Gustave Aimard
The Frontiersmen

"I am happy to see you, Miss Barton," said Ralph, "suffering no more from your perilous night-ride. That was an adventure which, I think, we shall remember."

"I shall not forget it very soon, at least," she replied. "I think you must confess that I showed you more of the peculiarities of forest life, than was arranged beforehand."

"Had you advertised me of precisely what we saw, we might have been a little better prepared," said Ralph: "but that adventure would make an excellent theme for a ballad, in the German style. It possessed sufficient of the mysterious and terrible for that purpose, certainly."

"You have visited us, Captain Weston," said Ruth, with seriousness, "in an unfortunate time for yourself. I hear that we are threatened with an attack from Indians."

"Do not say unfortunate. Miss Barton: rather, I deem myself most fortunate, in happening to be here at this time, should the attack which is threatened be made."

"I hope it may not be. O! it is horrible to think that this home I love so much should be the scene of such a conflict."

"I think that in no event can our safely be endangered," replied Ralph; "and that we have nothing to fear from the attack, should it be made. We have abundant means of defence, and the enemy is not strong enough, with the stout hearts we shall have within these walls, to force the cottage. But I can sympathize with your sorrow, Miss Barton. God has made this country too beautiful to be marred by the strife of men."

"It is a terrible blot on human nature," said Ruth, "that men dwelling so far from society, in the midst of the forest, where every object should excite sacred emotions, can engage in these unholy conflicts with each other. It is a proof – a strong proof, of the wretched condition of poor human nature, unassisted by the light that shines from above."

"Such is the nature of men," replied Ralph, "and surely perhaps, it will always be. The first men were warriors, and if ignorance and brutality always exist, the last men will be warriors, also. The whole history of the world has been written with the sword – places most sacred have been profaned by the bloody stains of human passion, and themes the most holy have given rise to the deadliest hatred and contention. We cannot expect that men educated in the ways of the forest, shall be wiser than those who boast of their civilization."

"But is there no way," asked Ruth, "in which this conflict can be avoided?"

"None, perhaps, that would be honorable." Ralph then gave an account of the wrongs which the Tuscarora had received from the Senecas, together with the capture of his squaw. Ruth acknowledged the impossibility of complying with the demands of the Senecas. Her heart at once sympathised with the wrongs of the Tuscarora; and the picture which her imagination drew of Singing-Bird in captivity in the hands of those unrelenting and unmerciful enemies, brought tears to her eyes.

"No, no," said she; "the Tuscarora has been our friend, and we cannot deliver him to his enemies. In such a cause, I could be a soldier myself."

Although Ruth had been educated to a far different manner of life, and in former times had enjoyed many of the luxuries which would then be afforded by persons in "comfortable" circumstances, yet she possessed sufficient of that heroism of character which the times had engendered, to enable her to throw off the habits of early education, and adopt the character of fortitude and patience in the midst of suffering, peculiar to the class of women in the station in which she then moved. Thus, although she viewed with dread the prospect of a strife with the savage and unmerciful enemies by whom they were then about to be attacked, she did not suffer herself to yield to the terrors which such an idea would be likely to inspire. The women of the times of the Revolution lost none of their feminine graces, by bearing with fortitude the perils and dangers by which they were encompassed.

Ralph gazed with admiration on that beautiful countenance, thus excited by a tender sympathy for the sufferings which she felt must be endured by the Tuscarora and Singing-Bird.

"With such soldiers," said he, "we could not but succeed; but we shall scarcely call upon Miss Barton to fall into the ranks, at present. We shall only do that as a last resort."

At this moment, their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Sambo, who informed Ralph that Mr. Barton desired his presence immediately. Ralph at once obeyed the summons; but its object we shall leave to the next chapter to unfold.

CHAPTER IX

 
"Here, Persian, tell thy embassy! Repeat
That, to obtain my friendship, Asia's prince
To me hath proffered sovereignty of Greece."
 

LEONIDAS.

Ralph found Mr. Barton and his companions in consultation upon some subject of apparent importance, from the anxiety which was manifested in their countenances. Two Indians of the Seneca Nation were seen approaching the cottage; and although as they were unarmed, no immediate hostility could be expected, yet it was evident they were coming upon some errand relative to the shelter of the Tuscarora. If such were the case, this departure from the ordinary caution of the Indian, might be evidence either of the desire not to come in conflict with the whites, or of a confidence, on their part, in their ability to succeed in any attack they might make upon the dwelling.

It was decided that Ralph, the Tuscarora and Gauthrie should remain in the cottage, while Barton and Ichabod should meet the approaching Indians, and ascertain the nature of their errand. With this view the two latter proceeded to a small grove which had been left uncleared, except of the underbrush, a short distance south of the dwelling.

