University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

While the events just chronicled were enacting in one part of the country,
others, of a different nature, but somewhat connected with them, were
taking place in another. In a dark, lonely pass or gorge of the hills, some
ten miles to the north of the scene of the preceding chapter, where the surrounding
trees grew so thick with branches and leaves that they almost
entirely excluded the sunlight from the waters of a stream which there
rolled foaming and roaring between the hills aud over and against the rocks
of its precipitous bed, or, plunging down some frightful precipice, lay as if
stunned or exhausted by the fall in the chasm below, mirroring in its still
bosom with a gloomy reflection the craggy steeps rising majestically above
it,—in this dark and lonely pass, we say, was a party of human beings, to
whom the proper developement of our story now calls us.

The company in question was composed of eight persons, five of whom
were Indians of the Seneca tribe;[1] the others,—a thin faced, gaunt, stoop

shouldered man past the middle age—a rather corpulent, masculine looking
woman, a few years his junior—a little fair haired, blue eyed, pretty
faced girl of six,—were white captives. Four of the Indians were seated or
partly reclining on the ground, with their guns beside them, ready for instant
use if necessary, engaged in roasting slices of deer meat before a fire
that had been kindled for the purpose. The fifth savage was pacing to and
fro, with his rifle on his arm, performing the double duty of sentinel and
guard over the prisoners, who were kept in durance by strong cords, some
ten paces distant. The old man was secured by a stick passing across his
back horizontally, to which both wrists and arms were tightly bound by
thongs of deer skin. To prevent the possibility of escape, both legs were
fastened together by the same material, and a long, stout rope encircling his
neck was attached to a tree hard by. This latter precaution and much of
the former seemed unnecessary; for there was a mild look of resigned
dejection on his features, as they bent toward the earth, with his chin resting
on his bosom, that appeared strongly at variance with any thing like
flight or strife. His female companion was fastened in like manner to the
tree, but in other respects only bound by a stout thong around the wrists in
front. The third member of the white party, the little girl, was seated at
the feet of the old man, with her small wrists also bound until they had
swollen so as to pain her, looking up from time to time into his face with a
heart-rending expression of grief, fear and anxiety.

Of the Indians themselves, we presume it would be difficult to find, among
all the tribes of America, five more blood thirsty, villainous looking beings
than the ones in question. They were only partially dressed, after the
manner of their tribe, with skins around their loins, extending down to their
knees, and moccasins on their feet, leaving the rest of their bodies and limbs
bare. Around their waists were belts, for the tomahawk and scalping knife,
at three of which now hung freshly taken scalps. Their faces had been
hideously painted for the war-path; but heat and perspiration had since out
done the artist, by running the composition into streaks, in such a way as
to give them the most diabolical appearance imaginable. On each of their
heads was a tuft of feathers, some of which had the appearance of having
recently been scorched and blackened by fire, while their arms and bodies
were here and there besmeared with blood.

The four around the fire were in high, good glee, as they roasted and
devoured their meat—judging from their nods, and grins, and grunts of
approbation, whenever their eyes glanced in the direction of their prisoners—the
effect of which was far from consoling to the matron of the latter,
who, having eyed them for some time in indignant silence, at length burst
forth with angry vehemence:

“Well now jest grin and jabber and grin, like a pesky set o'nateral born
monkeys, that's ten times better nor you is any day of your good for nothing,
sneaking lives. Goodness, gracious, marsy on me alive!” continued
the dame, whom the reader has doubtless recognised as Mrs. Younker, “I
only jest wish you had to change places with me and Ben here for about
five minutes, and ef I didn't make your old daubed, nasty, villainous, unyarthly
looking faces, grin to another tune, I hope I may never be blessed
with liberty agin in creation, as long as I live on the face o' this univarsal
yarth!”

“Ugh!” ejaculated the sentinel, turning towards the speaker, as she concluded
her fierce tirade of abuse, at the same time placing his hand on the
tomahawk in his belt with an angry gesture: “Ugh! me squaw kill—she no
stop much talky!”

“You'd kill me, would ye? you mean, dirty, ripscallious looking varmint
of the woods you, that don't know a pin from a powder horn!” rejoined the
undaunted Mrs. Younker, in a vehement tone: “You'd kill me for using
the freedom of tougue, as these blessed Colomies is this moment fighting for
with the tarnal Britishers? You'd kill me, would ye? Well, it's jest my
first nateral come at opinion, as I telled Ben here, not more'n a quarter o'
an hour ago, that you war jest mean enough for any thing, as ever war
invented, in the whole universal yarth o' creation—so of you do kill me, I
won't be in the leastest grain disappinted, no how.”

