She stood lithely upright, one smooth knee nestling to the other, her feet in their ankle moccasins planted parallel and close together, and her body all glistening like a gold dragon-fly.

  From her painted cincture hung her war-sporran, — a narrow cascade of pale blue wampum barred with scarlet and lined with winter weasel. Hatchet and knife swung from either hip; powder-horn and bullet-wallet dangled beneath her arm-pits. A war bow and a quiver full of scarlet arrows hung at her back. Her hair, shoulder-short and glossy-thick, was bound above the brows by a tight scarlet circlet. From this, across her left ear, sagged a heron’s feather.

  Never had I beheld such wild and supple grace in any living thing save only in a young panther clothed in the soft, dun-gold of her wedding fur.

  “Thiohero,” I said, “little sister to whom has been given an instinct more delicate than ours, and senses more subtle, and a wisdom both human and superhuman, — you who listen when the forest trees talk one to another under the full moon’s lustre, — you who understand the speech of our lesser comrades that fly through the air paths on bright wings, or run through the dusky woodlands on four furry feet — you who speak secretly with the mighty dead; who whisper and laugh with fairies and little people and stone-throwers; who with your magic drum can make worn-out and cast-off moccasins dance; whose ancestress ate live coals to frighten away the Flying Heads; whose forefathers destroyed the Stonish Giants; we Oneidas of the clan of the Little Red Foot are now of one mind concerning the war-trail we ought to take and follow to the end!

  “Little sister; we desire to know your opinion. Hiero!”

  Then the Little Maid of Askalege folded her arms, looking me intently in the eyes.

  “Brother, and my Captain,” she said very quietly, “a year ago I told you that you should come from Howell’s house in scarlet. And it was so.

  “And while you lay at Summer House a Caughnawaga woman, with yellow hair, washed the scarlet from your body.

  “And there came a day when, we met under apple-trees in green fruit — this Yellow Haired woman and I. And, stopping, we confronted each the other; and looked deeply into one another’s minds.

  “Brother: when I discovered that Yellow Hair was in love with you I became angry. But when I discovered that this young woman also was a sorceress, then I became afraid.

  “Brother: there was a vision in her mind, and I also beheld the scene she gazed at.

  “Brother: we saw a battle in the North, and men in strange uniforms, and cannon smoke. And we both were looking upon you; and upon a shape near you, which stood wrapped to the head in white garments.

  “Brother: I do not know what that shape may have been which stood robed in white like a Chief of the Eight Plumed Ones.

  “But at that moment we both understood — the Yellow Haired one and I — that you must surely travel to this place we gazed at.

  “So it makes no difference where you decide to go; all trails lead to that appointed place; and you shall surely come there at the hour appointed, though you travel the world over and across before you shall at last arrive.

  “Brother: we Oneida, of the Allied Clan of the Little Red Foot, are now of one mind with our elder brother. He is our chief and Captain. He has spoken as an Oneida to Oneidas. We understand. We thank him for his love offered. We thank him for his kinship offered. We accept; and, in our turn, we offer to our elder brother and Captain our love and our kinship. We take him among us as an Oneida.

  “At this our fire — for alas! no fire shall burn again at Onondaga, nor at Oneida Lake, nor at The Wood’s Edge, nor at Thendara — I, Thiohero, Sorceress of Askalege, and Oyaneh, salute an Oneida chief and Sachem. Hail Royaneh!”

  “Hai! Royaneh!” shouted the young warriors in rising excitement.

  The girl come to me slowly, stooped and tore from the ground a strand of club-moss. Then, straightening up, she lifted her arms and held the chaplet of moss over my head, — symbol of the chief’s antlers.

  “O nen ti eh o ya nen ton tah ya qua wen ne ken....”

  Her young voice faltered, broke:

  “Tah o nen sah gon yan nen tah ah tah o nen ti ton tah ken yahtas!” she added in a strangled voice: “Now I have finished. Now show me the man!”

  “He is here!” cried the excited Oneidas. “He wears the antlers!”

  Tahioni stretched out his hand; it was trembling when he touched the red foot sewed on my hunting shirt.

