CHAPTER XI. THE MELANCHOLY FLIGHT
Paul revived in a few minutes. They were still lying in the bushes,and when he was able to stand up again, they moved at an angle severalhundred yards before they stopped. One pistol was thrust into Paul'shand and another into that of Shif'less Sol.
"Keep those until we can get rifles for you," said Henry. "You may need'em to-night."
They crouched down in the thicket and looked back toward the Indiancamp. The warriors whom they had repulsed were not returning with help,and, for the moment, they seemed to have no enemy to fear, yet theycould still see through the woods the faint lights of the Indian camps,and to Paul, at least, came the echoes of distant cries that told ofthings not to be written.
"We saw you captured, and we heard Sol's warning cry," said Henry."There was nothing to do but run. Then we hid and waited a chance forrescue."
"It would never have come if it had not been for Timmendiquas," saidPaul.
"Timmendiquas!" exclaimed Henry.
"Yes, Timmendiquas," said Paul, and then he told the story of "TheBloody Rock," and how, in the turmoil and excitement attending theflight of the last four, Timmendiquas had cut the bonds of Shif'less Soland himself.
"I think the mind o' White Lightnin', Injun ez he is," said Shif'lessSol, "jest naterally turned aginst so much slaughter an' torture o'prisoners."
"I'm sure you're right," said Henry.
"'Pears strange to me," said Long Jim Hart, "that Timmendiquas was madean Injun. He's jest the kind uv man who ought to be white, an' he'd bepow'ful useful, too. I don't jest eggzactly understan' it."
"He has certainly saved the lives of at least three of us," said Henry."I hope we will get a chance to pay him back in full."
"But he's the only one," said Shif'less Sol, thinking of all that he hadseen that night. "The Iroquois an' the white men that's allied with 'emwon't ever get any mercy from me, ef any uv 'em happen to come undermy thumb. I don't think the like o' this day an' night wuz ever done onthis continent afore. I'm for revenge, I am, like that place where theBible says, 'an eye for an eye, an' a tooth for a tooth,' an' I'm goin'to stay in this part o' the country till we git it!"
It was seldom that Shif'less Sol spoke with so much passion and energy.
"We're all going to stay with you, Sol," said Henry. "We're needed here.I think we ought to circle about the fort, slip in if we can, and fightwith the defense."
"Yes, we'll do that," said Shif'less Sol, "but the Wyoming fort can'tever hold out. Thar ain't a hundred men left in it fit to fight, an'thar are more than than a thousand howlin' devils outside ready toattack it. Thar may be worse to come than anything we've yet seen."
"Still, we'll go in an' help," said Henry. "Sol, when you an' Paul haverested a little longer we'll make a big loop around in the woods, andcome up to the fort on the other side."
They were in full accord, and after an hour in the bushes, where theylay completely hidden, recovering their vitality and energy, theyundertook to reach the fort and cabins inclosed by the palisades.Paul was still weak from shock, but Shif'less Sol had fully recovered.Neither bad weapons, but they were sure that the want could be suppliedsoon. They curved around toward the west, intending to approach the fortfrom the other side, but they did not wholly lose sight of the fires,and they heard now and then the triumphant war whoop. The victors werestill engaged in the pleasant task of burning the prisoners to death.Little did the five, seeing and feeling only their part of it there inthe dark woods, dream that the deeds of this day and night would soonshock the whole civilized world, and remain, for generations, a crowningact of infamy. But they certainly felt it deeply enough, and in eachheart burned a fierce desire for revenge upon the Iroquois.
It was almost midnight when they secured entrance into the fort, whichwas filled with grief and wailing. That afternoon more than one hundredand fifty women within those walls had been made widows, and six hundredchildren had been made orphans. But few men fit to bear arms were leftfor its defense, and it was certain that the allied British and Indianarmy would easily take it on the morrow. A demand for its surrenderin the name of King George III of England had already been made, and,sitting at a little rough table in the cabin of Thomas Bennett, theroom lighted only by a single tallow wick, Colonel Butler and ColonelDennison were writing an agreement that the fort be surrendered the nextday, with what it should contain. But Colonel Butler put his wife on ahorse and escaped with her over the mountains.
Stragglers, evading the tomahawk in the darkness, were coming in, onlyto be surrendered the next day; others were pouring forth in a stream,seeking the shelter of the mountains and the forest, preferring anydangers that might be found there to the mercies of the victors.
