The next question to be decided was, who should go and who remain. The young men all wanted to go, of course, and were burning to distinguish themselves before the Province, for which as yet they had had no opportunity; but, on the other hand, the older people were equally anxious, and even more so. Both Stewart and Israel Blanchard, who had heretofore remained at home,—not, indeed, for the same reason as the young men, seeing they had established their reputation for conduct and courage, and outgrown the enthusiasm of youth,—desired now to go, as they saw in this movement (the choice of the commander, and quality of men sought for) an opportunity to strike an effectual blow at their implacable foes, and to procure safety for themselves in the future; and with most of them the desire of revenge entered largely into the account.
This explains the indifference and even contempt with which the proposition of Rangely was at first met by men still smarting under the recollections connected with Braddock's defeat; and likewise the sudden change in their opinions, when, in reply to Honeywood's question, Rangely gave the name of a leader well known and trusted,—a man who had grown up among the perils of the frontier.
"It seems to me, neighbors," said Israel Blanchard, "that Mr. Holdness had better go and see what he can do with the Black Rifle before we attempt to pick out the men; because it will make a vast difference in respect to who and how many we are to leave in garrison, whether the Black Rifle will agree to help us or not."
The next morning Holdness and Rangely, whose paths for some distance were the same, started; one to return to his commanding officer, the other to meet the Black Rifle.
Holdness found that restless being busily engaged making a canoe (from bark he had peeled in the spring) for a fall hunt. He welcomed Holdness with great cordiality; who, laying aside his pack and rifle, instantly set at work helping him (much to the gratification of the captain, as it is quite inconvenient for one person to build a birch alone), mentioning never a word about the business on which he came, and accepting the invitation of his old comrade to spend the night. While they were eating supper the Black Rifle said,—
"Brad, I'm right glad to see you, but I don't believe you came here just to help me build this birch: so, whatever your business is, out with it, and we'll talk it over to-night afore the campfire."
Holdness laid the whole matter before this veteran leader, and asked what he thought of the plan.
"I think well of the thing: it's what should have been done at the first. I see what you're after: you want to put all the strength you've got into this thing, 'cause you think it's a move in the right direction, and the first one, too, after so long a time; and you Wolf Run folks are just the chaps who can do it. But you're consarned about your families while you're gone; and that ties your hands."
"Just so, and that's all the difficulty."
"Well now, Brad, you're come in a good time. You see, it's kind of a slack time with me: we've been on a rampage arter Indian scalps, and we've got 'em too. Some of my men have been wounded, though not very bad, and some have gone home to get in their harvest; and when it gets a little later, the wounded get well, and the rest ready, we're goin' to start out on a fall and winter hunt and scalping-scrape both; that is, we're goin' on to the hunting-grounds of the Delawares, and of course they'll object. So, you see, I'm building this birch, and am going to fill snow-shoes, make moccasons, and get ready; and have got to dress some skins to make the moccasons of, and a good deal to do. But I kin just as well do these things at your place as here, and I will; and, just as fast as any of 'em get through their work, they'll come. I s'pose you've got room and provision enough in the fort for 'em: you know I allers live outside. I've got some iron; and your Mr. Honeywood can mend my traps afore he goes, and mend some gunlocks for me."
"Sartainly, and bring all the wounded: our women-folks'll take kere of 'em. Mrs. Sumerford can't be beat for dressing a gun-shot wound."
"Reckon I will. Most of 'em are wounded in the legs or body: they kin shoot if they can't march. Then I shall be outside; and, if the Indians come, I kin soon muster the rest."
The next morning Holdness took leave of his friend, and returned to tell the settlers that the Black Rifle would be at the fort within two days, and wanted four mules or horses to bring some wounded men, and a spare mule and pack-saddle to bring his traps and ammunition.
Will Grant and Hugh Crawford started with the beasts, and in due time returned, bringing with them the wounded men.
These men were of the same stamp as Holdness and Ned Rangely; rude in speech, but honest, honorable, simple-hearted as children, and kindly disposed to all men except Indians.
Two of them, John Lovell and Dennis Morton, were wounded in the breast; Ridgway in the left arm; Thomas Bracket and Robert Tysdale, the former in the thigh, and the latter in the right leg below the knee, and could walk with a cane: either of them could shoot through a loop-hole, and both were recovering rapidly.
In the afternoon of the second day, the Black Rifle came, and built his camp between the fort and the river.
It is perhaps needless to observe, that at the arrival of the Black Rifle and his men, the martial spirit of the "Screeching Catamounts" arose to fever-heat.
Capt. Sam Sumerford forgot his pots and pitchers; and the potter's wheel stood still. The tomahawks and scalping-knives that had been devoted to the peaceful purpose of cutting clay were ground, rifles cleaned, and he went tearing through the house, wanting his mother to spin him a bowstring, sew the eagle's feathers into his cap, wash his hunting-shirt, and do twenty things all at once.
"I declare, Sammy Sumerford's come back again. I did hope I was done with knives, tomahawks, and Indian fightin'."
"I'm sure, mother, I don't know to please you. You wanted the Indian war to be over, 'cause it worried you to see me so full of fighting; and then when the Indians held off a little, you was worried about the water and the raft and the wild beasts. Then I went to making pots, and it was first-rate for a little while; but you soon began to worry again, 'cause I was so still, and didn't seem nat'ral, and tear round and yell. And now I'm nat'ral again, you don't like that nuther."
