Wyandotte; or, the Hutted Knoll . . . Volume 2

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “Deserters! -- This is serious, indeed; let the signal be made for a general parade -- the people cannot yet have gone to bed; we will look into this.”

  As Joyce made it matter of religion “to obey orders,” this command was immediately put in execution. In five minutes, a messenger came to summon the captain to the court, where the garrison was under arms. The serjeant stood in front of the little party, with a lantern, holding his muster-roll in his hand. The first glance told the captain that a serious reduction had taken place in his forces, and he led the serjeant aside to hear his report.

  “What is the result of your inquiries, Joyce?” he demanded, with more uneasiness than he would have liked to betray openly.

  “We have lost just half our men, sir. The miller, most of the Yankees, and two of the Dutchmen, are not on parade; neither is one of them to be found in his quarters. They have either gone over to the enemy, captain Willoughby, or, disliking the appearance of things here, they have taken to the woods for safety.”

  “And abandoned their wives and children, serjeant! Men would scarcely do that.”

  “Their wives and children have deserted too, sir. Not a chick or child belonging to either of the runaways is to be found in the Hut.”

  CHAPTER IV.

  “For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,

  Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled.”

  Richard III This was startling intelligence to receive just as night had shut in, and under the other circumstances of the case. Touching the men who still remained, captain Willoughby conceived it prudent to inquire into their characters and names, in order to ascertain the ground he stood on, and to govern his future course accordingly. He put the question to the serjeant, therefore, as soon as he could lead him far enough from the little array, to be certain he was out of ear-shot.

  “We have Michael O’Hearn, Jamie Allen, the two carpenters, the three niggers, Joel, and the three Dutchmen that last came into the settlement, and the two lads that Strides engaged at the beginning of the year, left,” was the answer. “These, counting your honour and myself, make just fifteen men; quite enough yet, I should think, to make good the house, in case of an assault -- though I fear everything like an outwork must be abandoned.”

  “On the whole, these are the best of our men,” returned the captain; “I mean the most trustworthy. I count on Mike, Jamie, and the blacks, as being as much to be relied on as we are ourselves. Joel, too, is a man of resources, if he will but do his duty under fire.”

  “Corporal Strides is still an untried soldier, your honour; though recruits, even, sometimes do wonders. Of course, I shall reduce the guard to half its former strength, as the men must have some sleep, sir.”

  “We must depend very much on your vigilance and mine, to-night, Joyce. You shall take the guard till one, when I will stand it for the rest of the night. I will speak to the men before you dismiss them. An encouraging word, just now, may be worth a platoon to us.”

  The serjeant seldom dissented from any suggestion of his commanding officer, and the scheme was carried out on the spot. The lantern was so placed as to permit the captain to see the heterogeneous row of countenances that was drawn up before him, and he proceeded:

  “It seems, my friends,” he said, “that some of our people have been seized with a panic, and have deserted. These mistaken men have not only fled themselves, but they have induced their wives and children to follow them. A little reflection will show you to what distress all must be reduced by this ill-judged flight. Fifty miles from another settlement of any size, and more than thirty from even a single hut, beyond the cabin of a hunter, days must pass before they can reach a place of safety, even should they escape the savage foe that we know to be scouring the woods. The women and children will not have sufficient art to conceal their trail, nor sufficient strength to hold out against hunger and fatigue many hours. God forgive them for what they have done, and guide them through the difficulties and pains by which they are menaced! As for us, we must determine to do our whole duty, or, at once to retire, with the consent of each other. If there is a man among you, then, who apprehends the consequences of standing to his arms, and of defending this house, let him confess it frankly; he shall have leave to depart, with all that belongs to him, taking food and the means of subsistence and defence with him. I wish no man to remain with me and mine, but he who can do it cheerfully. The night is now dark, and, by quitting the Hut at an early hour, such a start might be gained over any pursuers, as to place him in comparative security before morning. If any such man is here, let him now speak out honestly, and fear nothing. The gate shall be opened for his march.”