The two Indians approached with an apparent feeling of security. They were to all appearance unarmed; and they exhibited a manner of confidence and amity intended to convince the persons with whom they were to deal, that their mission was a friendly one. One of these Indians was Deersfoot, whom we have already mentioned; the other was of a much less warlike appearance. He was small of stature, with a quick, cunning glance, and was celebrated among his people for oratory. His name was Snake-tongue, – given to him evidently, by reason of greater powers with his eloquence than with his rifle.

When they had approached within fifteen or twenty feet of the position occupied by Barton and Ichabod, the former advanced towards them with a smile, and welcomed them to his cottage.

"It is not often," said he, "that I have an opportunity to honor the young warriors of the Senecas. It is seldom that they visit the country of the Oneidas, in time of peace."

"The Oneidas and Senecas are brothers," said Deersfoot. "A cloud sometimes has passed between them; but there is no cloud now. They are brothers still. The young men of the Senecas came to look on the hunting grounds of their brothers."

"The country of the Senecas is not a good country, then?" asked Barton, "I had heard that the Senecas dwelt in a garden – that they owned large lakes that are filled with fish, and forests that are filled with deer."

"My father," said Deersfoot, in deference to the grey hairs of Barton, "my father tells the truth; such is the country of the Senecas. The Great Spirit has given us a good land to dwell in. He has given us lakes that are full of fish, and forests that are full of deer. The Senecas and Oneidas belong to the same nation; – together they conquered the Sennape; and the Senecas are proud when they hear of the fame of the Oneidas. Why should we not love to look upon the country of our brothers?"

"I am glad that you like to look upon this valley, Deersfoot. I am glad to hear that there is no cloud between the Senecas and the Oneidas. It would not be well if there were."

Barton had carefully abstained from touching the point which was likely to be that of controversy. It never comports with the dignity of an Indian to show haste or curiosity; and he knew that he could maintain a better position on the question which would probably arise, if he suffered them, without any manifestation of curiosity on his part, to unfold the nature of their errand.

"The Five Nations were once a great nation," said Deersfoot, "they could travel a great many day's journey and not leave their country: the wolf that howled amidst the snows north of the great lakes, they had a right to hunt; and to gather fruits from under the warm sun of the south. But it is not so now. We are now weak; and the pale-faces are strong. The Great Spirit has willed it, and we cannot help it: we would help it if we could. But it does no good to talk. We grow weaker every day."

"The Great Spirit," said Barton, "has not been so unkind to the Five Nations. The warriors of the Five Nations have not always been wise. If they had listened to the words of the Christian teachers who have talked to them, they would have been a stronger nation. But they dug up the hatchet against their brothers of the Colonies, and they lost a great many warriors."

A gleam of deadly ferocity passed over the face of Deersfoot for a moment, and his wild, dark eyes shot forth glances of hatred – but in an instant he recovered his composure.

"It may be that my father speaks wise. The Indians know but a little, and may be they were wrong. They lost a great many warriors, it is true. But they pleased the eyes of their old men and squaws with many scalps of their enemies. A white man followed every warrior of the Senecas, in the path that leads to the happy hunting grounds of the Great Spirit."

The tone in which this reply of the Seneca was uttered was sufficiently startling. Ichabod stretched his tall form as if he was about to intrude upon the conversation, but at a gesture from Barton, he remained silent.

Deersfoot, after a moment's silence, continued: "We have come to have a talk with the pale-faces of the cottage. The Senecas have not got forked tongues. They have buried the hatchet with the Yengeese, and with the Colony pale-faces. They would not dig it up again. Let my brothers hear and be wise. Snake-tongue will speak."

With these words, he stepped back, with dignity, while Snake-tongue, after a few moment's hesitation, advanced towards Barton. In a low but musical voice, he commenced his harangue:

"My name is Snake-tongue. It is a good name for friends to bear – it is a bad name for enemies. The warrior is known by his name.

"Deersfoot has said that the Five Nations are weak, and that the pale-faces are strong. It may be so; I cannot dispute it. I have seen the Yankee pale-faces fight the Great King over the water for seven winters and summers – they must be strong. Deersfoot has spoken the truth.

"Deersfoot has said that the Five Nations grow weaker every day. We are now Six Nations, and we are weaker than when we were Five Nations. Why is it so? The pale-faces have slain a great many of our warriors; but that has not made us weak. It is because the Great Spirit has turned the hearts of his red children against each other. If a pale-face slays an Indian, it is wrong; but it is not so wrong as it is for one Indian to slay another. The sad spirit of the dead warrior goes on its path, and complains to the Great Spirit, that its enemy does not follow him, and the Great Spirit is angry. We must shed the blood of the murderer. It is the law of the Great Spirit, and it is a good law.