  “What is his name, O Thiohero, whom you have raised up among the Oneida? Who mourn a great man dead?”

  A deep silence fell among them; for what their prophetess had done meant that she must have knowledge that a great man and chief among the Oneida lay dead somewhere at that very moment.

  Slowly the girl turned her head from one to another; a veiled look drowned her gaze; the young men were quivering in the imminence of a revelation based upon knowledge which could be explained only by sorcery.

  Then the Little Maid of Askalege took a dry stick from the pretended fire, crumbled it, touched her lips with the powder in sign of personal and intimate mourning.

  “Spencer, Interpreter and Oneida Chief, shall die this week in battle,” she said in a dull voice.

  A murmur of horror and rage, instantly checked and suppressed, left the Oneidas staring at their prophetess.

  “Therefore,” she whispered, “I acquaint you that we have chosen this young man to take his place; we lift the antlers; we give him the same name, — Hahyion!”

  “Haih! Hahyion!” shouted the Oneidas with up-flung hands.

  I was dumb. I could not speak. I dared not ask this girl why and by what knowledge she presumed to predict the death of Spencer, and to raise me up in his place and give me the same name.

  In spite of me her magic made me shudder.

  But now that I was truly an Oneida, and in absolute authority, I must act quickly.

  “Come, then,” said I in a shaky voice, “we People of the Rock must march on the Gates of Sunset. If my fate lies there, why then I am due to die in that place!... Make ready, Oneidas!”

  The Screech-owl found a hollow under a windfall; and here we hurriedly hid our heavier baggage.

  Then, when all had completed painting the Little Red Foot on their bellies, I stepped swiftly ahead of them and turned northwest.

  “March,” I said in a low voice.

  We travelled as the honey-bee flies, and as rapidly while the going was good en route; but to cover this great triangle of forests we were obliged to use the tactics of hunting wolves and, from some given point, circle the surrounding country, in hopes of cutting the hidden British trail we sought.

  This delayed us; but it was the only way. And, like trained hunting dogs, we even quartered and cut up the wilderness, halting and encircling Cherry Valley on the second day out, because I knew how familiar was Walter Butler with that region and with the people who inhabited it, and suspected that he might be likely to lead his first attack over ground he knew so well.

  Ah, God! — had I known then what all the world knows now! And I erred only in guessing at the time of Cherry Valley’s martyrdom, not in estimating the ferocious purpose of young Walter Butler.

  * * *

  On the afternoon of our second day out from Schoharie, while we were still beating up the bush of the Cherry Valley district, I left my Indians and went alone down into the pretty settlement in quest of information and also to renew our scanty stock of provisions. I found the lovely place almost deserted, save for a few old men of the exempts working on a sort of fort around Colonel Clyde’s house, and a few women and children who had not yet gone off to Schenectady or Albany.

  I stopped at the house of the Wells family. John Wells, the father of my friend Bob, had been one of the Judges of the Tryon County courts, sitting on the bench with old John Butler, who now was invading us, with Sir John, in arms.

  Bob was away on military duty, but there were in the house his mother, his wife, his four little children, his brother Jack, and Janet, his engaging sister whom I had admired so often at the Hall, and who was beloved like a daughter by Sir William.

  I shall never forget the amazement of these delightful and kindly people when I appeared at their door in Cherry Valley, nor their affectionate hospitality when they learned my purpose and my errand.

  A sack of provisions was immediately provided me; their kindness and courtesy seemed inexhaustible, although even now the shadow of terror lay over Cherry Valley. Their young men under Colonels Clyde and Campbell had gone to join Herkimer; they were utterly destitute of defense against McDonald or Sir John if Schoharie were invaded, or if Stanwix fell, or if Herkimer gave way before St. Leger.

  They asked news of me very calmly, and I told them all I had learned and something of the sinister rumours which now were current in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys.

  They, in their turn, knew nothing positive of Sir John, but had heard that he was marching on Stanwix with St. Leger and Brant, and that a thousand savages were with them.

