University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
THE MYSTERIOUS GUIDE.

It was past midnight, and silence once more reigned in the Piqua
village. Chiefs, warriors, women, and children, all had retired to
their several places of repose. We say all; but we must except
the sentinels that guarded the town, the guard set over the prisoners,
and the prisoners themselves, with whom poignant thought was
too busy to permit of sleep, or even rest. The morrow was looked
forward to as an eventful day—by one party as a day of fiendish
amusement and savage delight—by the other, as a day of calamity
the most terrible.

In one of the largest lodges, the female captives were all confined
together—an unusual occurrence—and three old hags were placed
over them, whose duty it was to sit up and watch all night, to prevent
the recurrence of a scene similar to the one we have previously
described. The night was cold, but still cloudy and dark,
and the female prisoners were huddled together in one corner, with
no other bed than the damp ground, and no other covering than the
few pieces of wearing apparel which they had been allowed to retain
since being robbed of the balance. The old hags, with warm
skins thrown over their shoulders, and wrapped around their persons,
were squatted upon the earth, near the only door of the wigwam.
Till a late hour they smoked their pipes, and talked over
the events of the day, and at last became silent, and, if the truth
must be told, began to doze, and nod, notwithstanding they had
been repeatedly charged to be very watchful. Had there been
but one, it is altogether probable she would not have suffered her
eyes to close for an instant; but there being three, all felt more
confidence, and became more careless, in consequence of each
relying upon her companion's vigilance. Suffice it to say, that it
was hardly an hour past midnight, ere, from nodding and dozing,
in a dreamy state, all glided into the utter forgetfulness of a heavy
sleep. Even the white females, with all the painful incidents of the
past day fresh in their memory—with all the horrors of the coming
day staring them in the face began to doze; for such is our nature,
that long fatigue and excitement will cause us to sleep upon the
very brink of death—the awful threshold of eternity.

Lucy and her mother had, by the arrangement of the night, been
brought together, and left to comfort each other—a circumstance
which had not before occurred since their captivity. Entwined in
each other's arms, they had mingled their tears, and had both united

in a fervent prayer to the great Father of Mercy, that he would
deliver them from the hands of the enemy, with the friends they
loved, or take them to himself. Weeping, and praying, and striving
to console each other with words of hope which each believed fallacious,
and which were spoken in whispers too low to reach any
ears but their own, they gradually fell into that state which can
neither properly be called sleeping nor waking, but which partakes
very strongly of both.

At this moment, had you, reader, been standing close beside the
lodge without, within a step of the entrance, with your eyes fixed
on the ground at your feet, you would doubtless have observed
some object, which owing to the darkness, you would, without
closer inspection, have pronounced a log of wood, a stone, a slight
elevation of the ground, or any thing, in short, but what it really
was. But had you watched it closely for a few minutes, you would
have been undeceived, as to its being a collection of inanimate
matter; for though you might not have seen or heard it move, you
could not have failed to be made aware that its length gradually
shortened, as if it were being drawn into the wigwam. Three
minutes later, you would have found it had entirely vanished, without
being much the wiser as to what it really was.

In another five minutes, had you waited patiently, you might
have seen the same object re-appear, but much quicker than it had
disappeared, and by its suddenly rising to an erect posture, you
would have pronounced it a human being, and made no mistake.

Yes, it was a human being—a man—and if not an Indian, it at
least had all the appearance of one, even to the habiliments and
paint. As this mysterious, nocturnal visitant, rose to his feet, he
moved softly around the lodge, and at the point where the prisoners
were huddled together, began to remove the outside covering, as
if to effect another entrance. In this proceeding he was not long
engaged, when, from the dark hut, a single female figure glided to
his side, and then another and another, till at last not less than ten
surrounded him, all as silent as spectres, and to which, in the manner
of making their appearance, without noise, they might be truly
likened.

