Complete weird tales of.., p.1155
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 1155
From the edge of Brakabeen Wood, looking out over the valley, we could hear firing in the direction of Stone House, more musketry toward Fox Creek.
“McDonald is in Schoharie,” I said to Tahioni. “There will be many dead here, women and children and the grey-haired. Are my brothers of the Little Red Foot too weary to strike?”
The young Oneida warrior laughed. I looked at my ragged comrades where they crouched in their frightful paint, listening excitedly to the distant firing, and I saw their lean cheeks twitching and their nostrils a-flare as they scented the distant fighting.
The wild screaming of the pibroch, too, seemed to madden them; and it enraged me, also, because I saw that Sir John’s Highlanders were here with McDonald’s fantastic crew and had come to slaughter us all with their dirks and broad-swords as they had threatened before Sir John fled North.
We turned to the left and I led my Oneidas in a file through the ferny glades of Brakabeen Wood, and amid still places where clear streams ran deep in greenest moss; where tall lilies nodded their yellow Chinese caps in the flowery swale; where, in the demi-light of forest aisles, nothing grew save the great trees bedded there since the dawn of time, which sprung their vast arches high above us to support their glowing tapestry of leaves.
It was mid-afternoon when, smelling hot smoke, we came near the woods by the river; and saw, close to us, a barn afire, and three men carrying guns, running hither and thither in a hay field and setting every stack aflame with their torches.
One o’ the fellows was a drummer in the green uniform of Butler’s Rangers, and his drum was slung on his back. And I knew him. He was Michael Reed of Fonda’s Bush, and cousin to Nick Stoner.
And then, to my astonishment and rage, I saw Dries Bowman in his farmer’s clothes; and the other man was a huge German — one of their chasseurs, who wore a stiff pig-tail that was greased, and a black mustache, and waist-high spatter-dashes — a very barbarian in red and blue and green; and grunting and puffing as he ran about in the hot sunshine to set the hay-cocks afire with his torch.
I remember giving no command; we sprang out of the woods, trailing our rifles in our left hands; and Bowman fired at me and, missing, started to run; but I got him by his collar and knocked him over with my gun-butt.
The Hessian chasseur instantly drew up and fired in our direction; and Tahioni shot him dead in his tracks, where he fell heavily on his back and lay in the grass with limbs outspread.
“You may take his scalp! I care not!” shouted I, watching my Oneidas, who had got at Micky Reed and were striving to take him alive as I had ordered.
But Reed had a big dragoon’s pistol in his belt and would have used it had not Kwiyeh killed him swiftly with his hatchet.
But I would not permit them to take Reed’s scalp, and bade them despoil the body quickly and bring the leather cross-belts and girdle to me.
Hanatoh ran up and caught Dries Bowman by the collar; and we jerked him to his feet and dragged and hustled him into the woods. And here despoiled him, pulling from his pockets a Royal Protection and a bundle of papers, which revealed him as a spy sent down to preach treason in Schoharie and carry what men he might corrupt as recruits to McDonald and Sir John.
“That’s enough to hang him!” I said sharply to Tahioni. “Link me up those drummer’s cross-belts!”
“What — what do you mean, John Drogue!” stammered the wretch. “Would you murder an old neighbour?”
“That same old neighbour would have murdered me at Howell’s house. And now is come disguised in civilian clothing to Schoharie with a spy’s commission, to raise the district in arms against us.”
“My God!” he shrieked, as Tahioni flung the leather halter about his neck, “is it a crime if honest men stand by their King?”
“Not when they stand out in plain day and wear a red coat or a green,” said I, flinging the leather halter over the oak tree’s limb.
Hanatoh swiftly pinioned his arms and tied his wrists; I tossed the halter’s end to Kwiyeh. Tahioni also took hold of it.
“Hoist that spy!” I said coldly. And in a second more his feet were kicking some half dozen inches above the ground.
My Oneidas fastened the halter to a stout bush; I was shaking all over and felt sick and dizzy to hear him raling and choking in the leather noose which was too stiff for the ghastly business.
But at that instant Tahioni shouted a shrill warning; I looked over my shoulder and saw a great number of soldiers wearing red patches on their hats, running across the burning hayfield to surround us.
