CHAPTER VI
THE SPRING WAIONTHA
It happened the following afternoon that, having written in my journal,and dressed me in my best, I left the Mohican in the hut a-painting andshining up his weapons, and walked abroad to watch the remaining troopsand the artillery start for Otsego Lake.
A foot regiment--Colonel Gansevoort's--had struck tents and marchedwith its drums and colours early that morning, carrying also theregimental wagons and batteaux. However, I had been told that thisveteran regiment was not to go with the army into the Iroquois country,but was to remain as a protection to Tryon County. But now ColonelLamb's remaining section of artillery was to march to the lake; andwhether this indicated that our army at last was fairly in motion,nobody knew. Yet, it seemed scarcely likely, because Lieutenant Boydhad been ordered out with a scout of twenty men toward the West branchof the Delaware, and he told me that he expected to be absent forseveral days. Besides, it was no secret that arms had not yet beenissued and distributed to all the recruits in the foot regiments; thatSchott's riflemen had not yet drawn their equipment, and that as yet wehad not collected half the provisions required for an extensivecampaign, although nearly every day the batteaux came up the river withstores from Schenectady and posts below.
Strolling up from the river that afternoon, very fine in my best, and,I confess, content with myself except for the lack of hair powder,queue, and ribbon, which ever disconcerted me, I saw already the twoguns of the battalion of artillery moving out of their cantonment, thelimbers, chests, and the forge well horsed and bright with polish andpaint, the men somewhat patched and ragged, but with queues smartlytied and heads well floured.
Had our cannoneers been properly and newly uniformed, it had been afine and stirring sight, with the artillery bugle-horn sounding themarch, and the camp trumpets answering, and Colonel Lamb riding aheadwith his mounted officers, very fine and nobly horsed, the flag flyingsmartly and most beautiful against the foliage of the terraced woods.
A motley assembly had gathered to see them march out; our GeneralClinton and his staff, in the blue and buff of the New York Line, hadcome over, and all the officers and soldiers off duty, too, as well asthe people of the vicinity, and a horde of workmen, batteaux-men, andforest runners, including a dozen Oneida Indians of the guides.
Poor Alden's 6th Massachusetts foot regiment, which was just leavingfor the lake on its usual road-mending detail, stood in spiritlesssilence to see the artillery pass; their Major, Whiting, as well as thesullen rank and file, seeming still to feel the disgrace of CherryValley, where their former colonel lost his silly life, and MajorStacia was taken, and still remained a prisoner.
As for us of Morgan's, we were very sorry for the mortified NewEnglanders, yet not at all forgetful of their carping and insolentattitude toward the ragged New York Line--where at least the majorityof our officers were gentlemen and where proper and military regard forrank was most decently maintained. Gad! To hear your New Englandertalk, a man might think that this same war was being maintained andfought by New England alone. And, damn them, they got Schuyler laidaside after all. But the New York Line went about its grim and patientbusiness, unheeding their New England arrogance as long as HisExcellency understood the truth concerning the wretched situation. AndI for one marvelled that the sniffling 'prentices of Massachusetts andthe Connecticut barbers and tin-peddlers had the effrontery to boast ofNew England valour while that arch-malcontent, Ethan Allen, and hispetty and selfish yokels of Vermont, openly defied New York andCongress, nor scrupled to conduct most treasonably, to theireverlasting and black disgrace. No Ticonderoga, no Bennington, couldwipe out that outrageous treachery, or efface the villainy of what wasdone to Schuyler--the man who knew no fear, the officer withoutreproach.
The artillery jolted and clinked away down the rutty road which theirwheels and horses cut into new and deeper furrows; a veil of violetdust hung in their wake, through which harness, cannon, and drawncutlass glittered and glimmered like sunlit ripples through a mist.
Then came our riflemen marching as escort, smart and gay in their brownforest-dress, the green thrums rippling and flying from sleeve andleggin' and open double-cape, and the raccoon-tails all a-bobbingbehind their caps like the tails that April lambkins wriggle.
Always the sight of my own corps thrilled me. I thanked God for thosebig, sun-masked men with their long, silent, gliding stride, theirshirts open to their mighty chests, and the heavy rifles all swingingin glancing unison on their caped shoulders, carried as lightly as somany reeds.
I stood at salute as our Major and Captain Simpson strode by; grinnedever so little as Boyd came swinging along, his naked cutlass drawn,scarlet fringes tossing on his painted cape. He whispered as he passed:
"Murphy and Elerson took two scalps last night. They're drying on hoopsin the barracks. Look and see if they be truly Seneca."
At that I was both startled and disgusted; but it was well-nighimpossible to prevent certain of our riflemen who had once beenwood-runners from treating the Iroquois as the Iroquois treated them.And they continued to scalp them as naturally as they once had clippedpads and ears from panther and wolf. Mount and the rifleman Renard nolonger did it, and I had thought to have persuaded Murphy and Elersonto conduct more becoming. But it seemed that I had failed.
My mind was filled with resentful thoughts as I entered the Lower Fortand started across the swarming parade toward the barracks, meaning tohave a look at these ghastly trophies and judge to what nation theybelonged.
People of every walk in life were passing and repassing where ourregimental wagons were being loaded, and I threaded my way with samedifficulty amid a busy throng, noticing nobody, unless it were one ofmy own corps who saluted my cockade.
Halfway across, a young woman bearing a gunny-sack full of linengarments and blankets to be washed blocked my passage, and being awoman I naturally gave her right of way. And the next instant saw itwas Lois.
