Munroe Kirk
At War with Pontiac; Or, The Totem of the Bear: A Tale of Redcoat and Redskin
CHAPTER XVIII
SURPRISE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE BOAT BRIGADE
For many days had the scouts of Pontiac watched from the shore the boat brigade as it made its slow way toward Detroit. Night after night had they hovered about its camps, peering with greedy eyes from darkest shadows at the coveted wealth which the redcoats, ignorant of the presence of danger, so carelessly guarded. It was well to let the white men have the toil of bringing it as near the Indian villages as possible, and so an attack was not ordered until the very last night. Then the two hundred Wyandot warriors, detailed for the purpose, watched the boats until a landing was effected, silently surrounded the camp while everything was in confusion, and at a signal poured in their deadly fire.
To Cuyler's men this volley was as a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Never was a surprise more complete; never was overwhelming disaster more sudden. They were paralyzed and unnerved. A score fell at the first fire, and though Cuyler succeeded in forming the rest in an irregular semicircle about the boats, their return shots were so wildly scattering and ineffective that the enemy were emboldened to abandon their usual tactics, break from cover in a body, and rush fiercely upon the wavering line of panic-stricken soldiers. Most of these now saw Indians for the first time. None waited for a second glance, but flinging away their muskets, all ran madly for the boats.
Of these they succeeded in launching five, which were instantly filled beyond their capacity. So ill-directed were their efforts to escape, that the Indians, by setting two more boats afloat and starting in pursuit, easily overtook three of the fugitive craft, which surrendered to them without resistance. The remaining two, by hoisting sail and taking advantage of an off-shore breeze, made good their escape and were headed in the direction of Sandusky on the opposite side of the lake. In one of these was the commander of the ill-fated expedition, who had been the last man to leave the beach.
Wild with joy over a victory so easily gained and so rich in results, the Indians, after securing their prisoners, lighted great fires, and, gathered about these, abandoned themselves to feasting and drinking. Among the captured supplies was a quantity of liquor, upon which they pounced with avidity. Heads of kegs were broken in, and the fiery stuff was recklessly quaffed from cups, vessels of birch bark, or anything that would hold it; some even scooping it up in their hands, until all became filled with the madness of demons. They danced, yelled, waved aloft their bloody scalps, and fought like wild beasts, while the trembling captives, crouching in scattered groups, seemed to hear their own death knell in every whoop.
One such scene of hideous revelry was enacted in the little glade beside which Madam Rothsay and Edith Hester had been left helplessly bound by their captors. From the moment of the girl's brave effort to warn the camp, these two had listened with straining ears to the babel of sounds by which the whole course of the tragedy was made plain to them. They shuddered at the volleys, at the screams of the wounded, and at the triumphant yells of the victors. They almost forgot their own wretched position in their horror at the fate of their recent companions. But when all was over, and the hideous revelry of the savages was begun within their sight, a realization of their own misery returned with overwhelming force, and they again trembled at the possibilities of their fate. A number of squaws had accompanied this war party, and they could see these busily engaged securing and concealing what weapons they could find at the very beginning of the debauch.
"Even those creatures realize the dreadful things that are likely to happen, and are taking what precautions they may to guard against them," moaned Madam Rothsay.
"Yes," replied Edith, "and now, if ever, is our time to escape. Oh, if we were not so helplessly bound and could slip away into the woods! I would rather die in an effort to escape than suffer the agony of this suspense. Can't you loosen your arms one little bit, aunty?"
As the girl spoke she strained at her own bonds until they sunk deep into her tender flesh, but without loosening them in the slightest.
The elder woman also struggled for a moment with all her strength, and then sank back with a groan.
"I can't, Edith! It's no use, and only hurts. No, we can do nothing save commend ourselves to God and trust to his mercy. Oh, my poor child! My poor dear child!"
The fires blazed higher, the maddening liquor flowed like water, the yells grew fiercer, and the dancing more furious. The lurid scene became a very pandemonium, and the leaping forms of the savages seemed those of so many devils. The captive women closed their eyes to shut out the horrid picture.
Suddenly Edith uttered a stifled scream—a warm breath was on her neck, and a soft voice was whispering words of comfort in her ear:—
"Hush! Do not scream. Do not fear. You shall be saved. I am Ah-mo, daughter of Pontiac, the great chief, sent by my father to see that you are not harmed. Now I will take you away. It is not safe for you longer to remain in this place. There. Do not rise. You would be seen. Move yourself carefully into the shadow behind the tree."
