CHAPTER VIII
THE NORTHWARD MARCH
The great Wyandot chief inclined his head slightly, and received thepistol, hatchet, and knife which Henry drew from his belt. Then he saidin the grave Wyandot tongue:
"It is the second time that Ware has become my prisoner, and I am proud.He is truly a great warrior. Never have I seen such a fight as thatwhich he has just made, the strength of one against six, and the one wastriumphant."
A murmur of approval from the warriors followed his words. Like the oldGreeks, the Indians admired size, symmetry and strength, qualities sonecessary to them in their daily lives, and Henry, as he stood there,wet with perspiration and breathing heavily, exemplified all that theyconsidered best in man. Few of these savage warriors had any intentionof sparing him. They would have burned him at the stake with delight,and, with equal delight, they would have praised him had he neveruttered a groan--it would only be another proof of his greatness.
Braxton Wyatt pressed nearer. There was joy in his evil heart over thecapture of his enemy, but it was not unalloyed. He knew the friendshipthat Timmendiquas bore for Henry, and he feared that through it theprisoner might escape the usual fate of captives. It was his part toprevent any such disaster and he had thought already of a method. Hedreaded the power of Timmendiquas, but he was bold and he proposed todare it nevertheless.
"Will you take the prisoner South with you," he said to Colonel Bird.
"I have surrendered to Timmendiquas," said Henry.
"This is the camp of Colonel Bird," said Wyatt in as mild a tone as hecould assume, "and of course anyone taken here is his prisoner."
"That is true," said Simon Girty, whose influence was great among theIndians, particularly the Shawnees.
Timmendiquas said not a word, nor did Henry. Both saw the appeal to thepride of Bird who pulled his mustache, while his ugly face grew uglier.
"Yes, it is so," he said at last. "The prisoner is mine, since he wastaken in my camp."
Then Timmendiquas spoke very quietly, but, underlying every word, was amenace, which Wyatt, Girty and Bird alike felt and heeded.
"The prisoner surrendered to me," he said. "The Wyandot warriors helpedin his capture--their bruises prove it. Colonel Bird even now marchessouth against Kaintuckee, and he has no need of prisoners. The words ofWyatt are nothing. Girty has become one of our chiefs, but it is not forhim to judge in this case. When the council is finished and Timmendiquasresumes his march to Detroit, Ware goes with him as a captive, the prizeof his warriors."
His fierce eyes roamed around the circle, challenging one by one thosewho opposed him. Braxton Wyatt's own eyes dropped, and fear was in hissoul. He, a renegade, an enemy to his own people could not afford tolose the favor of the Indians. Girty, also, evaded. Full of craft, itwas no part of his policy to quarrel with Timmendiquas. Bird alone wasdisposed to accept the gage. It was intolerable that he, a colonel inthe British army, should be spoken to in such a manner by an Indian. Hewrinkled his ugly hare lip and said stubbornly:
"The prisoner was taken in my camp, and he is mine."
But Girty said low in his ear:
"Let Timmendiquas have him. It is not well to alienate the Wyandots. Weneed them in our attack on Kentucky, and already they are dissatisfiedwith their heavy losses there. We can do nothing for the king withoutthe Indians."
Bird was not without suppleness. He spoke to Timmendiquas, as if he werecontinuing his former words:
"But I give up my claim to you, White Lightning of the Wyandots. Takethe prisoner and do with him as you choose."
Timmendiquas smiled slightly. He understood perfectly. Braxton Wyattretired, almost sick with rage. Timmendiquas motioned to two of hiswarriors who bound Henry's arms securely, though not painfully, and ledhim away to one of the smaller fires. Here he sat down between hisguards who adjusted his torn attire, but did not annoy him, and waitedwhile the council went on.
After the glow of physical triumph had passed, Henry felt a deepdepression. It seemed to him that he could never forgive himself when somuch depended upon him. He had full knowledge that this expedition wasmarching southward, and now he could send no warning. Had he returned tohis comrades with the news, they might have solved the problem bydividing their force. Two could have hurried to Kentucky ahead of Bird'sarmy, and three might have gone to Detroit to watch what preparationswere made there. He condemned himself over and over again, and it isonly just to say that he did not think then of his personal danger. Hethought instead of those whom he might have saved, but who now wouldprobably fall beneath the Indian tomahawk, with no one to warn them.
But he permitted none of his chagrin and grief to show in his face. Hewould not allow any Indian or renegade to see him in despair or inanything bordering upon it. He merely sat motionless, staring into thefire, his face without expression. Henry had escaped once from theWyandots. Perhaps it was a feat that could not be repeated a secondtime--indeed all the chances were against it--but in spite of everythinghis courage came back. He had far too much strength, vitality and youthto remain in despair, and gradually new resolutions formed almostunconsciously in his mind. Under all circumstances, fate would presentat least a bare chance to do what one wished, and courage graduallybecame confidence.