Yet it needed better men than McDonald’s to take me and my Oneidas in Brakabeen Wood. We turned and plunged into the bush, leaving the wretched spy hanging to the oak, his convulsed body now spinning dizzily round and round above the ground.
Looking back as I ran, I soon saw that the men who were chasing us had little stomach for a pursuit which must presently lead to bush-fighting. They shouted and halooed, but lagged as they arrived at the denser woods; and they seemed to have no officers to encourage them, or if they indeed possessed any I saw none.
Tahioni came fiercely to me, where I had halted, to watch the red-patch soldiers, saying that we had now been out thirteen days and had taken but three scalps. He said that to hang a man was not a proper vengeance to atone the death of Thiohero; and wanted to know why my prisoners should not be delivered to him and his Oneida comrades, who knew how to punish their enemies.
Which speech so angered me that I had a mind to take him by the throat. Only the sudden memory of our Red Foot clan-ship, and of Thiohero, deterred me. Also, that was no way to treat any Indian; and to lose my self-control was to lose the Oneidas’ respect and my authority over them.
“My brother, Tahioni,” said I coldly, “should not forget that he is my younger brother.
“If Tahioni were older, and possessed of more wisdom and experience, he would know that unless a chief asks opinions none should be offered.”
The youth’s eyes flashed at me and he stiffened under a rebuke that is hard for any Iroquois to swallow.
“My younger brother,” said I, “ought to know that I am not like an officer of Guy Johnson’s Indian Department, who delivers prisoners to the Mohawks. I deliver no prisoner to any Indian. I obey my orders, and expect my Indians to obey mine. They are free always to take Indian scalps. The scalps of white men they take only if permitted by me.”
Tahioni hung his head, the Screech-owl and the Water-snake nodded emphatic assent.
“Yonder,” said I, “are the red-patch soldiers. They are Tory marauders and outlaws. If you can ambush and cut off any of them, do so. And I care not if you scalp them, either. But if any are taken I shall not deliver them to any Oneida fire. No prisoner of this flying scout shall burn.”
The Water-snake twitched my sleeve timidly.
“Hahyion,” he said, “we obey. But an Iroquois prefers the fire and torment to the noose. Because he can sing his death songs and laugh at his enemies through the flames. But what man can sing or boast when a rope chokes his speech in his throat?”
I scarcely heeded him, for I was watching the red-patch soldiers, who now were leaving the woods and crossing the hayfield, which still was smoking where the fire made velvet-black patches in the dry grass.
The barn had fallen in and was only a great heap of glowing coals, over which a pale flame played in the late afternoon sunshine.
Listening and looking after the red-patches, I heard very distinctly the sound of guns in the direction of Stone House.
Now, while it was none of my business to hang on McDonald’s flanks for prisoners and scalps, it was my business to observe him and what he might be about in Schoharie; and to carry this news to Saratoga by way of Johnstown, along with my budget concerning Stanwix and St. Leger.
Besides, Stone House lay on my way. So I signalled my Indians and started west. And it was not very long before we came upon two Schoharie militia-men whom I knew, Jacob Enders and George Warner, who took to a tree when they discovered my Oneidas in their paint, but came out when I called them by name, and gave an account that they were hunting a notorious Tory, — a renegade and late officer in the Schoharie Regiment, — a certain George Mann, a captain, who would have carried his entire company to McDonald, but was surprised in his villainy and had fled to the woods near Fox Creek.
I told them that we had not seen this fellow, and asked for news; and Warner showed me a scalp which he said he took an hour ago from Ogeyonda, after shooting that treacherous savage at the Flockey.
He gave it to Tahioni, which pleased the Oneida mightily and contented me; for I hate to see any white man take a scalp, though Tim Murphy and Dave Elerson took them as coolly as they took any other peltry.
Warner said that McDonald was up the valley, murdering and burning his way westward; that cavalry from Albany had just arrived, had raided Brick House and taken prisoner a lot of red-patch militia, forced them to tear up their Royal Protections, tied up the most obnoxious, and kicked out the remainder with a warning.