As these words were uttered, Edith's bonds were severed; she felt that she was again free, and, filled with courage born of a new hope, she obeyed implicitly the directions of her unseen friend. As she gained the shadow she found herself beside a girlish figure, who placed a finger on her lips, and then in a whisper bade her speak to Madam Rothsay, that she might not be frightened into an outcry. This Edith did, the elder woman was released as she had been, and in another minute the freed captives, trembling with excitement and nearly suffocated by the intensity of their emotions, were following, hand in hand, their silently flitting guide in the direction of the lake shore.
Their escape was effected none too soon, for they were not gone a hundred yards when it occurred to one of the Indians who had captured them to take a look at his prizes. His listless saunter toward where he had left them was changed to movements of bewildered activity, as in place of the cowering captives, he found only severed thongs, and realized that in some mysterious manner a release had been effected. He uttered a yell that brought a number of his companions to the spot, and in another minute a score or so of half-sobered savages were ranging the forest in every direction like sleuth-hounds.
"We must run!" exclaimed the Indian girl, as her quick ear caught the significant cries announcing the discovery of the escape.
Now the flight became a panting scramble over logs and through bushes. Fortunately the shore was near at hand, for Madam Rothsay was ready to sink from exhaustion as they reached it.
A low, bird-like call from Ah-mo brought to the beach a canoe that had rested motionless a few rods from shore. It held but a single occupant, and as it lightly touched the beach the Indian girl hurriedly assisted her breathless companions to enter, gave it a vigorous shove, took her own place in the stern, and seizing a paddle aided in its rapid but noiseless flight over the dark waters. The moon had not yet risen; and so, favored by darkness, a few vigorous strokes served to place the light craft beyond eyesight of those on shore. It seemed, though, as if the savages whose angry voices they could hear from the very spot of beach they had just left must see it, and the escaped captives hardly breathed as they reflected upon the narrow margin of safety by which they were separated from their fierce pursuers. All at once there came from these a yell of triumph instantly succeeded by the sounds of a struggle and followed a minute later by cries of rejoicing.
As these sounds receded from the shore, and the canoe began once more to move forward under the impetus of its noiseless paddles, Ah-mo leaned forward and whispered to Edith, who sat nearest her: "They have taken some new captive. Perhaps it is the commander."
"Oh, I hope not!" murmured the girl. "I hope it is not poor Mr. Cuyler." At the thought a great wave of pity welled up in her heart. She knew the terrible hopelessness of a captivity in those hands; and though she could not yet determine whether she were still a prisoner or not, her present position was blissful compared with what it had been a few minutes before.
If she had known the cause of those wild shouts of rejoicing, and who it was that had been made captive in her place, her heart would indeed have been heavy, but mercifully the knowledge was spared to her.
In the canoe the ladies found several of their own wraps and cushions that Ah-mo had been thoughtful enough to secure. In these they nestled together for warmth and comfort, and talking in low tones discussed their situation during the hours that the canoe sped steadily onward.
At length the moon rose, and turning her head, Edith gazed curiously at the girl behind her. She could see that she was slender and very graceful, and she imagined her to be beautiful.
"How did your father know of our coming, and why did he send you to care for us?" she asked at length.
"My father is a great chief, and his eyes are everywhere," answered Ah-mo, proudly. "He sent me and Atoka, my brother, because he feared you might come to harm at the hands of the Wyandots."
"But why should he be particularly interested in our welfare, more than in that of others?"
"Are you not the daughter of Two Trees, the white-haired major, and is he not the friend of Pontiac? Even now he dwells in the camp of my father."
"Do you mean my father, Major Hester?" cried the bewildered girl.
"Yes."
"But he can't be dwelling among the enemies of the English. You must be mistaken, Ah-mo."
"It is as I have said," replied the girl.
"Are you then taking us to him now?"
"No. It would not be safe. There are too many bad men even in the camps of the Ottawas, and my father would have the daughter of his friend removed from all harm."
"Where, then, are you going?"
"You soon will see."
And with this the white girl was forced to be content.
The night was nearly spent when the canoe approached a small island in the middle of Lake Erie, but commanding the mouth of the Detroit river. Here it was run into a cove, and beached beside several other similar craft. Atoka, the young Indian, who had spoken no word during all this time, uttered a peculiar cry as he sprang ashore, and directly several dark forms appeared from a thicket that bordered the beach.
Ah-mo assured Edith that from these men she had nothing to fear, as they were picked Ottawa warriors devoted to her father's interests, and stationed them as outlooks to report the movements of any vessels on the lake.