Then Henry, remembering that there was nothing he could do at present,lay down on his side before the fire. It was not altogether an assumedmanner to impress his guard, because he was really very tired, and, nowthat his nerves were relaxing, he believed he could go to sleep.
He closed his eyes, and, although he opened them now and then, the lidswere heavier at every successive opening. He saw the camp dimly, thedark figures of the warriors becoming shadowy now, the murmur of voicessinking to a whisper that could scarcely be heard, and then, in spite ofhis bound arms and precarious future, he slept.
Henry's two guards, both Wyandots, regarded him with admiration, as heslept peacefully with the low firelight flickering across his tannedface. Great in body, he was also great in mind, and whatever torture thechief, Timmendiquas, intended for him he would endure it magnificently.Braxton Wyatt and Simon Girty also came to look at him, and whispered toeach other.
"It would have been better if they had made an end of him in the fightfor his capture," said Wyatt.
"That is true," said Girty thoughtfully. "As long as he's alive, he'sdangerous. Timmendiquas cannot tie him so tight that there is nopossibility of escape, and there are these friends of his whom you havesuch cause to remember, Braxton."
"I wish they were all tied up as he is," said Wyatt venomously.
Girty laughed softly.
"You show the right spirit, Braxton," he said. "To live among theIndians and fight against one's own white race one must hate well. Youneed not flush, man. I have found it so myself, and I am older in thisbusiness and more experienced than you."
Wyatt choked down words that were leaping to his lips, and presently heand Girty rejoined the white men, who were camped around Bird, theircommander. But neither of them felt like sleeping and after a littlewhile there, they went to look at the cannon, six fine guns in a row,constituting together the most formidable weapon that had ever beenbrought into the western forest. When they looked at them, the spirit ofWyatt and Girty sprang high. They exulted in the prospect of victory.The Kentucky sharpshooters behind their light palisades had been ablehitherto to defeat any number of Indians. But what about the big guns?Twelve pound cannon balls would sweep down the palisades like ahurricane among saplings. As there is no zeal like that of the convert,so there is no hate like that of the renegade and they foresaw the easycapture of settlement after settlement by Bird's numerous andirresistible army.
Henry, meanwhile, slept without dreams. It was a splendid tribute to hisnerves that he could do so. When he awoke the sun was an hour above thehorizon and the camp was active with the preparations of Bird's army toresume its march southward. Timmendiquas stood beside him, and, at hisorder, one of the Wyandot guards cut the thongs that bound his arms.Henry st
retched out his wrists and rubbed them, one after the other,until the impeded circulation was restored. Then he uttered his thanksto the chief.
"I am grateful to you, Timmendiquas," he said, "for insisting last nightthat I was your prisoner, and should go with you to Detroit. As you haveseen, the renegades, Girty and Wyatt do not love me, and whatever I mayreceive at your hands, it is not as bad as that which they would haveincited the warriors to do, had I remained in the power of Bird."
"Neither do I care for Girty or Wyatt," said Timmendiquas, as he smiledslightly, "but they help us and we need all the allies we can get. So wepermit them in our lodges. I may tell you now that they debated lastnight whether to go South with Bird, or to continue to Detroit with me.They go to Detroit."
"I do not care for their company," said Henry, "but I am glad that theyare not going to Kentucky."
"I have also to tell you now, Ware," continued Timmendiquas, "thatparties were sent out last night to search for your comrades, the fourwho are always with you."
Henry moved a little and then looked inquiringly at Timmendiquas. Thechief's face expressed nothing.
"They did not find them?" he said.
"No," he replied. "The friends of Ware were wary, but we are proud tohave taken the leader. Here is food; you can eat, and then we march."
They brought him an abundance of good food, and fresh water in a gourd,and he ate and drank heartily. The morning had become clear and crispagain, and with it came all the freshness and courage that belong toyouth. Time was everything, and certainly nothing would be done to himuntil they reached Detroit. Moreover, his four comrades would discoverwhy he did not return and they would follow. Even if one were helplesshimself, he must never despair with such friends free and near at hand.
After he had eaten, his hands were bound again. He made no resistance,knowing that under the Indian code he had no right to ask anythingfurther of Timmendiquas, and he began the march northward in the centerof the Wyandot force. At the same time, Bird and his army resumed theirsouthern advance. Henry heard twigs and dead boughs cracking under thewheels of the cannon, and the sound was a menacing one that he did notforget for a long time. He looked back, but the savage army disappearedwith amazing quickness in the forest.
They marched all day without interruption, eating their food as theymarched. Timmendiquas was at the head of the column, and he did notspeak again with Henry. The renegades, probably fearing the wrath of thechief, also kept away. The country, hilly hitherto, now became level andfrequently swampy. Here the travelling was difficult. Often their feetsank in the soft mud above the ankles, Briars reached out and scratchedthem, and, in these damp solitudes, the air was dark and heavy. Yet theIndians went on without complaint, and Henry, despite his bound arms,could keep his balance and pace with the rest, stride for stride.