When Shif'less Sol learned that the fort was to be given up, he said:
"It looks ez ef we had escaped from the Iroquois jest in time to beg 'emto take us back."
"I reckon I ain't goin' to stay 'roun' here while things are bein'surrendered," said Long Jim Hart.
"I'll do my surrenderin' to Iroquois when they've got my hands an' feettied, an' six or seven uv 'em are settin' on my back," said Tom Ross.
"We'll leave as soon as we can get arms for Sol and Paul," said Henry."Of course it would be foolish of us to stay here and be captured again.Besides, we'll be needed badly enough by the women and children that aregoing."
Good weapons were easily obtained in the fort. It was far better to letSol and Paul have them than to leave them for the Indians. They wereable to select two fine rifles of the Kentucky pattern, long andslender barreled, a tomahawk and knife for each, and also excellentdouble-barreled pistols. The other three now had double-barreledpistols, too. In addition they resupplied themselves with as muchammunition as scouts and hunters could conveniently carry, and towardmorning left the fort.
Sunrise found them some distance from the palisades, and upon the flankof a frightened crowd of fugitives. It was composed of one hundred womenand children and a single man, James Carpenter, who was doing his bestto guide and protect them. They were intending to flee through thewilderness to the Delaware and Lehigh settlements, chiefly Fort Penn,built by Jacob Stroud, where Stroudsburg now is.
When the five, darkened by weather and looking almost like Indiansthemselves, approached, Carpenter stepped forward and raised his rifle.A cry of dismay rose from the melancholy line, a cry so intensely bitterthat it cut Henry to the very heart. He threw up his hand, and exclaimedin a loud voice:
"We are friends, not Indians or Tories! We fought with you yesterday,and we are ready to fight for you now!"
Carpenter dropped the muzzle of the rifle. He had fought in the battle,too, and he recognized the great youth and his comrades who had beenthere with him.
"What do you want of us?" asked he.
"Nothing," replied Henry, "except to help you."
Carpenter looked at them with a kind of sad pathos.
"You don't belong here in Wyoming," he said, "and there's nothing tomake you stick to us. What are you meaning to do?"
"We will go with you wherever you intend to go," replied Henry; "dofighting for you if you need it, and hunt game for you, which you arecertain to need."
The weather-beaten face of the farmer worked.
"I thought God had clean deserted us," he said, "but I'm ready to takeit back. I reckon that he has sent you five to help me with all thesewomen and little ones."
It occurred to Henry that perhaps God, indeed, had sent them for thisvery purpose, but he replied simply:
"You lead on, and we'll stay in the rear and on the sides to watch forthe Indians. Draw into the woods, where we'll be hidden."
Carpenter, obscure hero, shouldered his rifle again, and led on towardthe woods. The long line of women and children followed. Some of thewomen carried in their arms children too small to walk. Yet they weremore hopeful now when they saw that the five were friends. These lithe,active frontiersmen, so quick, so skillful, and so helpful, raised theircourage. Yet it was a most doleful fli
ght. Most of these women hadbeen made widows the day before, some of them had been made widows andchildless at the same time, and wondered why they should seek to livelonger. But the very mental stupor of many of them was an aid. Theyceased to cry out, and some even ceased to be afraid.
Henry, Shif'less Sol, and Tom dropped to the rear. Paul and LongJim were on either flank, while Carpenter led slowly on toward themountains.
"'Pears to me," said Tom, "that the thing fur us to do is to hurry 'emup ez much ez possible."
"So the Indians won't see 'em crossing the plain," said Henry. "Wecouldn't defend them against a large force, and it would merely be amassacre. We must persuade them to walk faster."
Shif'less Sol was invaluable in this crisis. He could talk forever inhis-placid way, and, with his gentle encouragement, mild sarcasm, andanecdotes of great feminine walkers that he had known, he soon had themmoving faster.
Henry and Tom dropped farther to the rear. They could see ahead of themthe long dark line, coiling farther into the woods, but they couldalso see to right and left towers of smoke rising in the clear morningsunlight. These, they knew, came from burning houses, and they knew,also, that the valley would be ravaged from end to end and from sideto side. After the surrender of the fort the Indians would divide intosmall bands, going everywhere, and nothing could escape them.
The sun rose higher, gilding the earth with glowing light, as if theblack tragedy had never happened, but the frontiersmen recognized theirgreatest danger in this brilliant morning. Objects could be seen at agreat distance, and they could be seen vividly.
