Complete weird tales of.., p.1147
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 1147
Every twenty minutes or so the men in the batteau-skiff let off a rifle shot at Summer House, and the powder-cloud rising among the dead weeds, pinxters, and button-ball bushes, discovered the location of their craft.
Sometimes, as I say, I took a shot at the smoke; but time was the essence of my contract, and God knows it contented me to stand siege whilst Penelope and Nick, with waggon and cattle, were plodding westward toward Mayfield.
* * *
About four o’clock in the afternoon I was hungry and went to get me a piece in the pantry.
Then I took Yellow Leaf’s place whilst he descended to appease his hunger.
We ate our bread and meat together on the roof, our rifles lying cocked across our knees.
“Brother,” said I, munching away, “if, indeed, you be, as they say, a tree-eater, and live on bark and buds when there is no game to kill, then I think your stomach suffers nothing by such diet, for I want no better comrade in a pinch, and shall always be ready to bear witness to your bravery and fidelity.”
He continued to eat in silence, scraping away at his hot soupaan with a pewter spoon. After he had licked both spoon and pannikin as clean as a cat licks a saucer, he pulled a piece of jerked deer meat in two and gravely chewed the morsel, his small, brilliant eyes ever roving from the water to the mainland.
Presently, without looking at me, he said quietly:
“When I was only a poor hunter of the Montagnais, I said to myself, ‘I am a man, yet hardly one.’ I learned that a Saguenay was a real man when my brother told me.
“My brother cleared my eyes and wiped away the ancient mist of tears. I looked; and lo! I found that I was a real man. I was made like other men and not like a beast to be kicked at and stoned and driven with sticks flung at me in the forest.”
“The Yellow Leaf is a warrior,” I said. “The Oneida Anowara bear witness to scalps taken in battle by the Yellow Leaf. Tahioni, the Wolf, took no more.”
“Ni-ha-ron-ta-kowa,” said the Saguenay proudly, “onkwe honwe! Yet it was my white brother who cleared my eyes of mist. Therefore, let him give me a new name — a warrior’s name — meaning that my vision is now clear.”
“Very well,” said I, “your war name shall be Sak-yen-haton!” — which was as good Iroquois as I could pronounce, and good enough for the Montagnais to comprehend, it seemed, for a gleam shot from his eyes, and I heard him say to himself in a low voice: “Haiah-ya! I am a real warrior now!... Onenh! at last!”
A shot came from the water; he looked around contemptuously and smiled.
“My elder brother,” said he, “shall we two strip and set our knives between our teeth, and swim out to scalp those muskrats yonder?”
“And if they fire at us in the water?” said I, amused at his mad courage, who had once been “hardly a man.”
“Then we dive like Tchurako, the mink, and swim beneath the water, as swims old ‘long face’ the great wolf-pike! Shall we rush upon them thus, O my elder brother?”
Absurd as it was, the wild idea began to inflame me, and I was seriously considering our chances at twilight to accomplish such a business, when, of a sudden, I saw on the mainland an officer of the Indian Department, who bore a white rag on the point of his hanger and waved it toward the house.
He came across the Johnstown Road to our gate, but made no motion to open it, and stood there slowly waving his white flag and waiting to be noticed and hailed.
“Keep your rifle on that man,” I whispered to my Indian, “for I shall go down to the orchard and learn what are the true intentions of these green-coats and blue-eyed Indians. Find a rest for your piece, hold steadily, and kill that flag if I am fired on.”
I saw him stretch out flat on his belly and rest his rifle on the veranda rail. Then I crawled into the garret, descended through the darkened house, and, unbolting the door, went out and down across the grass to the orchard.
“What is your errand?” I called out, “you flag there outside our gate?”
“Is that you, John Drogue?” came a familiar voice.
I took a long look at him from behind my apple tree, and saw it was Jock Campbell, one of Sir John’s Highland brood and late a subaltern in the Royal Provincials.
And that he should come here in a green coat with these murderous vagabonds incensed me.
“What do you want, Jock Campbell!” I demanded, controlling my temper.