She had averted her head, and was now hurriedly passing on, and Iturned sharply on my heel and came up beside her.
"Lois," I managed to say with a voice that was fairly steady, "have youforgotten me?"
Her head remained resolutely averted; and as I continued beside her,she said, without looking at me:
"Do you not understand that you are disgracing yourself by speaking tome on the parade? Pass on, sir, for your own sake."
"I desire to speak to you," I said obstinately.
"No. Pass on before any officers see you!"
My face, I know, was fiery red, and for an instant all the ridicule,the taunts, the shame which I might well be storing up for myself,burned there for anyone to see. But stronger than fear of ridicule rosea desperate determination not to lose this maid again, and whether whatI was doing was worthy, and for her sake, or unworthy, and for my own,I did not understand or even question.
"I wish to talk with you," I said doggedly. "I shall not let you gothis time."
"Are you mad to so conduct under the eyes of the whole fort?" shewhispered. "Go your way!"
"I'd be madder yet to let you get away again. My way is yours."
She halted, cheeks blazing, and looked at me for the first time.
"I ask you not to persist," she said, "----for my sake if not foryours. What an officer or a soldier says to a girl in this fort makesher a trull in the eyes of any man who sees. Do you so desire to brandme, Mr. Loskiel?"
"No," I said between my teeth, and turned to leave her. And, I think,it was something in my face that made her whisper low and hurriedly:
"Waiontha Spring! If you needs must see me for a moment more, comethere!"
I scarcely heard, so tight emotion had me by the throat, and walked onblindly, all a-quiver. Yet, in my ears the strange wards sounded:"Waiontha--Waiontha--come to the Spring Waiontha--if you needs must seeme."
On a settle before the green-log barrack, some of Schott's riflemenwere idling, and now stood, seeing an officer.
"Boys," I said, "where is this latest fool
ery of Tim Murphy hung todry?"
They seemed ashamed, but told me, As I moved on, I said carelessly,partly turning:
"Where is the Spring Waiontha?"
"On the Lake Trail, sir--first branch of the Stoney-Kill."
"Is there a house there?"
"Rannock's."
"A path to find it?"
"A sheep walk only. Rannock is dead. The destructives murdered him whenthey burned Cherry Valley. Mrs. Rannock brings us eggs and milk."
I walked on and entered the smoky barracks, and the first thing I sawwas a pair o' scalps, stretched and hooped, a-dangling from the rafters.
Doubtless, Murphy and Elerson meant to sew them to their bullet poucheswhen cured and painted. And there was one reckless fellow in my companywho wore a baldrick fringed with Shawanese scalps; but as these sameShawanese had murdered his father, mother, grandmother, and threelittle brothers, no officer rebuked him, although it was a horrid andsavage trophy; but if the wearing of it were any comfort to him I donot know.
I looked closely at the ornamented scalps, despite my repugnance. Theywere not Mohawk, not Cayuga, nor Onondaga. Nor did they seem to me likeSeneca, being not oiled and braided clean, but tagged at the root withthe claws of a tree-lynx. They were not Oneida, not Lenape. Therefore,they must be Seneca scalps. Which meant that Walter Butler and thatspawn of satan, Sayanquarata, were now prowling around our outerpickets. For the ferocious Senecas and their tireless war-chief,Sayanquarata, were Butler's people; the Mohawks and Joseph Brantholding the younger Butler in deep contempt for the cruelty he didpractice at Cherry Valley.
Suddenly a shaft of fear struck me like a swift arrow in the breast, asI thought of Butler and of his Mountain Snakes, and of that mad child,Lois, a-gypsying whither her silly inclination led her; and Death inthe forest-dusk watching her with a hundred staring eyes.
"This time," I muttered, "I shall put a stop to all herforest-running!" And, at the thought, I turned and passed swiftlythrough the doorway, across the thronged parade, out of the gate.
Hastening my pace along the Lake Road, meeting many people at first,then fewer, then nobody at all, I presently crossed the first littlebrook that feeds the Stoney-Kill, leaping from stone to stone. Here inthe woods lay the Oneida camp. I saw some squaws there sewing.
The sheep walk branched a dozen yards beyond, running northward throughwhat had been a stump field. It was already grown head-high in weedsand wild flowers, and saplings of bird-cherry, which spring up whereverfire has passed. A few high corn-stalks showed what had been plantedthere a year ago.
After a few moments following the path, I found that the field endedabruptly, and the solid walls of the forest rose once more like greencliffs towering on every side. And at their base I saw a house of logs,enclosed within a low brush fence, and before it a field of brush.
Shirts and soldiers' blankets lay here and there a-drying on thebushes; a wretched garden-patch showed intensely green between a wasteof fire-blackened stumps. I saw chickens in a coop, and a cow switchingforest flies. A cloud of butterflies flew up as I approached, where therunning water of a tiny rill made muddy hollows on the path. Thisdoubtless must be the outlet to Waiontha Spring, for there to the lefta green lane had been bruised through the elder thicket; and this Ifollowed, shouldering my way amid fragrant blossom and sun-hot foliage,then through an alder run, and suddenly out across a gravelly reachwhere water glimmered in a still and golden pool.
Lois knelt there on the bank. The soldiers' linen I had seen in herarms was piled beside her. In a willow basket, newly woven, I saw aheap of clean, wet shirts and tow-cloth rifle-frocks.
