The Scouts of the Valley Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII. A CHANGE OF TENANTS

  The five were engaged upon one of their most dangerous tasks, to keepwith the Indian army, and yet to keep out of its hands, to observe whatwas going on, and to divine what was intended from what they observed.Fortunately it, was early summer, and the weather being very beautifulthey could sleep without shelter. Hence they found it convenient tosleep sometimes by daylight, posting a watch always, and to spy upon theIndian camp at night. They saw other reinforcements come for the Indianarmy, particularly a strong division of Senecas, under two great warchiefs of theirs, Sangerachte and Hiokatoo, and also a body of Tories.

  Then they saw them go into their last great camp at Tioga, preparatoryto their swift descent upon the Wyoming Valley. About four hundredwhite men, English Canadians and Tories, were present, and eight hundredpicked warriors of the Six Nations under Thayendanegea, besides thelittle band of Wyandots led by the resolute Timmendiquas. "Indian"Butler was in general command of the whole, and Queen Esther was thehigh priestess of the Indians, continually making fiery speeches andchanting songs that made the warriors see red. Upon the rear of thisextraordinary army hung a band of fierce old squaws, from whom everyremnant of mercy and Gentleness had departed.

  From a high rock overlooking a valley the five saw "Indian" Butler'sforce start for its final march upon Wyoming. It was composed of manydiverse elements, and perhaps none more bloodthirsty ever trod the soilof America. In some preliminary skirmish a son of Queen Esther had beenslain, and now her fury knew no limits. She took her place at thevery head of the army, whirling her great tomahawk about her head, andneither "Indian" Butler nor Thayendanegea dared to interfere with her inanything great or small.

  Henry and his comrades, as they left their rock and hastened toward thevalley of Wyoming, felt that now they were coming into contact with thegreat war itself. They had looked upon a uniformed enemy for the firsttime, and they might soon see the colonial buff and blue of the easternarmy. Their hearts thrilled high at new scenes and new dangers.

  They had gathered at Pittsburgh, and, through the captivity of the fourin the Iroquois camp, they had some general idea of the Wyoming Valleyand the direction in which it lay, and, taking one last look at thesavage army, they sped toward it. The time was the close, of June, andthe foliage was still dark green. It was a land of low mountain, hill,rich valley, and clear stream, and it was beautiful to every one of thefive. Much of their course lay along the Susquehanna, and soon theysaw signs of a more extended cultivation than any that was yet to bewitnessed in Kentucky. From the brow of a little hill they beheld afield of green, and in another field a man plowing.

  "That's wheat," said Tom Ross.

  "But we can't leave the man to plow," said Henry, "or he'll neverharvest that wheat. We'll warn him."

  The man uttered a cry of alarm as five wild figures burst into hisfield. He stopped abruptly, and snatched up a rifle that lay acrossthe plow handles. Neither Henry nor his companions realized that theirforest garb and long life in the wilderness made them look more likeIndians than white men. But Henry threw up a hand as a sign of peace.

  "We're white like yourselves," he cried, "and we've come to warn you!The Iroquois and the Tories are marching into the valley!"

  The man's face blanched, and he cast a hasty look toward a little wood,where stood a cabin from which smoke was rising. He could not doubt on anear view that these were white like himself, and the words rang true.

  "My house is strong," he said, "and I can beat them off. Maybe you willhelp me."

  "We'd help you willingly enough," said Henry, "if this were any ordinaryraiding band, but 'Indian' Butler, Brant, and Queen Esther are coming atthe head of twelve or fifteen hundred men. How could we hold a house, nomatter how thick its walls, against such an army as that? Don't hesitatea moment! Get up what you can and gallop."

  The man, a Connecticut settler-Jennings was his name-left his plow inthe furrow, galloped on his horse to his house, mounted his wife andchildren on other horses, and, taking only food and clothing, fled toStroudsburg, where there was a strong fort. At a later day he gave Henryheartfelt thanks for his warning, as six hours afterward the vanguardof the horde burned his home and raged because its owner and his familywere gone with their scalps on their own heads.