“I want a word with you under a flag!”
“Say what you have to say, but keep outside that gate!” I retorted.
“John Drogue,” says he, “we came here to burn Summer House, and mean to do it. We know how many you have to defend the place — —”
“Oh, do you know that? Then tell me, Jock, if you truly possess the information.”
“Very well,” said he calmly. “You are two white men, a Montagnais dog, and a girl. And pray tell me, sir, how long do you think you can hold us off?”
“Well,” said I, “if you are as thrifty with your skins as you have been all day, then we should keep this place a week or two against you.”
“What folly!” he exclaimed hotly. “Do you think to prevail against us?”
“Why, I don’t know, Jock. Ask Beacraft yonder, who hath a bullet in his belly. He’s wiser than he was and should offer you good counsel.”
“I offer you safe conduct if you march out at once!” he shouted.
“I offer you one of Beacraft’s pills if you do not instantly about face and march into the bush yonder!” I replied.
At that he dashed the flag upon the road and shook his naked sword at me.
“Your blood be on your heads!” he bawled. “I can not hold my Indians if you defy them longer!”
“Well, then, Jock,” said I, “I’ll hold ’em for you, never fear!”
He strode to the fence and grasped it.
“Will you march out? Shame on you, Stormont, who are seduced by this Yankee rabble o’ rebels when your place is with Sir John and with the loyal gentlemen of Tryon!
“For the last time, then, will you parley and march out? Or shall I give you and your Caughnawaga wench to my Indians?”
I walked out from behind my tree and drew near the fence, where he was standing, his sword hanging from one wrist by the leather knot.
“Jock Campbell,” said I, “you are a great villain. Do you lay aside your hanger and your pistols, and I will set my rifle here, and we shall soon see what your bragging words are worth.”
At that he drove his sword into the earth, but, as I set my rifle against a tree, he lifted his pistol and fired at me, and I felt the wind of the bullet on my right cheek.
Then he snatched his sword and was already vaulting the gate, when my Saguenay’s bullet caught him in mid-air, and he fell across the top rail and slid down on the muddy road outside.
Then, for the first time, I saw the two real Mohawks where they lay in ambush in the bush. One of them had risen to a kneeling position, and I saw the red flash of his piece and saw the smoke blot out the tree-trunk.
For a second I held my fire; then saw them both on the ground under the alders across the road, and fired very carefully at the nearest one.
He dropped his gun and let out a startling screech, tried to get up off the ground, screeching all the while; then lay scrabbling on the dead leaves.
I stepped behind an apple tree, primed and reloaded in desperate haste, and presently drew the fire of the other Indian with my cap on my ramrod.
Then, as I ran to the gate, my Saguenay rushed by me, leaping the fence at a great bound, and I saw his up-flung hatchet sparkle, and heard it crash through bone.
I shouted for him to come back, but when he obeyed he had two Mohawk scalps, and came reluctantly, glancing down at Campbell where he lay still breathing on the muddy road, and darting an uncertain glance at me.
But I told him with an oath that it would be an insult to me if he touched a white man’s hair in my presence; and he opened the gate and came inside like a great, sullen dog from whom I had snatched a bone of his own digging.
Very cautiously we retreated through the orchard to the house, entered, and climbed again to the roof.
And from there we saw that, in our absence, the boat had been rowed to our landing, and that its occupants were now somewhere on the mainland, doubtless preparing to assault the place as soon as dusk offered them sufficient cover.
Well, the game was nearly up now. Our people should have arrived by this time at Mayfield with sheep, cattle, and waggon. We had remained here to the limit of safety, and there was no hope of aid in time to save our skins or this house from destruction.
The sun was low over the forest when, at length, we crept out of the house and stole down to our canoe.
We made no sound when we embarked, and our craft glided away under the rushes, driven by cautiously-dipped paddles which left only silent little swirls on the dark and glassy stream.
Up Mayfield Creek we turned, which, above, is not fair canoe-water save at flood; but now the spring melting filled it brimfull, and a heavy current set into Vlaie Water so that there was labour ahead for us; and we bent to it as dusk fell over the Drowned Lands.
