 | CHAPTER XXIII. The King of the Hurons |  |
23. CHAPTER XXIII.
Dark human forms in moonshine showed,
Wild from their native wilderness,
With painted limbs and battle dress!”
—Whittier.
A night of excessive anxiety, of frequent alarms, and of the
most wearying labor at the oars, brought the travellers near the
northern extremity of the lake, not, as they had hoped, while it was
yet dark, but just as the grey twilight of morning was diffusing
itself over the landscape. A fearful uncertainty prevailed as to the
position of the enemy, and a dread that, having outstripped the
boats, they might be already in possession of the dangerous pass.
That they had followed, or preceded the voyagers, night-long, upon
the shore, like a pack of untiring wolves, no doubt was entertained.
It would have been hazardous, however, to lose, by inaction, their
probable advantage of precedence in the race, and it was resolved to
press forward with caution.
The canoe containing the Indians took the advance, and never
were eyes more faithfully used than were those of these vigilant
men, which seemed to pierce the very depths of the forest on every
side, overlooking nothing, and never, for an instant, relaxing their
scrutiny. But everything was quiet. They approached, and glided
silently into the creek, favored by its current, and hoping soon to
float freely upon the broad bosom of the lower lake. For a few
miles they proceeded rapidly, noiselessly, and uninterrupted; the
silver waters of the Champlain were already greeting, from afar,
into the shallow water, followed by the Algonquin and the Beaver,
all of whom sprang to the shore with their weapons, imploring the
oarsmen, meanwhile, to quicken their speed. This sudden movement,
which had carried terror into every heart, was occasioned by
the discovery of the enemy, about half a mile behind, surmounting
a small eminence, and running rapidly towards the travellers. The
ladies, nearly swooning with fear, were still relieved to see that the
three brave men stationed themselves on the shore until the barge
had passed, and then followed the boats, thus covering their retreat
as best they could.
The speed of the vessels was at once greatly accelerated, both
because the leading one was relieved of a material portion of its
weight, and because there was no longer need of precautions to
avoid an ambuscade in front. The enemy were behind, and all that
was to be done was to press unremittingly forward with the hope of
reaching the lake, and attaining a safe offing before the pursuers
gained a proximity which would allow them to make a fatal use of
their weapons. The headlong velocity of the foe seemed, indeed, to
manifest a consciousness of this prospect of escape, and that their
only chance of overtaking the fugitives was the present rapidly
receding opportunity. The count, with pallid lips, begged the ladies
not to be alarmed, manifesting his own fears, meanwhile, by the
most earnest and ill-judged commands to the faithful oarsmen to
increase exertions, which seemed already like superhuman efforts of
activity and strength.
The Iroquois warriors had vanished from view after overcoming
the hill on which they had been discovered, and having not yet
re-appeared, their remoteness could only be matter of conjecture.
There was something awful in this uncertainty as to their position,
and in the thought that their stunning war-whoop might burst upon
the ears of the fugitives at any moment, and from any quarter.
The tortuous course of the creek, indeed, gave the enemy a material
any point, and thus preserve a comparatively straight line of march.
But the widening channel of the stream began to give token of the
immediate vicinity of the long coveted lake; and the boats, flying
still more rapidly forward, seemed to partake of the fear which
influenced their occupants, and to leap, with living impulse, across
the wave.
The creek, near its mouth, divided around a small island which
the canoes passed on the southern side, after which the leading one
stopped to take in the Indians, while the so called barge pressed on
and took the advance. In two minutes more both had emerged
from the creek into the lake, simultaneously with the outbreaking of
a prolonged yell from the foe, which seemed to be made up of all
the horrid noises that ever woke the echoes of Pandemonium. All
eyes were turned towards the forest, where, darting like shadows
past the trees, the dusky warriors were seen, scarcely a hundred
rods distant, on the margin of the creek. But the same moment
revealed another sight, more alarming to the three brave men, who
now virtually commanded the fugitive party, and who composed its
principal strength; a sight but for which they would have laughed
at the idle rage of their enemy, and sent back shouts of defiance to
the shore. A scream from the ladies, more vigilant than their companion,
told that they also perceived the new danger, and the words,
“the boats! the boats!” resounded suddenly on every side.