  The five were now well into the Wyoming Valley, where the Lenni-Lenape,until they were pushed westward by other tribes, had had their villageWy-wa-mieh, which means in their language Wyoming. It was a beautifulvalley running twenty miles or more along the Susquehanna, and aboutthree miles broad. On either side rose mountain walls a thousand feet inheight, and further away were peaks with mists and vapors around theircrests. The valley itself blazed in the summer sunshine, and the riversparkled, now in gold, now in silver, as the light changed and fell.

  More cultivated fields, more houses, generally of stout logs, appeared,and to all that they saw the five bore the fiery beacon. Simon Jenningswas not the only man who lived to thank them for the warning. Otherswere incredulous, and soon paid the terrible price of unbelief.

  The five hastened on, and as they went they looked about them withwondering eyes-there were so many houses, so many cultivated fields, andso many signs of a numerous population. They had emerged almost for thefirst time from the wilderness, excepting their memorable visit to NewOrleans, although this was a very different region. Long Jim spoke ofit.

  "I think I like it better here than at New Or-leeyuns," he said. "Wefound some nice Frenchmen an' Spaniards down thar, but the ground feelsfirmer under my feet here."

  "The ground feels firmer," said Paul, who had some of the prescience ofthe seer, "but the skies are no brighter. They look red to me sometimes,Jim."

  Tom Ross glanced at Paul and shook his head ominously. A woodsman, hehad his superstitions, and Paul's words weighed upon his mind. He beganto fear a great disaster, and his experienced eye perceived at once thedefenseless state of the valley. He remembered the council of the greatIndian force in the deep woods, and the terrible face of Queen Estherwas again before him.

  "These people ought to be in blockhouses, every one uv 'em," he said."It ain't no time to be plowin' land."

  Yet peace seemed to brood still over the valley. It was a fine river,beautiful with changing colors. The soil on either side was as deep andfertile as that of Kentucky, and the line of the mountains cut the skysharp and clear. Hills and slopes were dark green with foliage.

  "It must have been a gran' huntin' ground once," said Shif'less Sol.

  The alarm that the five gave spread fast, and other hunters and scoutscame in, confirming it. Panic seized the settlers, and they began tocrowd toward Forty Fort on the west side of the river. Henry and hiscomrades themselves arrived there toward the close of evening, just asthe sun had set, blood red, behind the mountains. Some report of themhad preceded their coming, and as soon as they had eaten they weresummoned to the presence of Colonel Zebulon Butler, who commanded themilitary force in the valley. Singularly enough, he was a cousin of"Indian" Butler, who led the invading army.

  The five, dressed in deerskin hunting shirts, leggins, and moccasins,and everyone carrying a rifle, hatchet, and knife, entered a large lowroom, dimly lighted by some wicks burning in tallow. A man of middleyears, with a keen New England face, sat at a little table, and severalothers of varying ages stood near.

  The five knew instinctively that the man at the table was ColonelButler, and they bowed, but they did not show the faintest trace ofsubservience. They had caught suspicious glances from some of theofficers who stood about the commander, and they stiffened at once.Colonel Butler looked involuntarily at Henry-everybody always took him,without the telling, for leader of the group.

  "We have had report of you," he said in cool noncommittal tones, "andyou have been telling of great Indian councils that you have seen in thewoods. May I ask your name and where you belong?"

  "My name," replied Henry with dignity, "is Henry Ware, and I come fromKentucky. My friends here are Paul Cotter, Solomo
n Hyde, Tom Ross, andJim Hart. They, too, come from Kentucky."

  Several of the men gave the five suspicious glances. Certainly theywere wild enough in appearance, and Kentucky was far away. It wouldseem strange that new settlers in that far land should be here inPennsylvania. Henry saw clearly that his story was doubted.

  "Kentucky, you tell me?" said Colonel Butler. "Do you mean to sayyou have come all that tremendous distance to warn us of an attack byIndians and Tories?"

  Several of the others murmured approval, and Henry flushed a little, buthe saw that the commander was not unreasonable. It was a time whenmen might well question the words of strangers. Remembering this, hereplied:

  "No, we did not come from Kentucky just to warn you. In fact, wecame from a point much farther than that. We came from New Orleans toPittsburgh with a fleet loaded with supplies for the Continental armies,and commanded by Adam Colfax of New Hampshire."

  The face of Colonel Butler brightened.

  "What!" he exclaimed, "you were on that expedition? It seems to me thatI recall hearing of great services rendered to it by some independentscouts."