“Don't, Dorothy—don't irritate the savage for nothing at all!” said her
husband, who, raising his head at the first remark of the Indian, now saw in
his fierce flashing eyes, angry gestures, and awful contortions of visage, that
which boded the sudden fulfilment of his threat: “Don't irritate him, and
git murdered for your pains, Dorothy! Why can't you be more quiet?”

“Don't talk to me about being quiet, Benjamin Younker, away out here
in the woods, a captive to such imps as them thar, with our house all burnt
to nothing like, and our cows and sheeps and hosses destructed, and—”

Here the speech of the good woman was suddenly cut short, by the whizzing
of a tomahawk past her head, which slightly grazed her cheek, and
lodged in the tree a few feet beyond. Whether it was aimed at her life and
missed its mark, or whether it was merely done to frighten her, does not
appear; though the manner of the savage, after the weapon was thrown,
inclines us to the latter supposition; for instead of rushing upon her with
his knife, he walked deliberately to the tree, withdrew the tomahawk, and
then turning to her, and brandishing it over her head, said:

“Squaw, still be! Speak much, me killum!”

Be the design of the Indian what it might, the whole proceeding certainly
produced one result, which nothing had ever been known to do before—it
awed to silence the tongue of Mrs. Younker, just at a moment when talking
would have been such a relief to her overcharged spirit; and merely muttering,
in an under tone, “I do jest believe the ripscallious varmint is in
arnest sure enough!” she held her speech for the extraordinary space of
half an hour.

Meantime the other savages finished their repast, and having offered a
portion of it to the prisoners, which the latter refused, they proceeded to
destroy their fire, by casting the burning brands into the rushing waters of
the stream below. This done, they extended their circle somewhat—each
placing himself by a tree or rock—and then in the most profound silence
stood like bronzed statuary, apparently awaiting the arrival of another
party. At last—and just as the sun was beginning to peep over the brow
of the steep above them, and let his rays struggle with the matted foliage of
the trees, for a glimpse of the roaring waters underneath—one of the Indians
started, looked cautiously around, dropped flat upon the earth, and
then rising, and motioning with his hand for all to be silent, glided noiselessly
away, like the shadow of some evil spirit, into the surrounding thicket.
He had scarcely been absent three minutes, when a slight crackling among
the brush was heard near at hand, and immediately after he rejoined his
companions, followed by a party of eight Indian warriors, and two white
prisoners, headed by a low-browed, sinister, blood-thirsty looking white
man, in a garb resembling that worn by a subordinate British officer. His
coat was red, with facings of another color, underneath which was partially
displayed a handsome vest and ruffled shirt. About his waist passed a broad
wampum belt, in which were confined a brace of silver mounted pistols—
another pair of less finish and value—a silver handled dirk—a scalping

knife and tomahawk, on whose blades could be seen traces of blood.
Around his neck was a neatly tied cravat, and dangling in front of his vest
a gold chain, which connected with a watch hid in a pocket of his breeches,
whence depended a larger chain of steel, supporting in turn three splendid
gold seals and two keys. His nether garments were breeches, leggins and
moccasins, all of deer skin, and without ornament. His hat, not unlike
those of the present day, was on this occasion graced with a red feather,
which protruded above the crown, and corresponded well with his general
appearance.

The Indian companious of this individual, were no wise remarkable for
any thing, unless it might be ferocity of expression. They were habited,
with but one exception, like those previously described, and evidently belonged
to the same tribe. This exception was a large, athletic, powerful
Indian, rather rising of six feet, around whose waist was a finely worked
wampum belt, over whose right shoulder, in a transverse direction, extended
a red scarf, carelessly tied under the left arm, and in whose nose and ears
were large, heavy rings, denoting him to be either a chief or one in command.
His age was about thirty; and his features, though perhaps less
ferocious than some of his companions, were still enough so to make him an
object of dread and fear. His forehead was low, his eye black and piercing,
and his nose rather flat and widely distended at the nostrils. He was called
Peshewa: Anglice, Wild-cat.

As the prisoners of the latter party came in sight of those of the former,
there was a general start and exclamation of surprise, while the sad faces
of each showed how little pleasure they felt in meeting each other under
such painful circumstances. The last comers, as the reader has doubtless
conjectured, were Algernon and Ella. Immediately on their entering the
ravine, as previously recorded, they had been set upon by savages, their
horses shot from under them, and themselves made captives. This result,
however, as regards Algernon, had not been effected without considerable
effort on the part of his numerous enemies. At the first fire, his horse had
fallen; but disentangling himself, and drawing his pistols, he sprang upon
the side of his dying beast, and discharged them both at his nearest foes—
one of which had taken effect, and sent a warrier to his last account. Then
leaping in among them, he drew his knife and cut madly about him until
secured; though doubtless he would have been tomahawked on the spot,
only that he might be reserved for the tortures, when his brutal captors
should arrive at their destination. Meantime the animal which bore the
lovely Ella, being wounded by the same fire which had killed her companion's
bounded forward some twenty paces, when a blow on the head with
a tomahawk laid him prostrate, and she had been secured also. The party
had then proceeded to bury the dead, at some little distance, and start upon
their journey, to join their companions—which latter we have just seen
accomplished.

