The Irish Witch

by Dennis Wheatley

  On the Canadian side of the river, instead of a steep cliff, the ground rose in a gentle slope, closely covered with fir trees, few of which exceeded twenty feet in height. Having warmed himself up, Leaping Squirrel became as active as ever, darting in among the trees and collecting armfuls of small, dead branches, which he piled near his companions. Within ten minutes he had a fire going.

  Meanwhile, Roger had recovered sufficiently to get out the bottle of brandy he had brought against emergencies. All three of them took several pulls at it, and the fiery spirit soon warmed them up enough to sort out their belongings. Leaping Squirrel insisted that Roger should keep his furs until Mary’s had been dried at the fire; but he took back from her his moccasins and produced a towel in which to wrap her feet.

  Before doing so, Roger examined her injury. The ankle was already badly swollen and obviously broken. She said that, as far as she could judge, the water into which she had hurtled had been about twenty feet in depth, so was deep enough to break her fall, but not enough to prevent her plunging to the bottom where she had struck the rock hard with her right foot. It was the awful stab of pain as her ankle broke that had caused her to faint before coming to the surface.

  Roger began to get out their provisions, with the intention of cooking a meal, but the Indian checked him, saying, ‘We are not yet safe, noble one. Leaping Squirrel made this fire only to dry clothes. If Mohawk trackers reach cliff opposite while it still daylight, they see smoke, come across rocks and capture us. Hold furs to fire while Leaping Squirrel find safe place to spend night.’ Then turning away, he ran off down river.

  Half an hour elapsed before he returned, dragging behind him two twelve-foot-long saplings from which he had trimmed the branches with Roger’s tomahawk.

  ‘What are those for?’ Mary asked.

  He gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Leaping Squirrel has found good place not far off. With these we make Indian sleigh to draw beautiful one. In old days we use squaws or big dogs to draw, but since Pale Faces come, we use horses.’

  Laying down the two long poles about two feet apart, he began to make a cradle between their thicker ends, using the sleeping bags, small branches of fir and such cord as they had with them. By the time he had finished, their furs were dry enough to be worn again without discomfort. Dusk was now falling, but he took the precaution of kicking the fire to pieces, then threw the still-smouldering branches into the river. Their belongings were piled on the rear of the cradle, where they would form a rest for Mary’s back. Having laid her on the cradle, the two men got between the slender ends of the poles, which now formed the shafts of the sleigh, picked them up and drew her along behind them.

  For Mary it was bumpy going and every few minutes the jerking caused her to grimace from the pain in her ankle, but on rounding the corner of a bend in the river they saw not far ahead a cluster of great boulders. It was the place Leaping Squirrel had chosen for them to spend the night, as smoke could not be seen during darkness, and from the midst of the boulders a fire would not be visible from the opposite bank.

  Leaving Mary there, the two men collected more fallen branches and soon made another fire. The Indian smoked some strips of meat on it, while Roger made a rough splint for Mary’s leg from two of the straightest sticks he was able to find. This first hot meal they had eaten for several days, together with the knowledge that they were now on Canadian soil, cheered them mightily and, soon afterwards, having made themselves as comfortable as they could, they all fell sound asleep.

  Leaping Squirrel was up early, and when the others awoke they found he had just returned from the forest with a big bundle of young sassafras shoots to make a more comfortable seat for Mary on the improvised sleigh. As soon as they had made a meagre breakfast of biscuits, they set off along the shore, the two men drawing Mary behind them as they had done the previous evening. When they had been on their way for about an hour, the forest on their left gave way to stony outcrop which soon became a cliff, some thirty feet in height. Having followed it for about two hundred yards, they came upon the entrance to a low cave. The Indian called on Roger to halt and crawled into it. A moment later he gave a cry of delight, and emerged dragging after him a small, birchbark canoe. He had come up-river in it and had hidden it there, but feared that it might have been found and stolen in his absence.

  It was just large enough to hold the three of them, with Roger in the stern, his legs apart so that Mary could lie between them and rest against him, while Leaping Squirrel knelt in the prow and steered the little craft by dexterous twists of his paddle.

