Chambers Robert William
The Little Red Foot
She stood resting both arms on the bent bough, her face among the flowers. And I don't know how I thought of it, or remembered that in Scotland there are some who have the gift of clear vision and who see events before they arrive – nay, even foretell and forewarn.
And, looking at her, I asked her if that were true of her. And saw the tint of pink apple bloom stain her face; and her dark eyes grow shy and troubled.
"Is it that way with you?" I repeated. "Do you see more clearly than ordinary folk?"
"Yes, sir – sometimes."
"Not always?"
"No, sir."
"But if you desire to penetrate the future and strive to do so – "
"No, sir, I can not if I try. Visions come unsought – even undesired."
"Is effort useless?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then this strange knowledge of the future comes of itself unbidden?"
"Unbidden – when it comes at all. It is like a flash – then darkness. But the glimpse has convinced me, and I am forewarned."
I pondered this for a space, then:
"Could you tell me anything concerning how this war is to end?"
"I do not know, Mr. Drogue."
I considered. Then, again: "Have you any knowledge of what Fate intends concerning yourself?"
"No, sir."
"Nothing regarding your own future? That is strange."
She shook her head, watching me. And then I laughed lightly:
"Nothing, by any chance, concerning me, Penelope?"
"Yes."
I was so startled that I found no word to question her.
"There is to be a battle," she said in a low voice. "Men will fight in the North. I do not know when. But there will be strange uniforms in the woods – not British red-coats… And I know you, also, are to be there." Her voice sank to a whisper… "And there," she breathed, "you shall meet Death … or Love."
When presently my composure returned to me, and I saw her still regarding me across the apple-bough, I felt inclined to laugh.
"When did this strange knowledge come to you?" I asked, smiling my unbelief.
"The day I first heard your voice at my cousin Bowman's – waking me in my bed – and I came out and saw you in the eye of the rising sun. And you were not alone. And instantly I saw a strange battle that is not yet fought – and I saw you – the way you stood – there – dark and straight in a blinding sheet of yellow light made by cannon!.. The world was aflame, and I saw you, tall and dark, shadowed against the blaze – but you did not fall.
"Then I came to my senses, and heard the bell ringing, and asked you what it meant. Do you remember?"
"Yes."
She released the apple-bough and came under it toward me, through a snow of falling blossoms.
"It will surely happen – this battle," she said. "I knew it when I saw you, and that other figure near you, where I sat your stolen horse and heard you shout at me in anger, and turned to look at you – then, also, I caught a glimpse of that other figure near you."
"What other figure?"
"The one which was wrapped in white – like a winding sheet – and veiled… Like Death… Or a bride, perhaps."
A slight chill went over me, even in the warmth of the sun. But I laughed and said I knew not which would be the less welcome, having no stomach for Master Death, and even less, perhaps, for Mistress Bride.
"Doubtless," said I, "you saw some ghost of the morning mist afloat from the wet earth where I stood."
She made no answer.
Now, as the carriage still tarried, though I had seen Colas taking out the horses, I asked her indulgence for a few moments, and walked over to the well, where my men still sat at stick-knife. And here I called Nick aside and laid one hand on his shoulder:
"There was Indian smoke on Maxon an hour ago," said I. "Take Johnny Silver and travel the war trail north, but do not cross the creek to the east. I go as armed escort for a traveller to Caughnawaga, and shall return as soon as may be. Learn what you can and meet me here by sunrise tomorrow."
Nick grinned and cast a sidelong glance at Penelope Grant, where she stood in the orchard, watching us.
"Scotched by the Scotch," said he. "Adam fell; and so I knew you'd fall one day, John – in an apple orchard! Lord Harry! but she's a pretty baggage, too! Only take care, John! for she's soft and young and likes to be courted, and there's plenty to oblige her when you're away!"