She heard me behind her--I took care that she should--but she made nosign that she had heard or knew that I was there. Even when I spoke shecontinued busy with her suds and shirts; and I walked around thegravelly basin and seated myself near her, cross-legged on the sand,both hands clasping my knees.
"Well?" she asked, still scrubbing, and her hair was fallen in curlsabout her brow--hair thicker and brighter, though scarce longer, thanmy own. But Lord! The wild-rose beauty that flushed her cheeks as shelaboured there! And when she at last looked up at me her eyes seemedlike two grey stars, full of reflections from the golden pool.
"I have come," said I, "to speak most seriously."
"What is it you wish?"
"A comrade's privilege."
"And what may that be, sir?"
"The right to be heard; the right to be answered--and a comrade'sprivilege to offer aid."
"I need no aid."
"None living can truthfully say that," said I pleasantly.
"Oh! Do you then require charity from this pleasant world we live in?"
"I did not offer charity to you."
"You spoke of aid," she said coldly.
"Lois--is there in our brief companionship no memory that may warrantmy speaking as honestly as I speak to you?"
"I know of none, Do you?"
I had been looking at her chilled pink fingers. My ring was gone.
"A ring for a rose is my only warrant," I said.
She continued to soap the linen and to scrub in silence. After she hadfinished the garment and wrung it dry, she straightened her supplefigure where she was kneeling, and, turning toward me, searched in herbosom with one little, wet hand, drawing from it a faded ribbon onwhich my ring hung.
"Do you desire to have it of me again?" she asked, without anyexpression on her sun-freckled face.
"What? The ring?"
"Aye! Desire it!" I repeated, turning red. "No more than you desire thewithered bud you left beside me while I slept."
"What bud, sir?"
"Did you not leave me a rose-bud?"
"I?"
"And a bit of silver birch-bark scratched with a knife point?"
"Now that I think of it, perhaps I may have done so--or some suchthing--scarce knowing what I was about--and being sleepy. What was itthat I wrote? I can not now remember--being so sleepy when I did it."
"And that is all you thought about it, Lois?"
"How can one think when half asleep''
"Here is your rose," I said angrily. "I will take my ring again."
She opened her grey eyes at that.
"Lord!" she murmured in an innocent and leisurely surprise. "You haveit still, my rose? Are roses scarce where you inhabit, sir? For if youfind the flower so rare and curious I would not rob you of it--no!"And, bending, soaked and soaped another shirt.
"Why do you mock me, Lois?"
"I! Mock you! La! Sir, you surely jest."
"You do so! You have done so ever since we met. I ask you why?" Irepeated, curbing my temper.
"Lord!" she murmured, shaking her head. "The young man is surely goingstark! A girl in my condition--such a girl as I mock at an officer anda gentleman? No, it is beyond all bounds; and this young man issuffering from the sun."
"Were it not," said I angrily, "that common humanity brought me hereand bids me remain for the moment, I would not endure this."
"Heaven save us all!" she sighed. "How very young is this young man whocomes complaining here that he is mocked--when all I ventured was tomarvel that he had found a wild rose-bud so rare and precious!"
I said to myself: "Damn! Damn!" in fierce vexation, yet knew not how totake her nor how to save my dignity. And she, with head averted, waslaughing silently; I could see that, too; and never in my life had Ibeen so flouted to my face.
"Listen to me!" I broke out bluntly. "I know not who or what you are,why you are here, whither you are bound. But this I do know, thatbeyond our pickets there is peril in these woods, and it is madness forman or maid to go alone as you do."
The laughter had died out in her face. After a moment it became grave.
"Was it to tell me this that you spoke to me in the fort, Mr. Loskiel?"she asked.
"Yes, Two days ago our pickets were fired on by Indians. Last night tworiflemen of our corps took as many Seneca scalps. Do you suppose thatwhen I heard of these affairs I did not think
of you--remembering whatwas done but yesterday at Cherry Valley?"
"Did you--remember--me?"
"Good God, yes!" I exclaimed, my nerves on edge again at the merememory of her rashness. "I came here as a comrade--wishing to be ofservice, and--you have used me----"
"Vilely," she said, looking serenely at me.
"I did not say that, Lois----"
"I say it, Mr. Loskiel. And yet--I told you where to find me. That ismuch for me to tell to any man. Let that count a little to my damagedcredit with you.... And--I still wear the ring you gave.... And left arose for you, Let these things count a little in my favour. For you canscarcely guess how much of courage it had cost me." She knelt there,her bared arms hanging by her side, the sun bright on her curls,staring at me out of those strange, grey eyes.
"Since I have been alone," she said in a low voice, "no man--unless bya miracle it be you--has offered me a service or a kindness except thathe awaited his reward. Soon or late their various songs became the samefamiliar air. It is the only song I've heard from men--with endlessvariations, truly, often and cunningly disguised--yet ever the same andsorry theme.... Men are what God made them; God has seemed to fashionme to their liking--I scarce know how--seeing I walk in rags, unkempt,and stained with wind and rain, and leaf and earth and sun."
She made a childish gesture, sweeping the curls aside with both herhands:
"I sheared my hair! Look at me, sir--a wild thing in a ragged shift andtattered gown--all burnt and roughened with the sun and wind--not evenclean to look on--yet that I am!--and with no friend to speak to savean Indian.... I ask you, sir, what it is in me--and what lack of pridemust lie in men that I can not trust myself to the company of one amongthem--not one! Be he officer, or common soldier--all are the same."