"The Yankee pale-faces are strong, when they come together in armies; but are they strong here? My father is away from his friends in the settlements; he has but two or three pale-paces with him. Are two or three pale-faces a match for the young warriors of the Senecas? Let my father pause and think."

"There are five of us, Snake-tongue, with plenty of rifles and powder; and good walls behind which we can stand and pick out our enemies," said Barton, who saw the tendency of this harangue, and who was disposed to meet the issue half way.

Snake-tongue continued, cold and impassive. "My father speaks the truth. There are five warriors to defend the cottage of the pale-faces. There are four pale-faces, and a red man. But we have buried the hatchet with the pale-faces: – we are no longer enemies, but friends. We do not care whether there are five warriors or twenty in the cottage. We are at peace with the pale-faces. It makes no difference to us. We are friends."

"Why then, does Snake-tongue make us this long war-speech? It is true that we are friends; let us continue so."

"My father speaks wise. Let us remain friends. There is no cloud between us and the pale-faces, that the pale-faces cannot put away. A young warrior of the Senecas has been killed, and his enemy has got his scalp. Did the pale-faces do that? No, – the pale-faces do not take scalps; but an Indian always does; a scalp looks good in his eyes. We would find the scalp of our young warrior! Where is it?"

"I am sorry," answered Barton, "if any of your young men have been killed; but Snake-tongue speaks true; he was not killed by the pale-faces. I do not know where his scalp is."

"But we know where it is," continued Snake-tongue. "It is hid beneath the belt of Canendesha. He has hid it from his friends; but he cannot hide it from the Senecas. Their eyes are sharp; they can see an enemy a great way off, – and they can find his trail if he hides. Canendesha is in the cottage of the pale-faces. We are at peace with the pale-faces; but we want the Tuscarora. He has killed a warrior of the Senecas. The Tuscarora must die. It is Indian law. It was taught us by the Great Spirit that we must punish our enemies. We want the Tuscarora."

The Indian paused, as if waiting for a reply. Barton answered —

"My brother has a bad tradition; it is not true; the Great Spirit does not teach the red men to punish their enemies. The red men have not heard right; their ears have been shut. The Great Spirit has said that the red men must love their enemies."

"I have heard," answered Snake-tongue, "of such a tradition among the pale-faces. It must be a false tradition, for the pale-faces do not believe it; they punish their enemies. We believe in our tradition. It is a good one."

"I do not deny," said Barton, who saw that the conversation must be terminated, "but that the Tuscarora may have killed one of your young men; but did not the young Seneca try to prevent him from getting his squaw? We have heard that Panther has stolen the squaw of the Tuscarora, and will not give her up. Is that right? Do red men treat their brothers so, and expect that their hearts will be filled with peace?"

"The young squaw," answered Snake-tongue, quietly, "is in the wigwam of Panther; she can go if she does not wish to stay there; but her eyes like to look on Panther. He is a great warrior."

Ichabod could be restrained no longer. This slander of Singing-Bird was more than his friendship for Eagle's-Wing, would allow him to bear.

"See here, Snake-tongue," said he, "you're a sort of ambassador here, and its again all law to make war on that sort of people; but I don't know of any law to prevent my telling you that you lie like a rascally Seneca."

Both Deersfoot and Snake-tongue started at this defiant speech of Ichabod; and at the first impulse put their hands to their belts as if to grasp their knives; but in a moment they resumed their composure, and seemed to await the reply of Barton, who said, at length:

"We have heard your demand, Snake-tongue. The Tuscarora is our friend. He has been wronged by the Senecas. We do not believe that Singing-Bird wishes to remain in the wigwam of Panther. It cannot be true, although Panther is a great warrior. We cannot give up the Tuscarora. He is our friend."

"And furthermore," said Ichabod, "we demand that you should release Singing-Bird; and tell your lying chief, that if she isn't sent along instanter, we'll come after her. I've fou't Senecas before."

"My brothers have spoken," said Snake-tongue, quietly; "I will give their words to the warriors of the Senecas. Perhaps they have spoken wise. It is not for me to say."

Thus saying, the two Indians withdrew from the grove, as quietly as they had entered it.

"The lying reptile!" exclaimed Ichabod. "To insinuate that Singing-Bird has a liking for that rascally red-skin. If he hadn't been an ambassador, I would have made him swallow his words on the spot."

"The Seneca lied, undoubtedly," said Barton; "but we have now got to defend ourselves. The language and tone of Snake-tongue implied nothing less. I am getting very much interested in the history of Singing-Bird, myself; and we will find some means, in case we succeed in repelling the Senecas from the cottage, to aid the Tuscarora in rescuing her."

