate. The feathered choir had fluttered up thevalley, borne on the southern breeze, to cheer the woodland with theirsong.

  Such was the earthly Paradise of Mayall. Not all the halls of state,with their artificial splendor; not all the retinue of kings, withgolden crowns, surrounded with warriors glittering with burnished goldand ornamented with diamonds--all these faded into insignificance, whencompared with his green forest home.

  "What city," said Mayall, "with all its towers and domes, can comparewith these sylvan shades and waving arches, the music of thesewaterfalls, and that of the tall pine's quaking cone standing on itshigh and lofty throne? And what music can compare with the notes ofthese feathered songsters, that morning and evening hymn the praise ofNature's God, where He sits enthroned with all his glory?" Such were thereflections of Mayall, as he sat beneath a clustering vine that hislovely companion had trained, in his absence, to form an arch over hiscottage door, and shelter him from the burning sun.

  The flowers of May soon began to drop their leaves, the streams hadbecome confined within their banks, the red men from the Western lakesand Canada were again upon the war-path, and it required all the skillof a forest life to elude their pursuit. Mayall knew every sound of thenight; his eye and ear had long sought in the dark; not a beast thatwalked the forest by night, or prowled around his cabin or camp-fire,but he could name readily by the sound of his footsteps. Mayall hadremained most of the summer at his forest home, cultivating a smallfield that surrounded it, and capturing such game as frequented his ownvalley, and the streams that meandered through it abounded with fish ofthe finest quality for his table.

  Summer had quietly passed away, and the golden sun of September began tochange the bright green of summer to all the varied hues of autumn.Mayall once more began to feel a desire to roam over the hills, whichhad long been his favorite employment; he finally resolved on visitinghis more distant hunting-ground in quest of deer, which had becomescarce near his home. He accordingly rose with the sun and prepared fora journey over the distant hills and valleys, which had only appeared tohim in his dreams since his capture by the three Indian warriors. Hetook an eastern course, crossed the highlands between the Otego Creekand Susquehanna Valley, crossed the Indian war-path that passed up theSusquehanna, and thence up Cherry Valley Creek at right angles, and soonbegan to climb the steep ascent of the Crumhorn mountain, in thedirection of a small lake situated on the top of the mountain. As hebegan to ascend the mountain the sun had passed the meridian, and pouredits heated rays against the western slope of the mountain. Mayall,coming to a noisy little rill that spun its silver thread down themountain side, to mingle with the water in the valley below, slaked histhirst at the stream, and, walking up to a little mound near the stream,scraped together some leaves that had fallen in wild profusion around,to carpet the mountain-side with all their varied hues, and seatedhimself for his noonday meal. After satisfying his hunger and againquenching his thirst at the stream, he sat down to rest; a stupor cameover him, as the gentle breeze fanned the mountain-side and whisperedamong the lofty branches of the forest trees, like the AEolian harp ofpassing time.

  Mayall soon became unconscious of the fearful dangers that were hoveringaround him; time, to him, passed unheeded; the sun was fast sinkingtowards the western hills, and the wild beasts of the forest were againin motion. Mayall slowly awoke to consciousness, and, to his surpriseand horror, he heard the tread of a panther walking about him, andcovering him with leaves. Being perfectly acquainted with the habits ofthis animal, he knew that to move a hand or foot would cause his instantdeath, as the old panther was then preparing a feast for her young ones,as he had seen them prepare a deer that she had found in the samemanner, and then go and bring her young ones. He lay in fearful suspenseuntil the panther had finished her covering of leaves. He heard herfootsteps begin to recede, until the sound was lost in distance; then,creeping out from his covering of leaves, he discovered near him an olddecayed log about the length of a man. This he moved to the spot wherehe had lain, and covered it with leaves, then, casting his eyes around,he saw a tree that he could easily climb, and, slinging his gun over hisshoulder, fastened by a strap to his belt, he lost no time in ascendingthe tree to the height of twenty-five or thirty feet, where he found aconvenient branch to rest upon, above the height of the panther'sground-leap. He waited quietly for the return of the panther and herfamily, not knowing how many guests would be invited to the feast.