  My sojourn at the Wells house was brief; the family was evidently very anxious but not gloomy; even the children smiled courageously when I made my adieux; and my dear little friend, Janet, led me by the hand to the edge of the brush-field, through which I must travel to regain the forest, and kissed me at our parting.

  On the wood’s edge, I paused and looked back at the place called Cherry Valley, lying so peacefully in the sunshine, where in the fields grain already was turning golden green; and fat cattle grazed their pastures; and wisps of smoke drifted from every chimney.

  That is my memory of Cherry Valley in the sunny tranquillity of late afternoon, where tasseled corn like ranks of plumed Indians, covered vale and hillock; and clover and English grass grew green again after the first haying; and on some orchard trees the summer apples glimmered rosy ripe or lush gold among the leaves; — ah, God! — if I could have known what another year was to bring to Cherry Valley!

  There was no sound in the still settlement except a dull and distant stirring made by the workmen sodding parapets on the new and unfinished fort.

  From where I stood I could see the Wells house, and the little children at play in the dooryard; and Peter Smith, a servant, drawing water, who one day was to see his master’s family in their blood.

  I could make out Colonel Campbell’s house, too, and the chimney of Colonel Clyde’s house; and had a far glimpse of the residence of the Reverend Mr. Dunlop, the aged minister of Cherry Valley.

  From a gilded weather-cock I was able to guess about where Captain M’Kean should reside; and Mr. Mitchell’s barn I discovered, also. But M’Kean and his rangers must now be marching with Herkimer’s five regiments to meet the hordes of St. Leger.

  The sun sank blood-red behind the unbroken forests, and the sky over Cherry Valley seemed to be all afire as I turned away and entered the twilight of the woods, lugging my sack of provisions on my back.

  That night my Indians and I lay within rifle-shot of the Mohawk River; and at dawn we made a crow-flight of it toward Oneida Lake; and found not a trace of Sir John or of anybody in that trackless wilderness; and so camped at last, exhausted and discouraged.

  On the fourth day, toward sunset, the Screech-owl, roaming far out on our western flank, returned with news of a dead and stinking fire in the woods, and fish heads rotting in it; and he thought the last ember burnt out some four days since.

  He took us to it in the dark, and his was a better woodcraft than I could boast, who had been Brent-Meester, too. At dawn we examined the ashes, but discovered nothing; and we were eating our parched corn and discussing the matter of the fire when, very far away in the west, a shot sounded; and in that same second we were on our feet and listening like damned men for the last trumpet.

  My heart made a deadened rataplan like a muffled drum, and seemed to deafen me, so terribly intent was I.

  Tahioni stretched out like a panther sunning on a log; and laid his ear flat against the earth. Seconds grew to minutes; nobody stirred; no other sound came from the westward.

  Presently I turned and signalled in silence; my Indians crawled noiselessly to their allotted intervals, extending our line north and south; then, trailing my rifle, I stole forward through an open forest, beneath the ancient and enormous trees of which no underbrush grew in the eternal twilight.

  Nothing stirred. There were no animals here, no birds, no living creature that I could hear or see, — not even an insect.

  Under our tread the mat of moist dead leaves gave back no sound; the silence in this dim place was absolute.

  We had been creeping forward for more than an hour, I think, before I discovered the first sign of man in that spectral region.

  I was breasting a small hillock set with tall walnut trees, in hopes of obtaining a better view ahead, and had just reached the crest, and, lying flat, was lifting my head for a cautious survey, when my eye caught a long, wide streak of sunlight ahead.

  My Indians, too, had seen this tell-tale evidence which indicated either a stream or a road. But we all knew it was a road. We could see the sunshine dappling it; and we crawled toward it, belly dragging, like tree-cats stalking a dappled fawn.

  Scarce had we come near enough to observe this road plainly, and the crushed ferns and swale grasses in the new waggon ruts, when we heard horses coming at a great distance.

  Down we drop, each to a tree, and lie with levelled pieces, while slop! thud! clink! come the horses, nearer, nearer; and, to my astonishment and perplexity, from the east, and travelling the wrong way.