The ground of all this excitement was, that in expectation of being called to defend the fort, and on account of the arrival of the Black Rifle, Capt. Sumerford was preparing to muster his men for drill and ball-practice, that had been neglected of late.
Having set up a target, he was drilling his company before the fort, Scip beating the drum, and Cal Holdness playing the fife.
A great part of the male portion of the settlers were looking on, the women being too much occupied in preparations for the departure of the former to be present. The wounded men also were seated among the rest, when the Black Rifle himself came along, with his hands full of beaver-traps for Honeywood to mend, and on his way to the blacksmith's shop.
You may be assured the "Screeching Catamounts" did their best in such august presence; and their hearts beat high.
The Black Rifle and his men were loud in their expressions of surprise and approbation. The captain then drew up his men to fire at the target two hundred yards distant.
"I wouldn't have believed," said Capt. Jack, "that these children, as you must needs call 'em, could shoot so. Why, the red-coats in the army, and half the soldiers in the forts along the frontier, can't begin with 'em."
"We've burnt a good deal of powder, used a good deal of lead, teaching them, and sometimes when we didn't know how to spare it," said McClure.
"Not a kernel of powder nor an ounce of lead has been wasted: you may be sure of that."
He was, if possible, more surprised when they were exercised in throwing the tomahawk, shooting with bow and arrow, and imitating the voices of beasts and birds. There was scarcely any thing they could not imitate, from the chirrup of the cricket to the scream of an eagle, except the grum notes of the bull-frog: their voices were too shrill for that.
"This," said the Black Rifle, "is the best of all,—even beats the shooting with rifles: 'cause it requires judgment that you wouldn't expect in so young persons, to throw the tomahawk, or shoot with a bow."
"I never was in this clearing afore," said William Blythe, one of the three men who came with the captain; "but, if these are the children, what must the men be like?"
The settlers now removed their families into the fort preparatory to the departure of the volunteers. The Black Rifle had sent them, by Grant and Crawford, a large quantity of powder and lead; and, on the night that the last family moved into the fort, four more of the Black Rifle's men came, having finished up their work.
These men brought word that eight or ten more would be along in a few days, and said that their purpose was to get ready for their fall hunt, and ambush the Indians who were going back and forth between the Ohio and the older settlements; making the fort their headquarters, and always leaving men enough to defend it.
Hearing this, the settlers resolved to march in a body the next morning, young and old.
Rogers, who had cut himself so badly with an axe that he could not engage in the last conflict with the Indians, was now able to go. Mr. Seth, however, objected to this. "Neighbors," said he, "you all know I'm no fighting man, don't pretend to be; and yet you're kind enough to say that I'm of some benefit."
"Benefit!" exclaimed Holdness, "there's no man among us who's so great a benefit."
"Well, then, I hope you'll be patient with me when I say that I can't feel reconciled to have Israel go. We've never been separated, and I've always kind of leaned on him. I don't know what I should do without him: I should neither eat, sleep, nor take one moment's peace."
"Then I won't go, brother, though I do want to more'n ever I wanted to go anywhere in my life."
"I think," said McClure, "that there ought to be more'n one stay: there are the cattle and hogs to see to, and many things that the rangers don't know any thing about to be done, though I don't suppose any of us cares to be the one to stay behind."
Every preparation being completed, the volunteers set out the next morning for the rendezvous.
After their departure the children were somewhat restrained in their rambles, and Sammy experienced a severe relapse of the pottery-fever. He also found less difficulty in obtaining the help of the others to work his clay: besides, the usefulness of his work had been recognized by every one in the Run; and, when the boys were unwilling to assist, Israel Blanchard would let him have Scip, who was worth more than all the others put together.
Ike Proctor was the laziest, and least inclined to help, of any of the boys. Sammy hired him to turn the wheel half a day for some maple-sugar and two bullets. Ike ate the sugar, pocketed the bullets, worked about an hour, and then went off. Sammy said nothing, and manifested no feeling in regard to the affair; but, as soon as Ike left, went to the river, obtained a little of the clay that was strongly impregnated with iron, worked and kneaded it, working in some red ochre to raise the color still more, and made some clay doughnuts precisely the shape of those his mother was accustomed to make of dough, and baked them.
After several days had passed, he told Ike if he would help him half a day, and stick to it, when the work was done he would give him a dozen doughnuts and four gun-flints, boughten ones; and to this Proctor agreed.
When the time was up, Sam gave him the flints, and went to the fort for the doughnuts, that he had given his mother a charge to keep hot in the Dutch oven, and put a little lard on them. Sammy took the clay doughnuts in a cloth, and when warm and greasy they looked precisely like the real ones: he took one flour doughnut in his pocket. He spread them out on the table before Ike, and clapped the one from his pocket into his mouth, saying, "Eat 'em, Ike, while they're hot: only see how hot they be."
The "Doughnut" Squabble.—Page 297.
"So they be," said Ike, taking one in his hand: he attempted to bite it, burnt his tongue, and the tears came into his eyes. He threw the hot brick down in a great rage, and began throwing the others at Sammy's head. The latter retreated to the trough that was two-thirds full of soft clay trodden only the day before, and returned the attack with right good-will in a most generous manner. He plastered Ike from head to foot, filled his eyes, nose, and mouth full; and he was glad to make his escape. The boys all said Sam served him right, and they nicknamed him "Doughnut."
