Rowland Walker
Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas
CHAPTER XVII
A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFE
It was a period of awful suspense, and the two palefaces held their breath for a moment as they watched the scout keenly.
What was it that had attracted the attention of the Algonquin?
He stooped down and picked up something that lay upon the ground. It was a broken scalping-knife that had evidently been dropped or lost in some scuffle long, long ago, for it was thick with rust. He gazed at it for some seconds, turning it round, then flung it away into the forest. The next instant he ascended the hillock and disappeared, entering the camp.
Fortune had once more favoured Jamie and his friend, for the discovery of the scalping-knife had both arrested and deflected the course of the scout, when he was only a few feet away from the fresh trail of the two palefaces. Had he continued on his original course, he could scarcely have failed to discover the prints of their moccasins, and a very awkward situation would have arisen. The alarm once given, fifty braves would have been upon them within a minute.
The sound of voices now reached them more frequently, and it was evident from the commotion that was going on that some movement was imminent. Once the piercing cry of the hawk was heard to come from over the hillock.
"They're moving the camp, and that's the signal for the scouts to draw in. They'll be gone in half-an-hour," whispered the hunter.
"Hadn't we better prepare to follow?" said Jamie.
"No. We shall gain nothing by being too eager. Besides, we have still got several incoming scouts in our rear. We must keep closely to cover till they have passed."
This precaution was a very necessary one, for within half-an-hour no less than three scouts passed within a hundred yards of them, each going in the direction of the camp.
Another hour passed away, and the sounds they had previously heard became fainter and then died away. At length the trapper rose from his crouching position in the brushwood and said–
"Let us go!"
They now crept carefully through the long grass that partially clothed the hillock, until they could peer over the brow and obtain a view of the camp.
The place was deserted, for the Indians had gone and taken their prisoners with them. The fire was still burning, and several half-cooked pieces of venison and bear's flesh lay about, also several broken utensils and a pair of cast-off moccasins.
"Whither have they gone, think you?" asked Jamie.
"Back to the Canadas, and we must follow them."
"They cannot have killed their prisoners, then, or we should have heard them, and there would have been traces of blood."
"See. Here is the tree to which they were tied. The thongs have been so tight that they have cut into the bark."
"Yes. That means that they will have to travel slowly, unless they kill their prisoners, for they will scarcely be able to walk fast yet awhile."
The trapper looked anxiously up at the sun, which was now declining, and had reached the topmost branches of the trees on the western side of the forest; then he proceeded to examine the prints of the Algonquin moccasins, following them a little way into the forest for the purpose, while Jamie still examined the ground about the root of the giant elm-tree to see if he could find traces of blood.
There were several spots of blood about the tree and several splashes of it on the bark. There were also many deep cuts and gashes, and an arrow still remained fast in the wood about six feet from the ground, as though they had practised the same cruelties upon the lads that they had essayed upon the hunter.
"Only to think," muttered Jamie between his teeth, "that an hour ago both Jack and Young Eagle were tied up here, expecting a cruel and lingering death from their captors. What were their thoughts? Oh, if they could only have known that help was so near! Hullo! Where is the trapper? He has disappeared!" and the lad was suddenly awakened from his reverie by becoming conscious that the hunter was nowhere to be seen.
After a few minutes' search he found the old man some little way in the forest, examining very keenly the trail of the Algonquins.
"Well, what do you make of it?" he asked.
The trapper still continued for another minute to examine the prints of the departing redskins, and then he said, speaking very slowly as though he had come to his conclusion only after much thought–
"They are making tracks for one of the streams that flows into Lake Seneca, where they have probably left their canoes hidden in the forest; then they will pass down the lake to the Seneca River, and from thence into Lake Ontario and thus to the Canadas."
"Then what chance shall we have of recovering the prisoners? Where can we overtake them?"
"Not till we reach the Seneca Falls, I fear," replied the trapper. "Some distance below the outlet of the lake there is a portage past the Falls where they must land to carry their canoes to the river below. That is the spot where we must surprise them. By that time the Eagle will be with us and some of his braves."
"That sounds all right, but what about the prisoners? I had hoped that something might have been done to rescue them before then," said Jamie.
"The lads are safe for another three days, at any rate, unless they attempt to escape, for it now seems more than likely that they are to be carried off to the Canadas."
"What is that picture that you are drawing, trapper?" for the old hunter had stripped a large piece of bark from a birch-tree, and on the inner side had begun to draw a few rough pictures. It contained a cryptic message in the Indian style of "picture-writing," by which these children of the forest spoke to each other at a distance.