* * *
It was not yet full dark when, over my shoulder, I saw a faint rose light in the north. And I knew that Summer House was on fire.
Then, swiftly the rosy light grew to a red glow, and, as we watched, a great conflagration flared in the darkness, mounting higher, burning redder, fiercer, till, around us, vague smouldering shadows moved, and the water was touched with ashy glimmerings.
Summer House was all afire, and the infernal light touched us even here, painting our features and the paddle-blades, and staining the dark water with a prophecy of blood.
* * *
It was a long and irksome paddle, what with floating trees we encountered and the stream over its banks and washing us into sedge and brush and rafts of weed in the darkness. Again and again, checked by some high dam of drifted windfall, we were forced to make a swampy carry, waist high through bog and water.
Often, so, we were forced to rest; and we sat silent, panting, skin-soaked in the chilly night air, gazing at the distant fire, which, though now miles away, seemed so near. And I could even see trees black against the blaze, and smoke rolling turbulently, and a great whirl of sparks mounting skyward.
It was long past midnight when I hailed the picket at the grist-mill and drove our canoe shoreward into the light of a lifted lantern.
“Is Nick Stoner in?” I called out.
“All safe!” replied somebody on shore.
A dark figure came down to the water and took hold of our bow to steady us.
“Summer House and Fish House are burned,” said I, climbing out stiffly.
“Aye,” said the soldier, “and what of Fonda’s Bush, Mr. Drogue?”
“What!” I exclaimed, startled.
“Look yonder,” said he.
I scarce know how I managed to stumble up the bushy bank. And then, when I came out on level land near the block house, I saw fire to the southeast, and the sky crimson above the forest.
“My God!” I stammered, “Fonda’s Bush is all afire!”
There was a red light toward Frenchman’s Creek, too, but where Fonda’s Bush should lie a vast sea of fire rose and ebbed and waxed and faded above the forest.
“Were any people left there?” I asked.
“None, sir.”
“Thank God,” I said. But my heart was desolate, for now my house of logs that I had builded and loved was gone; my glebe destroyed; all my toil come to naught in the distant mockery of those shaking flames. All I had in the world was gone save for my slender funds in Albany.
“Where are my friends?” said I to a soldier.
“At the Block House, sir, and very anxious concerning you. They have not long been in, but Nick Stoner is all for going back to Summer House to discover your whereabouts, and has been beating up recruits for a flying scout.”
Even as he spoke, I saw Nick come up the road with a torch, and called out to him.
“Where have you been, John Drogue?” said he, coming to me and laying a hand on my shoulder.
“Is Penelope safe?” I asked.
“She is as safe as are any here in Mayfield. Is it Summer House that burns in the north, or only the marsh hay?”
“The whole place is afire,” said I. “A dozen green-coats, blue-eyed Indians, and two real ones, burnt Fish House and attacked us at Summer House. I saw and knew Jock Campbell, Henry Hare, Billy Newberry, Barney Cane, Eli Beacraft, and George Cuck. My Saguenay mortally wounded Jock. He’s lying on the road. He tomahawked a Canienga, too, and took his scalp and another’s.”
“Did you mark any of the dirty crew?” demanded Nick.
“I shot Beacraft and one Mohawk. How many are we at the Block House?”
“A full company to hold it safe,” said he, gloomily. “Do you know that Fonda’s Bush is burning?”
“Yes.”
After a silence I said: “Who commands here? I think we ought to move toward Johnstown this night. I don’t know how many green-coats have come to the Sacandaga, but it must have been another detachment that is burning Fonda’s Bush.”
As I spoke a Continental Captain followed by a Lieutenant came up in the torch-light; and I gave him his salute and rendered an account of what had happened on the Drowned Lands.
He seemed deeply disturbed but told me he had orders to defend the Mayfield Fort. He added, however, that if I must report at Johnstown he would give me a squad of musket-men as escort thither.
“Yes, sir,” said I, “my report should not be delayed. But I have Nick Stoner and an Indian, and apprehend no danger. So if I may beg a dish of porridge for my little company, and dry my clothing by your block-house fire-place, I shall set out within the hour.”