After a few minutes of lively conversation between them and Atoka, the whole party entered the thicket, where, snugly hidden, stood several Indian lodges. One of these was quickly made ready for the women, and here, in spite of the uncertainties of their situation, Madam Rothsay and Edith Hester, wrapped in their own shawls, soon fell into the slumber of utter exhaustion.
CHAPTER XIX
THE TOTEM SAVES DONALD'S LIFE
Exhausted as she was, Edith Hester would hardly have slept that night had she known that he whose capture was the direct result of her flight was her own dearly loved brother Donald; but so it was. By strenuous exertions, he had so expedited the movements of his own party that they had passed two, and sometimes three, of Cuyler's camping-places in a day. They always examined these for information concerning those whom they were so anxious to overtake, and after a while their anxiety was increased by the finding of traces of Indian scouts in and about every camping-place. At length the camp sites gave proof of having been so recently occupied, that it seemed as though they might sight Cuyler's boats at any time, and Paymaster Bullen, in anticipation of a speedy meeting with the ladies, devoted so much attention to his personal appearance that never had such a dandy as he been seen in the wilderness.
As the paymaster's efforts to enhance his personal attractions increased, Donald's ever-growing anxiety led him to become more than ever impatient of such things and eager to hasten forward. He became provoked at his companion's frivolity, and regretted ever having consented to travel with him. When he finally discovered the prints of Indian moccasins about one of Cuyler's fires, the ashes of which were still hot, he grew so apprehensive of evil, and so impatient to get on, that he refused to allow his crew even the scanty half-hour of rest at noon to which they were accustomed. He so urged their labors of this day, by alternate threats and promises, that the canoe reached the eastern side of Point au Pelee at the very time of Cuyler's landing on its western shore. Here Donald informed his men that they might cook their evening meal, and rest for two hours, at the end of which time they must be prepared to push on, as he was determined to overtake the other party before they broke camp on the morrow.
During the preparation of supper, the young man paced restlessly up and down the beach, casting occasional scornful glances at the dapper little paymaster, who, with the assistance of the faithful "Tummas," was taking his regular evening bath, in his beloved tub.
While matters stood thus, there came a sound so startling and of such vital import that all paused in their employment and held their breath to listen. It was the cry of a woman in distress, faint and distant, but unmistakable. Half uttered, it was cut short by a crash of guns, mingled with savage war-whoops, that proclaimed as clearly as words the state of affairs on the opposite side of that narrow neck of land.
In an instant, Donald Hester, so frenzied by his sister's appeal for aid as to be well-nigh unconscious of his own movements, seized his rifle, plunged into the forest, and was dashing recklessly in the direction of the ominous sounds.
The Senecas, whom he thus left to their own devices, and who had long been expecting some such moment, acted with almost equal promptness in making prisoners of the two remaining white men. A few minutes of animated discussion as to what should be done with them ensued. All were impatient to join their fellow savages, and share in the spoils of their certain victory, to which they also wished to add their own trophies. But what should be done with the white medicine man? He was too fat to be urged at speed through the forest. They feared to kill him, for they believed him to be of a weak mind, and therefore under the direct protection of the Great Spirit. Besides, being bald-headed, he could furnish no scalp, and was therefore not worth killing.
In this dilemma, the Zebra conceived an idea which his companions greeted with grunts of approval, and immediately proceeded to carry out. A few minutes later the horrified paymaster, as naked as when he was born, was seated in his own bathtub, precariously maintaining his balance, and floating away before a gentle off-shore breeze, over the vast watery solitude of Lake Erie.
As the Indians watched him, until he was but a white speck in the gathering gloom, they reasoned that if he were indeed a medicine man he could take care of himself; if he were crazy, the Great Spirit would protect him. And if he were merely an ordinary mortal he would surely be drowned; while, in no case, would blame be attached to them.
Then they gathered up his half-dozen precious wigs, all of which had been laid out for inspection, that their owner might decide in which one he should appear before the ladies, but which the Indians only regarded as so many scalps; concealed the canoe, together with much of their newly acquired property, and started toward the scene of battle. Two stalwart warriors, seizing the unfortunate and bewildered "Tummas" by the shoulders, rushed him along at breathless speed, occasionally urging him to greater exertions by suggestive pricks from the sharp points of their knives.
Although Donald had started to the assistance of his imperilled sister with a recklessness that disregarded all the traditions of woodcraft, he came to his senses as he drew near the scene of recent conflict, and thereafter no forest warrior could have proceeded with greater stealth than he.