  "When we reached Pittsburgh," continued Henry, "it was our firstintention to go back to Kentucky, but we heard that a great war movementwas in progress to the eastward, and we thought that we would see whatwas going on. Four of us have been captives among the Iroquois. We knowmuch of their plans, and we know, too, that Timmendiquas, the greatchief of the Wyandots, whom we fought along the Ohio, has joined themwith a hand of his best warriors. We have also seen Thayendanegea, everyone of us."

  "You have seen Brant?" exclaimed Colonel Butler, calling the greatMohawk by his white name.

  "Yes," replied Henry. "We have seen him, and we have also seen the womanthey call Queen Esther. She is continually urging the Indians on."

  Colonel Butler seemed convinced, and invited them to sit down. He alsointroduced the officers who were with him, Colonel John Durkee, ColonelNathan Dennison, Lieutenant Colonel George Dorrance, Major John Garrett,Captain Samuel Ransom, Captain Dethrie Hewitt, and some others.

  "Now, gentlemen, tell us all that you saw," continued Colonel Butlercourteously. "You will pardon so many questions, but we must be careful.You will see that yourselves. But I am a New England man myself, fromConnecticut, and I have met Adam Colfax. I recall now that we have heardof you, also, and we are grateful for your coming. Will you and yourcomrades tell us all that you have seen and heard?"

  The five felt a decided change in the atmosphere. They were no longerpossible Tories or renegades, bringing an alarm at one point when itshould be dreaded at another. The men drew closely around them, andlistened as the tallow wicks sputtered in the dim room. Henry spokefirst, and the others in their turn. Every one of them spoke tersely butvividly in the language of the forest. They felt deeply what they hadseen, and they drew the same picture for their listeners. Gradually thefaces of the Wyoming men became shadowed. This was a formidable talethat they were hearing, and they could not doubt its truth.

  "It is worse than I thought it could be," said Colonel Butler at last."How many men do you say they have, Mr. Ware?"

  "Close to fifteen hundred."

  "All trained warriors and soldiers. And at the best we cannot raise morethan three hundreds including old men and boys, and our men, too, arefarmers."

  "But we can beat them. Only give us a chance, Colonel!" exclaimedCaptain Ransom.

  "I'm afraid the chance will come too soon," said Colonel Butler, andthen turning to the five: "Help us all you can. We need scouts andriflemen. Come to the fort for any food and ammunition you may need."

  The five gave their most earnest assurances that they would stay, anddo all in their power. In fact, they had come for that very purpose.Satisfied now that Colonel Butler and his officers had implicit faith inthem they went forth to find that, despite the night and the darkness,fugitives were already crossing the river to seek refuge in Forty Fort,bringing with them tales of death and devastation, some of which wereexaggerated, but too many true in all their hideous details. Men hadbeen shot and scalped in the fields, houses were burning, women andchildren were captives for a fate that no one could foretell. Red ruinwas already stalking down the valley.

  The farmers were bringing their wives and children in canoes and dugoutsacross the river. Here and there a torch light flickered on the surfaceof the stream, showing the pale faces of the women and children, toofrightened to cry. They had fled in haste, bringing with them only theclothes they wore and maybe a blanket or two. The borderers knew toowell what Indian war was, with all its accompaniments of fire and thestake.

  Henry and his comrades helped nearly all that night. They secured alarge boat and crossed the river again and again, guarding the fugitiveswith their rifles, and bringing comfort to many a timid heart. Indianbands had penetrated far into the Wyoming Valley, but they felt surethat none were yet in the neighborhood of Forty Fort.

  It was about three o'clock in the morning when the last of the fugitiveswho had yet come was inside Forty Fort, and the labors of the five, hadthey so chosen, were over for the time. But their nerves were tuned toso high a pitch, and they felt so powerfully the presence of danger,that they could not rest, nor did they have any desire for sleep.

  The boat in which they sat was a good one, with two pairs of oars. Ithad been detailed for their service, and they decided to pull up theriver. They thought it possible that they might see the advance of theenemy and bring news worth the telling. Long Jim and Tom Ross took theoars, and their powerful arms sent the boat swiftly along in the shadowof the western bank. Henry and Paul looked back and saw dim lights atthe fort and a few on either shore. The valley, the high mountain wall,and everything else were merged in obscurity.