  As they were going with the current, their speed was several times as swift as it had been while dragging Mary on the sleigh and it was infinitely more comfortable for her. During the course of the next three hours they travelled at least thirty miles; but it was dangerous going as, here and there, rocks and shallows had to be avoided, and with the canoe so heavily loaded a single mis-judgment in steering by the Indian could have proved disastrous.

  Well before midday they left the wide St. Lawrence for a tributary, which made the going very much harder and slower as they went upstream. Leaping Squirrel began to sweat profusely and, from time to time, had to pull into the bank so that he could rest. But after an hour and a half of laborious paddling he had a piece of good fortune.

  They came to a cliff from which protruded a small, wooden staging about six feet above the water. On it an Indian, who had climbed down from the cliff top, was fishing for salmon by means of a pole, at the end of which there was what looked like a huge, coarse-string butterfly net. Leaping Squirrel hailed him and they spoke together in their native tongue, then the Indian picked up two fish he had caught, scaled the cliff and disappeared into the forest that fringed it.

  Turning back to his companions, Leaping Squirrel said, ‘That man is an Onontchataronon; not of Leaping Squirrel’s tribe. But, like all tribes north of Great Lakes, we have in common the Algonquin tongue—while the Five Nations, who live south of lakes, all speak Iroquois tongue. If he is good runner, within two hours he be with Leaping Squirrel’s people. For taking message he receive good reward. Help will be sent and, instead of making camp again, before sunset big welcome by great chief Morning Star, Leaping Squirrel’s father.’

  He then recommenced to paddle, but less strenuously, so that in the next three hours the canoe progressed up stream only a few miles. On rounding a bend in the river they saw coming rapidly toward them a big war canoe. As it approached, they could see that it was manned by twenty warriors; then, when it turned about, that it was made from one huge, hollowed out tree trunk. There were loud, happy shouts of greeting, a rope was thrown to Leaping Squirrel and, towed by the big canoe, the small one was borne upstream at a fine, steady speed.

  Later that afternoon the canoes drew in to a landing stage, inland from which was a large clearing in the forest. They had been sighted some way off by a look-out, and his horn blowing had brought scores of braves running from the Indian settlement. At the sight of Leaping Squirrel there were excited whoops of joy. In spite of his tattered garments he made a figure of great dignity as he stepped ashore, and was received by an elderly warrior wearing a mantle of wolf-skins and a head-dress from which rose buffalo horns.

  For some moments Leaping Squirrel spoke in his own language to this dignitary, who then welcomed Roger and Mary in French-Canadian patois, and earnestly assured them that his whole tribe was their debtors for having saved the Chief’s son. An Indian carrying-chair, with a comfortable bark seat, was brought and Mary lifted into it; then, with the whole company chattering excitedly, they were escorted to the big village, which was hidden from the landing stage by a grove of chestnut trees, just showing their young green. Through them ran a narrow, twisting path, along which the company, led by Leaping Squirrel, wound its way in a single file.

  Beyond the grove lay an open space some two acres in extent. The greater part of it was enclosed by a palisade of stakes, with bands of porcupine quills round them. Backing on
to the palisade was a great circle of tepees and wigwams, the former round-roofed, the latter tent-shaped. In the centre of the enclosure there rose a carved and painted totem pole, twenty feet in height with, beside it, a much shorter, uncarved pole painted bright red. Beyond them was a habitation many times larger than any of the others, which Roger knew must be the Longhouse, in which the Chief lived and where councils were held when the weather was inclement.

  Leaping Squirrel led his visitors to a tepee which had already been prepared for them. It contained no furniture, except for two big tubs full of fresh water for washing in. It was spotlessly clean and two thick piles of furs and blankets spread on the beaten earth floor promised to serve as comfortable beds. He said that after their fatiguing journey they needed a few hours’ rest, then he would present them to his father. Meanwhile, refreshments would be brought and Mary’s ankle would receive attention.

  A quarter of an hour after leaving them he returned with several young squaws, some carrying bowls of broth and others of rice mixed with deer meat; others brought flagons of Indian beer and spruce, with handleless cups to drink from. Both the bowls and cups were beautifully carved, and when Roger remarked on this, Leaping Squirrel said that his people were good carvers and spent much of their time in the winter making such articles, and animals or toys for their children, out of yellow pine, walnut and black cherry.