"Let them oblige her then," said I, vexed, though I knew not why. "She stole my horse and would not surrender him until I pledged my word to give her escort back to Caughnawaga. And that is all my story – if it interests you."
"It does so," said he, his tongue in his cheek. At which I turned away in a temper, and encountered an officer, in militia regimentals of the Caughnawaga Regiment, coming through the orchard toward me.
"Hallo, Jack!" he called out to me, and I saw he was a friend of mine, Major Jelles Fonda, and hastened to offer him his officer's salute.
When he had rendered it, he gave me his honest hand, and we linked arms and walked together toward the house, exchanging gossip concerning how it went with our cause in Johnstown and Caughnawaga. For the Fonda clan was respectable and strong among the landed gentry of Tryon, and it meant much to the cause of liberty that all the Fondas, I think without exception, had stood sturdily for their own people at a time when the vast majority of the influential and well-to-do had stood for their King.
When we drew near the house, Major Fonda perceived Penelope and went at once to her.
She dropped him a curtsey, but he took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks.
"I heard you were here," said he. "We sent old Douw Fonda to Albany for safety, not knowing what is like to come upon us out o' that damned Canada. And, knowing you had gone to your cousin Bowman's, I rode over to my Bush, got news of you through a Mayfield militia man, and trailed you here. And now, my girl, you may take your choice; go to Albany and sit snug with the Patroon until this tempest breaks and blows over, or go to Johnstown Fort with me."
"Does not Douw Fonda need me?" she asked.
"Only your pretty face and sweet presence to amuse him. But, until we are certain that Sir John and Guy Johnson do not mean to return and murder us in our beds, Douw Fonda will not live in Caughnawaga, and so needs no housekeeper."
"Why not remain here with Lady Johnson and Mistress Swift," said I, "until we learn what to expect from Sir John and his friends in Canada? These ladies are alone and in great anxiety and sorrow. And you could be of aid and service and comfort."
What made me say this I do not know. But, somehow, I did not seem to wish this girl to go to Albany, where there were many gay young men and much profligacy.
To sit on Douw Fonda's porch with her knitting was one thing, and the sap-pan gallants had little opportunity to turn the head of this inexperienced girl; but Albany was a very different matter; and this maid, who said that she liked men, alone there with only an aged man to stand between her and idle, fashionable youth, might very easily be led into indiscretions. The mere thought of which caused me so lively a vexation that I was surprised at myself.
And now I perceived the carriage, with horses harnessed, and Colas in a red waistcoat and a red and green cockade on his beaver.
We walked together to the Summer House. Lady Johnson came out on the veranda, and Claudia followed her.
When they saw Major Fonda, they bowed to him very coolly, and he made them both a stately salute, shrugged his epaulettes, and took snuff.
Lady Johnson said to Penelope: "Are you decided on abandoning two lonely women to their own devices, Penelope?"
"Do you really mean to leave me, who could love you very dearly?" demanded Claudia, coming down and taking the girl by both hands.
"If you wish it, I am now at liberty to remain with you till Mr. Fonda sends for me," replied Penelope. "But I have no clothes."
Claudia embraced her with rapture. "Come to my room, darling!" she cried, "and you shall divide with me every stitch I own! And then we shall dress each other's hair! Shall we not? And we shall be very fine to drink a dish of tea with our friends, the enemy, yonder!"
She flung her arm around Penelope. Going, the girl looked around at me. "Thank you for great kindness, my lord," she called back softly.
Lady Johnson said in a cold voice to Major Fonda: "If our misfortunes have not made us contemptible to you, sir, we are at home to receive any enemy officer who, like yourself, Major, chances to be also a gentleman."
"Damnation, Polly!" says he with a short laugh, "don't treat an old beau to such stiff-neck language! You know cursed well I'd go down on both knees and kiss your shoes, though I'd kick the King's shins if I met him!"
He passed his arm through mine; we both bowed very low, then went away together, arm in arm, the Major fuming under his breath.