  The captain paused, but not a soul answered. A common sentiment of loyalty seemed to bind every one of the listeners to his duty. The dark eyes of the negroes rolled along the short rank to see who would be the first to desert their master, and grins of delight showed the satisfaction with which they noted the effect of the appeal. As for Mike, he felt too strongly to keep silence, and he muttered the passing impressions aloud.

  “Och!”--growled the county Leitrim-man--“Is it a good journey that I wish the runaways? That it isn’t, nor many a good male either, as they trudge alang t’rough the woods, with their own consciences forenent their eyes, pricking them up to come back, like so many t’ieves of the wor-r-ld, as they are, every mother’s son of ’em, women and all. I’d nivir do that; no, not if my head was all scalp, down to the soles of my fut, and an Injin was at every inch of it, to cut out his summer clothes of my own skin. Talk of religion amang sich cr’athures! -- Why, there isn’t enough moral in one of thim to carry him through the shortest prayer the Lord allows a christian to utter. Divil burn’em say I, and that’s my kindest wish in their behalf.”

  The captain waited patiently for this soliloquy to terminate; then he dismissed the men, with a few more words of encouragement, and his thanks for the fidelity they, at least, had shown. By this time the night had got to be dark, and the court was much more so, on account of the shadows of the buildings, than places in the open air. As the captain turned aside to give his last instructions to Joyce, he discovered, by the light of the lantern the latter held, a figure standing at no great distance, quite dimly seen on account of its proximity to the walls of the Hut. It was clearly a man; and as all the males able to bear arms, a single sentinel outside the court excepted, were supposed to be in the group that had not yet separated, the necessity of ascertaining the character of this unlooked-for visiter flashed on the minds of both the old soldiers at the same instant. Joyce raised the lantern, as they moved quickly towards the motionless form, and its light glanced athwart a pair of wild, glowing, dark eyes, and the red visage of an Indian.

  “Nick!” exclaimed the captain, “is that you? -- What has brought you here again, and how have you entered the palisades? -- Do you come as a friend, to aid us, or as an enemy?”

  “Too much question, cap’in--too much like squaw; ask all togeder. Go to book-room; Nick follow; tell all he got to say.”

  The captain whispered the serjeant to ascertain whether the watch without was vigilant, when he led the way to the library, where, as he expected, he found his wife and daughters, anxiously waiting his appearance.

  “Oh! Hugh, I trust it is not as bad as we feared!” cried the mother, as the captain entered the room, closely attended by the Tuscarora; “our men cannot be so heartless as to desert us at such a moment!”

  The captain kissed his wife, said a word or two of encouragement, and pointed to the Indian.

  “Nick!” exclaimed all three of the females, in a breath. Though the tones of their voices denoted very different sensations, at the unexpected appearance of their old acquaintance. Mrs. Willoughby’s exclamation was not without pleasure, for she thought the man her friend; Beulah’s was filled with alarm, little Evert and savage massacres suddenly crossing the sensitive mind of the young mother; while Maud’s tone had much of the stern resolution that she had summoned to su
stain her in a moment of such fearful trial.

  “Yes, Nick -- Sassy Nick,” repeated the Indian, in his guttural voice--“Ole friend--you no glad see him?”

  “That will depend on your errand,” interposed the captain. “Are you one of the party that is now lying at the mill? -- but, stop; how did you get within the palisades? First answer me that.”

  “Come in. Tree no good to stop Injin. Can’t do it wid branches, how do it widout? Want plenty of musket and plenty of soldier to do dat. Dis no garrison, cap’in, to make Nick afeard. Always tell him too much hole to be tight.”

  “This is not answering my question, fellow. By what means did you pass the palisades?”

  “What means? -- Injin means, sartain. Came like cat, jump like deer, slide like snake. Nick great Tuscarora chief; know well how warrior march, when he dig up hatchet.”

  “And Nick has been a great hanger-on of garrisons, and should know the use that I can make of his back. You will remember, Tuscarora, that I have had you flogged, more than once, in my day.”