The short fight was over, the prisoners were secured, many fires had been lighted, and the deadly work of the fire-water was already begun. With a heavy heart and a sickening dread, the young soldier crept noiselessly from one lighted circle to another, narrowly escaping discovery a dozen times, and scanning anxiously each dejected group of captives. All were men, nor could he anywhere catch a glimpse of feminine draperies. At one place he saw a confused group, of what he fancied might be captives, on the opposite side of a fire-lighted opening, and made a great circuit through the woods in order to approach it more closely.
Suddenly there arose a clamor of voices, and, as though aware of his presence, a score of savages, some of them holding aloft blazing firebrands, came running through the forest directly toward him. There was no time for flight, and he could only fling himself flat beside the trunk of a prostrate tree, up to which he had just crawled, ere they were upon him. A dozen warriors passed him, leaping over both the log and the crouching figure behind it. He was beginning to cherish a hope that all might do so; but such good fortune was not to be his. Another, who bore a flaming brand, slipped as he bounded over the obstruction. A shower of blazing embers fell on Donald's head and bare neck. Maddened by pain, he sprang to his feet, dealt the stumbling savage a blow that knocked him flat, and turned to fly for his life. As he did so, he was grappled by two others, and though he struggled so furiously that he managed to fling them both from him, the delay was fatal. A moment later he was borne to the earth by overwhelming numbers.
When again allowed to rise it was as a pinioned prisoner, bruised and breathless. With exulting shouts, his captors dragged him into the circle of firelight, and when they saw that he was not one of Cuyler's men, but a newcomer, they were extravagant in their joy. They were also furious against him on account of the escape of the women captives, in which it was supposed he had been instrumental. Half-crazed with drink as they were, they determined that he should pay the penalty for this offence then and there.
"Let the palefaced dog roast in the flames!"
"Burn him!"
"Fling him into the fire!"
"He has sought our company; let us give him a warm welcome!"
"It will be a lesson to others of his kind not to meddle with our prisoners!"
"Let him feel that the vengeance of the Wyandots is sudden and awful!"
These, with many similar cries, rent the night air, and though Donald understood no word of what was said, he knew from the savage expression of the faces crowding about him that he was to suffer some dreadful fate, and nerved himself to bear it.
If he must die, it should be as became one of his race and training. But, oh! it was hard! He was so young, so full of life and hope. Could he hold out to the bitter end? Yes, he must. He had chosen to be a soldier. He was a soldier. Other soldiers had met their death by savage torture and faced it bravely. What they had done, he must do. But was there no help for him, none at all? As he searched the scowling faces of those who thronged about him, reviling, taunting, and revelling in his despair, he saw no trace of mercy, no pity, no gleam of hope. He knew that there was no help.
With it all, there was one consolation. He could discover no sign of his beloved sister. She, at least, would be spared the sight of his torments. She might even by some miracle have escaped.
They dragged him roughly, and with maudlin shoutings, to a small tree that stood by itself, and bound him to it with so many lashings that only his head was free to move. Then they heaped dry wood about him, piling it up until it was above his waist.
He knew now what he was to be called upon to endure. No words were needed to tell him that he was to be burned alive, and he prayed that they would pile the wood higher, that death might come the more quickly. But some among his tormentors thought it was already too high, and in their desire to prolong his sufferings they tore away a portion of the pile. Others insisted that it was not enough, and attempted to build it higher; and so they wrangled among themselves, until one, to settle the dispute, ran for a blazing brand and thrust it among the faggots that still remained.
By this time, news of what was taking place had spread abroad, and many from other scenes of revelry came running to participate in this new diversion. As a bright blaze leaped through the crackling wood and revealed distinctly the pallid face of the victim, there was first a yell of delight and then a great hush of expectancy, while all watched eagerly to see how he would bear the first touch of flame.
At this moment, there came a commotion in the crowd. A single figure, with face hideously painted in narrow stripes, broke from it, sprang forward, and dashing aside the blazing wood, shouted a few words in a tongue that was strange to most of them, though some understood. These translated what was said to the others, and in a few seconds every warrior was repeating in awed tones to his neighbor:—
"He is of the Metai! He is of the Totem of the Bear! The mark is on his arm! If he dies at our hands, then shall we feel the wrath of the magic circle!"
In a moment Donald's hunting-shirt was stripped from him, his left arm was bared, and at sight of the indelible signet thus exposed a great fear fell upon the savages. At once those who had been most eager for the death of the prisoner, became foremost in friendly offices that they hoped might banish their offence from his mind, and Donald breathed a prayer of thankfulness for his wonderful deliverance.
