University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

“I suppose the lad had been with us a matter of six weeks, getting
better every day, but so slowly that he had not, at the end of
that time, been able to leave the picket. Meanwhile, our troubles
with the Indians were increasing. As yet, there had been no
bloodshed in our quarter, but we heard of murders and sculpings
on every side, and we took for granted that we must have our
turn. We made our preparations, repaired the pickets, laid in
ammunition, and took turns for scouting nightly. At length, the
signs of Indians got to be thick in our parts, though we could see
none. Jake Ransom had come upon one of their camps after
they had left it; and we had reason to apprehend every thing, inasmuch
as the outlyers didn't show themselves, as they used to
do, but prowled about the cabins and went from place to place,
only by night, or by close skulking in the thickets. One evening
after this, I went out as usual to go the rounds, taking Clinch
with me, but I hadn't got far from the gate, when the dog stopped
and gave a low bark;—then I knew there was mischief, so I
turned round quietly, without making any show of scare, and got
back safely, though not a minute too soon. They trailed me to
the gate the moment after I had got it fastened, and were pretty
mad, I reckon, when they found their plan had failed for surprising
me. But for the keen nose of poor Clinch, with all my skill
in scouting,—and it was not small even in that early day,—
they'd 'a had me, and all that was mine, before the sun could
open his eyes to see what they were after. Finding they had
failed in their ambush, they made the woods ring with the war-whoop,
which was a sign that they were guine to give us a
regular siege. At the sound of the whoop, we could see the eyes
of the Indian boy brighten, and his ears prick up, jest like a
hound's when he first gets scent of the deer, or hears the horn of
the hunter. I looked closely at the lad, and was dub'ous what to
do. He moutbe only an enemy in the camp, and while I was

fighting in front, he might be cutting the throats of my wife and
children within. I did not tell you that I had picked up his bow
and arrows near the little lake where I had found him, and his
hunting-knife was sticking in his belt when I brought him home.
Whether to take these away from him, was the question. Suppose
I did, a billet of wood would answer pretty near as well.
I thought the matter over while I watched him. Thought runs
mighty quick in time of danger! Well, after turning it over on
every side, I concluded 'twas better to trust him jest as if he had
been a sure friend. I couldn't think, after all we had done for
him, that he'd be false, so I said to him—`Lenatewá!'—'twas so
he called himself—`those are your people!' `Yes!' he answered
slowly, and lifting himself up as if he had been a lord—he
was a stately-looking lad, and carried himself like the son of a
Micco,[1] as he was—`Yes, they are the people of Lenatewá—
must he go to them?' and he made the motion of going out. But
I stopped him. I was not willing to lose the security which I
had from his being a sort of prisoner. `No,' said I; `no, Lenatewá,
not to-night. To-morrow will do. To-morrow you can
tell them I am a friend, not an enemy, and they should not
come to burn my wigwam.' `Brother—friend!' said the lad,
advancing with a sort of freedom and taking my hand. He then
went to my wife, and did the same thing,—not regarding she was
a woman,—`Brother—friend!' I watched him closely, watched
his eye and his motions, and I said to Betsy, `The lad is true;
don't be afeard!' But we passed a weary night. Every now
and then we could hear the whoop of the Indians. From the loop-holes
we could see the light of three fires on different sides, by
which we knew that they were prepared to cut off any help that
might come to us from the rest of the settlement. But I didn't
give in or despair. I worked at one thing or another all night,
and though Lenatewá gave me no help, yet he sat quietly, or laid
himself down before the fire, as if he had nothing in the world to
do in the business. Next morning by daylight, I found him already
dressed in the same bloody clothes which he had on when I
found him. He had thrown aside all that I gave him, and though
the hunting-shirt and leggins which he now wore, were very
much stained with blood and dirt, he had fixed them about him
with a good deal of care and neatness, as if preparing to see company.
I must tell you that an Indian of good family always has
a nateral sort of grace and dignity which I never saw in a white
man. He was busily engaged looking through one of the loop-holes,
and though I could distinguish nothing, yet it was cl'ar
that he saw something to interest him mightily. I soon found out
that, in spite of all my watchfulness, he had contrived to have some
sort of correspondence and communication with those outside.
This was a wonder to me then, for I did not recollect his bow and
arrows. It seems that he had shot an arrow through one of the
loop-holes, to the end of which he had fastened a tuft of his own
hair. The effect of this was considerable, and to this it was owing
that, for a few hours afterwards, we saw not an Indian. The
arrow was shot at the very peep of day. What they were about,
in the meantime, I can only guess, and the guess was only easy,
after I had known all that was to happen. That they were in
council what to do was cl'ar enough. I was not to know that the
council was like to end in cutting some of their own throats instead
of ours. But when we did see the enemy fairly, they came
out of the woods in two parties, not actually separated, but not
moving together. It seemed as if there was some strife among
them. Their whole number could not be less than forty, and
some eight or ten of these walked apart under the lead of a chief,
a stout, dark-looking fellow, one-half of whose face was painted
black as midnight, with a red circle round both his eyes. The
other party was headed by an old white-headed chief, who couldn't
ha'been less than sixty years—a pretty fellow, you may be sure,
at his time of life, to be looking after sculps of women and children.
While I was kneeling at my loop-hole looking at them,
Lenatewá came to me, and touching me on the arm, pointed to
the old chief, saying—`Micco Lenatewá Glucco,' by which I
guessed he was the father or grandfather of the lad. `Well,' I
said, seeing that the best plan was to get their confidence and
friendship if possible,—`Well, lad, go to your father and tell him
what Daniel Nelson has done for you, and let's have peace. We
can fight, boy, as you see; we have plenty of arms and provisions;
and with this rifle, though you may not believe it, I could
pick off your father, the king, and that other chief, who has so
devilled himself up with paint.' `Shoot!' said the lad quickly,
pointing to the chief of whom I had last spoken. `Ah! he is
your enemy then?' The lad nodded his head, and pointed to the
wound on his temple, and that in his side. I now began to see
the true state of the case. `No,' said I; `no, Lenatewá, I will
shoot none. I am for peace. I would do good to the Indians,
and be their friend. Go to your father and tell him so. Go, and
make him be my friend.' The youth caught my hand, placed it on
the top of his head, and exclaimed, `Good!' I then attended him
down to the gate, but, before he left the cabin, he stopped and put
his hand on the head of little Lucy,—and I felt glad, for it seemed
to say, `you shan't be hurt—not a hair of your head!' I let him
out, fastened up, and then hastened to the loop-hole.