CHAPTER XVII
THE BATTLE OF CHEMUNG
Toward sundown we hailed our bullock guard below the ruins of OldChemung, and passed forward through the army to the throat of the pass,where the Rifles lay.
The artillery was already in a sorry mess, nine guns stalled and anammunition wagon overturned in the ford. And I heard the infantrycursing the drivers and saying that we had lost thousands ofcartridges. Stewart's bullock-guard was in a plight, too, forty headhaving strayed.
At the outlet to the pass Major Parr met us, cautioning silence. Nofires burned and the woods were very still, so that we could hear infront of us the distant movement of men; and supposed that the enemyhad come down to Chemung in force. But Major Parr told us that ourscouts could make nothing of these incessant noises, reporting only aboatload of Sir John Johnson's green-coated soldiers on the river, anda few Indians in two canoes; and that he had no knowledge whether SirJohn, the two Butlers, McDonald, and Brant lay truly in front of us, orwhether these people were only a mixed scalping party of blue-eyedIndians, Senecas, and other ragamuffin marauders bent on a more distantforay, and now merely lingering along our front over night to spy outwhat we might be about.
Also, he informed us that a little way ahead, on the Great Warriortrail, lay an Indian town which our scouts reported to be abandoned;and said that he had desired to post our pickets there, but that ordersfrom General Hand had prevented that precaution until the Generalcommanding arrived at the front.
Some few minutes after our appearance in camp, and while we were eatingsupper, there came a ruddy glimmer of torches from behind us, lightingup the leaves overhead; and Generals Sullivan, Clinton, Hand, and Poorrode up and drew bridle beside Major Parr, listening intently to theominous sounds in front of us.
And, "What the devil do you make of it, Major?" says Sullivan, in a lowvoice. "It sounds like a log-rolling in March."
"My scouts give me no explanation," says Parr grimly. "I think therascals are terrified."
"Send Boyd and that young interpreter," said Sullivan curtly.
So, as nobody could understand exactly what these noises indicated, andas headquarters' scouts could obtain no information, Lieutenant Boydand I, with my Indians, left our supper of fresh roast corn and beansand went forward at once. We moved out of the defile with everyprecaution, passing the throat of the rocky pass and wading the littletrout-brook over which our trail led, the Chemung River now lyingalmost south of us. Low mountains rose to the north and west, very darkand clear against the stars; and directly ahead of us we saw the smallIndian town surrounded by corn fields; and found it utterly deserted,save for bats and owls; and not even an Indian dog a-prowling there.
A little way beyond it we crossed another brook close to where itentered the river, opposite an island. Here the Chemung makes a greatbend, flowing in more than half a circle; and there are little hills tothe north, around which we crept, hearing always the stirring andmovements of men ahead of us, and utterly unable to comprehend whatthey were so busily about.
Just beyond the island another and larger creek enters the river; andhere, no longer daring to follow the Seneca trail, we turned southwest,slinking across the river flats, through the high Indian grass, untilwe came to a hardwood ridge, from whence some of these sounds proceeded.
We heard voices very plainly, the splintering of saplings, and aheavier, thumping sound, which the Mohican whispered to us was likehewn logs being dragged over the ground and then piled up. A fewmoments later, Tahoontowhee, who had crept on ahead, glided up to usand whispered that there was a high breastwork of logs on the ridge,and that many men were cutting bushes, sharpening the stems, andplanting them to screen this breastwork so that it could not be seenfrom the Seneca trail north of us, along which lay our army's line ofmarch. A pretty ambuscade, in truth! But Braddock's breed had passed.
Silently, stealthily, scarcely breathing, we got out of that dangerousplace, recrossed the grassy flats, and took to the river willows theentire way back. At the mouth of the pass, where my battalion layasleep, we found Major Parr anxiously awaiting us. He sent CaptainSimpson back with the information.
Before I could unlace my shirt, drag my pack under my head, and composemyself to sleep, Boyd, who had stretched himself out beside me, touchedmy arm.