It was very seldom that there was ever any falling-out among these frontier-boys, who were, in general, a band of brothers, for the reason that they had fighting enough outside, and the pressure kept them together.
Uncle Seth was now in the best of spirits, having the society of his brother, in whose courage and sagacity he placed implicit confidence, with the Black Rifle and his men to protect them; and he resolved to make Sammy a foot-wheel, and thus render him independent of his mates and all others as far as turning the wheel was concerned.
Guarded by two of the rangers, he went into the woods to find a tree that grew of the right shape to make a crank. You may think it would be impossible to find a tree trunk or limb that would answer, as it must be a double crank with a short turn, the sides not more than three inches apart. He could have sawed it out of a plank, or made it in pieces; but in the one case it would have been cut directly across the grain, and in the other would have been without much strength and very clumsy. He wanted to find a tree the grain of which grew in the right direction. No wonder Mr. Seth declared,—when he thought Sammy's pottery-fever would not last long, and wanted to get rid of his teasing,—that it was impossible to make a crank without iron. But he was now disposed to make the attempt; and you know, if Uncle Seth undertakes to do any thing, it will be done.
The rangers who were with him expected to see him looking up into the tops of the trees, among the limbs; but instead of that they were astonished to see him running about with his eyes fastened on the butts of the trees, and never bestowing a glance at the limbs.
"You hunting after a bear's den, or a coon-hole?" said Will Blythe.
Mr. Seth made no reply, but stopped before a sugar-tree about fifteen inches through, and straight as a candle. From one side of this tree, about two feet from the ground, protruded a great whorl, not flattened on the top as they often are, like a wart on the hand, but thimble-shaped.
"That's the time of day," said he. Stripping to the waist, he soon cut the tree down, and junked it off,—twenty feet of it. This was hauled to the fort, where the saw-pit was; and the brothers cut the whole tree into three-inch plank, as they wanted part of it for another purpose. They arranged their saw-kerfs in such a manner as to bring the centre of the whorl in the plank of which the spindle and crank were to be made. This plank they cut to the length desired, and then split it the other way, leaving a strip four inches in width, and the whorl being on the outside edge of it.
In this whorl Mr. Seth cut the turn of his crank; and it was strong because the principal part of the grain grew in that direction, being looped around the whorl; and in other portions it crossed every way, twisted in and out, was clung, and looked much like the grain of a nutmeg. After roughing it out, he laid it up to season, in order that he might smooth it up. Tysdale, who chanced to pass just as he finished working on it, said,—
"If that ain't one way to make a crank!"
"Isn't it a good way?"
"Good way, sartain; but a man must be born in the woods to think of that."
"I was born in the woods, and have worked in the woods most of the time since I was born."
He now made a wheel three feet in diameter, with rim and hub and but four spokes, finished up his crank, put the wheel on the bottom of it, and attached a treadle to the crank, so that it could be turned with the foot, and placed in the bench. On the upper end of the crank, he cut a screw-thread; and got out, from the same plank that furnished the crank, three circles of different sizes, on which large or small pots might be made, and cut a screw-thread in the centre of each one, so that they could be put on or taken from the crank easily. This was not all. He was no mean blacksmith. He found, among the guns last taken from the Indians, one of which the barrel was good for nothing; and, going into the blacksmith-shop, he made a gudgeon for the lower end of the crank, and an iron socket for it to run in. He also bushed the hole in the bench, where the crank-spindle passed through, with horn, which made it run much more easily.
Thus Sammy had a potter's wheel at last, which he could use alone, and on which he could turn pots of the largest size.
Was he not a happy boy! and didn't he hug, praise, and thank Uncle Seth!
He had, in his practice, accumulated a large number of little pots at the Cuthbert house. They were too small to be of much use; and he was by no means satisfied with the workmanship, as he found he could do much better work with his wheel: so he flung them all into the trough, put water on them, and made them into dough again; this being one advantage a potter has over other mechanics,—if he makes a blunder, he has not destroyed his material, but can work it over.
Sammy now, instead of making a great number of vessels, endeavored to improve the quality of his wares, and turned milk-pans on this wheel with the greatest ease. It also required much time to bake them; for, though he had enlarged his kiln, it was still quite small; and he began to think about trying to make brick, and building such a one as he had heard Mr. Seth say the potters had. Thus one invention, like one sin, necessitates another. Finding, however, that he had already supplied the settlement with pots and pans sufficient to last them a long time, he concluded to defer that enterprise for the present.
Children have little idea of the anxieties of their parents; and while they had not the least doubt but Col. Armstrong and his men would lick all the Indians on the Ohio (for three hundred men seemed an immense force to them, enough to overcome any number of Indians), their parents knew the object would not be attained without loss; and none knew but they might be called to mourn the loss of friends.
Two of the rangers went to McDowell's mill, and learned that the force had left the beaver-dams, which place was well on their way, and that the matter must be decided one way or the other very soon.
A few days after, they went again, and brought word that there was no doubt but Col. Armstrong had surprised the Indian town, killed a good many of them, and burnt up their log houses. There was a flying report that Col. Armstrong was killed, Lieut. Hogg and several men killed, and some wounded, but that the loss had not been severe.