Three batteaux lay moored on the northern shore of the little
island, affording the Iroquois the means of pursuit in the water, which
the travellers could scarcely hope to elude: for the long war-boats
were provided with triple sets of oars; and, when fully manned,
could be impelled with nearly the speed of steam. It was evident
now that the enemy had been on a hunting excursion, from which
they had been diverted by the accidental discovery of the northern
party; that they belonged to some tribe dwelling about the southern
borders of the Champlain, was also probable, whence they had come
well-stocked forests of game.
A moment, nay but a very breath of hesitation marked the conduct
of the Lynx, after which he ordered the oarsmen to row to the
batteaux: one of the men, trembling with terror, flatly refused, but
the word of mutiny was scarcely uttered, ere the gleaming knife of
the Huron was at his breast. The awed soldier saw only death on
either hand: imploring mercy, he quickly yielded, and with his
comrade, bent to the oars with a desperate earnestness that showed
the most excessive consternation. A dozen strokes brought the
canoe alongside the enemy's vessels, when the Lynx and his two
brave associates leaped, knife in hand, to the shore, and quickly
severing the bark withes which fastened the two nearer boats, pushed
them off the beach. They next darted to the third vessel with
a similar intent, but it had been drawn so far upon the shore, as to
defy their hasty efforts at removal. There was clearly no time to
call the soldiers to their aid, for the yelping pack, incited to new fury
by the sight, were making the woods ring with their rage, while
“brake, bush, and brier,” snapped and crackled in their pathway as
they rushed impetuously onward. Seizing, therefore, the oars of the
third vessel, and the bark bow-ropes of the two which they had
loosened, the Indians bounded back to their canoe, and bade the
oarsmen pull for their lives. The ropes of the captive boats were
intrusted to the Algonquin, while the Lynx and the Beaver seized
their rifles and sat ready to fire at the first exposure of a foe; the
barge having, meanwhile, attained a place of present safety, beyond
the reach of musket-shot from the land.
The necessity of towing the batteaux, of course greatly impeded
the canoe, and it was yet within thirty rods of the shore, when the
enemy arrived breathless on the beach, and flew severally to cover
behind the outermost trees. Well was it that they were breathless,
and that their excited nerves and trembling tendons prevented a
close or steady aim, for their guns were at once protruding from a
doomed party, whose utmost efforts had yet left them within the
dangerous vicinity. Foreseeing the coming storm, they had stooped
to the gunwale for shelter, but the hurtling missiles fell like hail in
their midst, wounding both the Algonquin and one of the soldiers,
and opening some dangerous seams in their little bark.
Shouting back defiance, the Lynx and Beaver leaped severally into
a batteau, and throwing themselves prostrate within, presented their
weapons towards the enemy, waiting for the moment when the latter
should expose themselves to view, by an attempt to reload. The
threat forced the cowardly assailants to seek a deeper cover until they
had re-charged their guns, with which, as it now became evident,
they were not all equipped—a third, at least, of the party, having
only knives and hatchets, harmless, of course, at such a distance.
This division of the band, however, performed extra duty in swelling
the immelodious concert which rang through the forest arches at
intervals of a few seconds, and which came back in wailing echoes
from the far distant shores. The wound of the oarsman was slight,
and though eliciting many moans, did not disable him or induce
him to relinquish his task, while that of the Algonquin, though more
serious, was only proclaimed by the trickling current which ran down
his naked arm, adding another hue to its diversified colors.
The boats continued to recede, and before the foe were prepared
to fire a second round, full twenty rods were added to the distance
between the parties; the vigilant Lynx gave timely warning of the
renewed danger: every man was again prostrate, and the only injury
effected was that of boring a few holes in the batteaux, and making
a considerable rent in one of the leggins of the Beaver, a casualty at
which that brave warrior seemed singularly disconcerted, and which
he took evident pains to conceal.
The immediate peril was now considered past; another minute
placed the retreating boat beyond the reach of probable harm from the
shore: the leaks in the canoe were stopped, and, although another
water. The canoe in a few minutes rejoined the barge, which was
awaiting its approach about a mile from the land, and the inmates
of which had watched with harrowing anxiety the recent perilous
adventure. Miss Montaigne eagerly inquired if any of the brave men
were killed or mortally wounded, for it had seemed impossible that
all should escape, and when informed that no serious harm was done,
she manifested the utmost delight. Impatient of the count's faint
commendation of his comrades, she assured the gratified Lynx that
his brilliant exploit should be faithfully reported to the Baron Montaigne,
and expressing her earnest thanks also to the Algonquin, she
requested them to make her language known to the heroic stranger
who had so efficiently aided them, and whose invaluable services to
the whole party on the preceding day should not, she said, be overlooked.