"Are you minded to sleep, Loskiel?"
"I own that I am somewhat inclined that way," said I.
"As you please."
"Why? Are you unwell?"
He lay silent for a few moments, then:
"What a mortifying business was that at the Tioga fort," he said underhis breath. "The entire garrison saw it, did they not, Loskiel? ColonelShreve and all?"
"Yes, I fear so,"
"It will be common gossip tomorrow," he said bitterly. "What amiserable affair to happen to an officer of Morgan's!"
"A sad affair," I said.
"It will come to her ears, no doubt. Shreve's batt-men will carry itdown the river."
I was silent.
"Rumour runs the woods like lightning," he said. "She will surely hearof this disgraceful scene. She will hear of it at Easton.... Strange,"he muttered, "strange how the old truths hold!... Our sins shall findus out.... I never before believed that, Loskiel--not in a wilderness,anyway.... I had rather be here dead and scalped than have had thathappen and know that she must hear of it one day."
He lay motionless for a while, then turned heavily on his side, facingme across the heap of dead leaves.
"Somehow or other," he said, "she heard of that miserablebusiness--heard of it even at Otsego.... That is why she would notmarry me, Loskiel. Did you ever hear the like! That a man must be soutterly and hopelessly damned for a moment's careless folly--loseeverything in the world for a thoughtless moonlight frolic! Where liesthe justice in such a judgment?"
"It is not the world that judges you severely. The world cares littlewhat a man's way may be with a maid."
"But--Lana cares. It has ended everything for her."
I said in a low voice:
"You ended everything for Dolly Glenn."
"How was I to know she was no light o' love--this camp tailoress--thissilly little wench who--but let it go! Had she but whimpered, andseemed abashed and unfamiliar with a kiss---- Well, let it go.... But Icould cut my tongue out that I ever spoke to her. God! How lightlysteps a man into a trap of his own contriving!... And here I lietonight, caring not whether I live or die in tomorrow's battle alreadydawning on the Chemung. And yonder, south of us, in the blackstarlight, drift the batteaux, dropping down to Easton under the verysky that shines above us here.... If Lana be asleep at this moment I donot know.... She tells me I have broke her heart--but yet will havenone of me.... Tells me my duty lies elsewhere; that I shall makeamends. How can a man make amends when his heart lies not in thedeed?... Am I then to be fettered to a passing whim for all eternity?Does an instant's idle folly entail endless responsibility? Do I meritpunishment everlasting for a silly amourette that lasted no longer thanthe July moon? Tell me, Loskiel, you who are called among us blamelessand unstained, is there no hope for a guilty man to shrive himself andwalk henceforward upright?"
"I can not answer you," I said dully. "Nor do I know how, of such abusiness, a man may be shriven, or what should be his amends.... It allseems pitiful and sad to me--a matter perplexing, unhappy, and farbeyond my solving.... I know it is the fashion of the times to regardsuch affairs lightly, making of them nothing.... Much I have heard,little learned, save that the old lessons seem to be the truest; theold laws the best. And that our cynical and modern disregard of themmake one's salvation none the surer, one's happiness none the safer."
I heard Boyd sigh heavily, where he lay; but he said nothing more thatI heard; for I slept soon afterward, and was awakened only at dawn.
Everywhere in the rocky pass the yawning riflemen were falling in andcalling off; a detail of surly Jersey men, carrying ropes, passed us,cursing the artillery which, it appeared, was in a sorry plight again,the nine guns all
stalled behind us, and an entire New Jersey brigadedetailed to pull them out o' the mud and over the rocks of thenarrowing defile.