After a week of agonizing suspense, the settlers were roused at midnight by the report of a rifle, and, turning out in expectation of an attack, found the whole party, with the exception of Honeywood, at the gate; not a man among them hurt, though several had bullets shot through their clothes, and McClure's rifle had been struck and chipped by a ball. Never had the Wolf Run settlers come out of an Indian fight before, without more serious consequences. They informed those at home that they found the Indians in log houses that were loop-holed and well prepared for defence. In these houses they had stored a great quantity of powder, enough, as the Indians boasted, to last them ten years, that had been given them by the French; and they were then preparing to attack Fort Shirley, aided by French officers and soldiers.
Capt. Jacobs, the great war-chief of the Indians, was killed; and many of them, refusing quarter, were burned and blown up in their houses.
"When did you see my husband last? and how came you to be separated from him?" said Mrs. Honeywood.
"When we came within a few miles of the Indian town," said Holdness, "he and Rangely were sent out to scout, and discovered three Indians round a fire. Col. Armstrong didn't want to molest these Indians, for fear of alarming the town: so he ordered Lieut. Hogg with twelve men, among whom was your husband and Rangely, to keep watch of 'em while he went forward to the town with the main body, with orders to fall upon these Indians at daybreak, at which time he would attack the Indian village. The lieutenant obeyed orders, killed three of them at the first fire, when it turned out that instead of three there were twenty-four, the rest lying in the woods."
"What were those Indians about there?" said Blanchard.
"They were an advance party, on their way to Fort Shirley. They killed Rangely and three more, mortally wounded the lieutenant, and forced the rest to retreat."
"How did you know this?"
"We got it from a party who separated from the rest after the action, and found the lieutenant lying wounded on the ground alone, and the bodies of those who had been killed lying around him. Your husband was not among the killed; no one knew any thing about him; and we reckoned he had retreated with the others, and we should find him at the beaver-dams, or on the road; and, not finding him at either place, made up our minds, that, having found out the Indians were licked, he had taken the shortest cut through the woods for the Run; and 'spected ter find him here afore us."
This force having been raised for the sole purpose of capturing the Indian village, their obligations ended with the accomplishment of that object. At first they had no serious anxiety in respect to Honeywood. Holdness and McClure knew that his body had not been found, though the woods had been thoroughly searched. They did not believe that when the Indians must have known by the firing, that their village was attacked by a strong force, they would encumber themselves with a prisoner, but, if they had taken him, would have killed and scalped him. But when day after day passed away, and they heard that other stragglers had returned, and Honeywood came not, the alarm was universal; and they knew that he was a captive to the Indians.
It was then manifest how much Honeywood was beloved and respected. Every man was willing to encounter any danger to rescue him; and even the children could find no heart to play, and burst into tears when they found he was a captive.
The Black Rifle and three of his men went in one direction; Harry Sumerford, Ned Armstrong, and Cal Holdness, in another; and Israel Blanchard, McClure, and Holdness, in still another,—in order to lurk around the Indian villages and camping-places, to find where he was held captive, that they might attempt either rescue or ransom.
But all their efforts were fruitless: because, as was afterwards known, the party who had captured Honey wood, finding their town attacked by so large a force, fled with their prisoner across the Alleghany and into the territories of the Six Nations, where only, after the first alarm created by Armstrong's attack, they could feel secure.
It was a gloomy period at the Run, when one party after another would come in without tidings.
"If," said Mrs. Sumerford, "the Almighty ever did hear prayer for any thing or any body, and I know he has and does, he will for this good man: he'll never let those savages torture their best friend."
"He permitted the Jews to torture the Saviour, their best friend," replied Mrs. Honeywood. "We have no right to say what God in his wisdom will or will not permit; but, if the Indians tie him to the stake, I believe he will enable him to bear it, and will support me likewise."
"The church," said Mrs. Sumerford, "prayed for Peter, and the Lord sent his angel: perhaps he will hear our prayers for him."
These good women then resolved they would meet every afternoon in the schoolhouse, and pray.
Honeywood and Rangely, maintaining their ground while their comrades retreated, were thus left alone; and, being surrounded by savages, Rangely was killed, and Honeywood, wounded severely in the breast, was taken prisoner.
The Delawares knew Honeywood well: among them were some of those who were present when he shot the savage who held Sam Sumerford in his arms, without hurting the boy. They immediately painted his face black, thus signifying that he was to be reserved for torture. Greatly elated with their prize, they treated him with the utmost kindness, and carried him the greater part of the way to a Delaware camping-ground on a litter. Upon arriving at their place of destination, they exerted all their skill to heal his wounds, and restore his strength, in order that he might be able longer to endure the tortures they intended to inflict upon so brave a man and dreaded enemy.
The victim was too well acquainted with Indian customs and character to be ignorant of the designs of his captors; but hope lingers long in the human breast, and he was not without some slight expectation that his friend Wasaweela might be able to help him. He was not aware that the generous Mohawk had fallen (soon after he gave the warning to the settlers at the Run) in a battle with the southern Indians who had trespassed upon the hunting-grounds of the Six Nations.
Among the savages who captured Honeywood, was one who had often been to the shop of Clavell in Baltimore, of whom the captive had learned his trade; and he had several times repaired the rifle and traps of this savage free of charge, and invited him to spread his blanket on the hearth. On the march this savage showed much kindness to his former benefactor, often gave him food from his own store that was scanty, and would probably have aided him to escape if he could; but the day before they reached their place of destination, a Delaware encampment in the territory of the Six Nations, he told Honeywood, evidently with sorrow, that his people would burn him, because he had struck them very hard, and killed many of their young men, and was a great brave. He then exhorted him to be strong, and to let it be known, by the courage with which he endured the torture, that he was a great warrior.