"Silly baggage," he muttered, "to treat an old friend so high and mighty. Dash it, what's come over these Johnstown gentlemen and ladies. Can't we fight one another politely but they must affect to treat us as dirt beneath their feet, who once were welcome at their tables?"
At the well I called to my men, who got up from the grass and greeted Major Fonda with unmilitary familiarity.
"Major," said I, "we're off to scout the Sacandaga trail and learn what we can. It's cold sniffing, now, on Sir John's heels, but there was Iroquois smoke on old Maxon this morning, and I should like at least to poke the dead ashes of that same fire before moonrise."
"Certainly," said the Major, gravely; and we shook hands.
"Now, Nick," said I briskly.
"Ready," said he; and "Ready!" repeated every man.
So, rifle a-trail, I led the way out into the Fish House road.
CHAPTER XIII
THE DROWNED LANDS
For two weeks my small patrol of six remained in the vicinity of the Sacandaga, scouting even as far as Stony Creek, Silver Lake, and West River, covering Maxon, too, and the Drowned Lands, but ever hovering about the Sacandaga, where the great Iroquois War Trail runs through the dusk of primeval woods.
But never a glimpse of Sir John did we obtain. Which was scarcely strange, inasmuch as the scent was already stone cold when we first struck it. And though we could trace the Baronet's headlong flight for three days' journey, by his dead fires and stinking camp débris, and, plainer still, by the trampled path made by his men and horses and by the wheel-marks of at least one cannon, our orders, which were to stop the War Trail from Northern enemies, permitted no further pursuit.
Yet, given permission, I think I could have come up with him and his motley forces, though what my six scouts could have accomplished against nearly two hundred people is but idle surmise. And whether, indeed, we could have contrived to surprise and capture Sir John, and bring him back to justice, is a matter now fit only for idlest speculation.
At the end of the first week I sent Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew into Johnstown to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what we had seen and what we guessed concerning Sir John's probable route. De Luysnes and Johnny Silver I stationed on Maxon's honest nose, where the valley of the Sacandaga and the Drowned Lands lay like a vast map at their feet, while Nick Stoner and I prowled the silent Iroquois trail or slid like a pair of otters through the immense desolation of the Drowned Lands, from the jungle-like recesses of which we could see the distant glitter of muskets where our garrison was drilling at Fish House, and a white speck to the southward, which marked the little white and green lodge at Summer House Point.
We had found a damaged birch canoe near the Stacking Ridge, and I think it was the property of John Howell, who lived on the opposite side of the creek a mile above. But his log house stood bolted and empty; and, as he was a very rabid Tory, we helped ourselves to his old canoe, and Nick patched it with gum and made two paddles.
In this leaky craft we threaded the spectral Drowned Lands, penetrating every hidden water-lead, every concealed creek, every lost pond which glimmered unseen amid cranberry bogs, vast wastes of stunted willow, pinxter shrubs in bloom, and the endless wilderness of reeds. Nesting black-ducks rose on clattering wings in scores and scores at our stealthy invasion; herons and bitterns flapped heavily skyward; great chain-pike, as long as a young boy, slid like shadows under our dipping paddles. But we saw no Indians.
Nor was there a sign of any canoe amid the Drowned Lands; not a moccasin print in swamp-moss or mud; no trace of Iroquois on the Stacking Ridge, where already wild pigeons were flying among the beech and oak trees, busy with courtship and nesting.
It was now near the middle of June, but Nick thought that Sir John had not yet reached Canada, nor was like to accomplish that terrible journey through a pathless wilderness under a full month.
We know now that he did accomplish it in nineteen days, and arrived with his starving people in a terrible plight.4 But nobody then supposed it possible that he could travel so quickly. Even his own Mohawks never dreamed he was already so far advanced on his flight; and this was their vital mistake; for there had been sent from Canada a war party to meet and aid Sir John; and, by hazard, I was to learn of this alarming business in a manner I had neither expected nor desired.