Boyd shared my breakfast, seeming to have recovered something of hisold-time spirits. And if the camp that night had gossiped concerningwhat took place at Tioga Fort, it seemed to make no difference to hisfriends, who one and all greeted him with the same fellowship andaffection that he had ever inspired among fighting men. No man, Ithink, was more beloved and admired in this Western army, by officersand men alike; for in him were naturally combined all those brilliantqualities of daring, fearlessness, and gaiety in the face of peril,which endear, and which men strive to emulate. In no enterprise had heever failed to perform the part allotted him; never had he faltered inthe hundred battles fought by Morgan's veteran corps; never had heseemed dismayed. And if sometimes he did a little more than he wasasked to do, his superior officers forgave this handsome, impetuousyoung man--the more readily, perhaps, because, so far, no disaster hadbefallen when he exceeded the orders given him.
My Indians had eaten, and were touching up their paint when Major Parrcame up, wearing a magnificent new suit of fringed buckskins, andordered us to guide the rifle battalion. A moment later our conch-hornboomed out its thrilling and melodious warning. Far in the rear I heardthe drums and bugle-horns of the light infantry sounding the general.
As we went forward in the early daylight, the nature of the ambuscadeprepared for us became very plain to me; and I pointed out to MajorParr where the unseen enemy rested, his right flank protected by theriver, his left extending north along the hog-bank, so that his linesenveloped the trail on which we marched, threatening our entire army ina most cunning and evil manner. Truly there was no fox like Butler inthe Northland!
All was very still about us as we marched; the river mist hung alongthe woods; a few birds sang; the tops of the Indian corn rustled.
Toward eight o'clock the conch-horn blew; our riflemen halted anddeployed in perfect silence, facing the unseen works on the woodedridge ahead. Another division of troops swung to the left, continuingthe movement to the river in splendid order, where they also halted andformed a line of battle, facing north. And still the unseen enemy gaveno sign; birds sang; the mist drifted up through the trees.
From where we lay we could see our artillery horses straining,plunging, stumbling up a high knoll in the centre of our line, whileMaxwell's division halted and extended behind our riflemen to supportthe artillery, and Clinton's four splendid New York regiments hurriedforward on a double, regiment after regiment dropping their packsbehind our lines and running north through the open woods, theirofficers all finely mounted and cantering ahead, swords drawn.
A few moments later, General Sullivan passed along our front onhorseback, and drew bridle for a moment where Boyd and I were standingat salute.
"Now is your opportunity, young gentlemen," he said in a low voice. "Ifyou would gain Catharines-town and destroy Amochol before we drive thismotley Tory army headlong through it, you should start immediately. Andhave a care; Butler's entire army and Brant's Mohawks are nowintrenched in front of us; and it is a pitched battle we're facing--Godbe thanked!"
He spurred forward with a friendly gesture toward us, as we saluted;and his staff officers followed him at a canter while our riflementurned their heads curiously to watch the brilliant cavalcade.
"Where the devil are their log works?" demanded Major Parr, using hisfield glasses. "I can see naught but green on that ridge ahead."
Boyd painted at the crest; but our Major could see nothing; and Icalled to Timothy Murphy and Dave Elerson to climb trees and spy out ifthe works were still occupied.
Murphy came down presently from the dizzy top of a huge black-walnuttree, reporting that he had been able to see into the river angle oftheir works; had for a while distinguished nothing, but presentlydiscovered Indians, crouched motionless, the brilliancy of their paint,which at first he had mistaken for patches of autumn leaves, betrayingthem when they moved.
"Now, God be praised!" said Major Parr grimly. "For we shall this dayfurnish these Western-Gate Keepers with material for a Condolence Feastsuch as no Seneca ever dreamed of. And if you gentlemen can surpriseand destroy Amochol, it will be a most blessed day for our unhappycountry."
General Hand, in his patched and faded uniform of blue and buff, drewhis long, heavy sword and walked his horse over to Major Parr.
"Well, sir," he said, "we must amuse them, I suppose, until the NewYorkers gain their left. Push your men forward and draw their fire,Major."
There came a low order; the soft shuffle of many mocassined feet;silence. Presently, ahead of us, a single rifle-shot shattered thestillness.