It depicted the whole length of Lake Seneca, and the Falls in the river below, then a badger and a feather, representing the Grey Badger and Red Feather following up a trail, while a few wigwams ahead represented the departing Algonquins. Next a White Eagle making a swift curve towards the Falls completed the picture, and the message was complete.
"It is a message to the White Eagle, to ask him to make direct for the Falls and there to prepare an ambush for the foes," replied the trapper.
"Capital! He'll understand that, easily enough, when he reaches here at noon to-morrow."
"Yes. The meaning will be as plain as a pikestaff when he sees it. He'll probably be at the Falls long before us, for he'll travel day and night when he scents the game he's after. And now let us start, while the trail is warm."
The piece of bark was fastened to a tree, and they departed quickly. Night soon overtook them, and they camped for a brief while in the forest. A drink of water and a piece of bear's flesh, which they had brought from the Algonquin camp, sufficed for supper, and then they lay down to sleep, but Jamie thought that he had only just closed his eyelids when a hand was laid on his shoulder and the hunter said–
"Come! The dawn is breaking, and there is the promise of a fine day."
All that day they followed the trail; not without difficulty, for although in the soft soil of the forest the moccasins had left a deep print, yet at times, where the earth was dry and barren from lack of moisture, or where the redskins had followed the beds of the streams, wading in the water, the trail became difficult and the progress slower. There was also another danger that made them proceed with care. The Algonquins might have placed scouts in their rear, and at any moment an ambush might be sprung upon them.
"If only we could reach the canoes first and set them adrift, we could then delay and harass them," said Jamie.
"No! no! That would never do," replied his companion. "Our business is to locate them and then to make a detour, joining our companions at the Falls, without letting them discover our presence. Once they find that they are being tracked, the prisoners' lives are endangered, for to facilitate their progress they will kill the prisoners."
"See, here is a broken twig, and the leaves have scarcely withered, showing that it cannot be more than a few hours since they passed this way," said the lad, who was now keenly alert for every little sign that would guide them.
"Yes, and here is a deeper print in the soft earth, as though one of the prisoners had gone slightly out of his way to leave it for our assistance."
"You are right, trapper! That is the mark of the Young Eagle's moccasin, for here is the little patch on the left heel that he repaired but two days ago, when he had burned a hole in his moccasin by standing too near the fire. But look here! What does this mean?"
And a few feet further on they both stood still and gazed at several splashes of blood which had dyed the ground.
"The villains! One of them has inflicted a wound on Young Eagle, probably for snapping the twig, or leaving a footprint in the soft mould, which shows that they will be watched in future, and that we shall have no more signs."
"The wretches!"
"I hope White Eagle will not miss our trail, should he decide to follow us, rather than go direct to the falls," said Jamie, when the day had worn on into the afternoon.
"There is no fear of that. White Eagle is the greatest chief in all the Six Nations, and he could follow the trail of a humming-bird. Besides, look there. I have left him a trail that he could follow in the dark," and for about the twentieth time the trapper barked a tree with his knife in a peculiar manner, which evidently had a significant meaning for one who was versed in the secret code of the forest.
The ground hardened again now, and the trail almost disappeared, and sometimes failed altogether, so that a full hour was spent hunting for some hidden clue. At length Jamie exclaimed–
"Here is something, trapper! A broken file that Jack has purposely dropped to guide us."
"A broken file?" queried the other.
"Yes. Rather a strange thing to carry in the forest, but–but–he used it to sharpen his knife, and such things," said Jamie, reddening a little as he remembered the history of that little file in the old country. It was the one which had secured their escape from the lock-up two years ago, and Jack had kept it as a memento, saying–
"It has brought us luck once; it may do so again. At any rate, it is sure to be useful, and I will keep it."
The hunter carefully examined the file, and then passed it over to his friend. He, too, remembered to have seen a file exactly like that once–long ago–in a little land across the sea, but all the secrets and memories that it recalled were painful ones.
"Well, here's the trail, let us follow it," exclaimed Jamie. "It's as good as following a paper-chase through the woods at Burnside, I do declare."
"Where did you say?"
"Burnside! In the old country."
The old man looked long and keenly at the youth, whose features were now so brown and tanned that he was more like a redskin than a paleface. Then he was about to speak further, but he checked himself, for at that instant, when they had only followed the newly-discovered trail for a hundred yards or so–
"Whisht!" went an arrow so close to them that it pierced Jamie's beaver hat and pinned it to the bark of a tree.