He said, further, that Adam Crysler and Joseph Brown, of Clyberg, were great villains and had joined McDonald with Billy Zimmer and others; and that McDonald had a motley army, full of kilted Highlanders, chasseurs, red-patches, Indians, and painted Tories; and that the cavalry from Albany were marching to meet them, reinforced by Schoharie mounted-militia under Colonel Harper.
And now, even as Warner was still speaking, we heard the trumpet of the cavalry on the river road below; and, running out to the forest’s edge, we saw the Albany Riders marching up the river, — two hundred horsemen in bright new helmets and uniforms, finely horsed, their naked sabers all glittering in the sun, and their trumpeter trotting ahead on a handsome white charger.
The horses, four abreast, were at a fast walk; flankers galloped ahead on either wing. And, as we hurried down to the road, an officer I knew, Lieutenant Wirt, came spurring forward to meet and question us, followed by two troopers, — one named Rose and the other was Jake Van Dyck, whom I also recognized.
“Jack Drogue, by all the gods of war!” cried the handsome lieutenant, as I saluted and spoke to him by name.
“Dave Wirt!” I exclaimed, offering my hand, which he grasped, leaning wide from his saddle.
He turned his mount toward the road again, and I and my Oneidas walked along beside him.
“Are those your tame panthers?” he demanded, pointing toward my Oneidas with his sword. “If they are, then we should have agreeable work for them and for you, Jack Drogue. For Vrooman and his men are in Stone House and the red-patches fire on them whenever they show a head; and our cavalry are like to strike McDonald at any moment now. We caught two of his damned spies — —”
At that instant, far down the road I saw a woman; and even at that distance I recognized her.
“Yonder walks a bad citizen,” said I sharply. “That is Madame Staats!”
We had now arrived beside the moving column of riders; and, as I spoke, a dozen cavalrymen shouted: “Here comes Rya’s Pup!”
A captain of cavalry who spoke English with a French accent shouted to the Pup and beckoned her; but she turned and ran the other way.
Immediately two troopers spurred after her and caught her as she was fording the river; and each seized her by a hand, turned their horses, and trotted back to us with their prisoner, amid shouts of laughter.
Rya’s Pup, breathless from her enforced run, fairly spat at us in her fury, cursing and threatening and holding her panting flanks in turn.
“You dirty rebel dogs!” she screamed, “wait till McDonald catches you! Ah — there’ll be blood enow for you all to wade in as I waded in the river yonder, when your filthy cavalry headed me!”
Wirt tried to question her, but she mocked us all, boasted that McDonald had a huge army at the Flockey, and that he was now on his way to Stone House to destroy us all.
“Turn that slut loose!” said the Captain sharply.
So we let go the Pup, and she turned and legged it, yelling her scorn and fury as she ran; and we saw her go floundering and splashing across the river, doubtless to carry news of us to McDonald.
And it contented us that she so do, because now we came upon Stone House, where the small garrison under a Lieutenant Wallace had ventured out and were a-digging of a ditch and piling fence rails across the road to stop McDonald’s riders in a charge.
Here, also, were Harper’s mounted militia, sitting their saddles, poorly armed with militia fire-locks.
But we had a respectable force and were ashamed to await the outlaws behind ditch and rail; so we marched on through the gathering dusk to a house about two miles further, where a dozen strangely painted horsemen galloped away as we approached.
A yell of rage at sight of those blue-eyed Indians arose from our riders. Our trumpet sounded; the cavalry broke into a gallop.
It was now twilight.
I begged some mounted militia-men to take me and my Oneidas up behind them; and they were obliging enough to do so; and we jogged away into the rosy dusk of an August evening.
Almost immediately I saw the Flockey ahead, and Adam Crysler’s house on the bank; and on the lawn in front of it I saw McDonald’s grotesque legion drawn up in line of battle.
As I came up our cavalry was forming to charge; Lieutenant Wirt had just turned in his saddle to speak to me, when one of the outlaws ran out to the edge of the lawn and called across the road to Wirt that he should never live to marry Angelica Vrooman, but would die a dog’s death as he deserved.
As the cavalry charged, Wirt rode directly at this man, who coolly shot him out of his saddle.
I saw and recognized the outlaw, who was a Tory named Shafer.