  Both the youths were oppressed heavily by the sense of danger, not forthemselves, but for others. In that Kentucky of theirs, yet so new,few people lived beyond the palisades, but here were rich and scatteredsettlements; and men, even in the face of great peril, are always lothto abandon the homes that they have built with so much toil.

  Tom Ross and Long Jim continued to pull steadily with the long strokesthat did not tire them, and the lights of the fort and houses sank outof sight. Before them lay the somber surface of the rippling river, theshadowy hills, and silence. The world seemed given over to the nightsave for themselves, but they knew too well to trust to such apparentdesertion. At such hours the Indian scouts come, and Henry did not doubtthat they were already near, gathering news of their victims for theIndian and Tory horde. Therefore, it was the part of his comrades andhimself to use the utmost caution as they passed up the river.

  They bugged the western shore, where they were shadowed by banks andbushes, and now they went slowly, Long Jim and Tom Ross drawing theiroars so carefully through the water that there was never a plash totell of their passing. Henry was in the prow of the boat, bent forwarda little, eyes searching the surface of the river, and ears intent uponany sound that might pass on the bank. Suddenly he gave a little signalto the rowers and they let their oars rest.

  "Bring the boat in closer to the bank," he whispered. "Push it gentlyamong those bushes where we cannot be seen from above."

  Tom and Jim obeyed. The boat slid softly among tall bushes that shadowedthe water, and was hidden completely. Then Henry stepped out, creptcautiously nearly up the bank, which was here very low, and lay pressedclosely against the earth, but supported by the exposed root of a tree.He had heard voices, those of Indians, he believed, and he wished tosee. Peering through a fringe of bushes that lined the bank he saw sevenwarriors and one white face sitting under the boughs of a great oak.The face was that of Braxton Wyatt, who was now in his element, with abetter prospect of success than any that he had ever known before. Henryshuddered, and for a moment he regretted that he had spared Wyatt's lifewhen he might have taken it.

  But Henry was lying against the bank to hear what these men might besaying, not to slay. Two of the warriors, as he saw by their paint, wereWyandots, and he unders
tood the Wyandot tongue. Moreover, his slightknowledge of Iroquois came into service, and gradually he gathered thedrift of their talk. Two miles nearer Forty Fort was a farmhouse one ofthe Wyandots had seen it-not yet abandoned by its owner, who believedthat his proximity to Forty Fort assured his safety. He lived there withhis wife and five children, and Wyatt and the Indians planned to raidthe place before daylight and kill them all. Henry had heard enough. Heslid back from the bank to the water and crept into the boat.

  "Pull back down the river as gently as you can," he whispered, "and thenI'll tell you."

  The skilled oarsmen carried the boat without a splash several hundredyards down the stream, and then Henry told the others of the fiendishplan that he had heard.

  "I know that man," said Shif'less Sol. "His name is Standish. I wasthere nine or ten hours ago, an' I told him it wuz time to take hisfamily an' run. But he knowed more'n I did. Said he'd stay, he wuzn'tafraid, an' now he's got to pay the price."

  "No, he mustn't do that," said Henry. "It's too much to pay for justbeing foolish, when everybody is foolish sometimes. Boys, we can yetsave that man an' his wife and children. Aren't you willing to do it?"

  "Why, course," said Long Jim. "Like ez not Standish will shoot at uswhen we knock on his door, but let's try it."

  The others nodded assent.

  "How far back from the river is the Standish house, Sol?" asked Henry.

  "'Bout three hundred yards, I reckon, and' it ain't more'n a mile down."

  "Then if we pull with all our might, we won't be too late. Tom, you andJim give Sol and me the oars now."

  Henry and the shiftless one were fresh, and they sent the boat shootingdown stream, until they stopped at a point indicated by Sol. They leapedashore, drew the boat down the bank, and hastened toward a log housethat they saw standing in a clump of trees. The enemy had not yet come,but as they swiftly approached the house a dog ran barking at them. Theshiftless one swung his rifle butt, and the dog fell unconscious.

  "I hated to do it, but I had to," he murmured. The next moment Henry wasknocking at the door.