The Lynx uttered a few sentences in an Indian dialect to
the Beaver, who answered it by smiling and looking a moment at
Blanche with eyes that seemed eloquent of gratitude.
These, however, were the hasty occurrences of the first moment of
meeting, for the peril was still far too imminent to admit of wasting
time in inaction. No doubt was entertained that the enemy would
be in pursuit as soon as they could construct new oars for their
remaining batteau, a labor which would not detain them at the
farthest, beyond two hours, and as they could throw a dozen men
into this boat, who could relieve each other, by turns, in rowing,
their lost time would speedily be retrieved. A hasty consultation of
the fugitives resulted, therefore, in the resolution to destroy all their
boats, excepting one of the prizes, which, when their party was consolidated,
would be fully manned, and would offer the most probable
means of successful flight. The necessary changes were speedily
made, and the three vessels, including the decorated barge, having
been shattered and rendered useless by the active tomahawks of the
Indians, were left drifting in fragments on the wave, while the long
batteau impelled by six strong oarsmen leaped forward with a most
the day wore on until the sun had attained half its meridian altitude,
and yet not the faintest trace of pursuit could be perceived.
The relieved travellers were beginning to congratulate themselves
on being entirely rid of their adversaries, when a small spot made its
appearance on the southern horizon of sky and water, which grew
gradually in size, and soon took shape as the dreaded batteau. The
enemy was again on the track, blood-hound like, untiring, unyielding,
prepared for the deathly combat, prepared to hunt their expected
prey with vindictive ferocity, by night and by day, through the long
wilderness of water which yet lay extended between them and their
coveted home; prepared to send their frequent war-cry over lake
and land, until the peopled forests should send forth their roving
bands to assist in securing the common foe.
The prospect of the fugitives, indeed, grew suddenly dark, they
evidently could not long maintain their advance of a vessel, the
oarsmen of which, by frequent changes, were continually fresh at their
work, and which had already given such ample proof of its superior
speed. If they could keep out of reach of the enemy's guns until
evening, their escape might possibly be effected, but the night was
yet eight hours distant, and the batteau was coming down like the
wind, in their path. Frequent consultations between the Lynx and the
Algonquin manifested their uneasiness, and communicated additional
alarm to their companions, and the ladies, disheartened by the oft-recurring
danger, scarcely disguised their growing despondency.
The Beaver alone seemed entirely at ease, and labored silently at
his oar, without appearing to partake of the excitement which prevailed
around him. His post was at one of the aft oars, and nearest
to the count and the ladies. Blanche, indeed, was directly in front
of him, and sought, from time to time, to gain courage by a perusal
of his composed features, which, whether they betokened stoicism or
hope, seemed gradually to impart a portion of their equanimity to
her mind.
By mid-day the enemy had approached to within a mile of the
chase, and the imminence of the danger could no longer be disguised.
The disparity in the numbers of the two parties would not
of itself have been sufficient to cause the brave defenders of Miss
Montaigne to seek to avoid the engagement, but the personal peril to
which a contest must expose Blanche and her cousin, and the great
danger of drawing other foes upon them by the tumult of a fight,
impelled them to practise “the better part of valor” while it was
possible so to do. Carlton scarcely assumed longer to control the
actions of the party; the Lynx's suggestions, which usually included
the concurring opinions of the Algonquin and the Beaver, met with
a complaisant acquiescence at his hands, although accompanied by
some feeble manifestations of a conceit which fear had not fully paralyzed.
Anxious now, however, to anticipate what he thought must
be the inevitable decision of his dusky council, and thus be able to
claim one important movement as his own, he said, after a long, earnest
look at the foe,—
“I think we must soon take to the shore, and fight them from a
cover; here they can choose their own distance, and have every
advantage of us. What says the Lynx?”
The Huron differed from his superior. “If we land, they will
land,” he said; “they are twelve,—we are three; these,” he continued,
pointing to the soldiers, “would be children at a bush-fight;
here they are brave men.”