As Wirt fell to the grass, stone dead, his horse knocked down Shafer. The Tory got up, streaming with blood but not badly hurt, and, clubbing his piece, attempted to dash out Wirt’s dead brains; but Trooper Rose swung his horse violently against Shafer, sabred him, and, in turn, fell from his own saddle, fatally wounded.
Another trooper dismounted to pick up poor Rose, who was in a bad way, but one of McDonald’s painted Tories fired on them and both fell.
I fired at this man and wounded him, and Tahioni chased him, caught him, and slew him by the fence.
Then, above the turmoil of horses and gun-shots, the Oneida’s terrific scalp-yell rang out in the deepening dusk; and at that dread panther-cry a panic seemed to seize McDonald’s men, for their grotesque riders suddenly whirled their horses and stampeded ventre-à-terre, riding westward like damned men; and I saw their Highlanders and Chasseurs and renegade Greens break and scatter into the forest on every side, melting away into the night before our eyes.
Into the brush leaped my Oneidas; their war-yells awoke the shuddering echoes of Brakabeen Wood. I saw a chasseur leap a rail fence, stumble, and fall with the Screech-owl on top of him. Again the awful Oneida scalp-yelp rang out under the first dim stars.
* * *
The cavalry returned and camped at Stone House that night. They brought in their dead by torch-light; and I saw Wirt’s body borne on a stretcher, and the corpse of Trooper Rose, and others.
One by one my Oneidas returned like blood-slaked and weary hounds. All had taken scalps, and sat late at our fire to hoop and stretch them, and neatly plait the miserable dead hair that hung all draggled from the pitiful shreds of skin.
At a cavalry watch-fire near to ours were also some people I knew — Mayfield men of a scout of six, just come in; and I went over to their fire and greeted them and questioned them concerning news from home.
Truman Christie was their lieutenant; Sol and Seely Woodworth, the two Reynolds, and Billy Dunham composed the scout; and all were in rifle-dress and keen to try their rifles on McDonald, but were arrived too late, and feared now that the outlaws were on their way to Canada.
Christie told me that the alarm in Johnstown and at Mayfield was great; that hostile Indians had been seen near Tribes Hill, and had killed a farmer there; that some people were leaving Caughnawaga and moving their household goods down the river to Schenectady.
“By God,” says he, “and I don’t blame ‘em, John Drogue! No! For a Mohawk war party is like to strike Caughnawaga at any hour; and why foolish folk, like old Douw Fonda, remain there is beyond my comprehension.”
“Douw Fonda!” said I, astonished. “Why, he is gone to Albany.”
“He came back a week ago,” says Christie. “They tell me that the young Patroon tried to dissuade the old gentleman from going, but could do nothing with him — Mr. Fonda being childish and obstinate — and so he had his way and summoned his coach and his three niggers and drove in state up the river to Caughnawaga. We passed that way on scout, and I saw the old gentleman two days ago sitting on his porch with his gold-headed walking stick and his book, and dozing there in the sun; and the yellow-haired girl knitting at his feet — —”
“What!”
He looked at me, startled by my vehemence.
“Sir,” said he, “did I say aught to offend you?”
“Good God, no. You say that the — the yellow-haired girl, Penelope Grant, is at Caughnawaga with Douw Fonda!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see her?”
“I did; and spoke with her.”
“What did she say?” I asked unsteadily.
“She said that Mr. Fonda had sent a negro servant to Johnstown to fetch her, because, having returned to Caughnawaga, he needed her.”
“I think Mr. Fonda’s three sons and their families must all be mad to permit the old gentleman to come to Caughnawaga in such perilous times as these!” I said sharply.
“And so do I think likewise,” rejoined Christie. “Let them think and say what they like, but, Mr. Drogue, I am an old Indian fighter and have served under Colonel Claus and Sir William Johnson. I know the Iroquois; I know their ways and wiles and craft and subtle designs; and I know how they think, and what they are most likely to do.
“And I say to you very solemnly, Mr. Drogue, that were I Joseph Brant I would strike Caughnawaga before snow flies. And, sir, under God, it is my honest belief that he will do exactly that very thing. And it will be a sorry business for the Valley when he does so!”