In a second they had gained the shelter of a friendly elm, whose huge trunk offered cover for them both. Scarcely had they done so when–
"Whisht!" went a second arrow, and a third, both perilously near.
"I can see him, trapper," whispered Jamie, as he caught sight of a dark shadow behind a tree fifty yards away, just as the third winged messenger whizzed by.
The trapper had seen that dark form too, and had covered it with his rifle, but he hesitated to fire, and looked behind him uneasily once or twice, as though conscious that some one was advancing from the rear. Were they trapped? Had the stalkers themselves been stalked?
He was not mistaken, for a dark figure was flitting from tree to tree behind them, and each instant coming nearer.
Who could it be?
"Keep your gun levelled at that red devil in front, lad. There's some one approaching from behind! Whether friend or foe, I know not, but I'll soon find out," said the hunter.
Jamie did as he was bid, and before long the opportunity he sought was offered to him. He caught sight of the Algonquin again. As he stood fitting another arrow to his string, his right arm was exposed.
"Bang!" a flash of flame spurted from Jamie's rifle. The leaden messenger found its mark, and the Indian's arm fell helpless at his side, even as he prepared to shoot. With a yell of pain the scout plunged into the thicket and disappeared.
The next moment a dark figure bounded from the cover of a tree in the rear and quickly advanced. The trapper had him covered with his rifle, but the instant he caught sight of his face he dropped the piece and said–
"Welcome, Swift Arrow!"
CHAPTER XVIII
A LOST TRAIL
"Swift Arrow?" exclaimed Jamie, lowering his smoking rifle, as he almost rushed forward to greet his companion, in a truly English fashion, for he was heartily glad to see him again.
The Indian, however, remained cold and reserved, and his only response to the warm greeting of his paleface friend was the customary "Ugh!" which seems at times to be the only stock-in-trade of the Red Indians. The fact was, the youth was on his first war-path, and at such a time the practice of his tribe demanded deeds, not words.
"My red brother has the speed of a deer and the heart of a lion. He has seen the White Eagle, and has brought us tidings. Let him speak, and the palefaces will listen to his words," said the trapper.
After the usual pause demanded by Indian convention, the youth replied–
"White Eagle, with thirty braves, will reach the Seneca Falls at sunset. Will the palefaces continue to follow the Algonquin trail?"
"Yes," the scouts replied.
And then, without another word, Swift Arrow turned away and disappeared into the forest, almost in the direction in which he had come.
Though Jamie was now fairly acquainted with Indian manners and customs, he was rather taken aback with this abrupt departure, and would have called him back again, but the trapper said–
"Leave him alone, lad. He is only following the traditions of his race. He has followed our trail, and delivered the chief's message, and is now probably going to rejoin White Eagle. He has discharged his duty with a fidelity that many a white man might envy."
"He must be tired!"
"Yes, during the last fifty hours he must have traversed near a hundred and fifty miles of forest and streams, and I doubt very much whether he has tasted food during the whole journey."
"Hunter, I have lived amongst the red men a little while now, and I have often discovered amongst them a sense of honour and an unselfish spirit that I have never seen surpassed by the members of more civilised races."
"I'm glad to hear you say it, lad. During the last fifteen years my truest friend has been a red man."
"You mean the White Eagle?"
"I do!"
"He is a great chief. I owe him my life. But for him my scalp would now be hanging at the girdle of one of his braves. I knew he would come to your rescue, too, if he only knew of your danger."
"Come to my rescue? He would have crossed the lakes and the plains to the mountains beyond, even to the utmost bounds of the Oregon River, if he had but known that my life was in danger, and he would not have expected the slightest reward; but come, let us break our fast that we may follow the trail."
"Look, trapper. There is our dinner, and a right royal one, too," said Jamie, pointing to several wild turkeys that were feeding in the half-dried bed of a little stream near by.
The hunter raised his rifle to his shoulder quickly, and fired, and one of the birds fell over, struggled for a few seconds, and then lay still with its claws in the air. Jamie rushed off to secure it, and quickly dressed it while the trapper lighted a fire, and in a few minutes this fine fat bird was roasting on a spit, scenting the forest with the smell of roast turkey, and promising to allay every pang of hunger.
They made a hearty repast, and then washed it down with a drink at the little stream, before they continued their march. They had a trail now that a child could have followed, for at very frequent intervals there were splashes of blood, which marked the ground and showed the track of the wounded Algonquin, so that they were able to move rapidly and without any loss of time for several miles.
"We must keep a sharp look-out for scouts now, trapper, for the varlets know that we are on their track."