She dropped her head, and, thoughtfully, her hands again crept up andwandered over her cheeks and hair, the while her grey eyes, fixed andremote, seemed lost in speculation. Then she looked up again:
"Why should I think to find you different?" she asked, "Is any mandifferent from his fellows, humble or great? Is it not man himself, notonly men, that I must face as I have faced you--with silence, or withsullen speech, or with a hardness far beyond my years, and a gaietythat means nothing more kind than insolence?"
Again her head fell on her breast, and her hands linked themselves onher knees as she knelt there in silence.
"Lois," I said, trying to think clearly, "I do not know that other menand I are different. Once I believed so. But--lately--I do not know.Yet, I know this: selfish or otherwise, I can not endure the thought ofyou in peril."
She looked at me very gravely; then dropped her head once more.
"I don't know," I said desperately, "I wish to be honest--tell you nolie--tell none to myself. I--your beauty--has touched me--or whateverit is about you that attracts. And, whatever gown you go in, I scarcelysee it--somehow--finding you so--so strangely--lovely--in speechalso--and in--every way.... And now that I have not lied to you--or tomyself--in spite of what I have said, let me be useful to you. For Ican be; and perhaps these other sentiments will pass away----"
She looked up so suddenly that I ceased speaking, fearful of a rebuff;but saw only the grave, grey eyes looking straight into mine, and asudden, deeper colour waning from her cheeks.
"Whatever I am," said I, "I can be what I will. Else I were no man. Ifyour--beauty--has moved me, that need not concern you--and surely notalarm you. A woman's beauty is her own affair. Men take their chancewith it--as I take mine with yours--that it do me no deep damage. Andif it do, or do not, our friendship is still another matter; for itmeans that I wish you well, desire to aid you, ease your burdens, makeyou secure and safe, vary your solitude with a friendly word--I mean,Lois, to be to you a real comrade, if you will. Will you?"
After a moment she said:
"What was it that you said about my--beauty?"
"I take my chances that it do me no deep damage."
"Oh! Am I to take my chance, too?"
"What chance?"
"That--your kindness do me--no damage?"
"What senseless talk is this you utter?"
She shook her head slowly, then:
"What a strange boy! I do not fear you."
"Fear me?" I repeated, flushing hotly. "What is there to fear? I amneither yokel nor beast."
"They say a gentleman should be more dreaded."
I stared at her, then laughed:
"Ask yourself how far you need have dread of me--when, if you desireit, you can leave me dumb, dismayed, lip-bound by your mockingtongue--which God knows well I fear."
"Is my tongue so bitter then? I did not know it."
"I know it," said I with angry emphasis. "And I tell you very freelythat----"
She stole a curious glance at me. Something halted me--an expression Ihad never yet seen there in her face, twitching at her lips--hoveringon them now--parting them in a smile so sweet and winning that,silenced by the gracious transformation, unexpected, I caught mybreath, astonished.
"What is your given name?" she asked, still dimpling at me, and hereyes now but two blue wells of light.
"Euan," I said, foolish as a flattered schoolboy, and as awkward.
"Euan," she said, still smiling at me, "I think that I could be yourfriend--if you do truly wish it. What is it you desire of me? Ask meonce more, and make it very clear and plain."
"Only your confidence; that is all I ask."
"Oh! Is that all you ask of me?" she mimicked mockingly; but so sweether smile, and soft her voice, that I did not mind her words.
"Remember," said I, "that I am older than you. You are to tell me allthat troubles you."
"When?"
"Now."
"No. I have my washing to complete, And you must go. Besides, I havemending, darning, and my knitting yet to do. It all means bed and baitto me."
"Will you not tell me why you are alone here, Lois?"
"Tell you what? Tell you why I loiter by our soldiers' camps like anypainted drab? I will tell you this much; I need no longer play thatshameless role."
"You need not use those words in the same breath when speaking ofyourself," I answered hotly.
"Then--you do not credit ill of me?" she asked, a bright but somewhatfixed and painful smile on her red lips.
"No!" said I bluntly. "Nor did I ever."
"And yet I look the part, and seem to play it, too. And still youbelieve me honest?"
"I know you are."
"Then why should I be here alone--if I am honest, Euan?"
"I do not know; tell me."
"But--are you quite certain that you do not ask because you doubt me?"
I said impatiently: "I ask, knowing already you are good abovereproach. I ask so I may understand how best to aid you."
A lovely colour stole into her cheeks.
"You are kind, Euan. And it is true--though--" and she shrugged hershoulders, "what other man would credit it?" She lifted her head alittle and looked at me with clear, proud eyes:
"Well, let them say what they may in fort and barracks twixt thisfrontier and Philadelphia. The truth remains that I have been no man'smistress and am no trull. Euan, I have starved that I might remainexactly what I am at this moment. I swear to you that I stand hereunsullied and unstained under this untainted sky which the same Godmade who fashioned me. I have known shame and grief and terror; I havelain cold and ill and sleepless; I have wandered roofless, hunted,threatened, mocked, beset by men and vice. Soldiers have used meroughly--you yourself saw, there at the Poundridge barracks! And onlyyou among all men saw truly. Why should I not give to you myfriendship, unashamed?"
"Give it," I said, more deeply moved than ever I had been.
"I do! I do! Rightly or wrongly, now, at last, and in the end, I givemy honest heart and friendship to a man!" And with a quick and winninggesture she offered me her hand; and I took it firmly in my clasp, andfell a-trembling so I could not find a word to utter.