Thrown upon the world in childhood, the mind of Honeywood was of the firmest texture, and he had often been called to face death. But he was in the prime of early manhood, a loving, kind-hearted man; and it was bitter to die under such horrible tortures as savage ingenuity alone could devise. He thought of his home, the acres he had toiled so hard to win and defend; his wife and little ones; his neighbors, young men and children, respecting whose improvement, both mental and moral, he had cherished so many hopes, and devised so many plans to be carried into effect when the Indian war should end, of which there was now a probability.
Honeywood was not only a man of iron nerve and unflinching courage, but he was a good man: he lived in constant intercourse with God. In his boyhood, while one of the household of Henry Clavell, he had been deeply interested in religious truths.
The instructions of Mrs. Raymond, a Quakeress, and the housekeeper of his master, had fallen upon willing ears and a tender conscience; and the great sorrow of his youth, the death of his benefactor, had completed the work; and from his Father in heaven he sought for strength to die, not with the sullen stoicism of the red man, but with the faith and resignation of a Christian.
His wounds were now healed, and his strength restored; his captors, having treated his injuries with great skill, fed him upon the best of provisions, game being plenty, and treated him with all the kindness consistent with safe-keeping. The war-parties sent out in different directions had come in, as also the fugitives who had escaped from Armstrong at Kittanning.
One of those parties brought with them two white captives,—one a Scotchman by the name of McAlpine, and the other a German, Luke Bogardus,—and a great number of scalps.
These scalping-parties were received by the Indians with great rejoicings. They instantly made a feast, had an Indian scalp-dance, and resolved to put Honeywood and the other captives to the torture, as an offering to appease the spirits of their warriors who had been slain at Kittanning, and more especially of the great number that had fallen by the hands of the settlers at Wolf Run. Upon Honeywood, therefore, these demons in human form resolved to inflict the most horrible torments, made familiar by long practice and taught by the traditions of their savage ancestors. Could they but make him cry like a woman, their hearts would thrill with joy. With this end in view they had healed his wounds, and done all in their power to restore him to health and strength; and now the hour of vengeance had come. The prisoners were now brought out, and fastened to small trees by hide ropes of such a length as to permit them to run round the trees when the flames began to scorch them, and by their convulsive motions afford amusement to their tormentors. The squaws and children were building fires at a little distance, at which to heat gun-barrels and ramrods to be thrust into the bodies of the prisoners after they had been partially roasted by the fire built around them. Others were splitting up little slivers of pitch-wood to be run into their flesh, and set on fire; some were filling the quills of turkeys with powder, to be used in a similar way, and then touched with fire.
While these fearful preparations were going on, Isetaune, the friendly savage referred to, unwilling to witness the suffering of one who had bestowed favors upon him, retired to the forest, where he was suddenly confronted by Ephraim Cuthbert, accompanied by Mrs. Raymond, who were instantly recognized by the Indian. Cuthbert, to whom the Delaware language was as familiar as his mother tongue, communicated to the astonished Isetaune his errand, who, whatever he might have felt, betrayed no emotion, but turned back with these unexpected guests.
An old squaw was approaching McAlpine with a birch dish full of splinters of pitch-wood; and boys were following her with fire-brands to light them. An Indian had just drawn a red-hot gun-barrel from the fire, with which to torment Bogardus.
When Ephraim and his companions appeared, their Quaker dress, and mild, passionless features, in strange contrast with the grim forms of those naked and infuriated demons, the astonished savages dropped their instruments of torture; and, recognizing the well-known garb, ever associated in their minds with justice and brotherly love, appreciated at its full value the confidence which had impelled these wayfarers, unarmed and unannounced, to trust themselves to the red man in his haunts; and they hastened to show that it was not misplaced.
A number of the more elderly Indians and principal warriors were seated in a position where they could command the best view both of the captives and their tormentors; and, riding up directly in front of them, Ephraim and his companion halted.
Honeywood in a moment recognized the persons of Cuthbert and Mrs. Raymond, though they passed along without even glancing at him. The color came to his cheek, his eyes moistened, and he looked up in gratitude to heaven, though he might well doubt the success of the mission upon which he knew his friends had come.
Amid a silence so profound that the crackling of the fires kindled to heat the instruments of torture were distinctly heard, an aged Delaware came forward, and, extending his hand to Cuthbert, greeted him thus:—
"My brother and the woman are welcome. Is he hungry? we will feed him. Is he tired? we will take him to our fire, and spread for him a blanket. Has he lost his way? we will put him in the right path. Is he not our brother? Conadose has said."
A low murmur of assent succeeded; and, after it had subsided, Cuthbert said,—
"Brother, thy people have taken a young man from the Juniata. He is a just and brave man. In time of peace, he has been very kind to the Delawares, as Isetaune will tell you; and in war has only defended his lodge, and has never taken a scalp. He is very dear to the woman who is with me; and she has asked me to bring her on this long journey, that she might look in the eyes of her brothers, and ask them to give her this man, who is as a son."