  "Up! Up!" he cried, "the Indians are at hand, and you must run for yourlives!"

  How many a time has that terrible cry been heard on the American border!

  The sound of a man's voice, startled and angry, came to their ears, andthen they heard him at the door.

  "Who are you?" he cried. "Why are you beating on my door at such atime?"

  "We are friends, Mr. Standish," cried Henry, "and if you would save yourwife and children you must go at once! Open the door! Open, I say!"

  The man inside was in a terrible quandary. It was thus that renegadesor Indians, speaking the white man's tongue, sometimes bade a door to beopened, in order that they might find an easy path to slaughter. But thevoice outside was powerfully insistent, it had the note of truth; hiswife and children, roused, too, were crying out, in alarm. Henry knockedagain on the door and shouted to him in a voice, always increasing inearnestness, to open and flee. Standish could resist no longer. He tookdown the bar and flung open the door, springing back, startled at thefive figures that stood before him. In the dusk he did not rememberShif'less Sol.

  "Mr. Standish," Henry said, speaking rapidly, "we are, as you can see,white. You will be attacked here by Indians and renegades within halfan hour. We know that, because we heard them talking from the bushes.We have a boat in the river; you can reach it in five minutes. Take yourwife and children, and pull for Forty Fort."

  Standish was bewildered.

  "How do I know that you are not enemies, renegades, yourselves?" heasked.

  "If we had been that you'd be a dead man already," said Shif'less Sol.

  It was a grim reply, but it was unanswerable, and Standish recognizedthe fact. His wife had felt the truth in the tones of the strangers,and was begging him to go. Their children were crying at visions of thetomahawk and scalping knife now so near.

  "We'll go," said Standish. "At any rate, it can't do any harm. We'll geta few things together."

  "Do not wait for anything!" exclaimed Henry. "You haven't a minute tospare! Here are more blankets! Take them and run for the boat! Sol andJim, see them on board, and then come back!"

  Carried away by such fire and earnestness, Standish and his family ranfor the boat. Jim and the shiftless one almost threw them on board,thrust a pair of oars into the bands of Standish, another into the handsof his wife, and then told them to pull with all their might for thefort.

  "And you," cried Standish, "what becomes of you?"

  Then a singular expression passed over his face-he had guessed Henry'splan.

  "Don't you trouble about us," said the shiftless one. "We will comelater. Now pull! pull!"

  Standish and his wife swung on the oars, and in two minutes the boat andits occupants were lost in the darkness. Tom Ross and Sol did not pauseto watch them, but ran swiftly back to the house. Henry was at the door.

  "Come in," he said briefly, and they entered. Then he closed the doorand dropped the bar into place. Shif'less Sol and Paul were alreadyinside, one sitting on the chair and the other on the edge of the bed.Some coals, almost hidden under ashes, smoldered and cast a faint lightin the room, the only one that the house had, although it was dividedinto two parts by a rough homespun curtain. Henry opened one of thewindow shutters a little and looked out. The dawn had not yet come, butit was not a dark night, and he looked over across the little clearingto the trees beyond. On that side was a tiny garden, and near the wallof the house some roses were blooming. He could see the glow of pink andred. But no enemy bad yet approached. Searching the clearing carefullywith those eyes of his, almost preternaturally keen, he was confidentthat the Indians were still in the woods. He felt an intense thrill ofsatisfaction at the success of his plan so far.

  He was not cruel, he never rejoiced in bloodshed, but the borderer aloneknew what the border suffered, and only those who never saw or felt thetorture could turn the other cheek to be smitten. The Standish house hadmade a sudden and ominous change of tenants.

  "It will soon be day," said Henry, "and farmers are early risers. Kindleup that fire a little, will you, Sol? I want some smoke to come out ofthe chimney."

  The shiftless one raked away the ashes, and put on two or three piecesof wood that lay on the hearth. Little flames and smoke arose. Henrylooked curiously about the house. It was the usual cabin of thefrontier, although somewhat larger. The bed on which Shif'less Sol satwas evidently that of the father and mother, while two large ones behindthe curtain were used by the children. On the shelf stood a pail halffull of drinking water, and by the side of it a tin cup. Dried herbshung over the fireplace, and two or three chests stood in the corners.The clothing of the children was scattered about. Unprepared food forbreakfast stood on a table. Everything told of a hasty flight and itsterrible need. Henry was already resolved, but his heart hardened withinhim as he saw.

