University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

Harley.

No demon of wrath could exhibit more fury
than did Butler on discovering that his important
prisoner had escaped. The sentinel whose
neglect of duty had occasioned this mischance,
was brought trembling into his presence. In
vain did he acknowledge his crime and implore
pardon. In vain did he plead that he had been
deceived by one who had deceived Butler himself—one
who had that very day been enrolled
among the king's friends, and seemed particularly
zealous for the royal cause. Poor Ephraim
was handed over to some tory officers who
formed themselves into a species of court martial,
for the purpose of trying him for his offence.
As strict discipline was, as yet, far
from being properly established among the tory
bands that now rallied round the standard of
Butler, and as there was some danger of exciting

discontent in their ranks, if Ephraim should
be punished too severely, he was merely sentenced
to be first publicly reprimanded, and
afterwards exposed in an open space in the centre
of the encampment, with his legs confined
in a wooden frame resembling stocks, for
twenty four hours. Butler was greatly dissatisfied
with the lenity of this sentence; but reflecting
that too much harshness might shake
his popularity among a body of men who were
not yet accustomed to subordination, he acquiesced.
He, however, determined to urge
forward, with all speed, the measures that
were in preparation for an attack upon the settlements
of Wyoming.

In expectation of being able, by means of
her father, to constrain Agnes to comply with
his wishes, he had for some few days past rather
contributed to retard the intended enterprise,
that he might have time to effect this
purpose. He knew the filial reverence and
strong attachment of Agnes for her father. He
considered him, therefore, as an engine in his
hands, by which, with proper management, he
could wield her determinations as he pleased.
He had written to her, as we have seen, informing
her that her father should receive good or
had treatment, according as she complied or
not with his wishes. The time in which, according

to his calculations he should receive
her answer, had elapsed on the day of Joseph
Jennings' arrival at the tory encampment. No
answer had arrived. But in this he scarcely felt
disappointed. He was too well aware of her
aversion to him, to have been very sanguine in
his expectations of one, at least one satisfactory
to his wishes. He considered that Agnes,
knowing her father to be himself averse to her
connexion with him, might suppose that her
consent, even if she gave it, would not receive
his sanction. To remove that obstacle, therefore,
he determined either to persuade or compel
his prisoner to exert his authority over her,
and to write desiring her to yield to his wishes.
It was his attempt to enforce such a letter from
Mr. Norwood, that occasioned the altercation
between them to which the sentinel alluded in
his conversation with Joseph Jennings. The
firmness of Mr. Norwood highly incensed him,
and he did not refrain from the most vehement
threats of vengeance. He, in fact, determined
to commence a system of harshness and cruelty
towards his prisoner, which he doubted not
would compel him to purchase forbearance by
compliance. His scheme, however, was frustrated
by the event we have related, and, with
a spirit animated to the utmost fury of revenge
against all the whigs of Wyoming, he resolved
to exert his whole influence in hastening forward
the expedition now planned against
them.

A great council, composed of the Mohawk
chiefs and the tory leaders, was held the day
after Mr. Norwood's escape. This was the
council alluded to by the sentinel Ephraim. It
convened in the wigwam of Aranooko. Its
object was to confirm the league between the
Indians and the royalists, and make final arrangements
relative to the marching of the intended
expedition against the whigs of Wyoming.

The sachem Aranooko presided at this assembly.

Around the council-fire which was lighted in
the centre of the wigwam, the chiefs and leaders
arranged themselves. The calumet was smoked
in silence, for some minutes, and the cup of
hospitality pledged, in token of amity between
the parties. Aranooko then addressed the tory
leaders.

“Brothers, I am glad to see you. Hearken
to me. The council-fire is kindled that we may
converse around it. The smoke of our calumets
have mingled, and we are united—the festal
cup has been pledged, and we are friends.—
Every Mohawk says, let it be for ever. Brothers,
what is your reply!”

“For ever!” answered Butler and his coleagues.

“Then take this wampum,” said the sachem,
“and let the treaty be confirmed.”

Butler received the wampum, and presented
Aranooko with a handsome military sash in exchange.