"Come to me to-night, Euan," she sa
id. "I lodge yonder. There is a poorwidow there--a Mrs. Rannock--who took me in. They killed her husband inNovember. I am striving to repay her for the food and shelter sheaffords me. I have been given mending and washing at the fort. You seeI am no leech to fasten on a body and nourish me for nothing. So I dowhat I am able. Will you come to me this night?"
"Yes." But I could not yet speak steadily.
"Come then; I--I will tell you something of my miserable condition--ifyou desire to know.... Truly I think, speaking to no one, this long andunhappy silence has eaten and corroded part of me within--so ill am Iat moments with the pain and shame I've borne so long--so long, Euan!Ah--you do not--know.... And it may be that when you do come to-night Ihave repented of my purposes--locked up my wounded heart again. But Ishall try to tell you--something. For I need somebody--need kindlycouncil very sorely, Euan. And even the Sagamore now fails me--on thethreshold----"
"What?"
"He means it for the best; he fears for me. I will tell you how it iswith me when you come to-night. I truly desire to tell you--I--I needto tell you. Will you come to me?"
"On my honour, Lois."
"Then--if you please, will you leave me now? I must do my washing andmending--and----" she smiled, "if you only knew how desperately I needwhat money I may earn. My garments, Euan, are like to fall from me ifthese green cockspur thorns give way."
"But, Lois," I said, "I have brought you money!" And I fished from anyhunting shirt a great, thick packet of those poor paper dollars, now insuch contempt that scarce five hundred of them counted for a dozengood, hard shillings.
"What are you doing?" she said, so coldly that I ceased counting thelittle squares of currency and looked up at her surprised.
"I am sharing my pay with you," said I. "I have no silver--only these."
"I can not take--money!"
"What?"
"Did you suppose I could?"
"Comrades have a common purse; Why not?"
For a few moments her face wore the same strange expression, then, of asudden her eyes filled and closed convulsively, and she turned herhead, motioning me to leave her.
"Will you not share with me?" I asked, very hot about the ears.
She shook her head and I saw her shoulders heave once or twice.
"Lois," I said gravely, "did you fear I hoped for some--reward?Child--little comrade--only the happiness of aiding you is what I askfor. Share with me then, I beg you. I am not poor."
"No--I can not, Euan," she answered in a stifled voice. "Is there anyshame to you in sharing with me?"
"Wait," she whispered. "Wait till you hear. And--thank you--for--yourkindness."
"I will be here to-night," I said. "And when we know each other betterwe will share a common purse."
She did not answer me.
I lingered for a moment, desiring to reassure and comfort her, but knewnot how. And so, as she did not turn, I finally went away through thesunlit willows, leaving her kneeling there alone beside the goldenpool, her bright head drooping and her hands still covering her face.
As I walked back slowly to the fort, I pondered how to be of aid toher; and knew not how. Had there been the ladies of any officers withthe army now, I should have laid her desperate case before them; butall had gone back to Albany before our scout of three returned fromWestchester.
Here on the river, within our lines, while the army remained, she wouldbe safe enough from forest peril. Yet I burned and raged to think ofthe baser peril ever threatening her among men of her own speech andcolour. I suppose, considering her condition, they had a right to thinkher that which she was not and never had been. For honesty and maidenvirtue never haunted camps. Only two kinds of women tramped withregiments--the wives of soldiers, and their mistresses.
Yet, somehow her safety must be now arranged, her worth and virtueclearly understood, her needs and dire necessities made known, so thatwhen our army moved she might find a shelter, kind and respectable,within the Middle Fort, or at Schenectady, or anywhere inside our lines.
My pay was small; yet, having no soul dependent on my bounty andneeding little myself, I had saved these pitiable dollars that ourCongress paid us. Besides, I had a snug account with my solicitor inAlbany. She might live on that. I did not need it; seldom drew a penny;my pay more than sufficing. And, after the war had ended--ended----
Just here my heart beat out o' step, and thought was halted for amoment. But with the warm thought and warmer blood tingling me onceagain, I knew and never doubted that we had not done with one anotheryet, nor were like to, war or no war. For in all the world, and throughall the years of youth, I had never before encountered any woman whohad shared with me my waking thoughts and the last and conscious momentere I slept. But from the time I lost this woman out of my life,something seemed also missing from the world. And when again I foundher, life and the world seemed balanced and well rounded once again.And in my breast a strange calm rested me.
As I walked along the rutty lake road, all hatched and gashed by theartillery, I made up my mind to one matter. "She must have clothes!"thought I, "and that's flat!" Perhaps not such as befitted her, butsomething immediate, and not in tatters--something stout thatthreatened not to part and leave her naked. For the brier-torn rags shewore scarce seemed to hold together; and her small, shy feet peepedthrough her gaping shoon in snowy hide-and-seek.
Now, coming hither from the fort, I had already noticed on theStoney-Kill where our Oneidas lay encamped. So when I sighted the firstpainted tree and saw the stone pipe hanging, I made for it, and foundthere the Indians smoking pipes and not in war paint; and their womenand children were busy with their gossip, near at hand.
As I had guessed, there by the fire lay a soft and heavy pack ofdoeskins, open, and a pretty Oneida matron sewing Dutch wampum on apainted sporran for her warrior lord.
The lean and silent warriors came up as I approached, sullenly atfirst, not knowing what treatment to expect--more shame to the skin wetake our pride in!
One after another took the hand I offered in self-respecting silence.