  This was said menacingly, and with more warmth, perhaps, than was prudent. It caused the listeners to start, as if a sudden and new danger rose before their eyes, and the anxious looks he encountered warned the captain that he was probably going too far. As for Nick, himself, the gathering thunder-cloud is not darker than his visage became at the words he heard; it seemed by the moral writhing of his spirit as if every disgracing blow he had received was at that instant torturing his flesh anew, blended with the keenest feelings of ignominy. Captain Willoughby was startled at the effect he had produced; but it was too late to change his course; and he remained in dignified quiet, awaiting the workings of the Tuscarora’s mind.

  It was more than a minute ere Nick made any reply. Gradually, but very slowly, the expression of his visage changed. It finally became as stoical in expression as severe training could render the human countenance, and as unmoved as marble. Then he found the language he wanted.

  “Listen,” said the Indian, sternly. “Cap’in ole man. Got a head like snow on rock. He bold soldier; but he no got wisdom enough for gray hair. Why he put he hand rough, on place where whip strike? Wise man nebber do dat. Last winter he cold; fire wanted to make him warm. Much ice, much storm, much snow. World seem bad--fit only for bear, and snake, dat hide in rock. Well; winter gone away; ice gone away; snow gone away; storm gone away. Summer come, in his place. Ebbery t’ing good-- ebbery t’ing pleasant. Why t’ink of winter, when summer come, and drive him away wid pleasant sky?”

  “In order to provide for its return. He who never thought of the evil day, in the hour of his prosperity, would find that he has forgotten, not only a duty, but the course of wisdom.”

  “He not wise!” said Nick, sternly. “Cap’in pale-face chief. He got garrison; got soldier; got musket. Well, he flog warrior’s back; make blood come. Dat bad enough; worse to put finger on ole sore, and make ’e pain, and ’e shame, come back ag’in.”

  “Perhaps it would have been more generous, Nick, to have said nothing about it; but, you see how I am situated; an enemy without, my men deserting, a bad look-out, and one finding his way into my very court-yard, and I ignorant of the means.”

  “Nick tell cap’in all about means. If red-men outside, shoot ’em; if garrison run away, flog garrison; if don’t know, I’arn; but, don’t flog back, ag’in, on ole sore!”

  “Well, well, say no more about it, Nick. Here is a dollar to keep you in rum, and we will talk of other matters.”

  Nick heeded not the money, though it was held before his eyes, some little time, to tempt him. Perceiving that the Tuscarora was now acting as a warrior and a chief, which Nick would do, and do well, on occasion, the captain pocketed the offering, and regulated his own course accordingly.

  “At all events, I have a right to insist on knowing, first, by what means you entered the palisades; and, second, what business has brought you here, at night, and so suddenly.”

  “Ask Nick, cap’in, all he right to ask; but, don’t touch ole flog. How I cross palisade? Where your sentinel to stop Injin? One at gate; well, none all round, t’other place. Get in, up here, down dere, over yonder. Ten, twenty, t’ree spot -- s’pose him tree? climb him. S’pose him palisade?--climb him, too. What help?--Soldier out at gate, when Nick get over t’other end! Come in court, too, when he want. Half gate half no gate. So easy, ’shamed to brag of. Cap’in once Nick’s friend -- went on same war-path -- dat in ole time. Both warrior; both went ag’in French garrison. Well; who crept in, close by cannon, open gate, let pale-men in. Great Tuscarora do dat; no flog, den -- no talk of ole sore, dat night!”

  “This is all true enough, Wyandotté”--This was Nick’s loftiest appellation; and a grim, but faint smile crossed his visage, as he heard it, again, in the mouth of one who had known him when its sound carried terror to the hearts of his enemies--“This is all true, Wyandotté, and I have ever given you credit for it. On that occasion you were bold as the lion, and as cunning as a fox--you were much honoured for that exploit.”