“The treaty is now confirmed,” continued
Aranooko. “We are now the allies of the
great king, your father, whose throne is fixed in
chambers of the east—in the land of the morning
sun. Your father is powerful. He is at a
far distance. But he stretches his arm across
the great deep, and our forests tremble at his
strength. The winds of heaven have blown to
this land the travellers of the sea that he has
sent forth. They brought thunder with them,
they shook the solidity of our shores, and at
the glare of their lightning, heroes have turned
pale. Thus mighty is your father. Yet he has
children in this land, who fear not his power.
They have united in strong bands against his
faithful servants. They have spoken words of
defiance—They have committed acts of rebellion.
They are not worthy to be called children.

“Brothers, your father wants to chastise his
disobedient children. He asks us to aid him,

and offers us rich rewards. We have agreed to
his terms. Brothers, hear our reasons.

“In the quarrel between your father and his
disobedient children, we would have nothing to
do, if those children did not deserve chastisement
from our hands, as well as from his. They
have usurped our lands—they have driven us
from our hunting grounds. The wigwams of
our fathers once covered the fair regions of the
Merrimack, the Hudson, the Delaware, and
the Susquehanna. Where are now those dwellings
of the brave? They have vanished like the
blossoms that are beautiful when fanned by the
gale of spring, but that wither and fade away
when the fierce summer bursts upon them with
the relentless scorching of his beams. So have
our people faded before the wrath of the children
of your father. They would now destroy
him also; and shall we not help to avenge his
cause and our own?

“Brothers, we grieve for the doom of our
fathers. The recollection of their sufferings,
makes our hearts ache. You invite us to revenge
them. Can we refuse? When we look
at ourselves, what do we see? The persecuted
remnants of a mighty people. Our race was
once like the stars of the heaven, numerous and
bright in their glorious abodes—we are now
like the glimmering meteors of the swamps and

solitudes, few and wandering, scattered by the
winds of night, and extinguished by the beams
of day.

“Brothers, you offer us vengeance. Shall
we not take it? Our wrath is awakened—our
strength is revived. We have lifted the hatchet.
We pant for the enemy. Let us hasten towards
him, that we may scorch him with the fire that
burns within us.

“Brothers you have heard me.”

Butler now rose and addressed the sachem.

“Brother and chief, thy zeal delights me.
The spirit that animates thee is worthy of the
chief of the gallant Mohawks. Thou hast not
degenerated from thy fathers, and thy fathers
were heroes. They never shrunk from battle,
although the death-winged thunder of artillery
rolled in volumes of destruction against them.
Their hearts were invincible, but their weapons
were not formed of materials to combat with
the deadly hail of the musketry, or the fiery
bolts of the cannon of their adversaries. Yet
they would not submit to the invaders. They
could die but they could not yield. Hence
were they swept from the land.—Ye are now,
brave Mohawks, in the stead of your fathers.
You are equally heroic. Their spirits, from
their abodes in the land of bliss, will survey
your exploits in the approaching war with delight.

They will say to each other: `Our sons
are heroes—they are mindful of our wrongs.
See how they avenge us!'

“Brother, thou hast said truly that our father,
the great king beyond the ocean, is powerful.
All parts of the world have seen the
glittering of his arms, and heard the rolling of
his thunder. His armies have conquered continents,
and his navies have brought the islands
into subjection. His rebellious children in this
land, could soon be humbled by his power, and
crushed in his wrath; but they have sought aid
from his enemies, and have unnaturally thrown
themselves into the arms of those who envy
the power of their parent. Is their offence
not heinous? Is it not aggravated beyond endurance?

“Brother, those same disobedient people are
your enemies. In this very neighbourhood,
they have usurped the lands which were once
yours, and they have given you no equivalent
for the possession. The pleasant valleys on
the Susquehanna are no longer yours. They
have enclosed fields, built villages, and erected
strong-holds on your hunting grounds. You are
expelled from the heritage of your ancestors.
You will now be avenged; you will soon repossess
your own. Our great father, the king,
invites you to accept of his assistance. He

sends you arms and ammunition equal to those
possessed by your enemies, and such as your
fathers never had. With such means would
your fathers not have conquered? Would they
not have kept possession of their lands, and
transmitted to you the inheritance of a great
people? Your hearts answer, `yes.'