"Brother, we believe as you have told us, that this is a just and brave man; but he has struck our people very hard, and will, if we let him live, strike many more of them. The bones of our young men are scattered in the woods; the wolves are gnawing them; and their spirits will complain if he should live: they cry to us from the ground for his blood. Brother, forget that you have asked us for that we could not grant. This man must die."
"It is well. Will my brothers allow the woman to speak to them?"
After a brief consultation, the request was granted.
Praying to God for aid in this apparently hopeless effort to pluck the prey from the very jaws of the wolf, Mrs. Raymond ventured to speak, Cuthbert interpreting. Not a word she uttered was lost by Honeywood, whose life depended upon her success.
"Brothers, I have lived many years: you see my hair is white; and I have had many sorrows. My grandfather was one of the men of peace, who came over the sea with William Penn, and stood beside him when he met your fathers at Shackamaxon.
"When a little child, I have sat upon his knees, and heard him tell what William Penn said to the Delawares,—that he considered them one flesh and blood with his people, and as though one man's body was divided in two parts; and the Delawares said that they would live in love and friendship with William Penn and his children as long as the sun and moon endured."
During her address, every trace of ferocity vanished from the features of the Indians, and was replaced by an expression of curious interest and respect.
She paused a moment to collect her thoughts, when the chief said,—
"Brother, let the woman speak on. The ears of the Delawares are open; and they desire to wipe the tears from her eyes."
Thus encouraged, she said, while her voice trembled with emotion,—
"Brothers, I am told that it is a custom of the Delawares, handed down from their fathers, that when a captive is taken, any who have lost relatives may take him for their own in the place of those they have lost. We are one flesh and blood: William Penn and your fathers made us one; my father and your fathers joined hands in covenant before this sun; and before this sun I claim this right of my brothers.
"I have had children; but it has pleased the Great Spirit to take them. I do not complain: whatever he doeth is just. I wish to take this man to fill the place in my heart left empty by those I have lost. I ask it of my brothers, because we are one, like two parts of the same body; and I claim the ancient privilege that has always been granted by your old men. Should not a Delaware be just?
"My brother has said the spirits of the slain will be angry if the captive is let go; but will not the spirits of the just and brave who have gone to the happy hunting-grounds grieve and be angry if their children do not remember the covenant their fathers made at Shackamaxon? It is truly a great thing I have asked of the Delawares; but is any thing too good for a friend? Does the red man give to his friend that which he values not, and set before him that he would not eat himself?"
Mrs. Raymond did not conclude, but stopped, utterly exhausted by her efforts, and the emotions excited by the fearful scene before her.
The Indian councillors were evidently much perplexed. No such question had ever come before them. On one side was the desire of revenge, so dear to a savage; on the other, the veneration amounting to idolatry, that all red men, and especially the Delawares, cherished for the character of William Penn (for it was with the Delawares that he made the covenant), and also that sense of justice so strong in the Indian mind.
The affectionate and almost childish confidence with which Cuthbert and his companion had come to them was peculiarly adapted to touch the hearts of these untutored children of the forest.
The older Indians went a little apart from the rest; and hope revived in the heart of Honeywood when he perceived them call Isetaune to their councils.
After a short time spent in deliberation, an Indian, much more advanced in years than the first speaker, arose, and said to Cuthbert,—
"Brother, open your ears. We have listened to the words of the woman: they are good words; such words as were never spoken to the Delawares before, or our old men would have heard and told us of them. We have considered them well, and we think the Great Spirit has sent the woman to speak these good words in our ears.
"For no reason that the pale-faces could have offered us, would we let this man go. If all the governors of the thirteen fires had come to demand this captive, we would have burnt him before their eyes. But the woman and yourself belong to William Penn; you are one with us; and the woman asks that we do by her as we do by our own: therefore we give her this man, because we love to give large gifts to our friends, and because it is just.
"Brother, listen! I have lived many moons; many snows have fallen on my head; and I remember the good days when the children of William Penn were many, when they bore rule at the council-fire, and those bad men who now have most to say were of small account, and when the red man, treated justly, was happy; and, because you are few, our lands are taken without paying for them, and our blood is shed. We do not love you the less because the power has gone from you: therefore we give the life of this man (whom the pale-faces could not buy) to you, and the spirit of the great and good Penn.
"Brother, you have come to us when our hearts are sore and our minds disturbed, for which we are sorry. We shall burn these two bad men. You would not wish to hear their cries, therefore we cannot ask you to spread your blanket at our fire; but some of our young men will build you a wigwam in the woods, and, when you are rested, will guide you to the white man's fort by a shorter path than the one by which you came. I have said."
Cuthbert now presented his thanks, and also those of Mrs. Raymond, to his brothers the Delawares; and Isetaune, loosing Honeywood from the stake, brought him to Mrs. Raymond.
Savage ferocity, so long repressed, now broke forth: fires were rekindled, and yells of vengeance rent the air. Cuthbert would gladly have interceded for the two other miserable victims, but he knew it would be of no avail; and but a moment was given him to think of it, for with Honeywood and Mrs. Raymond he was hurried off to the woods by Isetaune and several others, who hastily constructed a shelter of boughs, provided them with food, and then hurried back to take part in the terrible tortures about to be inflicted upon McAlpine and Bogardus.
When the Indians had departed, Honeywood said to Mrs. Raymond,—
"Mother, when a boy under your care, you were the means of saving my soul; and this day you and Friend Cuthbert have saved my life."