  “No ole sore in dat, um?” cried Nick, in a way so startling as to sicken Mrs. Willoughby to the heart. “No call Nick dog, dat night. He all warrior, den -- all face; no back.”

  “I have said you were honoured for your conduct, Nick, and paid for it. Now, let me know what has brought you here to-night, and whence you come.”

  There was another pause. Gradually, the countenance of the Indian became less and less fierce, until it lost its expression of malignant resentment in one in which human emotions of a kinder nature predominated.

  “Squaw good,” he said, even gently, waving his hand towards Mrs. Willoughby -- “Got son; love him like little baby. Nick come six, two time before, runner from her son.”

  “My son, Wyandotté!” exclaimed the mother -- “Bring you any tidings, now, from my boy?”

  “No bring tidin’--too heavy; Indian don’t love to carry load--bring letter.”

  The cry from the three females was now common, each holding out her hand, with an involuntary impulse, to receive the note. Nick drew the missive from a fold of his garment, and placed it in the hand of Mrs. Willoughby, with a quiet grace that a courtier might have wished to equal, in vain.

  The note was short, and had been written in pencil, on a leaf torn from some book of coarse paper. The handwriting, however, was at once recognised as Robert Willoughby’s, though there was no address, nor any signature. The paper merely contained the following--

  “Trust to your defences, and to nothing else. This party has many white men in it, disguised as Indians. I am suspected, if not known. You will be tampered with, but the wisest course is to be firm. If Nick is honest, he can tell you more; if false, this note will be shown, even though it be delivered. Secure the inner gates, and depend more on the house itself, than on the palisades. Fear nothing for me--my life can be in no danger.”

  This note was read by each, in succession, Maud turning aside to conceal the tears that fell fast on the paper, as she perused it. She read it last, and was enabled to retain it; and precious to her heart was the boon, at such a moment, when nearly every sensation of her being centred in intense feeling in behalf of the captive.

  “We are told to inquire the particulars of you, Nick,” observed the captain; “I hope you will tell us nothing but truth. A lie is so unworthy a warrior’s mouth!”

  “Nick didn’t lie ’bout beaver dam! Cap’in no find him good, as Indian say?”

  “In that you dealt honestly, and I give you credit for it. Has any one seen this letter but ourselves, yourself, and the person who wrote it?”

  “What for ask? If Nick say no, cap’in t’ink he lie. Even fox tell trut’ some time; why not Injin? Nick say NO.”

  “Where did you leave my son, and when? -- Where is the party of red-skins at this moment?”

  “All pale-face in hurry! Ask ten, one, four question, altogeder. Well; answer him so. Down here, at mill; down dere, at mill; half an hour, six, two, ten o’clock
.”

  “I understand you to say that major Willoughby was at the mill when you saw him last, and that this was only half an hour since?”

  The Tuscarora nodded his head in assent, but made no other reply. Even as he did this, his keen eyes rolled over the pallid faces of the females in a way to awaken the captain’s distrust, and he resumed his questions in a tone that partook more of the military severity of his ancient habits than of the gentler manner he had been accustomed to use of late years.

  “You know me, Nick,” he said sternly, “and ought to dread my displeasure.”

  “What cap’in mean, now?” demanded the Indian, quietly.

  “That the same whip is in this fort that I always kept in the other, in which you knew me to dwell; nor have I forgotten how to use it.”

  The Tuscarora gazed at the captain with a very puzzling expression, though, in the main, his countenance appeared to be ironical rather than fierce.

  “What for, talk of whip, now?” he said. “Even Yengeese gen’ral hide whip, when he see enemy. Soldier can’t fight when back sore. When battle near, den all good friend; when battle over, den flog, flog, flog. Why talk so?--Cap’in nebber strike Wyandotté.”

  “Your memory must be short, to say this! I thought an Indian kept a better record of what passed.”

  “No man dare strike Wyandotté!” exclaimed the Indian, with energy. “No man -- pale-face or red-skin, can give blow on back of Wyandotté, 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 Wyandotté, 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?”