"That's right, Squire," said Ichabod. "Eagle's-Wing and I have sworn to do that; and Providence permitting, I'll have a chance at that foul-mouthed rascal yet."

Barton and Ichabod now entered the house, where they found Guthrie and the Tuscarora engaged, apparently, in a friendly conversation. The result of the "talk" was communicated; and although it was agreed that the Senecas would make an attack upon the cottage, yet no one seemed to think that they would immediately do so. The arrangements for defence were now, however, all made, and the duty of each individual assigned, so far as it could now be done. When this was accomplished, the party separated; each, however, taking it upon himself to watch warily for the first signs of the attack.

Ralph walked out into the grove, where the recent conversation with the Senecas had taken place. He felt much anxiety for the result of the coming conflict; not that he really feared that the Indians would succeed; but he well knew that the issues of such encounters are never certain. Perhaps his warm attachment towards Ruth had much to do with this feeling; for in the event of failure in defending the cottage, were the Indians disposed to reap all the advantages of their success, as would probably be the case, in the heat of their excitement and passion, the situation of Ruth would be extremely dangerous. He would have been much better satisfied at that moment, were Ruth at the settlements, or in some place of safety, where she would not be exposed to the accidents of the impending encounter. But it was now too late to allow of her flight, even if it had been deemed advisable. While engaged in these thoughts, Ruth, who had observed him from the cottage, approached him, and laid her light hand on his shoulder. Ralph started, but smiled as he recognized Miss Barton.

"How now, Sir Knight?" said Ruth, "you do not seem to be occupied with very pleasant thoughts."

"They ought to be of a pleasant nature, certainly," said Ralph, "for I was thinking of no one else than Miss Barton."

"I am sorry," said Ruth, "if so unworthy a person as I can give Captain Weston such a serious countenance."

"Miss Barton, I do not wish to say anything to alarm you, but all our exertions will be required to defence our lives to-night."

"Is it certain we are to be attacked so soon?" inquired Ruth, with a slight look of alarm.

"I think there can be no doubt of it; and at such a time with so few defenders, and so unmerciful and vigilant an enemy, although we have not much cause to fear defeat, yet that result is possible."

"I did not think our situation was so serious," said Ruth, now evidently alarmed. "What can we do?"

"Nothing, but use such means as we possess for defending ourselves; and I think we shall succeed in doing so. But," said Ralph, with a slight embarrassment, "at such a time as this – when we are threatened with such a danger, it is not surprising that you should have found me thinking earnestly upon the situation of one so dear to me as yourself. Let me, Ruth," he continued, taking her hand, which reposed not unwillingly in his own, "tell you how much I esteem and love you, and that my whole happiness now depends upon you."

He paused, and whatever might have been the answer of Ruth, he saw that in her countenance which informed him that his wishes were well understood and answered.

In that fond dream of happiness in which all present danger was forgotten, they wandered through the grove, filled with those delightful thoughts and fancies, which are only born in the sweet hopes of requited affection.

The shades of approaching evening were creeping slowly over the valley. The long shadows of the trees fell upon the cleared meadow-land, the perfect picture of repose. Never sank a brighter sun among more lovely clouds – crimsoned in deep curtained folds, with golden edges, giving full promise of a fair to-morrow.

"It is a beautiful evening," said Ralph: "one of those hours when fair hopes are fairer; and the natural world seems to reflect the happiness of our souls. May this not be a promise for the future?"

"May it be so," answered Ruth; "but what events may take place, before that sun rises again!"

"Let us not fear too much," said Ralph. "We must meet the danger bravely, and when it is over, dear Ruth, we shall be none the less happy that it is past."

"Hush!" whispered Ruth suddenly, "look there!" pointing to a grove of small trees but eight or ten rods distant. Ralph looked in the direction indicated by her, and he beheld three Indians who were slowly creeping towards them. The Indians, who had no cover behind which to advance, had necessarily exposed their persons, and in this manner had progressed unobserved for a number of rods. They now saw that they were discovered, and rising with a wild whoop, rushed towards them.

Ralph and Miss Barton were just about equi-distant from the Indians and the cottage. Impulsively, Ralph, who was entirely without means of defence, caught Ruth in his arms and ran towards the building. The Indians pursued, and rapidly gained upon the fugitives. One of the pursuers far outsped the others, and had already reached within twenty feet of Ralph, when the discharge of a rifle was heard, and he leaped with a yell into the air and fell struggling upon the ground. In another moment Ralph and his precious burden were inside the door; but as it closed, the tomahawk of another pursuer quivered in the post beside it. Instantly the grove was filled with enemies.