"Brothers," I said, "I come to buy. Sooner or later your young men willput on red paint and oil their bodies. Even now I see your rifles andyour hatchets have been polished. Sooner or later the army will movefour hundred miles through a wilderness so dark that neither sun normoon nor stars can penetrate. The old men, the women, the children, andthe littlest ones still strapped to the cradle-board, must then remainbehind. Is it the truth I speak, my brothers?"
"It is the truth," they answered very quietly, "Then," said I, "theywill require food and money to buy with. Is it not true, Oneidas?"
"It is true, brother."
I smiled and turned toward the women who were listening, and who nowlooked up at me with merry faces.
"I have," said I, "four hundred dollars. It is for the Oneida maid ormatron who will sell to me her pretty bridal dress of doeskin--thedress which she has made and laid aside and never worn. I buy hermarriage dress. And she will make another for herself against the hourof need."
Two or three girls leaped laughing to their feet; but, "Wait!" said I."This is for my little sister; and I must judge you where you stand,Oneida forest flowers, so I may know which one among you is most likemy little sister in height and girth and narrow feet."
"Is our elder brother's little sister fat and comely?" inquired onegiggling and over-plump Oneida maid.
"Not plump," I said; and they all giggled.
Another short one stood on tip-toe, asking bashfully if she were notthe proper height to suit me.
But there was a third, graceful and slender, who had risen with therest, and who seemed to me nearer a match to Lois. Also, her naked,dusky feet were small and shapely.
At a smiling nod from me she hastened into the family lodge andpresently reappeared with the cherished clothing. Fresh and soft andnew, she cast the garments on the moss and spread them daintily andproudly to my view for me to mark her wondrous handiwork. And it wastruly pretty--from the soft, wam
pum-broidered shirt with its hangingthrums, to the clinging skirt and delicate thigh-moccasins, wonderfullyfringed with purple and inset in most curious designs with paintedquills and beads and blue diamond-fronds from feathers of a littlejay-bird's wing.
Bit by bit I counted out the currency; and it took some little time.But when it was done she took it eagerly enough, laughing her thanksand dancing away toward her lodge. And if her dusky sisters envied herthey smiled on me no less merrily as I took my leave of them. And verycourteously a stately chief escorted me to the campfire's edge. TheOneidas were ever gentlemen; and their women gently bred.
Once more at my own hut door, I entered, with a nod to Mayaro, who satsmoking there in freshened war paint. One quick and penetrating glancehe darted at the Oneida garment on my arm, but except for that betrayedno curiosity.
"Well, Mayaro," said I, in excellent spirits, "you still wear war painthopefully, I see. But this army will never start within the week."
The Siwanois smiled to himself and smoked. Then he passed the pipe tome. I drew it twice, rendered it.
"Come," said I, "have you then news that we take the war-trail soon?"
"The war-trail is always open for those who seek it. When my youngerbrother makes ready for a trail, does he summon it to come to him bymagic, or does he seek it on his two legs?"
"Are you hoping to go out with the scout to-night?" I asked. "Thatwould not do."
"I go to-night with my brother Loskiel--to take the air," he said slyly.
"That may not be," I protested, disconcerted. "I have business abroadto-night."
"And I," he said very seriously; but he glanced again at the prettygarments on my arm and gave me a merry look.
"Yes," said I, smilingly, "they are for her. The little lady hath noshoon, no skirt that holds together, save by the grace of cockspurthorns that bind the tatters. Those I have bought of an Oneida girl.And if they do not please her, yet these at least will hold together.And I shall presently write a letter to Albany and send it by the nextbatteau to my solicitor, who will purchase for her garments far moresuitable, and send them to the fort where soon, I trust, she will belodged in fashion more befitting."
The Sagamore's face had become smooth and expressionless. I laid asidethe garments, fished out quill and inkhorn, and, lying flat on theground, wrote my letter to Albany, describing carefully the maid whowas to be fitted, her height, the smallness of her waist and foot aswell as I remembered. I wrote, too, that she was thin, but not toothin. Also I bespoke a box of French hair-powder for her, and buckledshoes of Paddington, and stockings, and a kerchief.
"You know better than do I," I wrote, "having a sister to care for, howwomen dress. They should have shifts, and hair-pegs, and a scarf, andfan, and stays, and scent, and hankers, and a small laced hat, notgilded; cloak, foot-mantle, sun-mask, and a chip hat to tie beneath thechin, and one such as they call after the pretty Mistress Gunning. Ifwomen wear banyans, I know not, but whatever they do wear in their ownprivacy at morning chocolate, in the French fashion, and whatever theydo sleep in, buy and box and send to me. And all the money banked withyou, put it in her name as well as mine, so that her draughts on it mayall be honoured. And this is her name----"
I stopped, dismayed, I did not know her name! And I was about to signfor her full power to share my every penny! Yet, my amazing madness didnot strike me as amazing or grotesque, that, within the hour, a maid ina condition such as hers was to divide my tidy fortune with me. Nay,more--for when I signed this letter she would be free to take what shedesired and even leave me destitute.
I laughed at the thought--so midsummer mad was I upon that sunny Julyafternoon; and within me, like a hidden thicket full of birds, my heartwas singing wondrous tunes I never knew one note of.
"O Sagamore," I said, lifting my head, "tell me her surname now,because I need it for this business. And I forgot to ask her at theSpring Waiontha."
For a full minute the Indian's countenance turned full on me remainedmoon-blank. Then, like lightning, flashed his smile.