"That will only make them hurry forward, and I don't think that they will place many scouts in their rear. The only thing that I fear is that they will not camp to-night, but press on in order to get to the Canadas as quickly as possible. In that case, should the chief be detained, they may pass the Falls before he gets there, and reach Ontario. So we must follow close. We cannot be far from Lake Seneca now."
"Cannot we follow them there?"
"No. They will be safe behind the guns of the Frenchers."
"Is it true then, hunter, that all the Canada Indians look up to Louis as their king, and call him their 'Great French Father' across the water, and that they are in league with him to drive all the English from the Americas, and to make it a great French Empire?"
"'Tis even so, my lad! And 'tis my firm belief that the Canada war-parties, like the one whose trail we are now following, are sent to stir up strife, to tomahawk and scalp the English settlers, to destroy their harvests and burn their houses, by the Frenchers at Quebec and the frontier forts; but they defeat their own objects, for they have lately stirred up all the tribes of the Iroquois as well as the Delawares to become the active allies of the English."
"And what will be the end of it all, trapper?"
"The end of it will be, that the Frenchers themselves before long will be driven out of Canada, just as they have lately been driven out of India, by a few determined Englishmen, under that brilliant merchant-soldier, Clive."
"Indeed! Do you think it possible to drive the French out of Quebec? They have made the place impregnable. When I left there they ridiculed the idea that the English would ever attempt to take it."
"Time will show," said the trapper. "Do you know that even now a British fleet is holding the river, and an English army is encamped about Quebec?"
"Is it possible? How I should like to be there and to serve under Wolfe's flag; but how did you learn all this in the forest?"
"Even the forest can speak to those who have ears to listen. Why did the Algonquins depart so rapidly, and make no attempt to recapture me, when the price of fifty beaver-skins has been set upon my scalp by the Canadas during the past five years? They could not know then that the Iroquois were upon their trail."
"Why, indeed; unless they were summoned hastily back to their own country, or was it that they feared the wrath of the Senecas and the Cayugas, whose hunting-grounds they had invaded?"
"Partly that, perhaps, for the Senecas, like all the other tribes of the Six Nations, are a fierce and warlike race; but there was another reason."
"What was it?"
"Listen! The night before I escaped, a messenger, with a war-hatchet all covered with blood, entered the Algonquin camp. He also carried a broad belt of wampum, and the skin of a rattlesnake filled with arrows; while his tomahawk was stained a deep red, in token of war. He was received with great deference, and when he had handed the war-belt to the Algonquin chief, he declared that a fierce and bloody war had broken out between the French Father and the children of Miquon, and that the former needed all his red children to come and assist him. He promised them 'a great plenty' of paleface scalps if they would come; but if they refused, then, if the English won, they would take from the children of the Manitou all their hunting-grounds, and burn their wigwams and lodges to the ground, until the prints of their moccasins should no longer be found in the forests.
"When the messenger had finished speaking he showered the arrows upon the earth, and then flung the blood-red hatchet upon the ground, saying–
"'Even now the River of Canada is full of big canoes that carry the thunder and the lightning, and the paleface warriors from over the great Salt Lake, led by a mighty chieftain named Le Loup [Wolfe], have settled around the fortress of Canada, like a swarm of locusts. Come, my brothers! Who will take up the hatchet to fight for the Great Canada Father?'
"After a long pause, as if to give due weight and consideration to this important message, the Algonquin chief arose from his seat by the council fire, and made a brief but solemn speech, which, after extolling the prowess of his ancestors and himself, ended in a promise to return and assist the French, as soon as the scattered members of the party returned, and the scouts were called in. He then proceeded slowly to the spot where the hatchet was half buried, and solemnly took it up.
"A wild burst of savage yells greeted this action, and the evening was given up to a war-dance. Next day, while the parties were coming in, one of the scouts was scalped, as you know, by Young Eagle, and the departure was delayed another day.
"Thus it was," continued the trapper, "that I learnt of the arrival of Wolfe, and that the plight of the French was so bad that all their Indian allies had been called in to assist them, with a promise of a 'great plenty' of paleface scalps. A promise which never fails to attract a red man."
This was news that fired Jamie's soul. What would he not give to join his countrymen, and to help in wresting the Canadas from the French? At that moment he envied the smallest drummer-boy in Wolfe's army the part he was to play in the siege.