Instantly a mighty roar of Tory musketry filled the forest; and theirIndians, realizing that the ambuscade had been discovered, came leapingdown the wooded ridge, yelling and firing all along our front; and ourrifles began to speak quicker and quicker from every rock and tuft andfallen log.
"Are we to miss this?" said Boyd, restlessly. "Listen to that firing!The devil take this fellow Amochol and his Eries! I wish we were yonderwith our own people. I wish at least that I could see what our NewYorkers are about!"
Behind us, Boyd's twenty riflemen stood craning their sunburnt necks;and my Indians, terribly excited, fairly quivered where they crouchedbeside us. But all we could see was the rifle smoke sifting through thetrees, and early sunshine slanting on the misty river.
The fierce yelling of the unseen Mohawks and Senecas on the woodedridge above us had become one continuous and hideous scream, shrill andpiercing above the racket of musketry and rifle fire; sometimes thedreadful volume of sound surged nearer as though they were charging, orshowing themselves in order to draw us into a frontal attack on theirpits and log breastworks; but always after a little while the yelpingtumult receded, and our rifle fire slackened while the musketry fromthe breastworks grew more furious, crashing out volley on volley, whilethe entire ridge steamed like a volcano in action. Further to the northwe heard more musketry break out, as our New York regiments passedrapidly toward Butler's left flank. And by the running fire we couldfollow their hurried progress.
"Hell!" said Boyd, furiously, flinging his rifle to his shoulder. "Comeon, Loskiel, or we'll miss this accursed Amochol also." And he gave thesignal to march.
As we skirted the high knoll where our artillery was planted, the firsthowitzer shot shook the forest, and my Indians cringed as they ranbeside me. High towering rose the shell, screaming like a living thing,and plunged with a shriek into the woods on the ridge, exploding therewith a most infernal bang.
Up through the trees gushed a very fountain of smoke, through which wecould dimly see dark objects falling; but whether these were the limbsof trees or of men we could not tell.
Crash! A howitzer hurled its five and a half inch shell high into thesunshine. Boom! Another shot from a three-pounder. Bang! The littlecohorn added its miniature bellow to the bigger guns, which now beganto thunder regularly, one after another, shaking the ground we trod.The ridge was ruddy with the red lightning of exploding shells. Veryfar away in the forest we could hear entire regiments, as they climbedthe slopes, cheering above the continuous racket of musketry; theyelling of the Senecas and Mohawks grew wavering, becoming ragged andthinner.
It was hard for us all, I think, to turn our backs on the first realbattle we had seen in months--hard for Boyd, for me, and for our twentyriflemen; harder, perhaps, for our Indians, who could hear the yells oftheir most deadly enemies, and who knew that they were within strikingdistance at last.
As we marched in single file, I leading with my Indians, I said aloud,in the Iroquois tongue:
"If in this Battle of the Chemung the Mountain Snake be left writhing,yet unless we crush his head at Catharines-town, the serpent will liveto strike again. For though a hundred arrows stick in the WesternSerpent's body, his poison lies in his fangs; his fangs are rooted inhis head; and the head still hisses at God and man from the shaggydepths of Catharines-town. I
t is for us of the elect to slay himthere--for us few and chosen ones honoured by this mandate from ourcommander. Why, then, should the thunder of Proctor's guns arouse in usenvy for those who join in battle? Let the iron guns do their part; letthe men of New York, of Jersey, of Virginia, of New Hampshire, ofPennsylvania, do the great part allotted them. Let us in our heartspray God to speed them. For if we do our part as worthily, only thenshall their labour be not in vain. Their true title to glory is in ourkeeping, locked inevitably with our own. If we fail, they have failed.Judge, therefore, O Sagamore, judge, you Yellow Moth, and youOneidas--Grey-Feather, with your war-chief's feather and your Sachem'sensign, Tahoontowhee, chieftain to be--judge, all of you, where thereal glory lies--whether behind us in the rifle smoke or before us inthe red glare of Amochol's accursed altar!"