"Loskiel, my friend, and now my own blood-brother, what magic singingbirds have so enchanted your two ears. She is but a child, lonely andragged--a tattered leaf still green, torn from the stem by storm andstress, blown through the woodlands and whirled here and yonder byevery breath of wind. Is it fit that my brother Loskiel should noticesuch a woman?"
"She is in need, my brother."
"Give, and pass on, Loskiel."
"That is not giving, O my brother."
"Is it to give alone, Loskiel? Or is it to give--that she may renderall?"
"Yes, honestly to give. Not to take."
"And yet you know her not, Loskiel."
"But I shall know her yet! She has so promised. If she is friendless,she shall be our friend. For you and I are one, O Sagamore! If she iscold, naked, or hungry, we will build for her a fire, and cover her,and give her meat. Our lodge shall be her lodge; our friends hers, herenemies ours. I know not how this all has come to me, Mayaro, myfriend--even as I know not how your friendship came to me, or how nowour honour is lodged forever in each other's keeping. But it is true.Our blood has made us of one race and parentage."
"It is the truth," he said.
"Then tell me her name, that I may write it to my friend in Albany."
"I do not know it," he said quietly.
"She never told you?"
"Never," he said. "Listen, Loskiel. What I now tell to you with heartall open and my tongue unloosened, is all I know of her. It was inwinter that she came to Philipsburgh, all wrapped in her red cloak. TheWhite Plains Indians were there, and she was ever at their camp askingthe same and endless question."
"What question, Mayaro?"
"That I shall also tell you, for I overheard it. But none among theWhite Plains company could answer her; no, nor no Congress soldier thatshe asked.
"The soldiers were not unkind; they offered food and fire--as soldiersdo, Loskiel," he added, with a flash of Contempt for men who soughtwhat no Siwanois, no Iroquois, ever did seek of any maiden or anychaste and decent woman, white or red.
"I know," I said. "Continue."
"I offered shelter," he said simply. "I am a Siwanois. No women need todread Mohicans. She learned this truth from me for the first time, Ithink. Afterward, pitying her, I watched her how she went from camp tocamp. Some gave her mending to do, some washing, enabling her to live.I drew clothing and arms and rations as a Hudson guide enrolled, andtogether she and I made out to live. Then, in the spring, MajorLockwood summoned me to carry intelligence between the lines. And shecame with me, asking at every camp the same strange question; and everthe soldiers laughed and plagued and courted her, offering food andfire and shelter--but not the answer to her question. And one day--theday you came to Poundridge-town--and she had sought for me through thatwild storm--I met her by the house as I came from North Castle withnews of horsemen riding in the rain."
He leaned forward, looking at me steadily.
"Loskiel," he said, "when first I heard your name from her, and that itwas you who wanted Mayaro, suddenly it seemed to me that magic wasbeing made. And--I myself gave her her answer--the answer to thequestion she had asked at every camp."
"Good God!" said I, "did you, then know the answer all the while? Andnever told her?" But at the same moment I understood how perfectlycharacteristic of an Indian had been his conduct.
"I knew," he said tranquilly, "but I did not know why this maidenwished to know. Therefore was I silent."
"Why did you not ask her?" But before he spake I knew why too.
"Does a Sagamore ask idle questions of a woman?" he said coldly. "Dothe Siwanois babble?"
"No. And yet--and yet----"
"Birds sing, maidens chatter. A Mohican considers ere his tongue isloosed."
"Aye--it is your nature, Sagamore.... But tell me--what was it in themention of my name that made you think of magic?"
"Loskiel, you came two hundred miles to ask of me the question thatthis maid had asked
in every camp."
"What question?"
"Where lay the trail to Catharines-town," he said.
"Did she ask that?" I demanded in astonishment.
"It was ever the burden of her piping--this rosy-throated pigeon of thewoods."
"That is most strange," said I.
"It is doubtless sorcery that she should ask of me an interview withyou who came two hundred miles to ask of me the very question."
"But, Mayaro, she did not then know why I had come to seek you."
"I knew as quickly as I heard your name."
"How could you know before you saw me and I had once made plain mybusiness?"
"Birds come and go; but eagles see their natal nest once more beforethey die."
"I do not understand you, Mayaro."
He made no answer.
"Merely to hear my name from this child's lips, you say you guessed mybusiness with you?"
"Surely, Loskiel--surely. It was all done by magic. And, at once, Iknew that I should also speak to her, there in the storm, and answerher her question."
"And did you do so?"
"Yes, Loskiel. I said to her: 'Little sad rosy-throated pigeon of thewoods, the vale Yndaia lies by a hidden river in the West. Some call itCatharines-town.'"
I shook my head, perplexed, and understanding nothing.
"Yndaia? Did you say Yndaia, Mayaro?"
Then, as he looked me steadily in the eye, my gaze became uneasy,shifted, fell by an accident upon the blood-red bear reared on his hindlegs, pictured upon his breast. And through and through me passed ashock, like the dull thrill of some forgotten thing clutched suddenlyby memory--yet clutched in vain.
Vain was the struggle, too, for the faint gleam passed from my mind asit had come; and if the name Yndaia had disturbed me, or seeing thescarlet ensign on his breast, or perhaps both coupled, had seemed tostir some distant memory, I did not know. Only it seemed as though, inmental darkness, I had felt the presence of some living and familiarthing--been conscious of its nearness for an instant ere it hadvanished utterly.
The Sagamore's face had become a smooth, blank mask again.
"What has this maid, Lois, to do with Catharines-town?" I asked."Devils live there in darkness."
"She did not say."
"You do not know?"