Not a word was spoken—not a whisper breathed—not a respiration,
sigh, or sound of any kind was audible, as the liberator of the
captives proceeded to close up the orifice he had made in the building.
When he had completed this, he drew close to each female,
and made signs of silence, by placing his finger upon his lips; and
warned them of the danger of discovery, by rapidly going through
the motions of taking a scalp. He then glided away in the darkness,
apparently without touching the earth, and the ten figures
followed, Indian file, in the same silent and stealthy manner.

For something like ten minutes, they carefully threaded their
way among the clustering lodges, which could just be discerned in

time to be avoided; and then, with a degree of joy amounting
almost to wildness, but which they were forced to restrain, the
prisoners found themselves on the outskirts of the town, and on the
borders of a mighty forest. The guide still continued, with stealthy
tread and guarded silence, to pick his way among the trees, as he
had done among the huts; and as well as they could, the captives
imitated his movements. It was of course impossible to prevent
the feet from causing the dead leaves to rattle, while here and there
the sharp snapping of a dry twig made many a heart beat almost
audibly with fear.

For several minutes all went well, and the prisoners were just
congratulating themselves, mentally, upon having passed all immediate
danger, when the guide suddenly stopped, and in the lowest
possible whisper, said, “Hist!” so low, indeed, that it had to be
repeated half way down the file to make the last one hear it.

It must be confessed, that, for females, the captives had so far
behaved with the most praiseworthy prudence; and for once ten
female tongues had done sufficient penance to pardon ten hundred
gossips, by keeping still at a time when a few inquiries, if only for
curiosity-sake, would have been a wonderful relief to minds wrought
up to the highest degree of mysterious excitement. And now,
when all heard the word “hist,” the questions, “What is it?
what has happened? is there great danger?” were upon every
tongue, but fortunately were not spoken.

As soon as the guide had uttered his warning exclamation,
he dropped upon his knees, applied his ear to the ground, and listened.
Then rising to his feet, he made signs to the one nearest
to him not to speak nor stir; and she, in the same silent way, communicated
it to the next behind her, and so it went down the line.
The guide then strode forward, and a single moment sufficed to
lose his figure in the pitchy darkness; but the unavoidable crushing
of the dry leaves could be heard some time longer, indicating the
course he had taken.

At last all became still, and a short, but painful, suspense
succeeded. Suddenly, all were startled by an Indian exclamation,
like the challenge of a sentinel. There was a reply, in
another voice, and then a conversation in low tones followed. This
lasted only a few moments, and was apparently broken off by the
treacherous commission of a terrible crime—for a sentence, seemingly
only half completed, was ended by a sharp groan; and then
was heard a dull sound, as of the fall of some heavy body.

The females now became really terrified, and, no longer able to
control their feelings, had just begun to consult one another, in
startling whispers, upon what was best to be done, when a voice
close to them said—

“Follow!”

It was the voice of their liberator; and though it in a great measure

re-assured them, yet it was with trembling steps, and palpitating
hearts, they complied with his request. The recollection of,
that groan, and the fall and silence that succeeded it, made them
shudder; for the suspicion that murder had been done, seized upon
them, and could not be reasoned away. True, it might be it was
murder in self-defence, to save their own lives, and the life of their
conductor; but it was still a fearful thing to think of, even under
the exciting circumstances in which they were placed. No questions
were asked of their guide, however, and no explanations
were made by him, but all continued to move forward silently and
stealthily.

At length they came to a small stream, one of the tributaries of
the Miami, which the guide entered, followed in turn by the others.
The run was not deep, but rapid, and it was with no little difficulty
that the females could maintain a foothold on the slippery stones
that formed its bed. The water, too, was so cold as to be painful;
and to persons who had previously known but few or no hardships,
this walking a rivulet, in the late hours of a freezing night, was a
trial of a very severe nature. And when we add the fact, that the
prisoners knew nothing of whither they were going, or for what
purpose, we think we can safely say, that they displayed a degree
of prudence and firmness that might well place them in the rank
of heroines.