He then begged to know in what way Cuthbert was informed of his capture, and more especially of the place to which the Indians had carried him, as it was in the limits of the Six Nations, who had taken no part in the war.
Ephraim replied that the governor of Pennsylvania, through Sir William Johnson, governor of New York, who had great influence with the Six Nations, had endeavored to prevail upon them to command the Delawares to stop their inroads, and to make peace with the English; and for that purpose had sent a delegation to them, among whom were several Quakers of his acquaintance.
He then went on to say that the friendship between the Indians and the Quakers had not been interrupted in the least by the war, with which (as the Indians well knew) they had no concern except to endeavor to prevent it.
After visiting the Six Nations, those Quakers, knowing the deep impression made upon the minds of the Delawares by the attack of Armstrong and the capture of Kittanning, resolved to visit the Delaware king Teedyuscung; and thus learned of the capture of Honeywood, and where he was, and that the Delawares were determined to burn him, and would take no ransom, for he was one of the Wolf Run settlers, who were the worst enemies they had.
"I then," said Ephraim, "resolved with the help of God to rescue thee, seeing it was my duty, and not forgetful of thy great kindness to me when I was thy neighbor at the Run."
"You took a most singular way: if you had sent word to the Run, the people there would have rescued me by force of arms."
"They might, and they might not: they would have killed many Indians in doing it, of which thou knowest we do not approve. I took the way of peace and righteousness, and thou seest it has succeeded. I know the Indians loved my people, and the memory of William Penn, though he has been so long in his grave. Friend Honeywood, 'love is stronger than death: many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.' Thou knowest we believe there is an inward light in every person born into the world; and there is in these poor savages (who are now torturing their prisoners, and would have tortured thee), but it has been obscured by ages of ignorance and superstition: yet they would take the food from their mouths to put into mine, or any true follower of William Penn.
"Thou knowest how long a journey thy mother and myself have come to find thee; and nearly every day we met larger or smaller bands of Delawares, Shawanees, Monseys, and Wyandottes in their war-paint, going after the scalps of white men, to kill the mother and the babe on her bosom; but they called me brother, offered me food, directed me in the best paths, and to places where I could find grass and water; and often went many miles out of their way to do this."
Honeywood made no reply. He could not accept the Quaker doctrine of non-resistance, though in other respects sympathizing with and entertaining the greatest affection and respect for them and their principles. While the light of the torture-fires could be discerned in the distance, and the Indian yells faintly heard, they knelt in prayer, and then retired to rest.
Cuthbert and his companions would gladly have started at the first glimpse of day; but this would not have been agreeable to Indian customs, that required a more formal leave-taking and an escort as a mark of respect.
Those singularly discordant traits that go to make up Indian character appeared in a striking light the next morning when they were taken back to the encampment. Here they were received with the greatest kindness. A lodge was placed at their disposal; and they found a bountiful breakfast already prepared. The grim colors of the war-paint had disappeared from the persons of the warriors, who had resumed the grave dignity and cold demeanor of an Indian when in repose. The squaws, who the day before were foaming at the mouth with malignant spite, and longing to engage in the work of torture, were quietly pursuing their household duties; and the children at play.
Some terrible reminders of what had taken place remained,—the half-burned trees to which the captives had been fastened, and the still smoking embers. Indian dogs were gnawing and dragging about the half-burned bones of the dead, snarling at each other, and fighting for favorite morsels.
Honeywood turned sick at heart as he looked upon the stake to which he had been fastened, the wood collected to burn him, and the mangled remains of his fellow-captives, whose fate he had so narrowly escaped.
Cuthbert now expressed his desire to depart, and they proceeded to take leave of him.
"Brother," said the Indian who had welcomed him, "listen. You came to us when our minds were chafed, and the spirits of our dead were calling upon us to revenge their blood. We have now given them satisfaction: they will no longer complain, but will rest in their graves. We have wiped the tears from your eyes, picked the thorns from your legs; you have eaten of our food, spread your blankets with us; and, as you are about to leave us, we wish you a good journey, and are glad that you have come and brightened the chain of friendship. Our young men will go with you, that you may not lose your way and come to harm. Brother, farewell."
Indians never do any thing at the halves. Honeywood's rifle, pack, and every article, even to the bullets in his pouch, and the powder in his horn, were restored; and he was presented with new moccasons and leggings.
Isetaune and six Delawares conducted them to within four miles of Fort Shirley, where the Indians took leave of them, Cuthbert and Mrs. Raymond going to the fort, and Honeywood towards the Run at a speed that corresponded to the emotions swelling in the breast of the husband and father.
Expecting to find the settlers in garrison, he went directly to the fort. Passing through the Cuthbert pasture, he encountered Fan with three of her pups following the trail of a pack of wolves for their own amusement. With the wildest expression of joy, she leaped upon her master, the pups doing the same, all striving to be the first to lick his face: they fairly bore him to the ground, each one, as he accomplished his purpose, running in a circle around him.
"That's a warm welcome, old friend," patting the head of Fan, as, having finished her gambol, she stood looking in his face, and wagging her tail, as though she wanted to speak.
As he approached, he found the gates of the stockade and the fort open; and there was no sentry to be seen on the platform.
"The Black Rifle must be here still," he said to himself; "or they would never leave the gates open, and let down their watch."
