“Why come here? Like to see enemy between you and wigwam?”
As all Nick said was uttered in a guarded tone, as if he fully entered into the necessity of remaining concealed from those who were in such a dangerous vicinity, it served to inspire confidence, inducing the two soldiers to believe him disposed to serve them.
“Am I to trust in you as a friend?” demanded the captain, looking the Indian steadily in the eye.
“Why won’t trust? Nick no hero--gone away--Nick nebber come ag’in--Wyandotté hero--who no trust Wyandotté? Yengeese always trust great chief.”
“I shall take you at your word, Wyandotté, and tell you everything, hoping to make an ally of you. But, first explain to me, why you left the Hut, last night--friends do not desert friends.”
“Why leave wigwam?--Because wanted to. Wyandotté come when he want; go when he want. Nick go too.-- Went to see son--come back; tell story; eh?”
“Yes, it has happened much as you say, and I am willing to think it all occurred with the best motives. Can you tell me anything of Joel, and the others who have left me?”
“Why tell?--Cap’in look; he see. Some chop--some plough--some weed--some dig ditch. All like ole time. Bury hatchet--tired of war-path--why cap’in ask?”
“I see all you tell me. You know, then, that those fellows have made friends with the hostile party?”
“No need know--see. Look--Injin chop, pale-face look on! Call that war?”
“I do see that which satisfies me the men in paint yonder are not all red men.”
“No--cap’in right--tell him so at wigwam. But dat Mohawk--dog--rascal--Nick’s enemy!”
This was said with a gleam of fierceness shooting across the swarthy face, and a menacing gesture of the hand, in the direction of a real savage who was standing indolently leaning against a tree, at a distance so small as to allow those on the rock to distinguish his features. The vacant expression of this man’s countenance plainly denoted that he was totally unconscious of the vicinity of danger. It expressed the listless vacancy of an Indian in a state of perfect rest--his stomach full, his body at ease, his mind peaceful.
“I thought Nick was not here,” the captain quietly observed, smiling on the Tuscarora a little ironically.
“Cap’in right--Nick no here. Well for dog ’tis so. Too mean for Wyandotté to touch. What cap’in come for? Eh! Better tell chief--get council widout lightin’ fire.”
“As I see no use in concealing my plan from you, Wyandotté,”--Nick seemed pleased whenever this name was pronounced by others--“I shall tell it you, freely. Still, you have more to relate to me. Why are you here?--And how came you to discover us?”
“Follow trail--know cap’in foot--know serjeant foot-- know Mike foot--see so many foot, follow him. Leave so many” holding up three fingers “in bushes--so many” holding up two fingers “come here. Foot tell which come here--Wyandotté chief--he follow chief.”
“When did you first strike, or see our trail, Tuscarora?”
“Up here--down yonder--over dere.” Captain Willoughby understood this to mean, that the Indian had crossed the trail, or seen it in several places. “Plenty trail; plenty foot to tell all about it. Wyandotté see foot of friend-- why he don’t follow, eh?”
“I hope this is all so, old warrior, and that you will prove yourself a friend indeed. We are out in the hope of liberating my son, and we came here to see what our enemies are about.”
The Tuscarora’s eyes were like two inquisitors, as he listened; but he seemed satisfied that the truth was told him. Assuming an air of interest, he inquired if the captain knew where the major was confined. A few words explained everything, and the parties soon understood each other.
“Cap’in right,” observed Nick. “Son in cupboard still; but plenty warrior near, to keep eye on him.”
“You know his position, Wyandotté, and can aid us materially, if you will. What say you, chief; will you take service, once more, under your old commander?”
“Who he sarve--King George--Congress--eh?”
“Neither. I am neutral, Tuscarora, in the present quarrel. I only defend myself, and the rights which the laws assure to me, let whichever party govern, that may.”
“Dat bad. Nebber neutral in hot war. Get rob from bot’ side. Alway be one or t’ oder, cap’in.”
“You may be right, Nicholas, but a conscientious man may think neither wholly right, nor wholly wrong. I wish never to lift the hatchet, unless my quarrel be just.”