The Algonquin, who was next appealed to, seemed undecided; he
only answered, “Wait and see;” while the Beaver, whose opinion
was asked by the Lynx, at Carlton's request, replied promptly to his
querist, in an Indian tongue, but in many more sentences than
seemed necessary to convey the few ideas which the Huron gave as
the substance of his sentiments.
“He says, `fear nothing, and go on!”' said the Lynx.
Thus overruled, the count, whose anxiety for safety overcame all
other considerations, quietly acceded to the voice of the majority.
and Blanche still found herself frequently gazing at his calm countenance,
to glean from it the signs of hope which she could not elsewhere
discern. When the pursuers had approached within about
two thirds of a mile, he relinquished his oar and again muttered a
few words to the Lynx.
“What says he?” eagerly asked the count, who had begun to
regard the stranger with singular awe and deference.
“He says, `let the men rest; let the boat stand still,”' replied the
Huron, ceasing his labors as he spoke; the other oarsmen followed
his example, and the batteau stopped, while Carlton, lost in wonder,
made no reply.
The Beaver looked for some moments at the approaching vessel
without comment; its occupants had raised a shout as they saw the
pause of their enemy, who, they doubtless supposed, had stopped
from exhaustion, and towards whom they now rushed with increasing
velocity. Scarcely half a mile soon separated them from the fugitives,
and anon this distance was reduced to little more than a third;
yet still the Indian gazed calmly and unmoved.
“For Heaven's sake, do not let us wait longer,” exclaimed Emily;
“I shall die of terror, if we stay here.”
The Beaver raised his gun as she spoke, and after taking a
careful aim for a few seconds, lowered it, as if in doubt.
“It is folly to fire yet!” exclaimed the count, who was used to the
imperfect weapons of that age; “it is but a waste of lead.”
The stranger, unheeding, again drew up his piece, and this time
his eye lighted with a vivid glow, that seemed to proclaim success;
he fired, and a quick, violent commotion in the enemy's boat told the
effect. The vigilant Lynx pronounced it most assuredly fatal; he
had even seen the victim bound upwards and fall, and then remain
prostrate and struggling. The enemy sent back a yell of wrath, and
rushed forward with new impetus to bring the fugitives within the
more limited range of their own weapons. A few minutes would
and probably, at their now furious rate of progress, a quarter of an
hour would have effected it, despite the utmost efforts of their adversaries.
But no sooner had the Beaver discharged his piece than
he bade the Lynx proceed with haste; and, while the now refreshed
oarsmen resumed their task, he quickly reloaded his gun. Again, at
his bidding, they stopped, and again the fatal weapon poured forth
its fearful missile, bringing back the very death-screech of its victim
to their ears.
“Keep them there!” said the marksman to his friend; and again
the boat rushed onwards, while the undaunted Iroquois, yelling with
insane rage, discharged a useless volley and continued their mad
career.
Unwilling to increase their danger by adding to the necessary
noise of the contest, the Lynx and Algonquin refrained with difficulty
from sending forth derisive and defiant shouts to their antagonists;
but they chanted their low taunts to their moving oars, and
sang, in improvised verse, the praises of the mountain hunter and
his enchanted gun. The count, too, was lavish, for once, of commendation
of their gallant champion, on whom every eye rested with
admiration, and whose words and gestures became a law to regulate
their movements.
A third time did the stranger hold up his finger as a signal to
stop the boat; and as the long, slender tube was once more pointed
portentously southward, the frightened Iroquois were seen to crouch
on every side, several even leaping into the water, to escape the
winged messenger of death. The effect of the shot could not be
accurately ascertained, the foe having probably learned more discretion
than to reveal their loss; but as the ball did not strike the
water, it was supposed to have found a human target. Another
volley was instantly returned from the enemy, and, to the utter consternation
of the fugitives, the Lynx bounded suddenly upwards and
fell prostrate in the boat, while a prolonged shout of triumph arose
notes. A horror, intense and awful, fell upon the little party, who
had supposed themselves as yet entirely beyond the reach of their
antagonists' weapons, and who saw in this fearful event what seemed
but the beginning of a tragedy which could end only with their
lives. The count and several of the men sprang to the side of the
Huron, and Blanche, utterly appalled at the sight, with difficulty
refrained from swooning, when the trembling voice of Emily was
heard at her side.
