IV
April was near its end. The hills were turning green, albeit wecould see, here and there on the high ledge above us, littlepatches of snow--the fading footprints of winter. Day and night wecould hear the wings of the wild fowl roaring in the upper air asthey flew northward. Summer was coming,--the summer of 1812,--andthe war with the British. The President had called for a hundredthousand volunteers to go into training for battle. He had alsoproclaimed there would be no more whipping in the ranks. Then myfather told me that, since I could have no peace at home, I shouldbe off to the war and done with it.
We were working near the road that day Thurst Miles came gallopingout of the woods, waving his cap at us. We ran to meet him--myfather and I and the children. He pulled up a moment, his horselathered to the ears.
"Injuns!" he shouted. "Git out o' here quick 'n' mek fer theCorners! Ye 'll be all massacreed ef ye don't."
Then he whacked the wet flank of his horse with a worn beech bough,and off he went.
We ran to the house in a great panic. I shall never forget thecrying of the children. Indians had long been the favorite bugbearof the border country. Many a winter's evening we had sat in thefirelight, fear-faced, as my father told of the slaughter in CherryValley; and, with the certainty of war, we all looked for the redhordes of Canada to come, in paint and feathers.
"Ray," my father called to me, as he ran, "ketch the cow quick an'bring 'er 'long."
I caught her by the horn and brought her to the door quickly.Mother was throwing some clothes into a big bundle. Father met mewith a feather bed in his arms. He threw it over the back of thecow and bound it on with a bed-cord. That done, he gave me theleading-rope to tie about her horns. The hoofs of the flying horsewere hardly out of hearing when we were all in the road. My mothercarried the baby, and my father his sword and rifle and one of thelittle ones. I took the three older children and set them on thefeather bed that was bound to the back of the cow. They clung tothe bed-cord, their hair flying, as the old cow ran to keep up withus, for at first we were all running. In a moment we could hearthe voices of people coming behind. One of the women was weepingloudly as she ran. At the first cross-road we saw Arv Law and hisfamily coming, in as great a hurry as we, Arv had a great pike-polein his hand. Its upper end rose twenty feet above his head.
"What ye goin' t' dew with thet?" my father asked him.
"Goin' t' run it through the fust Injun I see," said he. "I 'vebroke the lock o' my gun."
There was a crowd at Jerusalem Four Corners when we got there.Every moment some family was arriving in a panic--the men, like myfather, with guns and babies and baskets. The women, with theyoung, took refuge at once in the tavern, while the men surroundedit. Inside the line were youths, some oddly armed with slings orclubs or cross-guns. I had only the sword my father gave me and amighty longing to use it. Arv Law rested an end of his pike-poleand stood looking anxiously for "red devils" among the stumps ofthe farther clearing. An old flint-lock, on the shoulder of a manbeside him, had a barrel half as long as the pole. David Churchwas equipped with axe and gun, that stood at rest on either side ofhim.
Evening came, and no sign of Indians. While it was growing dusk Iborrowed a pail of the innkeeper and milked the cow, and broughtthe pail, heaped with froth, to my mother, who passed brimming cupsof milk among the children. As night fell, we boys, more daringthan our fathers, crept to the edge of the timber and set the bigbrush-heaps afire, and scurried back with the fear of redmen at ourheels. The men were now sitting in easy attitudes and had begun totalk.
"Don't b'lieve there's no Injuns comin'," said Bill Foster. "Efthey wus they 'd come."
"'Cordin' t' my observation," said Arv Law, looking up at the sky,"Injuns mos' gen'ally comes when they git ready."
"An' 't ain't when yer ready t' hev 'em, nuther," said LonButterfield.
"B'lieve they come up 'n' peeked out o' the bushes 'n' see Arv withthet air pike-pole, 'n' med up their minds they hed n't better runup ag'in' it," said Bill Foster. "Scairt 'em--thet's whut's th'matter."
"Man 'et meks light o' this pole oughter hev t' carry it," saidArv, as he sat impassively resting it upon his knee.