Keen of sight and trained to know what it was they saw, Henry, Sol, andTom searched the country with their eyes, on all sides. They caught adistant glimpse of the Susquehanna, a silver spot among some trees, andthey saw the sunlight glancing off the opposite mountains, but for thepresent they saw nothing that seemed hostile.
They allowed the distance between them and the retreating file to growuntil it was five or six hundred yards, and they might have let it growfarther, but Henry made a signal, and the three lay down in the grass.
"You see 'em, don't you!" the youth whispered to his comrade.
"Yes, down thar at the foot o' that hillock," replied Shif'less Sol;"two o' em, an' Senecas, I take it."
"They've seen that crowd of women and children," said Henry.
It was obvious that the flying column was discovered. The two Indiansstepped upon the hillock and gazed under their hands. It was too faraway for the three to see their faces, but they knew the joy that wouldbe shown there. The two could return with a few warriors and massacrethem all.
"They must never get back to the other Indians with their news,"whispered Henry. "I hate to shoot men from ambush, but it's got to bedone. Wait, they're coming a little closer."
The two Senecas advanced about thirty yards, and stopped again.
"S'pose you fire at the one on the right, Henry," said Tom, "an' me an'Sol will take the one to the left."
"All right," said Henry. "Fire!"
They wasted no time, but pulled trigger. The one at whom Henry had aimedfell, but the other, uttering a cry, made off, wounded, but evidentlywith plenty of strength left.
"We mustn't let him escape! We mustn't let him carry a warning!" criedHenry.
But Shif'less Sol and Tom Ross were already in pursuit, covering theground with long strides, and reloading as they ran. Under ordinarycircumstances no one of the three would have fired at a man running forhis life, but here the necessity was vital. If he lived, carrying thetale that he had to tell, a hundred innocent ones might perish. Henryfollowed his comrades, reloading his own rifle, also, but he stayedbehind. The Indian had a good lead, and he was gaining, as the otherswere compelled to check speed somewhat as they put the powder andbullets in their rifles. But Henry was near enough to Shif'less Sol andSilent Tom to hear them exchange a few words.
"How far away is that savage?" asked Shif'less Sol.
"Hundred and eighty yards," said Tom Ross.
"Well, you take him in the head, and I'll take him in the body."
Henry saw the two rifle barrels go up and two flashes of flame leap fromthe muzzles. The Indian fell forward and lay still. They went up to him,and found that he was shot through the head and also through the body.
"We may miss once, but we don't twice," said Tom Ross.
The human mind can be influenced so powerfully by events that the threefelt no compunction at all at the shooting of this fleeing Indian. Itwas but a trifle compared with what they had seen the day and nightbefore.
"We'd better take the weapons an' ammunition o' both uv 'em," said Sol."They may be needed, an' some o' the women in that crowd kin shoot."
They gathered up the arms, powder, and ball, and waited a little to seewhether the shots had been heard by any other Indians, but there wasno indication of the presence of more warriors, and the rejoined thefugitives. Long Jim had dropped back to the end of the line, and when hesaw that his comrades carried two extra rifles, he understood.
"They didn't give no alarm, did they?" he asked in a tone so low thatnone of the fugitives could hear.
"They didn't have any chance," replied Henry. "We've brought away alltheir weapons and ammunition, but just say to the women that we foundthem in an abandoned house."
The rifles and the other arms were given to the boldest and moststalwart of the women, and they promised to use them if the need came.Meanwhile the flight went on, and the farther it went the sadder itbecame. Children became exhausted, and had to be carried by people sotired that they could scarcely walk themselves. There was nobody in theline who had not lost some beloved one on that fatal river bank, killedin battle, or tortured to death. As they slowly ascended the green slopeof the mountain that inclosed a side of the valley, they looked backupon ruin and desolation. The whole black tragedy was being consummated.They could see the houses in flames, and they knew that the Indian warparties were killing and scalping everywhere. They knew, too, that otherbodies of fugitives, as stricken as their own, were fleeing into themountains, they scarcely knew whither.
As they paused a few moments and looked back, a great cry burst fromthe weakest of the women and children. Then it became a sad and terriblewail, and it was a long time before it ceased. It was an awful sound, socompounded of despair and woe and of longing for what they had lost thatHenry choked, and the tears stood in Paul's eyes. But neither the fivenor Carpenter made any attempt to check the wailing. They thought itbest for them to weep it out, but they hurried the column as much asthey could, often carrying some of the smaller children themselves. Pauland Long Jim were the best as comforters. The two knew how, each in hisown way, to soothe and encourage. Carpenter, who knew the way to FortPenn, led doggedly on, scarcely saying a word. Henry, Shif'less Sol, andTom were the rear guard, which was, in this case, the one of greatestdanger and responsibility.