“Injin no understand dat. Throw hatchet at enemy -- what matter what he say--good t’ing, bad t’ing. He enemy --dat enough. Take scalp from enemy --don’t touch friend.”
“That may do for your mode of warfare, Tuscarora, but it will hardly do for mine. I must feel that I have right of my side, before I am willing to take life.”
“Cap’in always talk so, eh? When he soldier, and general say shoot ten, forty, t’ousand Frenchmen, den he say; ‘stop, general -- no hurry -- let cap’in t’ink.’ Bye-’m-by he’ll go and take scalp; eh!”
It exceeded our old soldier’s self-command not to permit the blood to rush into his face, at this home-thrust; for he felt the cunning of the Indian had involved him in a seeming contradiction.
“That was when I was in the army, Wyandotté,” he answered, notwithstanding his confusion, “when my first, and highest duty, was to obey the orders of my superiors. Then I acted as a soldier; now, I hope to act as a man.”
“Well, Indian chief alway in army. Always high duty, and obey superior -- obey Manitou, and take scalp from enemy. War-path alway open, when enemy at t’ other end.”
“This is no place to discuss such questions, chief; nor have we the time. Do you go with us?”
Nick nodded an assent, and signed for the other to quit the rocks. The captain hesitated a moment, during which he stood intently studying the scene in the clearing.
“What say you, Tuscarora; the serjeant has proposed assaulting that breast-work?”
“No good, cap’in. You fire, halloo, rush on--well, kill four, six, two -- rest run away. Injin down at mill hear rifle; follow smoke--where major, den? Get major, first-- t’ink about enemy afterwards.
As Nick said this, he repeated the gesture to descend; and he was obeyed in silence. The captain now led the way back to his party; and soon rejoined it. All were glad to see Nick, for he was known to have a sure rifle; to be fearless as the turkey-cock; and to possess a sagacity in the woods, that frequently amounted to a species of intuition.
“Who lead, cap’in or Injin?” asked the Tuscarora, in his sententious manner.
“Och, Nick, ye’re a cr’ature!” muttered Mike. “Divil bur-r-rn me, Jamie, but I t’inks the fallie would crass the very three-tops, rather than miss the majjor’s habitation.”
“Not a syllable must be uttered,” said the captain, raising a hand in remonstrance. “I will lead, and Wyandotté will march by my side, and give me his council, in whispers. Joyce will bring up the rear. Blodget, you will keep a sharp look-out to the left, while Jamie will do the same to the right. As we approach the mills, stragglers may be met in the woods, and our march must be conducted with the greatest caution. Now follow, and be silent.”
The captain and Nick led, and the whole party followed, observing the silence which had been enjoined on them. The usual manner of marching on a war-path, in the woods, was for the men to follow each other singly; an order that has obtained the name of ‘Indian file,’ the object being to diminish the trail, and conceal the force of the expedition, by each man treading in his leader’s footsteps. On the present occasion, however, the captain induced Nick to walk at his side, feeling an uneasiness on the subject of the Tuscarora’s fidelity that he could not entirely conquer. The pretext given was very different, as the reader will suppose. By seeing the print of a moccasin in company with that of a boot, any straggler that crossed the trail might be led to suppose it had been left by the passage of a party from the clearing or the mill. Nick quietly ass
ented to this reasoning, and fell in by the side of the captain without remonstrance.
Vigilant eyes were kept on all sides of the line of march, though it was hoped and believed that the adventurers had struck upon a route too far west to be exposed to interruption. A quarter of a mile nearer to the flats might have brought them within the range of stragglers; but, following the summit of the ridge, there was a certain security in the indolence which would be apt to prevent mere idlers from sauntering up an ascent. At all events, no interruption occurred, the party reaching in safety the rocks that were a continuation of the range which formed the precipice at the falls--the sign that they had gone far enough to the south. At this period, the precipice was nearly lost in the rising of the lower land, but its margin was sufficiently distinct to form a good mask.