They had been listening to every word as I walked beside them. TheMohican made answer first:
"It was hard for us to leave the Chemung, O Loskiel, my brother--withthe dog-yelps at the Sinako and Mowawaks insulting our ears. But it waswiser. I, a Sagamore, say it!"
"It is God's will," said the Yellow Moth. But his eyes were still redwith his fierce excitement; and the distant cannonade steadilycontinued as we marched.
"I am Roya-neh!" said the Grey-Feather. "What wisdom counsels Iunderstand, He who would wear the scaly girdle must first know wherethe fangs lie buried.... But to hear the Antouhonoran scalp-yelp, andto turn one's back, is very hard, O my friend, Loskiel."
The Night-Hawk controlled his youthful features, forcing a merry smileas my eye fell on him.
"Koue!" he exclaimed softly. "I have made promise to my thirstyhatchet, O Loskiel! Else it might have leaped from its sheath andbitten some one."
"A good hatchet and a good dog bite only under orders," I said. "Myyounger brother's hatchet has acquired glory; now it is acquiringwisdom."
Boyd came up along the line, his deerskin shirt open to the breastbone,the green fringe blowing in the hill wind.
Far below us in the river valley sounded the uproar of the battle--adull, confused, and distant thunder--for now we could no longer hearthe musketry and rifle fire, only the boom-booming of the guns and theendless roar of echoes.
Here on a high hill's spur, with a brisk wind blowing in our faces, theheavy rumble of forest warfare became deadened; and we looked out overthe naked ridge of rock, across the forests of this broken country,into a sea of green which stretched from horizon to horizon, accentedonly by the silver glimmer of lakes and the low mountain peaks east,west, and south of us.
Below us lay a creek, its glittering thread visible here and there. TheGreat Warrior trail crossed it somewhere in that ravine.
I drew the Mohican aside.
"Sagamore," said I, "now is your time come. Now we depend on you. If itlay with us, not one white man here, not one Indian, could take usstraight to Catharines-town; for the Great Warrior trail runs notthither. Are you, then, confident that you know the way?"
"I know the way, Loskiel."
"Is there then a trail that leads from the Great Warrior trail below?"
"There are many."
"And you know the right one?"
"I have spoken, brother."
"I am satisfied. But we must clearly mark the trail for our surveyorsand for the army."
"We will mark it," he said meaningly, "so that no Seneca dog can evermistake which way we passed."
I did not exactly understand him, but I nodded to Boyd and he gave thesignal, and we began the descent through the warm twilight of an openforest that sloped to the creek a thousand feet below us.
Down and down we went, partly sliding, and plowing up the moss andleaves knee-deep, careless how we left our trail, as there was none tofollow, save the debris of a flying army or the flanking scouts of avictorious one.
Below us the foaming rifles of the creek showed white in the woodlandgloom, and presently we heard its windy voice amid rocks and fallentrees, soughing all alone through leafy solitudes; and its cool, dampbreath mounted to us as we descended.
The Indians dropped prone to slake their thirst; the riflemen squattedand used their cups of bark or leather, pouring the sweet, icy waterover their cropped heads and wrists.
"Off packs!" said Boyd quietly, and drew a bit of bread and meat fromhis beaded wallet. And so the Mohican and I left them all eating by thestream, and crossed to the western bank. Here the Sagamore pointed tothe opposite slope; I gave a low whistle, and Boyd looked across thewater at me.
Then I drew my hatchet and notched a tree so that he saw what I did; henodded comprehension; we went on, notching trees at intervals, and soascended the slope ahead until we arrived at the top.
Here the forest lay flat beyond, and the Great Warrior trail ranthrough it--a narrow path fifteen inches wide, perhaps, and worn nearlya foot deep, and patted as hard as rock by the light feet ofgenerations--men and wild beasts--which had traversed it for centuries.
North and south the deeply graven war trail ran straight through thewilderness. The Mohican bent low above it, scrutinizing it in thesubdued light, then stepped lightly into it, and I behind him.