Henry was thankful that it was only early summer the Fourth of July,the second anniversary of the Declaration of Independence-and that thefoliage was heavy and green on the slopes of the mountain. In thismass of greenery the desolate column was now completely hidden from anyobserver in the valley, and he believed that other crowds of fugitiveswould be hidden in the same manner. He felt sure that no living humanbeing would be left in the valley, that it would be ravaged from end toend and then left to desolation, until new people, protected by Americanbayonets, should come in and settle it again.
At last they passed the crest of the ridge, and the fires in the valley,those emblems of destruction, were hidden. Between them and Fort Penn,sixty miles away, stretched a wilderness of mountain, forest, and swamp.But the five welcomed the forest. A foe might lie there in ambush, butthey could not see the fugitives at a distance. What the latter needednow was obscurity, the green blanket of the forest to hide them.Carpenter led on over a narrow trail; the others followed almost insingle file now, while the five scouted in the woods on either flank andat the rear. Henry and Shif'less Sol generally kept together, and
theyfully realized the overwhelming danger should an Indian band, even assmall as ten or a dozen warriors, appear. Should the latter scatter,it would be impossible to protect all the women and children from theirtomahawks.
The day was warm, but the forest gave them coolness as well as shelter.Henry and Sol were seldom so far back that they could not see the endof the melancholy line, now moving slowly, overborne by weariness. Theshiftless one shook his head sadly.
"No matter what happens, some uv 'em will never get out o' these woods."
His words came true all too soon. Before the afternoon closed, twowomen, ill before the flight, died of terror and exhaustion, and wereburied in shallow graves under the trees. Before dark a halt was made atthe suggestion of Henry, and all except Carpenter and the scouts sat ina close, drooping group. Many of the children cried, though the womenhad all ceased to weep. They had some food with them, taken in thehurried flight, and now the men asked them to eat. Few could do it, andothers insisted on saving what little they had for the children. LongJim found a spring near by, and all drank at it.
The six men decided that, although night had not yet come, it would bebest to remain there until the morning. Evidently the fugitives were inno condition, either mental or physical, to go farther that day, and therest was worth more than the risk.
When this decision was announced to them, most of the women took itapathetically. Soon they lay down upon a blanket, if one was to be had;otherwise, on leaves and branches. Again Henry thanked God that it wassummer, and that these were people of the frontier, who could sleep inthe open. No fire was needed, and, outside of human enemies, only rainwas to be dreaded.
And yet this band, desperate though its case, was more fortunate thansome of the others that fled from the Wyoming Valley. It had now toprotect it six men Henry and Paul, though boys in years, were men instrength and ability--five of whom were the equals of any frontiersmenon the whole border. Another crowd of women was escorted by a single manthroughout its entire flight.
Henry and his comrades distributed themselves in a circle about thegroup. At times they helped gather whortleberries as food for theothers, but they looked for Indians or game, intending to shoot ineither case. When Paul and Henry were together they once heard a lightsound in a thicket, which at first they were afraid was made by anIndian scout, but it was a deer, and it bounded away too soon for eitherto get a shot. They could not find other game of any kind, and they cameback toward the camp-if a mere stop in the woods, without shelter of anykind, could be called a camp.
The sun was now setting, blood red. It tinged the forest with a fierymist, reminding the unhappy group of all that they had seen. But themist was gone in a few moments, and then the blackness of night camewith a weird moaning wind that told of desolation. Most of the children,having passed through every phase of exhaustion and terror, had fallenasleep. Some of the women slept, also, and others wept. But the terriblewailing note, which the nerves of no man could stand, was heard nolonger.
The five gathered again at a point near by, and Carpenter came to them.
"Men," he said simply, "don't know much about you, though I know youfought well in the battle that we lost, but for what you're doin' nownobody can ever repay you. I knew that I never could get across themountains with all these weak ones."
The five merely said that any man who was a man would help at such atime. Then they resumed their march in a perpetual circle about thecamp.