  I cautioned my Oneidas fiercely against firing unless I so signalled them; we lay waiting in an excitement well nigh unendurable, while nearer and nearer came the leisurely sound of the advancing horses.

  And now we saw them! — three red-coat dragoons riding very carelessly westward on this wide, well-trodden road which now I knew must lead to Oneida Lake.

  I could see the British horsemen plainly. The day was hot; the sun beat down on their red jackets and helmets; they sat their saddles wearily; their faces were wet with perspiration, and they had loosened jacket and neck-cloth, and their pistols were in holster, and their guns slung upon their backs.

  It was plain that these troopers had no thought of precaution nor entertained any apprehension of danger on this road, which must lie in the rear of their army, and must also be their route of communication between the Lake and the Mohawk.

  Slap, slop, clink! they trampled past us where my Oneidas lay a-tremble like crouched cats to see the rats escaping on their runway.

  But my ears had caught another sound, — the distant noise of wheels; and I guessed that this was a waggon which the three horsemen should have escorted, but, feeling entirely secure, had let their horses take their own gait, and so had straggled on far ahead of the convoy with which they should have kept in touch.

  The waggon was far away. It approached slowly. Already the horsemen had ridden clear out o’ sight; and we crept to the edge of the road and lay flat in the weeds, waiting, listening.

  Twice the approaching vehicle halted as though to rest the horses; the dragoons must have been a long way ahead by this time, for it was some minutes since the sound of their horses’ hoofs had died away in the woods.

  And now, near and ever nearer, creeps the waggon; and now it seems close at hand; and now we see it far away down the road, slowly moving toward us.

  But it is no baggage-wain, — no transport cart that approaches us. The two horses are caparisoned in bright harness; the driver wears a red waistcoat and is a negro, and powdered. The vehicle is a private coach which lurches, though driven cautiously.

  “Good God!” said I, “that is Sir John’s family coach! Tahioni, hold your Oneidas! For I mean to find out who rides so carelessly to Oneida Lake, confiding too much in the army which has passed this way!”

  Slowly, slowly the coach drew near our ambush. I recognized Colas as the coachman pro tem; I knew the horses and the family coach; saw the Johnson arms emblazoned on the panels as I rose from the roadside weeds.

  “Colas!” I said quietly.

  The negro pulled in his horses and sat staring at me, astounded.

  I walked leisurely past the horses to the window of the coach. And there, seated, I saw Polly Johnson and Claudia Swift.

  There ensued a terrible silence and they gazed upon me as though they were looking upon a dead man.

  “Jack Drogue!” whispered Claudia, “how — how come you here?”

  I bowed, my cap in my hand, but could not utter a word.

  “Jack! Jack, are — are you alone?” faltered Lady Johnson. “Good heavens, what does this mean, I beg of you? — —”

  “Where are your people, Polly?” I asked in a dead voice.

  “My — my people? Do you mean my husband?”

  “I mean him.... And his troops. Where are they at this moment?”

  “Do you not know that the army is before Stanwix?”

  “I know it now,” said I gravely.

  “Mercy on us, Jack!” cried Claudia, finding her voice shrilly; “will you not tell us how it is that we meet you here on the Oneida road and close to our own army?”

  I shook my head: “No, Claudia, I shall not tell you. But I must ask you how you came here and whither you now are bound. And you must answer.”

  They gazed at my sombre face with an intentness and anxiety that made me sadder than ever I was in all my life.

  Then, without a word, Lady Johnson laid aside the silken flap of her red foot-mantle. And there my shocked eyes beheld a new born baby nursing at her breast.

  “We accompanied my husband from Buck Island to Oswego,” she said tremulously. “And, as the way was deemed so utterly secure, we took boat at Oneida Lake and brought our horses.... And now are returning — never dreaming of danger from — from your people — Jack.”

  I stared at the child; I stared at her.

  “In God’s name,” I said, “get forward then, and hail your horsemen escort. Say to them that the road is dangerous! Take to your batteau and get you to Oswego as soon as may be. And I strictly enjoin you, come not this way again, for there is now no safety in Tryon for man or woman or child, nor like to be while red-coat or green remains within this new-born nation!

 

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