For a little way we followed it, seeing other and narrower trailsbranching from it right and left, running I knew not whither--thenarrow, delicate lanes made by game--deer and bear, fox and hare--allspreading out into the dusk of the unknown forest.
Presently we came to a trail which seemed wet, as though swampy landwere not far away; and into this the Mohican turned, slashing a greatscar on the nearest tree as he entered it.
There was a mossy stream ahead, and the banks of it were dark and soft.Here we rested high and dry on the huge roots of an oak, and ate ourmidday meal.
In a little while the remainder of our party came gliding through thetrees, Boyd ahead.
"Is this the Catharines-town trail?" he asked. "By God, they'll neverget their artillery through here. Mark it, all the same," he addedindifferently, and seated himself beside me, dropping his rifle acrosshis knees with a gesture of weariness.
"Are you tired?" I asked.
He looked up at me with a wan smile.
"Weary of myself, Loskiel, and of a life lived too lightly and now nighended."
"Nigh ended!" I repeated.
"I go not back again," he said, sombrely.
I glanced sharply at him, where he sat brooding over his rifle; andthere was in his face an expression such as I had never before seenthere--something unnatural that altered him altogether, as death altersthe features, leaving them strangely unfamiliar. And even as I looked,the expression passed. He lifted his eyes to mine, and even smiled.
"There is," he said, "a viewless farm which companions even theswiftest on the last long trail, a phantom-pilot which leads onlytoward that Shadowed Valley of endless rest. In my ears all day--close,close to my ear, I have heard the whisper of this unseenghost--everywhere I have heard it, amid the din of the artillery, onwindy hill-tops, in the long silence of the forest, through the noiseof torrents in lost ravines, by flowing rivers sparkling in thesun--everywhere my pilot whispers to me. I can not escape, Loskiel;whatever trail I take, that is the trail; whichever way I turn, that isthe way. And ever my phantom pilots me--forward or back, aside oraround--it is all one to him and to me, for at the end of every trail Itake, nearer and nearer draw I to mine end."
I had heard of premonitions before a battle; had known officers andsoldiers to utter them--brave men, too, yet obsessed by the convictionof their approaching death. Sometimes they die; sometimes escape, andthe premonition ends forever. But until the moment of peril is passed,or they fall as they had foretold, no argument will move them, noassurance cheer them. But our corps had been in many battles during thelast three years, and I had never before seen Boyd this way.
He said, brooding on his rifle:
"The one true passion of my life has been Lana Helmer. It beganignobly; it continues through all this pain and bewilderment, a pure,clean current, running to the deep, still sea of dreams.... There it islost; I follow
it no further.... And were I here today as upright andas stainless as are you, Loskiel, still I could follow it no furtherthan that sea of dreams. Nor would my viewless pilot lead me elsewherethan to the destiny of silence that awaits me; and none the less wouldI hear his whisper in my ears.... My race is run."
I said: "Is it vain to appeal to your reason when your heart is heavy?"
"Had I another chance," he said, "I would lighten the load of sin Ibear--the heavy load I bear with me into the unknown."
"God gives us all our chance."
"He gave me my last chance at Tioga Fort. And I cursed it in my heartand put it aside."
"One day you will return,"
"Never again, Loskiel.... I am no coward. I dare face the wrath tocome. It is not that; but--I am sorry I did not spare when I might havebeen more generous.... The little thing was ignorant.... Doves matelike that.... And somewhere--somehow--I shall be required to answer forit all--shall be condemned to make amends.... I wonder how the deadmake their amends?... For me to burn in hell avails her nothing.... Ifshe thought it she would weep uncomforted.... No; there is a justice.But how it operates I shall never understand until it summons me tohear my sentence."
"You will return and do what a contrite heart bids you to do," I said.
"If that might be," he said gently, "that would I do--for the child'ssake and for hers."
"Good God!" I said under my breath.
"Did you not surmise it?"
"No."
"Well, then, now you know how deeply I am damned.... God gave me a lastchance. There was a chaplain at the fort."