I was sitting on a great, smooth bowlder, where the little trout stream, which tumbles down Maxon from the east, falls into Hans Creek. It was a still afternoon and very warm in the sun, but pleasant there, where the confluence of the waters made a cool and silvery clashing-noise among the trees in full new leaf.
Nick had cooked dinner – parched corn and trout, which we caught in the brook with one of my fish hooks and a red wampum bead from my moccasins tied above the barb.
And now, dinner ended, Nick lay asleep with a mat of moss over his face to keep off black flies, and I mounted guard, not because I apprehended danger, but desired not to break a military rule which had become already a habit among my handful of men.
I was seated, as I say, on a bowlder, with my legs hanging over the swirling water and my rifle across both knees. And I was thinking those vague and dreamy thoughts which float ghost-like through young men's minds when skies are blue in early summer and life seems but an endless vista through unnumbered æons to come.
Through a pleasant and reflective haze which possessed my mind moved figures of those I knew or had known – my honoured father, grave, dark-eyed, deliberate in all things, living for intellectual pleasure alone; – my dear mother, ardent yet timid, thrilled ever by what was most beautiful and best in the world, and loving all things made by God.
I thought, too, of my silly kinsman in Paris, Lord Stormont, and how I had declined his pompous patronage, to carve for myself a career, aided by the slender means afforded me; and how Billy Alexander did use me very kindly – a raw youth in a New York school, left suddenly orphaned and alone.
I thought of Stevie Watts, of Polly, of the DeLancys, Crugers, and other King's people who had made me welcome, doubtless for the sake of my Lord Stormont. And how I finally came to know Sir William Johnson, and his great kindness to me.
All these things I thought of in the golden afternoon, seated by Hans Creek, my eyes on duty, my thoughts a-gypsying far afield, where I saw, in my mind's eye, my log house in Fonda's Bush, my new-cleared land, my neighbors' houses, the dark walls of the forest.
Yet, drifting between each separate memory, glided ever a slender shape with yellow hair, and young, unfathomed eyes as dark as the velvet on the wings of that earliest of all our butterflies, which we call the Beauty of Camberwell.
Think of whom I might, or of what scenes, always this slim phantom drifted in between the sequences of thought, and vaguely I seemed to see her yellow hair, and that glimmer which sometimes came into her eyes, and which was the lovely dawning of her smile.
War seemed very far away, death but a fireside story half forgotten. For my thoughts were growing faintly fragrant with the scent of apple blossoms – white and pink bloom – sweet as her breath when she had whispered to me.
A strange young thing to haunt me with her fragrance – this girl Penelope – her smooth hands and snowy skin – and her little naked feet, like whitest silver there in the dew at Bowman's —
Suddenly, thought froze; from the foliage across the creek, scarce twenty feet from where I sat, and without the slightest sound, stepped an Indian in his paint.
Like a shot squirrel I dropped behind my bowlder and lay flat among the shore ferns, my heart so wild that my levelled rifle shook with the shock of palsy.
The roar of the waters was loud in my ears, but his calm voice came through it distinctly:
"Peace, brother!" he said in the soft, Oneida dialect, and lifted his right hand high in the sunshine, the open palm turned toward me.
"Don't move!" I called across the stream. "Lay your blanket on the ground and place your gun across it!"
Calmly he obeyed, then straightened up and stood there empty handed, naked in his paint, except for the beaded breadth of deer-skin that fell from belt to knee.
"Nick!" I called cautiously.
"I am awake and I have laid him over my rifle-sight," came Nick's voice from the woods behind me. "Look sharp, John, that there be not others ambuscaded along the bank."
"He could have killed me," said I, "without showing himself. By his paint I take him for an Oneida."
"That's Oneida paint," replied Nick, cautiously, "but it's war paint, all the same. Shall I let him have it?"