“Look at the Beaver,” she said; “the cold, heartless wretch!”
Blanche's eyes turned to the stranger, who, heedless of his friend's
misfortune, was reloading his rifle with the utmost composure,—
and not only so, but his whole countenance was wreathed into a
smile of merriment, that seemed an extraordinary illustration of
savage stoicism. There was little, however, that was remarkable in
the Indian's conduct; he had seen the spent balls of the enemy
leaping like skipped stones across the water, and sinking into the
lake at a furlong's distance, and he knew full well the feint of his
ally, which, to the general delight of the party, was at the next moment
proclaimed from the opposite end of the boat. The shrewd
Huron, exulting inexpressibly in the presence of the extraordinary
weapon and its wielder, which were doing such manifest execution,
had feared nothing except that the enemy might turn back disheartened,
before their numbers had been so effectually thinned as to
prevent future danger from their pursuit, and, to give Indian nature
its due, before either his revenge was appeased, or his love of martial
glory sufficiently gratified. It was therefore only as a lure that he
had practised this dissimulation, and he was now compelled to use
the utmost caution in reasserting his existence, venturing to resume
his erect position only when well shielded by his comrades from
distant observation, and laughing, meanwhile, with much glee, at
the success of his trick.
The commotion had not yet subsided, when the marksman once
perfect stillness, and every eye was fixed on the distant foe, to watch
the effect of the shot. But the enemy had grown wary, and, following
the example of the few who had before found safety in such a
resort, they now leaped, like water-rats, over the edge of the batteau,
leaving but a single man in the vessel. They had gone, however, in
a mass, and the quick eye of the hunter was upon them, their gliding
forms and the commoved wave forming together a wide mark, into
the centre of which fell the hurtling lead. Two quivering arms upthrown,
clutching vainly at the void air, and then descending slowly,
strugglingly, graspingly, to the surface, told the result. The survivors
climbed quickly back to their posts, but consternation pervaded
their ranks; no weapon was raised; no oar was moved;
irresolution and indecision seemed to mark their conduct. Three of
their number were slain, and the magical weapon which no ingenuity
could elude, was again in course of preparation for its fearful work.
No subsequent success could atone to them for such slaughter; for
an Indian's victory is scarcely considered worthy of the name, unless
achieved without loss, or with a damage vastly disproportionate to
that of his foe. Their inaction, however, was but momentary;
another futile discharge of their guns succeeded, and then their darting
oars were suddenly put in motion; but it was no longer in pursuit.
A retreat, inglorious and cowardly, was commenced, and severe,
indeed, was the prudential self-denial which restrained the victors'
shout of acclamation at the sight.
“Follow them! follow the Iroquois dogs!” exclaimed the Lynx,
forgetting, in his excitement, that he was not in command.
“Follow them!” cried the Algonquin; “don't let them off so!”
And the eager looks of the Beaver and the soldiers, as their eyes
turned to the count, proclaimed a similar wish.
“Oh—ah—yes—certainly, follow them by all means!” exclaimed
Carlton, in a tone of irresolution quite at variance with his words;
“yes—decidedly; but don't go too near, boys!”
“Ah, no, no; let them go, if they will, in the name of mercy,” said
Blanche, appealing to the count, and horror-stricken at the sight she
had beheld; “let them go, for their sake and ours; the blood of
these fierce men is warmed by the strife, and they will surely bring
more danger upon us.”
“Yes, certainly,” said the count; “that is to say, we will see, you
know, presently.”
A few words from the Lynx, however, satisfied Miss Montaigne
that her forest friends were not acting unwisely; the enemy, he
said, would come back with the night, as silent as its shadows, unless
now more fully chastised; the charmed gun would then be no defence,
and the foe might even succeed in finding allies to aid them;
nothing, indeed, was more certain than that their present flight was
only preparatory to some safer attack.
The chase, indeed, was begun with zeal, and was kept up until
the Beaver had thrice again discharged his weapon, although only
once with any evident effect, the desperate efforts of the enemy having
soon removed them beyond reach. The voyagers then resumed
their way, congratulating themselves greatly on their present escape,
yet not a little uneasy in anticipation of the future, for the retreating
foe had not failed to fill the air with the most appalling cries, which
seemed to threaten vengeance in some shape upon their conquerors.
| CHAPTER XXIII. The King of the Hurons | |