"Kirkland."
"Yes, Gann went forward.... But--God's grace was not within me.... Andto see her angered me--that and the blinding hurt I had when Lanaleft--heart-broken, wretched, still loving me, but consigning me to myduty.... So I denied her at the bridge.... And from that moment has myunseen pilot walked beside me, and I know he leads me swiftly to myend."
I raised my troubled eyes and glanced toward my Indians. They hadstripped great squares of bark from half a dozen trees, and were busilypainting upon them, in red and blue, insulting signs and symbols--adead tree-cat, scalped, and full of arrows; a snake severed intosections; a Seneca tied to a post and a broken wampum belt at his feet.And on every tree they had also painted the symbol of their own clansand nation--pointed stones and the stars of the Pleiades; a witch-wolfand an enchanted bear; a yellow moth alighted on a white cross; anight-hawk, perfectly recognizable, soaring high above a sun, setting,bisecting the line of the horizon.
Every scalp taken was duly enumerated and painted there, together withevery captured weapon. Such a gallery of art in the wilderness I hadnever before beheld.
Boyd's riflemen sat around, cross-legged on the moss, watching theIndians at their labour--all except Murphy and Elerson, who, true totheir habits, had each selected a tree to decorate, and were hard atwork with their hunting knives on the bark.
On Murphy's tree I read: "To hell with Walter Butler."
Elerson, who no doubt had scraped the outlines of this legend with hisknife-point before Murphy carved it, had produced another message onhis own tree, not a whit more complimentary: "Dam Butler, Brant,Hiakotoo, and McDonald for bloody rogues and murtherin' rascals all!"
They were ever like this, these two great overgrown boys, alreadycelebrated so terribly in song and legend. And the rank and file ofMorgan's resembled them--brave to a fault, innately lawless, of scanteducation save what the forest had taught them, headstrong, quick toanger, quick to forgive, violent in every emotion through the entiregamut from love to hatred.
Boyd rose, glanced quietly at me, then made his signal. And in a fewmoments the riflemen were on the trail again, spotting it wherever anew path led away, trotting steadily forward in single file, my Indiansranging wide on either flank.
Late in the afternoon we came to the height of land, where the littlewater-courses all ran north; and here we halted, dropped packs, and themen sat down while the Sagamore and I once more went forward to theheadwaters of a stream, beside which the narrow and swampy trail randue north. And here the nature of the country changed entirely, forbeyond it was all one vast swamp, as still and dark as death.
A little way along this blackish stream Mayaro halted, and for a whilestood motionless, his powerful arms folded, gazing straight in front ofhim with the half-closed eyes of a dreaming wolf.
Never had I looked upon so sinister a country or a swamp so vast anddesolate. It seemed more black than dusky, and the gloom lay not in theobscure light of thick-set spruce, pine, and hemlock, but in theshaggy, monstrous, and forbidding growth which appeared to be soiledwith some common dye, water, earth, tree-trunks, foliage--all wore thesame inky livery, and seemed wrought of rusty iron, so still the hugetrees stood, with every melancholy branch a-droop.
Sign of life there was none; the current of the narrow stream ran likesmooth oil; nor was its motion visible where it wound between soft,black banks of depthless swamp through immemorial shadows.
The Mohican's voice came to me, low in the silence, sounding dull andremote; nor did his dreaming eyes move in their vague intensity.
"This is the land of Amochol," he said. "Here, through these viewlessshades, his sway begins, as this stream begins, whose source isdarkness and whose current moves slowly like thick blood. Here is thehaunt of witch and sorcerer--of the hag Catrine, of the Wyoming Fiend,of Amochol--of Amochol! Here run the Andastes, hunting through the dusklike wolves and foxes--running, smelling, listening, ever hunting. Hereslink the Cat-People under a moon which is hidden forever by thismatted forest roof. This is the Dark Empire, O Loskiel! Behold!"
A slight shudder chilled me, but I said calmly enough:
"Where lies Catharines-town, O Sagamore?"