True, they believed they were escaping from a barbarous captivity;
but the only reason they had for supposing so, were the few
sentences in broken English, which the guide had conveyed to
one of them, in whispers, during the interval of his entering and
coming out of the hut in which they were confined. It so chanced,
that the first one he addressed, was the wife of an officer who had
fallen in the battle we described in the opening chapter, and one
of the six that sought to escape under the escort of Sergeant Bomb.
She was a woman of great firmness, and strong nerve; and when
she was suddenly aroused from a kind of dreamy doze, by feeling
a strange, cold hand touch hers, she had sufficient presence of mind
not to make the least noise.

“Would pale-face escape?” was whispered in her ear.

“Yes,” was the eager reply.

“Hist! no noise—squaw wake!” was the rejoinder. “Tell
friends so. When pale-face squaw see hole in lodge, him come.
If speak, if scream, him lost;” and with this the hand was withdrawn,
and, by the slightest movement of the skin at the door of
the hut shortly after, she felt certain that the mysterious visitant
had made his exit.

She had then proceeded to gently rouse the others, and communicate
what she had heard; and had so well succeeded in conveying
the information, and impressing upon them the importance of
silence, that all escaped, as we have seen, without creating the

least alarm; and believing their fate could not be changed for the
worse, all had quietly followed their guide, who so far had offered
no explanation. But to return.

After continuing up stream for some thirty or forty yards, the guide
came out of the water, and held the same course on the land for a
similar distance, when he again entered the stream, and facing
about, proceeded to retrace his steps—the females still following,
but greatly wondering what would be the result of this apparent
change of purpose—they not having had experience enough in Indian
wiles and cunning, to know that the object of their conductor
was to break the trail, and, if possible, baffle the parties that were
sure to be out in pursuit, as soon as the escape of the captives
should become known.

Continuing now adown the bed of the stream, the guide passed
the place where the whole party had at first entered the water, and,
as the creek run close to the northern extremity of the village, the
captives began to entertain fears that he had changed his first generous
intentions, and was now leading them back to savage bondage.

“Why do you return, friend?” queried the foremost, in a whisper,
the same the guide had first spoken to, and who was the widow
of Captain Marvale, slain in battle.

“Tush!—no speak!—lose scalp!” was the warning reply; and
again a long silence followed, during which nothing could be heard
but the rippling murmur of the stream, as it dashed along its rocky
bed, with occasionally a splash, as now and then a foot slipped in
the water; and which slips were rendered more frequent, in consequence
of the feet being benumbed with cold.

At last the party came opposite the village; and the stream,
which thus far had run swift and shallow, now began to grow still
and deep. The guide here came to a halt, and merely whispering,
“Squaw no breathe now,” he continued to move forward some eight
or ten yards, in which distance the water deepened from eight
inches to three feet. Approaching the bank farthest from the town,
this mysterious individual now unloosed three canoes, and waded
back, drawing them after him. These canoes were securely lashed
together, side by side, with strips of deer-skin; and in consequence
of this, were rendered almost secure against upsetting, even in a
rapid and serpentine current.

The mysterious Indian now informed the prisoners, in whispers,
and in his own peculiar manner, that they must enter these boats,
and in no case allow the slightest exclamation to escape them, no
matter what might happen, nor how severely they might be tried by
perceptible dangers. Seating four in each of the side-boats, and
the remaining two in the centre one, he entered this last himself,
and standing erect in the bow, with a long paddle in his hands,
made a few vigorous but silent sweeps, and then allowed his singular
craft to float quietly down the stream.

For a time all went smoothly, safely, and silently, and the town
was almost passed, when the musical sound of running water began
to be audible, gradually growing louder, till presently all became
aware they were approaching either a cascade or furious rapids. Had
there been light sufficient for the purpose, there might have been
seen many a pale face, and compressed lip, in that triple barge, as
it slowly but surely floated down toward the rushing waters, whose
first low, distant murmurs, were now changed to a solemn, heavy
roar.