Descending to the plateau beneath, the captain and Nick now inclined to the east, the intention being to come in upon the mills from the rear. As the buildings lay in the ravine, this could only be done by making a rapid descent immediately in their vicinity; a formation of the ground that rendered the march, until within pistol-shot of its termination, reasonably secure. Nick also assured his companions that he had several times traversed this very plateau, and that he had met no signs of footsteps on it; from which he inferred that the invaders had not taken the trouble to ascend the rugged cliffs that bounded the western side of the glen.
The approach to the summit of the cliff was made with caution, though the left flank of the adventurers was well protected by the abrupt descent they had already made from the terrace above. This left little more than the right flank and the front to be watched, the falling away of the land forming, also, a species of cover for the rear. It is not surprising, then, that the verge of the ravine or glen was attained, and no discovery was made. The spot being favourable, the captain immediately led down a winding path, that was densely fringed with bushes, towards the level of the buildings.
The glen of the mills was very narrow; so much so, as barely to leave sites for the buildings themselves, and three or four cabins for the workmen. The mills were placed in advance, as near as possible to the course of the water; while the habitations of the workmen were perched on shelves of the rocks, or such level bits of bottom-land as offered. Owing to this last circumstance, the house of Daniel the miller, or that in which it was supposed the major was still confined, stood by itself, and fortunately, at the very foot of the path by which the adventurers were descending. All this was favourable, and had been taken into the account as a material advantage, by Captain Willoughby when he originally conceived the plan of the present sortie.
When the chimney of the cabin was visible over the bushes, Captain Willoughby halted his party, and repeated his instruction to Joyce, in a voice very little raised above a whisper. The serjeant was ordered to remain in his present position, until he received a signal to advance. As for the captain, himself, he intended to descend as near as might be to the buttery of the cabin, and reconnoitre, before he gave the final order. This buttery was in a lean-to, as a small addition to the original building was called in the parlance of the country; and, the object being shade and coolness, on account of the milk with which it was usually well stored at this season of the year, it projected back to the very cliff, where it was half hid in bushes and young trees. It had but a single small window, that was barred with wood to keep out cats, and such wild vermin as affected milk, nor was it either lathed or plastered; these two last being luxuries not often known in the log tenements of the frontier. Still it was of solid logs, chinked in with mortar, and made a very effectual prison, with the door properly guarded; the captive being deprived of edged tools. All this was also known to the father, when he set forth to effect the liberation of his son, and, like the positions of the buildings themselves, had been well weighed in his estimate of the probabilities and chances.
As soon as his orders were given, Captain Willoughby proceeded down the path, accompanied only by Nick. He had announced his intention to send the Tuscarora ahead to reconnoitre, then to force himself among the bushes between the lean-to and the rocks, and there to open a communication with the major through the chinks of the logs. After receiving Nick’s intelligence, his plan was to be governed by circumstances, and to act accordingly.
“God bless you, Joyce,” said the captain, squeezing the serjeant’s hand as he was on the point of descending. “We are on ticklish service, and require all our wits about us. If anything happen to me, remember that my wife and daughter will mainly depend on you for protection.”
“I shall consider that as your honour’s orders, sir, and no more need be said to me, Captain Willoughby.”
The captain smiled on his old follower, and Joyce thought that never had he seen the fine manly face of his superior beam with a calmer, or sweeter expression, than it did as he returned his own pressure of the hand. The two adventurers were both careful, and their descent was noiseless. The men above listened, in breathless silence, but the stealthy approach of the cat upon the bird could not have been more still, than that of these two experienced warriors.