  Roger also expressed surprise at there being rice with the deer meat, as he had seen none in New York or on their journey north. ‘It is wild rice,’ his host told him. ‘It grows in the swamps on shores of the Great Lakes. Every season many squaws go there in canoe, gather armfuls of the rice and flail kernels into baskets.’

  When the meal was finished and the things cleared away, Leaping Squirrel brought in two very old squaws, who removed the splint from Mary’s ankle, carefully examined it, smeared it with a pungent grease, then re-bandaged it. With much salaaming they left the tepee, drawing the curtain of hides that served as the door. Then Roger and Mary dozed for two hours in the semi-darkness.

  Twilight was falling when Leaping Squirrel came to them again, followed by two naked ‘foreheads’ with a carrying-chair, into which Mary was lifted. As they left the tepee, she and Roger saw that the great open space was now occupied by several hundred people.

  Furthest from the centre there stood long lines of squaws wearing gaily-coloured blankets, and forehead bands of bright beads which kept in place their long, dark hair, parted in the centre and falling to the shoulders. Nearer in there squatted semi-circles of braves, dressed in a variety of fringed garments made from the skins of animals and decorated with tufts of bright feathers, bear claws, opossum and beaver tails. Some wore necklaces of shells, others of intricately-carved wooden beads or semiprecious stones. Their headbands were of painted leather, from the scalp lock of each dangled a single, scarlet feather, and their expressionless faces were daubed with circles and lines of red, yellow and black paint.

  Facing them, in a single semi-circle, sat the elders of the tribe. Their garments were richer; ermine and sable, with belts of wampum, and they wore necklaces of stone beads as large as pigeon eggs. All of them, with one exception, wore head-dresses of eagle feathers reaching to their shoulders. The exception was Leaping Squirrel’s father, Morning Star, who sat in the centre with his back to the totem pole. His head-dress fell on either side of his lined face, right to the ground, and his robe was made of supple skin, from which all the hair had been removed so that hieroglyphics representing his deeds of valour could be painted on it. He was wearing a number of medals presented to him by Governors of Canada for the assistance he had given the British. His leggings were of snake skin and he wore heavy bracelets and anklets of gold.

  Although it was dusk, as Leaping Squirrel led Roger and Mary forward they were able to take in every detail of this colourful spectacle by the light of the flames from a big fire that blazed in the space between the braves and the elders. Within a few yards of his father, Leaping Squirrel halted and, speaking in his own tongue, began to address him in a loud voice that all could hear. His oration lasted a good twenty minutes. During that time the elders maintained a dignified silence but, now and then, the braves broke into whoops of applause; so it was obvious that he was describing how he had been captured by the Americans and saved from death by the Pale Faces whom he had brought back with him.

  When he ended, the braves and elders all stood up. Morning Star stepped forward, placed one hand on Roger’s shoulder and the other on Mary’s head, and spoke in French-Canadian patois:

  ‘Sagamore Morning Star speaks for all his people. To the noble ones now our guests we owe a debt that all the shells of the Quahagclam that we possess could not repay. As long as they live, anything they may ask of any member of our tribe shall be given to them, and given willingly. I, Morning Star, have spoken.’

  The assembly gave a great shout of assent. Mary was then carried back to her tepee, accompanied by the two old squaws, while the Sagamore led the way to the Long-house, followed by Roger, Leaping Squirrel and the elders. Another big fire was blazing in front of it, throwing up the complicated patterns with which it was painted in red, blue and yellow. Inside, the greater part of it consisted of one big room, on the walls of which were many trophies of the chase; heads of bison, bear and lynx, old-fashioned British Tower muskets and horrifying masks worn by the medicine-men of the tribe for certain ceremonies.

  When they had sat down, cross-legged, in a circle, a feast was served, everyone helping himself with his fingers from the many dishes. Roger enjoyed the fresh-caught salmon and a pigeon stuffed with sage. He also recognised the bear and deer meat, but other foods were strange to him. After trying the fungus fried in fish oil, he hastily helped himself to a cornmeal cake covered in honey. One ragout was pressed upon him as a great delicacy and he found it very tasty, but felt distinctly queasy when, having asked Leaping Squirrel what it was, he learned that it was stewed dog.