"Not yet. The Oneidas, so far, have been friendly. For God's sake, be careful what you do."
"Best parley quick then," returned Nick, "for I trust no Iroquois. You know his lingo. Speak to him."
I called across the stream to the Indian: "Who are you, brother? What is your nation and what is your clan, and what are you doing on the Sacandaga, with your face painted in black and yellow bars, and fresh oil on your limbs and lock?"
He said, in his quiet but distinct voice: "My nation is Oneida; my clan is the Tortoise; I am Tahioni. I am a young and inexperienced warrior. No scalp yet hangs from my girdle. I come as a friend. I come as my brother's ally. This is the reason that I seek my brother on the Sacandaga. Hiero! Tahioni has spoken."
And he quietly folded his arms.
He was a magnificent youth, quite perfect in limb and body, and as light of skin as the Mohawks, who are often nearly white, even when pure breed.
He stood unarmed, except for the knife and war-axe swinging from crimson-beaded sheaths at his cincture. Still, I did not rise or show myself, and my rifle lay level with his belly.
I said, in as good Oneida as I could muster:
"Young Oneida warrior, I have listened to what you have had to say. I have heard you patiently, oh Tahioni, my brother of the great Oneida nation who wears an Onondaga name!" For Tahioni means The Wolf in Onondaga dialect.
There was a silence, broken by Nick's low voice from somewhere behind me: "Shall I shoot the Onondaga dog?"
"Will you mind your business?" I retorted sharply.
The Oneida had smiled slightly at my sarcasm concerning his name; his eyes rested on the rock behind which I lay snug, stock against cheek.
"I am Tahioni," he repeated simply. "My mother's clan is the Onondaga Tortoise."
Which explained his clan and name, of course, if his father was Oneida.
"I continue to listen," said I warily.
"Tahioni has spoken," he said; and calmly seated himself.
For a moment I remained silent, yet still dared not show myself.
"Is my brother alone?" I asked at last.
"Two Oneida youths and my adopted sister are with me, brother."
"Where are they?"
"They are here."
"Let them show themselves," said I, instantly bitten by suspicion.
Two young men and a girl came calmly from the thicket and stood on the bank. All carried blanket and rifle. At a sign from Tahioni, all three laid their blankets at their feet and placed their rifles across them.
One, a stocky, powerful youth, spoke first:
"I am Kwiyeh.5 My clan is the Oneida Tortoise."
The other young fellow said: "Brother, I am Hanatoh,6 of the Oneida Tortoise."
Then they calmly seated themselves.
I rose from my cover, my rifle in the hollow of my left arm. Nick came from his bed of juniper and stood looking very hard at the Oneidas across the stream.
Save for the girl, all were naked except for breech-clout, sporran, and ankle moccasins; all were oiled and in their paint, and their heads shaven, leaving only the lock. There could be no doubt that this was a war party. No doubt, also, that they could have slain me very easily where I sat, had they wished to do so.
There was, just below us, a string of rocks crossing the stream. I sprang from one to another and came out on their bank of the creek; and Nick followed, leaping the boulders like a lithe tree-cat.
The Oneidas, who had been seated, rose as I came up to them. I gave my hand to each of them in turn, until I faced the girl. And then I hesitated.
For never anywhere, among any nation of the Iroquois Confederacy, had I seen any woman so costumed, painted, and accoutred.
For this girl looked more like a warrior than a woman; and, save for her slim and hard young body's shape, and her full hair, must have passed for an adolescent wearing his first hatchet and his first touch of war paint.
She, also, was naked to the waist, her breasts scarce formed. Two braids of hair lay on her shoulders, and her skin was palely bronzed and smooth in its oil, as amber without a flaw.
But she wore leggins of doe-skin, deeply fringed with pale green and cinctured in at her waist, where war-axe and knife hung on her left thigh, and powder horn and bullet pouch on her right. And over these she wore knee moccasins of green snake-skin, the feet of which were deer-hide sewn thick with scarlet, purple, and greenish wampum, which glistened like a humming-bird's throat.