"If only Jack were free," he said to himself, "we would start for Quebec to-morrow, and offer our services; and Jack shall be free, if brave men can save him!" Then overtaking the trapper, who was a few yards in advance, for during this conversation they had been following the trail in single file, he said–
"In another two hours the sun will be entering the pines. I shall be glad when we reach one of the streams that flows into the lake. Surely we cannot be far away now!"
The hunter at that instant halted suddenly, and exclaimed, "The varmint!"
"What's the matter?" inquired Jamie, noting the anxious look on the face of his companion.
"They have misled us. This is a false trail. Several of the Algonquins have come this way in order to mislead us, and then doubled back, walking backwards. It must be so, for look–the trail ends here."
It was only too true. For nearly a mile, through tangled forest, across streams and open glades, they had followed a false trail.
"That comes of talking too much. Your Indian, when he is on the warpath, doesn't spill a word, except his blessed 'Ugh!', for he keeps his nose down to the trail. However, there is no help for it. We must go back till we strike the main trail again." This all took valuable time, but at last they discovered the spot where the tracks diverged, and they got the scent once more. The real trail had been so neatly covered up, for fifty yards or more, and the false one left open, that it was no wonder that the mistake was made.
Even here their difficulties did not end, for within another quarter of an hour they came to a spot where several small streams met, and here also the trail ended abruptly, and although they examined each bank for some distance they were unable to discover any clue as to the route taken by the Algonquins.
Time was precious, and a full half-hour had already been wasted here, when the trapper, who had carefully examined each of the bigger streams, turned his attention to the third, which was a mere rivulet. Proceeding twenty yards up the bank of the stream, he dammed up the rivulet with a few stones, backed by earth-sods, and turned it temporarily out of its course, so that almost immediately it ran dry. Then, following the dried-up bed of the stream, he soon perceived the print of a moccasin, that had only been half-washed away by the water.
"Look!" he said, "even the water sometimes gives up its secrets. Here is the trail–let us follow it."
Half-a-mile further on they came to a place where the whole band had left the stream, and struck into the forest again, and just as the sun was getting low amongst the trees they struck a larger stream that was capable of bearing a canoe.
"They have taken to the water! See, here are the marks made by the bows of the canoes, as they pushed off," said the trapper.
"And here is the spot where the boats were hidden amongst the bushes!" exclaimed Jamie.
"Yes. Let us look around and see if by any chance they have left us a spare canoe, for if I am not mistaken they have left nearly a dozen of their warriors in the Iroquois forests."
A diligent search was made, but no trace of a canoe could be found anywhere. The only thing they could find was a spare paddle, which the trapper took along with him, saying–
"A paddle without a canoe is not worth much, but if we discover a canoe and haven't got a paddle, we shall not be much better off."
They had not proceeded far down the bank of the stream when the keen eyes of the hunter, despite the failing light, perceived a stranded canoe on the other side of the river.
"I thought so!" he exclaimed. "The rascals had one canoe too many, but to prevent us using it they set it adrift, and the current has landed it across there. I will fetch it."
"No, no!" said Jamie. "I'll fetch it," and, throwing off his hunting shirt, he plunged into the stream, and swam across to where the canoe had gone ashore, jammed between two rocks. He had taken the paddle with him, and he quickly returned in the canoe, which was none the worse for its little adventure, except that there was a small hole in the bow, which the trapper soon repaired.
"There is no time to lose. We must hasten; for unless the Algonquins camp somewhere along the lake, we shall be too late," said the hunter.
The sun had set half-an-hour ago, as they paddled swiftly down stream; but there was still a crimson glow from amongst the pines on the western side of the river. Sometimes they skimmed along with the current without putting in the paddle, the next moment they danced and twisted amongst the rapids; but the trapper piloted the canoe safely amongst the rocks, the eddies and the swirls, ever seeking the most sheltered spots.
Suddenly, a bend in the river revealed to them the opening of the lake, and in another moment they were skimming along its glassy surface, close in-shore. This narrow lake is thirty-five miles long, and from one to three miles broad, and long before they had covered half its length darkness fell, but they slackened not their efforts. They paddled in turn, quietly but swiftly, ever keeping a careful watch lest they should discover the camp-fire of the enemy.
They were approaching a headland that jutted out some little way into the lake, and were scarce a dozen yards from the thick bushes which overhung the bank, when the screech of an owl reached their ears from the shore.
Jamie, who held the paddle, stayed his hand for a moment, and peered into the darkness. A dark shadowy form was standing on a rock at the very edge of the water, with an uplifted hand that indicated danger.
He knew that form and that call too well to hesitate. "It is Swift Arrow," he whispered; and drove the canoe in gently towards the shore.