"This thick, dark stream runs through it."
"Through Catharines-town?"
"Aye."
"And then?"
"Along the vast chain of inland seas--first into the Lake of theSenecas, then to that of the Cayugas, fed by Owasco, by Onondaga, byOneida, until it is called Oswego, and flows north by the great fortinto the sea Ontario."
"And where lies Catharines-town?"
"Nine miles beyond us, northward."
"And the trail?"
"None, Loskiel, save for the maze of game trails where long leaps aremade from tussock to swale, from root to rotting log across black poolsof mud, and quivering quicksands whose depths are white as snow underthe skin of mud, set with tarnished rainbow bubbles."
"But--those who come after us, Mayaro! The army--the wagons, horses,artillery, cattle--nay, the men themselves! How are they to pass?"
He pointed east, then west: "For six miles, flanking this swamp, runridges of high hills northward. By these must the army march toCatharines-town, the pioneers opening a road for the artillery. Thisyou shall make plain to Boyd presently, for he must march that way,marking plain the trail north on the eastern ridge of hills, then west.Thus shall Boyd move to cut off Amochol from the lake, while you and Iand the Oneidas and the Yellow Moth must thread this swamp and comb itclean to head him from the rivers south of us."
"Is there a path along the ridge?"
"No path, Loskiel. So Boyd shall march by compass, slowly, seeking overthe level way, and open woods, with the artillery and wagons ever inhis thoughts. Six miles due north shall he march; then, where the hillsend a swamp begins--thick, miry, set with maple, brier, and tamarack.But through this he must blaze his trail, and the pioneers who are tofollow shall lay their wagon-path across felled trees, northward still,across the forests that border the flats of Catharines-town; and then,still northward for a mile; and so swing west, severing the lake trail.Thus we shall trap Amochol between us."
Slowly we walked back together to the height of land, where our littleparty lay looking down at the dark country below. I sat down besideBoyd, cleared from the soil the leaves for a little space, drew myknife, and with its point traced out the map.
He listened in silence, while
I went over all that the Sagamore hadtaught me; and around us squatted our Indians, motionless, fiercelyintent upon my every word and gesture.
"Today is Sunday," I said. "By this hour, Butler's people should be inheadlong flight. Our army will not follow them at once, because it willtake all day tomorrow for our men to destroy the corn along theChemung. But on Tuesday our army will surely march, laying waste theIndian towns and fields. Therefore, giving them ample time for this,they should arrive at this spot on Wednesday."
"I have so calculated," said Boyd, listlessly.
"But Wednesday is the first day of September; and if we are to strikeAmochol at all it must be done during the Onon-hou-aroria. And thatends on Tuesday. Therefore, must you move within the hour. And bytomorrow evening you shall have blazed your hill-trail and shall belying with your men beside the stream and across the lake trail, northof Catharines-town."
He nodded.
"Tonight," said I, "I and my Indians lie here on this height of land,watching the swamp below, that nothing creep out of it. On Mondaymorning, we move through it, straight northward, following the stream,and by Monday night we scout to Catharines-town."
"That is clear," he said, lifting his handsome head from his hands."And the signal should come from me. Listen, Loskiel; you shall expectthat signal between midnight of Monday and dawn."
He rose, and I stood up; and for a moment we looked each other steadilyin the eye. Then he smiled faintly, shaking his head:
"Not this time, Loskiel," he said in a low voice. "My spectral pilotgives no sign. Death lies beyond the fires of Catharines-town. I know,Loskiel--I know."
"I also," said I in a low voice, taking his outstretched hand, "for youshall live to make material amends as you have made them spiritually.Only the act of deep contrition lies between you and God's swiftpardon. It were a sin to doubt it."
But he slowly shook his head, the faint smile lingering still. Then hisgrip closed suddenly on my hand, released it, and he swung on his heel.
"Attention!" he said crisply. "Sling packs! Fall in! Tr-r-rail arms!March!"