  The feast over, the ceremonial pipe of peace was brought to the Sagamore. He lit it, drew on it, exhaled the smoke, then passed it to Roger, who did likewise, then passed it to Leaping Squirrel who was seated on his other side. Complete silence was maintained until the pipe had made the full circle, then it was emptied of its remaining tobacco and returned to the place where it had hung on the wall. As the slow, measured talk began again, nearly all the elders produced their own pipes and began to smoke. The bowls of the pipes—for which the Indian word was calumet—were beautifully-carved stone of many colours, their stems long tubes of wood. Later Roger learned that many of the younger braves who could not yet afford such valuable pieces used their tomahawks as pipes by hollowing out the handle of the weapon and grinding a bowl in the thick end of the axe.

  Although there were several round holes in the roof of the Longhouse to let out the smoke, so much of it lingered in the big room that Roger’s eyes soon began to smart. After his long day he also felt very tired, but feared that it might be regarded as bad manners if he, as the guest of honour, asked permission to leave the party. Fortunately, his drooping eyelids were noticed by Leaping Squirrel, who whispered to his father. The Sagamore at once stood up, and all the others followed suit. When Roger had expressed his thanks, his host touched him on the arm and wished him good rest. All the elders came forward in turn and did the same, then Leaping Squirrel took him to his tepee where, in English fashion, they shook hands. Inside the tepee a single rush light was burning, and Mary, he was pleased to find, was fast asleep, with one of the squaws seated silently beside her. After whispering a few words, the old woman glided out, and ten minutes later, he too was fast asleep.

  In the days that followed Roger learned a lot about Leaping Squirrel’s people from him. In earlier times the eleven tribes of the Algonquin nation had lived further south, but they had been defeated in a great war with the Iroquois and driven north of the St. Lawrence and the Great Lakes. Having settled in Canada, they had become firmly attached to the French, but after their de
feat the Algonquin had sided with the British against the Americans. Pointing to the red-painted post that stood near the totem pole, Leaping Squirrel had added, ‘Whenever our tribes go to war with Americani, such posts are set up in all villages to show that we are allies of the Englesi.’

  Leaping Squirrel also said that, although the Iroquois were now fighting for the Americans, they did so only from fear that, if they refused, they would be driven from their present settlements. When Europeans had first come to America, but for the help the Indians had given them it is doubtful if they would have survived; yet, again and again, their kindness had been repaid by treachery. As the numbers of American settlers increased, they had pushed further and further inland, driving the Indians before them, and depriving them of their hunting grounds. Many treaties had been made, and when an Indian Chief gave his word and a wampum belt, he regarded his promise as sacred. But the land hunger of the Americans had caused them to break treaty after treaty; so, from south to north, they were hated by every tribe.

  Mary had to keep to her bed for her ankle to mend, but on some days Leaping Squirrel took Roger hunting. Outside the palisade there was a large area where various crops, including tobacco, were grown; but the patches were irregular, because the Indians could cut down trees but had no means of dragging out the stumps of big oaks, elms and sycamores. Here and there among the patches were small platforms raised a few feet from the ground. On asking their purpose, Roger was told that, when the crops ripened, either children or squaws who were too old for other work, sat on them as living scarecrows, to drive off the crows.

  Beyond the cultivated area virgin forest stretched for miles, where game abounded and innumerable grouse and pigeons. Leaping Squirrel would not let Roger use a gun, as a single report scared the wild life for a long way round. Instead, he taught him to use a bow and arrows fletched with turkey feathers. Small game was also caught in snares made from grass and reeds. The forest alone would have provided ample food for the tribe, but they also netted a variety of fish from the river, and it was so plentiful that they often deliberately caught more than they needed to eat, allowing the surplus to go bad so that it could be used as manure. Yet their staple dish was neither fish nor game. They seemed to prefer Scuccotash—a mixture of corn and beans cooked in meat broth.