I said, wondering: "Who is this girl in a young warrior's dress, who wears a disk of blue war-paint on her forehead?"
But Nick pulled my arm and said in my ear:
"Have you heard of the little maid of Askalege? Yonder she stands, thank God! For the Oneida follow their prophetess; and the Oneida are with us in this war if she becomes our friend!"
I had heard of the little Athabasca girl, found in the forest by Skenandoa and Spencer, and how she grew up like a boy at Askalege, with the brave half-breed interpreter, Thomas Spencer; and how it was her delight to roam the forests and talk – they said – to trees and beasts by moonlight; how she knew the language of all things living, and could hear the tiny voices of the growing grass! Legends and fairy tales, but by many believed.
Yet, Sir William had seen the child at Askalege dancing in the stream of sparks that poured from Spencer's smithy when the Oneida blacksmith pumped his home-made bellows or struck fire-flakes from the cherry-red iron.
I said: "Are you sure, Nick? For never have I seen an Indian maid play boy in earnest."
"She is the little witch-maid of Askalege – their prophetess," he repeated. "I saw her once at Oneida Lake, dancing on the shore amid a whirl of yellow butterflies at their strawberry feast. God send she favours our party, for the Oneidas will follow her."
I turned to the girl, who was standing quietly beside a young silver birch-tree.
"Who are you, my sister, who wear a little blue moon on your brow, and the dress and weapons of an adolescent?"
"Brother," she said in her soft Oneida tongue, "I am an Athabascan of the Heron Clan, adopted into the Oneida nation. My name is Thiohero,7 and my privilege is Oyaneh.8 Brother, I come as a friend to liberty, and to help you fight your great war against your King.
"Brother, I have spoken," she concluded, with lowered eyes.
Surprised and charmed by this young girl's modesty and quiet speech, but not knowing how to act, I thanked her as I had the young men, and offered her my hand.
She took it, lifted her deep, wide eyes unabashed, looked me calmly and intelligently in the face, and said in English:
"My adopted father is Thomas Spencer, the friend to liberty, and Oneida interpreter to your General Schuyler. My adopted uncle is the great war-chief Skenandoa, also your ally. The Oneida are my people. And are now become your brothers in this new war."
"Your words make our hearts light, my sister."
"Your words brighten our sky, my elder brother."
Our clasped hands fell apart. I turned to Tahioni:
"Brother, why are you in battle-paint?" I demanded.
At that the eyes of the Oneida youths began to sparkle and burn; and Tahioni straightened up and struck the knife-hilt at his belt with a quick, fierce gesture.
"Give me a name that I may know my brother," he said bluntly. "Even a tree has a name." And I flushed at this merited rebuke.
"My name is John Drogue, and I am lieutenant of our new State Rangers," said I. "And this is my comrade, Nicholas Stoner, of Fonda's Bush, and first sergeant in my little company."
"Brother John," said he, "then listen to this news we Oneidas bring from the North: a Canada war-party is now on the Iroquois trail, looking for Sir John to guide them to the Canadas!"
Taken aback, I stared at the young warrior for a moment, then, recovering composure, I translated for Nick what he had just told me.
Then I turned again to Tahioni, the Wolf:
"Where is this same war-party?" I demanded, still scarce convinced.
"At West River, near the Big Eddy," said he. "They have taken scalps."
"Why – why, then, it is war!" I exclaimed excitedly. "And what people are these who have taken scalps in the North? Are they Caniengas?"
"Mohawks!" He fairly spat out the insulting term, which no friendly Iroquois would dream of using to a Canienga; and the contemptuous word seemed to inflame the other Oneidas, for they all picked up their rifles and crowded around me, watching my face with gleaming eyes.
"How many?" I asked, still a little stunned by this reality, though I had long foreseen the probability.