He was very civil, — a tall, haggard, careworn man, whose wife and children lived at Torloch, and their undefended situation caused him deep anxiety.
So I walked to the Fort, Nick and my Indian following; and presently saw Penelope on the rifle-platform of the stockade, among the soldiers.
She was gazing at the fiery sky in the north when I caught sight of her and called her name.
For a moment she bent swiftly down over the pickets as though to pierce the dark where my voice came from; then she turned, and was descending the ladder when I entered by the postern.
As I came up she took my shoulders between both hands, but said nothing, and I saw she had trouble to speak.
“Yes,” said I, “there is bad news for you. Your pretty Summer House is no more, Penelope.”
“Oh,” she stammered, “did you — did you suppose it was the loss of a house that has driven me out o’ my five senses?”
“Are your sheep and cattle safe?” I asked in sudden alarm.
“My God,” she breathed, and stood with her face in both hands, there at the foot of the ladder under the April stars.
“What is it frightens you?” I asked.
Her hands fell to her side and she looked at me: “Nothing, sir.... Unless it be myself,” she said calmly. “Your clothing is wet and you are shivering. Will you come into the fort?”
We went in. I remembered how I had seen her there that night, nearly a year ago, and all the soldiers gathered around to entertain her, whilst she supped on porridge and smiled upon them over her yellow bowl’s edge, like a very child.
The few soldiers inside rose respectfully. A sergeant drew a settle to the blazing fire; a soldier brought us soupaan and a gill of rum. Nick came in with the Saguenay, and they both squatted down in their blankets before the fire, grave as a pair o’ cats; and there they ate their fill of porridge at our feet, and blinked at the blaze and smoked their clays in silence.
I told Penelope that we must travel this night to Johnstown, it being my duty to give an account of what had happened, without delay.
“There can be no danger to us on the road,” said I, “but the thought of leaving you here in this fort disturbs me.”
“What would I do here alone?” she asked.
“What will you do alone in Johnstown?” I inquired in turn.
At the same time I realized that we both were utterly homeless; and that in Johnstown our shelter must be a tavern, or, if danger threatened, the fortified jail called Johnstown Fort.
“You will not abandon me, will you, sir?” she asked, touching my sleeve with the pretty confidence of a child.
“Why, no,” said I. “We can lodge at Jimmy Burke’s Tavern. And there is Nick to give us countenance — and a most respectable Indian.”
“Is it scandalous for me to go thither in your company?”
“What else is there for us to do?”
“I should go to Albany,” said she, “as soon as may be. And I am resolved to do so and to seek out Mr. Fonda and disembarrass you of any further care for me.”
“It is no burden,” said I; “but I do not know where I shall be sent, now that the war is come to Tryon County. And — I can not bear to think of you alone and unprotected, living the miserable life of a refugee in the women’s quarters at Johnstown Fort.”
“Does solicitude for my welfare truly occupy your thoughts, sir?”
“Why, yes, and naturally. Are we not close friends and comrades in misfortune, Penelope?”
“I counted it no misfortune to live at Summer House.”
“No, nor I.... I was very happy there.... Alas for your pretty cottage! — poor little châtelaine of Summer House!”
“John Drogue?”
“I hear you.”
“Did you suppose I ever meant to take that gift of you?”
“Why — why, yes! I gave it! Even now I have the deed to the land and shall convey it to you. And one day, God willing, a new cottage shall be built — —”
“Then you must build it, John Drogue, for the land is yours and I never meant to take it of you, and never shall.... And I thank you, — and am deeply beholden — and touched in my heart’s deep depths — that you have offered this to me.... Because you desired me to be respectable, and well considered by men.... And you wished me to possess substance which I lacked — so that none could dare use me lightly and without consideration.... And I promise you that I have learned my lesson. You have schooled me well, Mr. Drogue.... And if for no other reason save respect for you, and gratitude, I promise you I shall so conduct hereafter that you shall have no reason to think contemptuously of me.”