“Brother, you will do no less than your fathers
would have done. We will lend our aid.
We will go forth jointly to conquest and revenge.
We will avenge the wrongs of our father,
though he is far distant. You will avenge
those of your long-suffering race; and after the
wreaths of victory shall decorate your brows,
you will resume your station as a great and valiant
people.

“Brother, shall we march to-morrow? In
three days we shall be upon the enemy. We
shall take them by surprise, and they shall be
easily overthrown.

“Brother, it is my proposal that we delay
not, lest our foes receive succour and be in a
condition to give powerful battle on the field,
or to entrench themselves securely in their
strong-holds.

“Brother, you have heard—what say you?”

“My voice is for marching to-morrow by
the dawn,” said Aranooko.

“Father!” said Brandt, addressing the sachem,

“My voice is the same. Shall I say
that now the wish of my heart is accomplished,
when I see a league formed against the spoilers
of our people? No, until I behold a thousand of
their scalps hanging around our wigwams, I
shall not say so. But, father, I will say that I
rejoice exceedingly at the prospect this treaty
holds forth. It appears to me as the dawn of a
triumphant and glorious day, which will not set
until my soul shall be satisfied with the blood
of my enemies.

“Father, hear me. I am a Mohawk. When
I was a boy some of my companions taunted
me. They said that the blood of the pale-faced
people ran in my veins—that my heart sided
with the race of my father, and that the Mohawks
should not confide in me. I then vowed to
show to you all which side my heart preferred.
Did I ever spare a white man in battle? Did I
ever show mercy to a white prisoner? If so,
let my mother's race disclaim me. But ye are
all witnesses of the animosity with which I
have pursued the white race, and how I have
endeavoured to avenge the injuries they have
inflicted on my red brethren, the people of my
mother.

“Father, I will tell you the reason. My
mother was tender to my infancy. She cherished,
she fed, she clothed me in my helpless

years. I reverence her memory. I love her
people. My father I never knew. He deserted
me when I was feeble. He was unnatural, and
left me to the protection of a forsaken woman.
My mother had been his friend in distress.
She nursed him in his sickness, and her caresses
relieved the anguish of his mind. He was ungrateful.
He was more unnatural than the
rugged bear or the ferocious panther. They do
not desert their young when it is helpless, and
leave to its mother the sole charge of providing
for it. My father did so. Can I love him?
No; I grieve that my frame contains any portion
of his blood. For his sake I detest his
people.—Father, on my own account I detest
them also. Have they not maltreated and imprisoned
me, because I resented the insult of
one of their rude tongues. I clove him down.
I should have been applauded: but I was bound
and thrown into a dark cell. My heart has
panted for revenge! I demand of my white
brother, that, when we gain the victory, he
will allow me a thousand scalps of the prisoners
over whose tortures I may exult, and enjoy a
full banquet of vengeance.”

“Let our white brother speak,” said Aranooko.
“Brandt is brave. He will be the
leader of our warriors. He will deserve his
reward.”

“I know the bravery of Brandt,” replied
Butler. “I admire his zeal in behalf of his
people. His desire of vengeance upon those
who have injured him, is natural. I will not
oppose it. Let it have its full swing upon the
rebels of Wyoming. There are but two or
three there whom I would save. I will name
them to Brandt in secret. All others shall be
at his disposal. Why should I wish to preserve
rebels?—Will this satisfy my brother?”

“I am satisfied,” said Brandt. “There is
joy in my heart. I will have vengeance for
the bonds that fettered my limbs; and for every
hour of my imprisonment the scalp of a white
man shall reward me!”

“Let the first glance of the sun to-morrow
upon our village, be the signal for marching!”
said Aranooko.

The chiefs signified approbation, and the
council broke up, each man hastening to make
arrangements for his departure the next morning.