As soon as mutual recognitions had passed between the prisoners, the
individual habited in the British uniform stepped forward and said, jocosely:

“So, friends, we all meet again, do we, eh?—ha, ha, ha!”

At the sound of his voice, the old man and his wife, both of whom had
been too intently occupied with Algerpon and Ella to notice him before,
started, and turning their eyes suddenly upon him, simultaneously exclaimed:

“Mr. Williams!”

“Sometimes Mr. Williams,” answered the other, with a strong emphasis on
the first word, accompanying it with a horrible oath; “but now, when disguise
is no longer necessary, Simon Girty, the renegade, by—!—ha, ha, ha!”

As he uttered these words, in a hoarse, bragadocia tone, a visible shudder
of fear or disgust, or both combined, passed through the frame of each of
the prisoners; and Algernon turning to him, with an expression of loathing
contempt, said:

“I more than half suspected as much, when I sometime since contemplated
your low-browed, hang-dog countenance. Of course we can expect
no mercy at such hands.”

“Mercy!” cried Girty, tuining fiercely upon him, his eyes gleaming
savagely, his mouth twisting into a shape intended to express the most withering
contempt, while his words fairly hissed from between his tightly set
teeth: “Mercy? dog! No, by h—l! for none like you! Hark ye, Mr.
Reynolds! Were you in the damnable cells of the Inquisition, accused of
heresy, and about to be put to the tortures, you might think yourself in
Paradise compared to what you shall yet undergo!”

As he uttered these words, Ella shrieked and fell fainting to the earth.
Springing to, Girty raised her in his arms, and pointing to her pale features,
as he did so, continued:

“See! Mr. Reynolds, this girl loves you; I love her; we are rivals; and
you, my rival, are in my power: and by —! and all the powers of darkness,
you shall feel my vengeance!”

“You love her?” broke in Mrs. Younker, who, despite her previous dangerous
warning, could hold her peace no longer: “You love her! you mean,
contemptible, red headed puppy! I don't believe as how you knows enough
to love nothing! And so you're Simon Girty, hey? that thar sneaking,
red-coat renegade! Well, I reckon as how you've told the truth once; for
I've hearn tell that he war an orful mean looking imp o' Satan; and I jest
don't believe as how a meaner one nor yourself could be sheer'd up in the
whole universal yarth o' creation.”

“Rail on, old woman!” replied Girty, as he chafed the temples of Ella
with his hands; “but in a little lower key, or I shall be under the necessity
of ordering a stopper to your mouth; which, saving the tortures of the
stake, is the worst punishment for you I can now invent. As for you, Mr.
Younker,” continued he, turning his face to the old man, with a peculiar
expression, “you seem to have nothing to say to an old friend—ha, ha,
ha!”

“Whensomever I mention the name o' Simon Girty,” replied Younker,
in a deliberate and startlingly solemn tone, “I al'ays call down God's curse
upon the fiendish renegade—and I do so now.”

“By —! old man,” cried Girty, casting Ella roughly from him, and
starting upright, the perfect picture of a tiend in human shape, “another
word, and your brains shall be scattered to the four winds of heaven!” As he spoke, he brandished his tomahawk over the other's head, while the child
before noticed, uttered a wild seream, and sprang to Mrs. Younker, at whose
side she crouched in absolute terror.

“Strike!” answered Younker, mildly, with an unchauged countenance,
his eye resting steadily upon the other, who could not meet his gaze in the
same manner. “Strike! Simon Girty; for I'm a man that's never feared
death, and don't now; besides, I reiterate all I've said, and with my dying
breath pray God to curse ye!”

“Not yet!” rejoined Girty, smothering his rage, as he replaced his
weapon. “Not yet, Ben Younker; for you take death too easy; and by
—! I'll make it have terrors for you! But what child is this?” continued
he, grasping the little girl fiercely by the arm, causing her to utter a cry of
pain and fear. “By heavens! what do we with squalling children? Here,

Oshasqua, I give her in your charge; and if she yelp again, brain her, by
—!” and he closed with an oath.