Some women did not sleep at all that night. It is not easy to conceivewhat the frontier women of America endured so many thousands of times.They had seen their husbands, brothers, and sons killed in the battle,and they knew that the worst of torture had been practiced in the Indiancamp. Many of them really did not want to live any longer. They merelystruggled automatically for life. The darkness settled down thicker andthicker; the blackness in the forest was intense, and they could see thefaces of one another only at a little distance. The desolate moan of thewind came through the leaves, and, although it was July, the night grewcold. The women crept closer together, trying to cover up and protectthe children. The wind, with its inexpressibly mournful note, wasexactly fitted to their feelings. Many of them wondered why a SupremeBeing had permitted such things. But they ceased to talk. No sound atall came from the group, and any one fifty yards away, not forewarned,could not have told that they were there.
Henry and Paul met again about midnight, and sat a long time on alittle hillock. Theirs had been the most dangerous of lives on the mostdangerous of frontiers, but they had never been stirred as they weretonight. Even Paul, the mildest of the five, felt something burningwithin him, a fire that only one thing could quench.
"Henry," said he, "we're trying to get these people to Fort Penn, andwe may get some of them there, but I don't think our work will be endedthem. I don't think I could ever be happy again if we went straight fromFort Penn to Kentucky."
Henry understood him perfectly.
"No, Paul," he said, "I don't want to go, either, and I know the othersdon't. Maybe you are not willing to tell why we want to stay, but it isvengeance. I know it's Christian to forgive your enemies, but I can'tsee what I have seen, and hear what I have heard, and do it."
"When the news of these things spreads," said Paul, "they'll send anarmy from the east. Sooner or later they'll just have to do it to punishthe Iroquois and their white allies, and we've got to be here to jointhat army."
"I feel that way, too, Paul," said Henry.
They were joined later by the other three, who stayed a little while,and they were in accord with Henry and Paul.
Then they began their circles about the camp again, always looking andalways listening. About two o'clock in the morning they heard a scream,but it was only the cry of a panther. Before day there were clouds, alow rumble of distant thunder, and faint far flashes of lightning. Henrywas in dread of rain, but the lightning and thunder ceased, and theclouds went away. Then dawn came, rosy and bright, and all but threerose from the earth. The three-one woman and two children-had died insilence in the night, and they were buried, like the others, in shallowgraves in the woods. But there was little weeping or external mourningover them. All were now heavy and apathetic, capable of but little moreemotion.
Carpenter resumed his position at the head of the column, which nowmoved slowly over the mountain through a thick forest matted withvines and bushes and without a path. The march was now so painfuland difficult that they did not make more than two miles an hour. Thestronger of them helped the men to gather more whortleberries, as it waseasy to see that the food they had with them would never last until theyreached Fort Penn, should they ever reach it.
The condition of the country into which they had entered steadily grewworse. They were well into the mountains, a region exceedingly wild andrough, but little known to the settlers, who had gone around it to buildhomes in the fertile and beautiful valley of Wyoming. The heavy forestwas made all the more difficult by the presence everywhere of almostimpassable undergrowth. Now and then a woman lay down under the bushes,and in two cases they died there because the power to live was no longerin them. They grew weaker and weaker. The food that they had broughtfrom the Wyoming fort was almost exhausted, and the wild whortleberrieswere far from sustaining. Fortunately there was plenty of waterflowing tinder the dark woods and along the mountainside. But they werecompelled to stop at intervals of an hour or two to rest, and the moretimid continually expected Indian ambush.
The five met shortly after noon and took another reckoning of thesituation. They still realized to the full the dangers of Indianpursuit, which in this case might be a mere matter of accident. Anybodycould follow the broad trail left by the fugitives, but the Iroquois,busy with destruction in the valley, might not follow, even if theysaw it. No one could tell. The danger of starvation or of death fromexhaustion was more imminent, more pressing, and the five resolved tolet scouting alone for the rest of the day and seek game.
"There's bound to be a lot of it in these wo
ods," said Shif'less Sol,"though it's frightened out of the path by our big crowd, but we oughtto find it."
Henry and Shif'less Sol went in one direction, and Paul, Tom, and LongJim in another. But with all their hunting they succeeded in findingonly one little deer, which fell to the rifle of Silent Tom. It madesmall enough portions for the supper and breakfast of nearly a hundredpeople, but it helped wonderfully, and so did the fires which Henry andhis comrades would now have built, even had they not been needed for thecooking. They saw that light and warmth, the light and warmth of glowingcoals, would alone rouse life in this desolate band.
They slept the second night on the ground among the trees, and the nextmorning they entered that gloomy region of terrible memory, the GreatDismal Swamp of the North, known sometimes, to this day, as "The Shadesof Death."
The Scouts of the Valley Page 11