  Whilst sitting on this lofty perch, in painful suspense, he carefullyexamined his trusty gun and hunting knife, which he sheathed in his bootin readiness for the combat, should the panthers attempt to attack himby ascending the tree. After resting on one of the branches of hischosen tree for a short time he heard the rustling of the leaves in thedistance, and could plainly see through the branches of the trees thatthe old panther was advancing towards his bed of leaves, accompanied bythree large cubs. He now felt thankful there was but one old one in thecompany, and waited in silence to see the exploits of the old panther,which advanced steadily towards the bunch of leaves with cautious steps,as if she feared to wake her prey until she came within leapingdistance; then, settling down on the ground, waited until her young onescame to her side; then springing forward with one tremendous bound, shestruck upon the log covered with leaves. The rotten wood-bark and leavesflew fearfully around for a moment. The panther seeing her mistake,dropped her tail and ears like a shamed cur, and taking a careful surveywith her eyes of the surrounding forest, stood at fault for a fewmoments. Then raising her head and ears, she seemed to resume all hernative fierceness, and seemed maddened with rage at her disappointment,and, seeming to have caught the scout of the victim of her rage, sheraised her eyes and fixed them on Mayall in the tree, and advanceddirectly towards him, her young panthers following, which were about thesize of a large wild cat.

  Mayall awaited her approach, with his gun in readiness, until thepanther came in full view, and as she settled towards the ground to makea bound up the tree he sent the contents of h
is gun through her head.For a few moments there was a fearful struggle among the small brush andsaplings, and then she dropped lifeless and exhausted upon the ground.Mayall lost no time in loading his gun, but the young panthers, seeingtheir protector and provider fall, were quickly out of reach of thefearless hunter. Mayall descended to the ground just as the sun wascasting his last crimson blush on the Crumhorn hills, and kindled hiscamp-fire on the leaves that the panther had scraped together for hisfuneral pile. After he had kindled his fire and made preparations forthe night he then laid down near his camp-fire, where he could get afair view of his surroundings. The shades of evening soon gatheredaround him. The stars shot forth in beauty one by one, and the eveningdew fell in silence. Thinking the young panthers might return for theirdam, he had placed her in a sleeping position in a conspicuous place, todraw them to her side if they came within sight. Mayall waited insleepless anxiety, thinking that when the embers of his fire died awaythe young panthers might approach. In the midst of his watchfulness themoon arose and showed her maiden face, and walked among the stars,reflecting her borrowed light among the branches of the forest trees.

  Mayall was delighted with the grandeur of the scenery around him, whichdrew out his mind in pure devotion to Nature and Nature's God. The nightseemed to pass like a pleasant dream, and the day-star began to twinklein the east. Mayall kindled again his fire to prepare his morningrepast, that he might retrace his steps to the Valley of the Otego,knowing that the hunter finds no deer in forests inhabited by panthers.The day-king soon arose and dispelled the darkness of night. Mayall wentforward and circumnavigated the little lake in pursuit of the youngpanthers. Not finding their hiding place, he sat down on a log for a fewmoments to view that beautiful sheet of water, reflecting on its bosomthe surrounding forest. Eolus was slumbering. Not a breath of air playedover its surface, but lay like the mirror bright and fair. Mayall in hisexcitement viewed it as one of the lovely dimples on the face ofcreation, which held him for a time like a charm, until his thoughtsroamed over the forest hills to his loved ones at home. He then aroseand retraced his steps to the Valley of the Otego, considering the pastday and night one of the most charming incidents of his past life.

  The war of the Revolution had now ended, and new adventurers began tovisit the Valley of the Otego. Charmed with the beauty of its forestsand crystal streams, they would return and soon appear with theirfamilies.

  And behold the green hills in distance laid, Where the wild hunter often strayed, Where through the forest swift as light The wild deer shunned the bullets' flight.