The place where Joyce was left with the men, might have been fifty feet above the roof of the cabin, and almost perpendicularly over the narrow vacancy that was known to exist between the rocks and the lean-to. Still the bushes and trees were so thick as to prevent the smallest glimpse at objects below, had the shape of the cliff allowed it, while they even intercepted sounds. Joyce fancied, nevertheless, that he heard the rustling bushes, as the captain forced his way into the narrow space he was to occupy, and he augured well of the fact, since it proved that no opposition had been encountered. Half an hour of forest silence followed, that was only interrupted by the tumbling of the waters over the natural dam. At the end of that weary period, a shout was heard in front of the mills, and the party raised their pieces, in a vague apprehension that some discovery had been made that was about to bring on a crisis. Nothing further occurred, however, to confirm this impression, and an occasional burst of laughter, that evidently came from white men, rather served to allay the apprehension. Another half-hour passed, during which no interruption was heard. By this time Joyce became uneasy, a state of things having arrived for which no provision had been made in his instructions. He was about to leave his command under the charge of Jamie, and descend himself to reconnoitre, when a footstep was heard coming up the path. Nothing but the deep attention, and breathless stillness of the men could have rendered the sound of a tread so nearly noiseless, audible; but heard it was, at a moment when every sense was wrought up to its greatest powers. Rifles were lowered, in readiness to receive assailants, but each was raised again, as Nick came slowly into view. The Tuscarora was calm in manner, as if no incident had occurred to disconcert the arrangement, though his eyes glanced around him, like those of a man who searched for an absent person.
“Where cap’in? -- Where major?” Nick asked, as soon as his glance had taken in the faces of all present.
“We must ask that of you, Nick,” returned Joyce. “We have not seen the captain, nor had any orders from him, since he left us.”
This answer seemed to cause the Indian more surprise than it was usual for him to betray, and he pondered a moment in obvious uneasiness.
“Can’t stay here, alway,” he muttered. “Best go see. Bye’m-by trouble come; then, too late.”
The serjeant was greatly averse to moving without orders. He had his instructions how to act in every probable contingency, but none that covered the case of absolute inaction on the part of those below. Nevertheless, twice the time necessary to bring things to issue had gone by, and neither signal, shot, nor alarm had reached his ears.
“Do you know anything of the major, Nick?” the serjeant demanded, determined to examine the case thoroughly ere he came to a decision.
“Major dere -- see him at door -- plenty sentinel. All good -- where cap’in?”
“Where did you leave him? -- You can give the last account of him.”
“Go in behind cupboard--under rock--plenty bushes-- all right--son dere.”
“This must be looked to--perhaps his honour has fallen into a fit--such things sometimes happen--and a man who is fighting for his own child, doesn’t feel, Jamie, all the same as one who fights on a general principle, as it might be.”
“Na--ye’re right, sairjeant J’yce, and ye’ll be doing the kind and prudent act, to gang doon yersal’, and investigate the trainsaction with yer ain een.”
This Joyce determined to do, directing Nick to accompany him, as a guide. The Indian seemed glad to comply, and there was no delay in proceeding. It required but a minute to reach the narrow passage between the cliff and the lean-to. The bushes were carefully shoved aside, and Joyce entered. He soon caught a glimpse of the hunting-shirt, and then he was about to withdraw, believing that he was in error, in anticipating orders. But a short look at his commander removed all scruples; for he observed that he was seated on a projection of the rocks, with his body bowed forward, apparently leaning on the logs of the building. This seemed to corroborate the thought about a fit, and the serjeant pressed eagerly forward to ascertain the truth.
Joyce touched his commander’s arm, but no sign of consciousness came from the latter. He then raised his body upright, placing the back in a reclining attitude against the rocks, and started back himself when he caught a glimpse of the death-like hue of the face. At first, the notion of the fit was strong with the serjeant; but, in changing his own position, he caught a glimpse of a little pool of blood, which at once announced that violence had been used.
Although the serjeant was a man of great steadiness of nerves, and unchangeable method, he fairly trembled as he ascertained the serious condition of his old and well-beloved commander. Notwithstanding, he was too much of a soldier to neglect anything that circumstances required. On examination, he discovered a deep and fatal wound between two of the ribs, which had evidently been inflicted with a common knife. The blow had passed into the heart, and Captain Willoughby was, out of all question, dead! He had breathed his last, within six feet of his own gallant son, who, ignorant of all that passed, was little dreaming of the proximity of one so dear to him, as well as of his dire condition.
Wyandotte; or, the Hutted Knoll . . . Volume 2 Page 15