"Thirty," said the girl Thiohero, turning from Nick, to whom she had been translating what was being said in the Oneida tongue.
Now, in a twinkling, I found myself faced with an instant crisis, and must act as instantly.
I had two good men on Maxon, the French trapper, Johnny Silver and Benjamin De Luysnes; Nick and I counted two more. With four Oneida, and perhaps Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew – if we could pick them up on the Vlaie – we would be ten stout men to stop this Mohawk war-party until the garrisons at Summer House Point and Fish House could drive the impudent marauders North again.
Turning to Thiohero, I said as much in English. She nodded and spoke to the others in Oneida; and I saw their eager and brilliant eyes begin to glitter.
Now, I carried always with me in the bosom of my buckskin shirt a carnet, or tablet of good paper, and a pencil given me years ago by Sir William.
And now I seated myself on a rock and took my instruments and wrote:
"Hans Creek, nearMaxon Brook,June 13th, 1776.
"To the Officer commd'ng ye
Garrison at ye Summer House on Vlaie,
"Sir:
"I am to acquaint you that this day, about two o'clock, afternoon, arrived in my camp four Oneidas who give an account that a Mohawk War Party is now at ye Big Eddy on West River, headed south.
"By the same intelligence I am to understand that this War Party has taken scalps.
"Sir, anybody familiar with the laws and customs of the Iroquois Confederacy understands what this means.
"Murder, or mere slaying, when not accompanied by such mutilation, need not constitute an act of war involving nation and Confederacy in formal declaration.
"But the taking of a single scalp means only one thing: that the nation whose warrior scalps an enemy approves the trophy and declares itself at war with the nation of the victim.
"I am aware, sir, that General Schuyler and Mr. Kirkland and others are striving mightily in Albany to placate the Iroquois, and that they still entertain such hope, although the upper Mohawks are gone off with Brant, and Guy Johnson holds in his grasp the fighting men of the Confederacy, save only the Oneida, and also in spite of news, known to be certain, that Mohawk Indians were in battle-paint at St. John's.
"Now, therefore, conscious of my responsibility, and asking God's guidance in this supreme moment, lest I commit error or permit hot blood to confuse my clearer mind, I propose to travel instantly to the West River with my scout of four Rangers, and four Oneidas, and ask of this Mohawk War Party an explanation in the name of the Continental Congress and His Excellency, our Com'nder in Chief.
"Sir, I doubt not that you will order your two garrisons to prepare for immediate defense, and also to support my scout on the Sacandaga; and to send an express to Johnstown as soon as may be, to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what measures I propose to take to carry out my orders which are to stop the Sacandaga trail.
"This, sir, it is my present endeavour to do.
"I am, sir, with all respect,"Yr most obedient"John Drogue, Lieut Rangers."
When I finished, I discovered that Nick and the Oneidas had fastened on their blanket-packs and were gathered a little distance away in animated conversation, the little maid of Askalege translating.
Nick had fetched my pack; I strapped it, picked up my rifle, and walked swiftly into the woods; and without any word from me they fell into file at my heels, headed west for Fish House and the fateful river.
My scout of six moved very swiftly and without noise; and it was not an hour before I caught sight of a Continental soldier on bullock guard, and saw cattle among low willows.
The soldier was scared and bawled lustily for his mates; but among them was one of the Sammons, who knew me; and they let us through with little delay.
Fish House was full o' soldiers a-sunning in every window, and under them, on the grass; and here headquarters guards stopped us until the captain in command could be found, whilst the gaping Continentals crowded around us for news, and stared at our Oneidas, whose quiet dignity and war paint astonished our men, I think. To the west and south, and along the river, I saw many soldiers in their shirts, a-digging to make an earthwork; and presently from this redoubt came a Continental Captain, out o' breath, who listened anxiously to what news I had gathered, and who took my letter and promised to send it by an express to Summer House Point.