The door of the mill was open; and he looked in, but saw no one, for Mr. Seth was in the top of the building, greasing the bearings of the machinery.
He was hurrying to the block-house, when he heard the voice of his wife in the schoolhouse; and entering found her, Mrs. Sumerford, Mrs. Holdness, Lucy Mugford, and several of the older girls, at prayer. Prayer was now turned to praise; and the girls ran to the block-house to spread the glad tidings.
"The Lord has sent his angel, and delivered Peter; praised be his name!" shouted Mrs. Sumerford. "Oh the dear good man!" and she fairly embraced him.
"The Lord sent two angels, Mrs. Sumerford; and they were Ephraim Cuthbert and Mrs. Raymond.—Where are the children, wife?"
"Here they are, coming with their grandmother and all the rest."
The next moment all the female portion of the community, and Mr. Seth, were assembled in the schoolhouse; and, after Honeywood had embraced and kissed his children, Mr. Seth said,—
"Neighbors, we have been in this place more or less for weeks, praying in behalf of Mr. Honeywood; and those who were on the scout knelt down in the wood to put up the same petition, and the sentry knelt at midnight on the platform; and it does not become us now in the hour of our deliverance to forget the Author of all our mercies. I want Mr. Honeywood to read the hundred and sixteenth Psalm, and pray; and we'll all praise together."
The dogs were put out, and all seated themselves for worship; but scarcely had Honeywood taken the book in his hand, than the old mother dog leaped in at the window, followed by the rest.
"Let them stay. I cannot bear to shut out Fan. She was the first to welcome me. The Lord made them as well as us."
At his command they all lay down around him, and remained perfectly quiet during the worship; Fan only lifting her head once in a while to look her master in the face, and make sure of his presence.
The happy company retired to the block-house, when Honeywood inquired what had become of the men-folks and children.
"The young men," said Uncle Seth, "have gone with the Black Rifle and four of his band, to Loyal Hannah, where they have heard there is a Delaware camp, to lurk round to see if you are there. Some are on the scout. The rest are gone to Mr. Holdness's lot to junk and pile logs on a burn, and all the boys are with 'em; and Joan Holdness's gone to let 'em know you've come."
Before Honeywood had finished eating, the boys rushed in, having run all the way; and, not long after, Holdness, McClure, Grant, Stewart, and Israel Blanchard came in.
Honeywood then gave his friends a minute account of all that had happened to him. When he finished, McClure said,—
"It was not the memory of William Penn, nor what Mrs. Raymond said, that turned the Indian from his purpose when the captive was tied to the stake, and the fire lighted: 'twas Him who stopped the mouth of the lions. They couldn't work their will, couldn't do the thing they wanted to."
"Sinner that I am," said Holdness, "I have never yet had the grace to seek pardon of my Maker for my many transgressions, much more of man; but, if I ever meet Ephraim Cuthbert agin, I'll ask his forgiveness for insulting him, and knocking his hat from his head, and giving him hard words, because he would neither fight himself, nor pay others for doing it; and you all know Ned Honeywood had ter step between us, or I might have done worse. Quaker or no Quaker, he's a brave, noble-hearted, Christian man."
"No wonder we couldn't find him," said Israel Blanchard: "nobody ever dreamed that they would carry him into the hunting-grounds of the Six Nations."
"It would seem," said Honeywood, "that, though the Six Nations take no open part in the war, they have no objection to see it go on. Many of the Delawares have left their old men, women, and children, among the Six Nations, while the warriors went to war; and it was to one of these places, that, after Kittanning was taken, they carried me."
"To be sure, they are willing it should go on, in order that they may be called in to make the Delawares and all the rest behave, and have rich presents for their trouble; and that is what the governor is trying to bring about now. Better give 'em a few more bullets, and a little more of Armstrong," said McClure.
"There is no doubt," said Holdness, "that the Six Nations rule the Delawares and all the rest with a rod of iron; and, if they order the Delawares to bury the hatchet, they'll have to do it. But it seems to me that a government cuts a very mean figure when it goes a-begging to one portion of these savages, gits down on its knees to them, and hires them to make peace with another portion. Rather than do that, I would be willing to set out to-morrow on another expedition into their country. A few more such raids would bring them to beg for peace, instead of their being hired and coaxed to agree to it."
"There's a great deal of wholesome truth in what the Quakers said," replied Honeywood. "They told the government that the Indian troubles were generally settled in this way. The Indians were abused and exasperated till they dug up the hatchet; and when the affair had gone on till great numbers of the inhabitants were killed, and a few of the savages, the frontiers depopulated, and the whole country filled with terror, then presents were made to the Indians, a council held, and peace confirmed. The Quakers, therefore, thought it would be better to make the presents first, and dispense with all the butchery and devastation."
The concluding volume of this series—entitled, Burying the Hatchet; or, The Young Brave of the Delawares—will clear up the mystery connected with the disappearance of that reckless and mischievous urchin, Tony Stewart, and manifest the effect of peaceful relations and pursuits upon the rude and reckless spirits who composed the majority of the settlers of Wolf Run. Hitherto they have been presented to us struggling for bare existence, in circumstances of mortal peril, calculated to develop the sterner passions of human nature. We trust they will manifest qualities of mind and heart equally striking and admirable when laying aside the weapons of war, to engage in enterprises of culture and progress.