They marched several days and nights without interruption through acomparatively level country, still swampy at times, thickly grown withforest, and with many streams and little lakes. Most of the lakes weredotted with wild fowl, and often they saw deer in the shallow portions.Two or three of the deer were shot, but the Indians devoted little timeto the hunting of game, as they were well provided with food.
Henry, who understood both Wyandot and Shawnee, gathered from the talkof those about him that they were at last drawing near to Detroit, thegreat Northwestern fort of the British and Indians. They would arrivethere to-morrow, and they spent that last night by camp fires, theIndians relaxing greatly from their usual taciturnity and caution, andeating as if at a banquet.
Henry sat on a log in the middle of the camp. His arms were unbound andhe could eat with the others as much as he chose. Since they were not toburn him or torture him otherwise, they would treat him well for thepresent. But warriors, Shawnees, Miamis and Wyandots, were all abouthim. They took good care that such a prisoner should not have a chanceto escape. He might overthrow two or three, even four or five, but ascore more would be on him at once. Henry knew this well and borehimself more as if he were a member of the band than a captive. It was apart of his policy to appear cheerful and contented. No Indian shouldsurpass him in careless and apparent indifference, but to-night he feltgloomier than at any time since the moments that immediately followedhis capture. He had relied upon the faithful four, but days had passedwithout a sign from them. There had been no chance, of course, for themto rescue him. He had not expected that, but what he had expected was asign. They were skillful, masters of wilderness knowledge, but accidentsmight happen--one had happened to him--and they might have fallen intothe hands of some other band.
Waiting is a hard test, and Henry's mind, despite his will, began toimagine dire things. Suppose he should never see his comrades again. Athousand mischances could befall, and the neighborhood of Detroit wasthe most dangerous part of all the Indian country. Besides the villagespitched near, bands were continually passing, either coming to the fortfor supplies, or going away, equipped for a fresh raid upon thesettlements.
The laughter and talk among the Indians went on for a long time, butHenry, having eaten all that he wanted, sat in silence. Besides thenoise of the camp, he heard the usual murmur of the night wind among thetrees. He listened to it as one would to a soft low monotone thatcalled and soothed. He had an uncommonly acute ear and his power ofsingleness and concentration enabled him to listen to the sound that hewished to hear, to the exclusion of all others. The noises in the camp,although they were as great as ever, seemed to die. Instead, he heardthe rustling of the young leaves far away, and then another soundcame--a faint, whining cry, the far howl of a wolf, so far that it wasno more than a whisper, a mere under-note to the wind. It stopped, but,in a moment or two, was repeated. Henry's heart leaped, but his figurenever moved; nor was there any change in the expression of his face,which had been dreamy and sad.
But he knew. Just when he wished to hear a voice out of the dark, thatvoice came. It was the first part of a signal that he and his comradesoften used, and as he listened, the second part was completed. He longedto send back a reply, but it was impossible and he knew that it wouldnot be expected. Joy was under the mask of his sad and dreaming face. Herejoiced, not only for himself, but for two other things; because theywere safe and because they were near, following zealously and seekingevery chance. He looked around at the Indians. None of them had heardthe cry of the wolf, and he knew if it had reached them, they would nothave taken it for a signal. They were going on with their feasting, butwhile Henry sat, still silent, Timmendiquas came to him and said:
"To-morrow we reach Detroit, the great post of the soldiers of the king.We go there to confer with the commander, de Peyster, and to receivemany rifles and much ammunition. It is likely, as you already know, thatwe shall march against your people."
"I know it, Timmendiquas," said Henry, "but I would that it were not so.Why could we not dwell in peace in Kentucky, while the Wyandots, theShawnees, the Miamis and others ranged their vast hunting grounds inthe same peace on this side of the Ohio?"
A spark of fire shot from the dark eyes of Timmendiquas.
"Ware," he said, "I like you and I do not believe that your heartcontains hatred towards me. Yet, there cannot be any peace between ourraces. Peace means that you will push us back, always push us back. HaveI not been in the East, where the white men are many and where themighty confederation of the Six Nations, with their great chief,Thayendanegea, at their head, fight against them in vain? Have I notseen the rich villages of the Indians go up in smoke? The Indiansthemselves still fight. They strike down many of the Yengees andsometimes they burn a village of the white people, but unless the kingprevails in the great war, they will surely lose. Their Aieroski, who isthe Manitou of the Wyandots, and your God, merely looks on, and permitsthe stronger to be the victor."
"Then," said Henry, "why not make peace with us here in the West, lestyour tribes meet the same fate?"
The nostrils of Timmendiquas dilated.