"No, Loskiel."
"But," said I, troubled, "why did she journey hither?"
"Because she now believes that only I in all the world could guide herto the vale Yndaia; and that one day I will pity her and take herthere."
"Doubtless," I said anxiously, "she has heard at the forts orhereabouts that we are to march on Catharines-town."
"She knows it now, Loskiel"
"And means to follow?" I exclaimed in horror.
"My brother speaks the truth."
"God! What urges the child thither?"
"I do not know, Loskiel. It seems as though a madness were upon herthat she must go to Catharines-town. I tell you there is sorcery in allthis. I say it--I, a Sagamore of the Enchanted Wolf. Who should knowmagic when it stirs but I, of the Siwanois--the Magic Clan? Say whatyou will, my comrade and blood-brother, there is sorcery abroad; andwell I know who wrought it, spinning with spiders' webs there by thelost Lake of Kendaia----" He shuddered slightly. "There by the blackwaters of the lake--that hag--and all her spawn!"
"Catharine Montour!"
"The Toad-woman herself--and all her spawn."
"The Senecas?"
"And the others," he said in a low voice.
A sudden and terrible misgiving assailed me. I swallowed, and then saidslowly:
"Two scalps were taken late last night by Murphy and Elerson. And thescalps were not of the Mohawk. Not Oneida, nor Onondaga, nor Cayuga.Mayaro!" I gasped. "So help me God, those scalps are never Seneca!"
"Erie!" he exclaimed with a mixture of rage and horror. And I saw hissinewy hand quivering on his knife-hilt. "Listen, Loskiel! I knew it!No one has told me. I have sat here all the day alone, making my steelbright and my paint fresher, and singing to myself my people's songs.And ever as I sat at the lodge door, something in the summer windmocked at me and whispered to me of demons. And when I rose and stoodat gaze, troubled, and minding every river-breeze, faintly I seemed toscent the taint of evil. If those two scalps be Erie, then where theCat-People creep their Sorcerer will be found."
"Amochol," I repeated under my breath. And shivered.
For, deep in the secret shadows of that dreadful place where this vilehag, Catharine Montour, ruled it in Catharines-town, dwelt also allthat now remained of the Cat-Nation--Eries--People of the Cat--a dozen,it was rumoured, scarcely more--and demons all, serving that horridwarlock, Amochol, the Sorcerer of the Senecas.
What dreadful rites this red priest and his Eries practiced there, noneknew, unless it were true that the False Faces knew. But rumourwhispered with a thousand tongues of horrors viewless, nameless,inconceivable; and that far to the westward Biskoonah yawned, so closeindeed to the world's surface that the waters boiling deep in hellburst into burning fountains in the magic garden where the red priestmade his sorcery, alone.
These things I had heard, but vaguely, here and there--a word perhapsat Johnson Hall, a whisper at Fort Johnson, rumours discussed at GuyPark and Schenectady when I was young. But ever the same horror of itfilled me, though I believed it not, knowing full well there were nowitches, sorcerers, or warlocks in the world; yet, in my soul disturbedconcerning what might pass deep in the shadows of that viewless Empire.
"Mayaro," I said seriously, "do you go instantly to the fort and viewthose scalps."
"Were the braids fastened at the roots with tree-cat claws?"
"Aye!"
"No need to view them, then, Loskiel."
"Are they truly Erie?"
"Cats!" He spat the word from his lips and his eyes blazed.
"And--Amochol!" I asked unsteadily.
"The Cat People creep with the Seneca high priest, mewing under themoon."
"Then--he is surely here?"
"Aye, Loskiel."
"God!" said I, now all a-quiver; "only to slay him! Only to end thisdemon-thing, this poison spawn of the Woman-Toad! Only to glimpse hisscarlet rags fairly along my rifle sight!"
"No bullets touch him."
"That is nonsense, Mayaro----"
"No, Loskiel."
"I tell you he is human! There are no sorcerers on earth. There neverwere--except the Witch of Endor----"
"I never heard of her. But the Witch of Catharines-town is living. Andher warlock offspring, Amochol!" He squared his broad shoulders,shaking them. "What do I care?" he said. "I am a Sagamore of theEnchanted Clan!" He struck the painted symbol on his chest. "What do Icare for this red priest's sorcery--I, who wear the great Witch Bearrearing in scarlet here across my breast!
"Let the Cat People make their magic! Let Amochol sacrifice to Leshi inBiskoonah! Let their accursed Atensi watch the Mohicans from behind themoon. Mayaro is a Sagamore and his clan are Sachems; and the clan wasold--old--old, O little brother, before their Hiawatha came to them andmade their League for them, and returned again to The Master of Life inhis silver cloud-canoe!
"And I say to you, O my blood-brother, that between this sorcerer andme is now a war such as no Mohican ever waged and no man living, whiteor red, has ever seen. His magic will I fight with magic; his knife andhatchet shall be turned on mine! And I shall deceive and trick and mockhim--him and his Erie Cats, till one by one their scalps shall swingabove a clean Mohican fire. O Loskiel, my brother, and my other self, awarrior and a Sagamore has spoken. Go, now, to your evening tryst inpeace and leave me. For in my ears the Seven Chiefs are whispering--TheThunderers. And Tamanund must hear my speech and read my heart. And thelong roll of our Mohican dead must be recited--here and alone byme--the only one who has that right since Uncas died and the Mohicanpriesthood ended, save for the Sagamores of the Magic Clan.
"Go, now, my brother. Go in peace."