  He took the hatchet from his belt and cut one of the hooks for thedoor bar nearly in two. The others said not a word. They had no needto speak. They understood everything that he did. He opened the windowagain and looked out. Nothing yet appeared. "The dawn will come in threequarters of an hour," he said, "and we shall not have to wait long forwhat we want to do."

  He sat down facing the door. All the others were sitting, and they, too,faced the door. Everyone had his rifle across his knees, with one handupon the hammer. The wood on the hearth sputtered as the fire spread,and the flames grew. Beyond a doubt a thin spire of smoke was risingfrom the chimney, and a watching eye would see this sign of a peacefuland unsuspecting mind.

  "I hope Braxton Wyatt will be the first to knock at our door," saidShif'less Sol.

  "I wouldn't be sorry," said Henry.

  Paul was sitting in a chair near the fire, and he said nothing. He hopedthe waiting would be very short. The light was sufficient for him to seethe faces of his comrades, and he noticed that they were all very tense.This was no common watch that they kept. Shif'less Sol remained on thebe
d, Henry sat on another of the chairs, Tom Ross was on one of thechests with his back to the wall. Long Jim was near the curtain. Closeby Paul was a home-made cradle. He put down his hand and touched it. Hewas glad that it was empty now, but the sight of it steeled his heartanew for the task that lay before them.

  Ten silent minutes passed, and Henry went to the window again. He didnot open it, but there was a crack through which he could see. Theothers said nothing, but watched his face. When he turned away they knewthat the moment was at hand.

  "They've just come from the woods," he said, "and in a minute they'll beat the door. Now, boys, take one last look at your rifles."

  A minute later there was a sudden sharp knock at the door, but no answercame from within. The knock was repeated, sharper and louder, and Henry,altering his voice as much as possible, exclaimed like one suddenlyawakened from sleep:

  "Who is it? What do you want?"

  Back came a voice which Henry knew to be that of Braxton Wyatt:

  "We've come from farther up the valley. We're scouts, we've been up tothe Indian country. We're half starved. Open and give us food!"

  "I don't believe you," replied Henry. "Honest people don't come to mydoor at this time in the morning."

  Then ensued a few moments of silence, although Paul, with his vividfancy, thought he heard whispering on the other side of the door.

  "Open!" cried Wyatt, "or we'll break your door down!" Henry saidnothing, nor did any of the others. They did not stir. The fire crackleda little, but there was no other sound in the Standish house. Presentlythey heard a slight noise outside, that of light feet.

  "They are going for a log with which to break the door in," whisperedHenry. "They won't have to look far. The wood pile isn't fifty feetaway."

  "An' then," said Shif'less Sol, "they won't have much left to do but totake the scalps of women an' little children."

  Every figure in the Standish house stiffened at the shiftless one'ssignificant words, and the light in the eyes grew sterner. Henry wentto the door, put his ear to the line where it joined the wall, andlistened.

  "They've got their log," he said, "and in half a minute they'll rush itagainst the door."

  He came back to his old position. Paul's heart began to thump, and histhumb fitted itself over the trigger of his cocked rifle. Then theyheard rapid feet, a smash, a crash, and the door flew open. A half dozenIroquois and a log that they held between them were hurled into themiddle of the room. The door had given away so easily and unexpectedlythat the warriors could not check themselves, and two or three fellwith the log. But they sprang like cats to their feet, and with theircomrades uttered a cry that filled the whole cabin with its terriblesound and import.

  The Iroquois, keen of eyes and quick of mind, saw the trap at once.The five grim figures, rifle in hand and finger on trigger, all waitingsilent and motionless were far different from what they expected. Herecould be no scalps, with the long, silky hair of women and children.

  There was a moment's pause, and then the Indians rushed at their foes.Five fingers pulled triggers, flame leaped from five muzzles, and in aninstant the cabin was filled with smoke and war shouts, but the warriorsnever had a chance. They could only strike blindly with their tomahawks,and in a half minute three of them, two wounded, rushed through the doorand fled to the woods. They had been preceded already by Braxton Wyatt,who had hung back craftily while the Iroquois broke down the door.