"Because in the end we should be eaten up in the same way. Her
e in theWest you are few and your villages are tiny. The seed is not planted sodeep that it cannot be uprooted."
Henry sighed.
"I can see the question from your side as well as from mine, WhiteLightning," he replied. "It seems as you say, that the white men and thered men cannot dwell together. Yet I could wish that we were friends inthe field as well as at heart."
Timmendiquas shook his head and replied in a tone tinged with a certainsadness:
"I, too, could wish it, but you were born of one race and I of another.It is our destiny to fight to the end."
He strode away through the camp. Henry watched the tall and splendidfigure, with the single small scarlet feather set in the waving scalplock, and once more he readily acknowledged that he was a forest king, alofty and mighty spirit, born to rule in the wilderness. Then he tookthe two blankets which had been left him, enfolded himself between them,and, despite the noises around him, slept soundly all through the night.Early the next morning they began the last stretch of the march toDetroit.
It was with a deep and peculiar interest that they approached Detroit,then a famous British and Indian post, now a great American city.Founded by the French, who lost it to the British, who, in turn, weredestined to lose it to the Americans, it has probably sent forth morescalping parties of Indians than any other place on the North Americancontinent. Here the warlike tribes constantly came for rifles,ammunition, blankets and other supplies, and here the agents of the kingincited them with every means in their power to fresh raids on the youngsettlements in the South. Here the renegades, Girty, Blackstaffe andtheir kind came to confer, and here Boone, Kenton and other famousborderers had been brought as prisoners.
The Indians in the party of Timmendiquas already showed greatjubilation. In return for the war that they had made and should make,they expected large gifts from the king, and with such great chiefs asWhite Lightning, Red Eagle and Yellow Panther at their head, it was notlikely that they would be disappointed.
As they drew near, they passed several Indian camps, containing partiesfrom the Northwest, Sacs, Winnebagoes and others, including even someChippewas from the far shores of the greatest of all lakes. Many ofthese looked admiringly at the prisoner whom Timmendiquas had brought,and were sorry that they had not secured such a trophy. At the last ofthese camps, where they stopped for a little while, a short, thick manapproached Henry and regarded him with great curiosity.
The man was as dark as an Indian, but he had a fierce black mustachethat curled up at the ends. His hair was black and long and his eyes,too, were black. His dress differed but little from that of a warrior,but his features were unmistakably Caucasian.
"Another renegade," thought Henry, and his detestation was so thoroughthat he scorned to take further notice of the fellow. But he wasconscious that the stranger was eyeing him from head to foot in the mostscrutinizing manner, just as one looks at an interesting picture. Henryfelt his anger rise, but he still simulated the most profoundindifference.
"You are the prisoner of Timmendiquas, _mon petit garcon, mais oui_?"
Henry looked up at the French words and the French accent that he didnot understand. But the tone was friendly, and the man, although hemight be an enemy, was no renegade.
"Yes," he replied. "I am the prisoner of Timmendiquas, and I am goingwith him and his men to Detroit. Do you belong in Detroit?"
The man grinned, showing two magnificent rows of strong white teeth.
"I belong to Detroit?" he replied. "Nevaire! I belong to no place. I amze Frenchman; le Canadien; voyageur, coureur du bois, l'homme of ze windovair ze mountains an' ze plain. I am Pierre Louis Lajeunais, who wasborn at Trois Rivieres in ze Province of Quebec, which is a long wayfrom here."
The twinkle in his eye was infectious. Henry knew that he was a man ofgood heart and he liked him. Perhaps also he might find here a friend.
"Since you have given me your name," he replied, "I will give you mine.I am Henry Ware, and I am from Kentucky. I was captured by Timmendiquasand his warriors a few days ago. They're taking me to Detroit, but I donot know what they intend to do with me there. I suppose that you, ofcourse, are among our enemies."
No Indian was within hearing then, and Lajeunais replied:
"W'y should I wish you harm? I go to Detroit. I sell furs to zecommandaire for powder and bullets. I travel an' hunt wit' mes amis, zeIndians, but I do not love ze Anglais. When I was a boy, I fight wit' zegreat Montcalm at Quebec against Wolfe an' les Anglais. We lose an' zeBourbon lilies are gone; ze rouge flag of les Anglais take its place.Why should I fight for him who conquers me? I love better ze woods an'ze riviere an' ze lakes where I hunt and fish."
"I am glad that you are no enemy of ours, Mr. Lajeunais," said Henry,"and I am certain that my people are no enemies of the French in Canada.Perhaps we shall meet in Detroit."
"Eet ees likely, mon brav," said Lajeunais, "I come into the town infour days an' I inquire for ze great boy named Ware."
Timmendiquas gave the signal and in another hour they were in Detroit.
The Border Watch: A Story of the Great Chief's Last Stand Page 10