"One things sure," said Foster; "ef Arv sh'u'd cuff an Injun withthet air he 'll squ'sh 'im."
"Squ'sh 'im!" said Arv, with a look of disgust. "'T ain't med t'squ'sh with, I cal'late t' p'int it at 'em 'n' jab."
And so, as the evening wore away and sleep hushed the timid, abetter feeling came over us. I sat by Rose Merriman on the steps,and we had no thought of Indians. I was looking into her big hazeleyes, shining in the firelight, and thinking how beautiful she was.And she, too, was looking into my eyes, while we whisperedtogether, and the sly minx read my thoughts, I know, by the look ofher.
Great flames were now leaping high as the timber-tops at the edgeof the clearing. A dead spruce caught fire as we were looking.The flames threw over it a lacy, shimmering, crackling net of gold.Then suddenly it burst into a red, leaping tower. A few moments,and the cavern of the woods, along the timber side, was choked withfire. The little hamlet had become a spring of light in thedarkness. We could see the stumps and houses far afield, as if ithad been noonday. Suddenly we all jumped to our feet. A wild yellcame echoing through the woods.
"There they be!" said Asher Eastman, as he cocked his gun. "I tol'ye so."
As a matter of fact, he had told us nothing of the kind. He wasthe one man who had said nothing.
Arv Law stood erect, his pike-pole poised in both hands, and wewere all ready for action. We could hear the rattle of many hoofson the road. As soon as the column showed in the firelight, BillFoster up with his musket and pulled the trigger. I could hear theshot scatter on stump and stone. Every man had his gun to his eye.
"Wait till they come nearer," said Asher Eastman.
The Indians had halted. Far behind them we could hear the wildhallooing of many voices. In a moment we could see those onhorseback go galloping off in the direction whence they had come.Back in the house a number of the women were praying. My mothercame out, her face whiter than I had ever seen it before, andwalked to my father, and kissed him without ever saying a word.Then she went back into the house.
"Scairt?" I inquired, turning to Rose, who now stood beside me.
"I should think I was," she whispered. "I 'm all of a tremble."
"If anything happens, I 'd like something to remember you by."
"What?" she whispered.
I looked at her beautiful red lips. She had never let me kiss them.
"A kiss, if nothing more," I answered.
She gave me a kiss then that told me something of what was in herheart, and went away into the house.
"Goin' t' surround us," said Arv Law--"thet 's whut 's th' matter."
"Mus' be ready t' rassle 'em any minute," said Asher Eastman, as hesidled over to a little group.
A young man came out of the house and took his place in line with abig squirt-gun and a pail of steaming-hot water.
The night wore on; our fires burned low. As the approaching daybegan to light the clearing, we heard a sound that brought us allto our feet. A burst of bugle notes went chasing over thetimber-land to the tune of "Yankee Doodle." We looked at oneanother in surprise. Then there came a thunder of hoofs in thedistance, the ragged outline of a troop of cavalry.
"Soldiers!" said Arv, as he raised his pike.
"The British?" somebody asked.
"Dunno," said he. "Ain' no Injuns, I don't b'lieve."
A troop of cavalry was approaching at a gallop. They pulled up afew rods away and jammed into a big crescent of rearing, tramplinghorses. We could see they were American soldiers. We all loweredour guns.
"Who are you?" one of them shouted.
"Citizens," my father answered.
"Why are you armed?"
"To fight Injuns."
A chorus of laughter came from the cavalry.
They loosed rein, letting their hors
es advance.
"My dear man," said one of them, a big shako on his head, "thereain't an Indian 'tween here an' St. Regis. We thought you wereBritish, an' it's lucky we did n't charge in the dark; we 'd havecut you all to pieces before we knew who you were,"
A body of infantry was marching down the pike. They were thevolunteers of Captain Darius Hawkins, on their way to Ogdensburg,with an escort of cavalry from Sackett's Harbor. The scare wasover. Women came out, laughing and chattering. In a few momentsthey were all in the road, going home--men, women, and children.
I enlisted with Captain Hawkins, and hurried to the house, andpacked my things, and bade them all good-by.