The Indian whom we have previously noticed as the sentinel, stepped
forward, with a demoniac gleam of satisfaction on his ugly countenance, and
taking the child by the hand, led her away some ten paces, where he annused
himself by stripping her of such apparel as he fancied might ornament his
own person; while she, poor little thing; afraid to cry aloud, could only sob
forth the bitterness of her heart.

Meantime Girty turning to Ella, and finding her gradually recovering,
assisted her to rise; and then motioning the chief aside, he held a short
consultation with him, in the Indian dialect, regarding their next proceedings,
and the disposal of the prisoners.

“Were it not, Peshewa, for his own base words,” said the renegade, in
reply to some remark of his Indian ally, “I would have spared him; but
now,” and his features exhibited the concentrated expression of infernal
hate and revenge; “but now, Peshewa, he dies! with all the horrors of the
stake, that you, a noble master of the art of torture, can invent and inflict.
The Long Knife[2] must not curse the red-man's friend in his own camp and
go unpunished. I commend him to your merey, Peshewa—ha, ha, ha!” and
he ended with a hoarse, fiend-like laugh.

“Ugh!” returned Wild-cat, giving a gutteral grunt of satisfaction, although
not a muscle of his rigid features moved, and, save a peculiar gleam
of his dark eye, nothing to show that he felt uncommon interest in the sentence
of Younker: “Peshewa a chief! The Great Spirit give him memory
—the Great Spirit give him invention. He will remember what he have
done to prisoners at the stake,—he can invent new tortures. But the squaw?”

“Ay, the squaw!” answered the renegade, musingly; “the old man's
wife—she must he disposed of also. Ha! a thought strikes me, Peshewa:
You have no wife, (the savage gave a grunt) suppose you take her?”

Peshewa started, and his eyes flashed fire, as he said with great energy:
“Does the wolf mate with his hunter, that you ask a chief of the Great
Spirit's red children to mate with their white destroyer?”

“Then do with her what you d—n please,” rejoined Girty, throwing in an
oath. “I was only jesting, Peshewa. But come, we must be on the move!
for this last job will not be long a secret; and then we shall have the Long
Knives after us as hot as h—l. We must divide our party. I will take with
me these last prisoners and six warriors, and you the others. A quarter of
a mile below here we will separate and break our trail in the stream; you
and your party by going up a piece—I and mine by going down. This will
perplex them, and give us time. Make your trail conspicuous, Peshewa,
and I will be careful to leave none whatever, if I can help it; for, by —!
I must be sure to escape with my prisoners. If you are close pressed, you
can brain and scalp yours; but for some important reasons, I want mine to
live. We will meet, my noble Peshewa, at the first bend of the Big Miami.”

The Indian heard him through, without moving a muscle of his seemingly
blank features; and then answered, a little haughtily:

“Kitchokema[3] plans all, and gives his red brother all the danger; but
Peshewa is brave, and fears not.”

“And do you think it's through fear?” asked Girty, angrily.

“Peshewa makes no charges against his brother,” answered Wild-cat,
quietly.

“Perhaps it is as well he don't,” rejoined Girty, in an under tone, knitting
his brows; and then quickly added: “Come, Peshewa, let us move;
for while we tarry, we are giving time to our white foes.”

Thus ended the conference; and in a few minutes after the whole party
was in motion. Following the course of the waters down to the base of the
hills, they came to a sloping hollow of some considerable extent, where the
stream ran shallow ever a smooth, beautiful bed. Into this latter the whole
company now entered, for the purpose of breaking the trail, as previously
intimated by Girty; and here they divided, according to his former plan also.

If the unhappy prisoners regretted meeting one another in distress, their
parting regrets were an hundred fold more poignant; for to them it seemed
evidently the last time they would ever behold on earth each others faces;
and this thought alone was enough to dim the eyes of Ella and her adopted
mother with burning tears, and shake their frames with heart rending sobs
of anguish; while the old man and Algernon, although both strove to be
stoical, could not look on unmoved to a similar show of grief. Since their
meeting, the captives had managed to converse together sufficiently to learn
the manner of each others capture, and give each other some hope of being
successfully followed and released by their friends; but now, when they
saw the caution displayed by their enemies in breaking the trail, they began
to fear for the result. Just before entering the stream, they passed through
a cluster of bushes that skirted the river's bank; and Ella, the only prisoner
whose hands were unbound, by a quick and sly movement succeeded in
detaching a small portion of her dress, which she there left as a sign to
those who might follow, that she was still alive, and so encourage them to
proceed, in case they were about to falter and turn back.

The separation being now speedily effected, the two parties were quickly
lost to each other—Girty and his band going down the bed of the stream
some two hundred yards before touching the bank; and the others, headed
by Wild-cat, going up about half that distance.

Leaving each to their journey, let us now return to the band already in
pursuit.