“Hist!” whispered the guide; and his words were uttered with
that fearful distinctness which, more than louder tones, impress one
with something awful and mysterious; “Hist! Squaw no speak—
no move.”

Scarcely was the warning given, when a slight shock was felt
underneath, and the boats were sent forward with a velocity that
showed they had struck the rapid. Now to this side, now to that,
were they suddenly shifted by the winding current, dipping here
and dipping there, and jerking, and rocking, and obeying every
undulation and impulse of the water, but still floating onward as
airy and buoyant as a feather or cork. Swifter and more swift
now speed the boats, and louder and more loud comes up the roar
of the foaming waters from below, giving one the impression of a
fearful chasm, adown which one is about to plunge and be for
ever engulphed in a whirling pool.

On, on speed the boats, and every breath is held, and every
heart has ceased to beat, in fearful expectation. Now the last dread
moment has come. The boats are suddenly lifted, as by giant
hands, and flung forward into the boiling, hissing, foaming surge.
Round, round, here and there, right and left, up and down they
go; and the flashing of the furious element, and its thundering
roar, are all that can be seen and heard by their helpless inmates,
as, speechless with terror, they cling spasmodically to their frail
sides, and to one another, and mentally call on God for mercy.
Suddenly a more fearful shock is felt—a downward, lightning
plunge is given—and now, just at the moment when all hope is
lost, and the agonized shriek of despair is about to be uttered, the
boats glide off quietly into still water, and the roar of the rapids is
heard behind.

“Danger past—squaw brave,” spoke the guide, drawing a long
breath of relief; and with his single oar, he gave the boats a vigorous
shove, which sent them farther from the hissing waters. “Squaw
safe,” he continued, “if him make no noise; and still using his
paddle gracefully and skillfully on either side, he kept the boats in
motion.

Presently a slight grating underneath, and the stoppage of the
boats, together with a dark mass of something looming up above
them, assured the still trembling captives that they had gained land

at last. The guide now bade them remain quietly where they were;
and stepping ashore, he made the boats fast, and strode away along
the beach, and beside the rocky cliff, that rose almost perpendicularly
above him to the height of fifty feet. Suddenly he disappeared
into a narrow fissure of the rocks, and was absent some five or ten
minutes, when he re-appeared, and returned to the females.

“Squaw now come,” he said, in a low, guarded tone; and immediately
retracing his steps, he led his wandering followers in between
gigantic rocks, where all was total darkness.

The change in the air, and the narrow covered passage, convinced
the more experienced of the party that they were entering a
cavern; while the others, completely bewildered with their already
strange adventures, hardly knew whether the things around them were
real, or whether they were being made the sport of some wild, fantastic
dream.

At length, after following the guide for a considerable distance,
through a winding, zig-zag passage, which apparently had no
outlet or termination, Mrs. Mervale, who was still the foremost of
the females, came to a halt, and said—

“Mysterious being, be you friend or foe, I will go no farther, till
you tell me whither you are leading us.”

“Me no traitor,” answered the guide, in a tone that showed he
felt offended by the suspicion. “Me friend—squaw friend—warrior
friend.”

“But say, whither are you conducting us?”

“'Spose me no say?”

“Then you would lead us to suppose you have some sinister intention.”

“What squaw do den?” queried the other.

“Refuse to go,” answered Mrs. Mervale, resolutely.

“Squaw no stand there all time, eh?”

“But we would go back.”

“Where go? Injun wigwam, eh?”

“Oh! no—not there. Heaven help us; for I perceive we are
too impotent to help ourselves, and we must perforce rely upon your
mercy.”

“Oh! heaven help us indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Danforth.

“Alas! what will become of us, and my poor husband! Ah!
well I know what will become of him—for to-morrow he will die
at the stake!” and the poor woman fell to weeping, and moaning
piteously.

“Oh, mother—dear, dear mother—do not say that!” cried Lucy,
bursting into tears.

The silence once broken by speech, the poor females, one and all,
were in a fair way to give loud vent to their long pent up griefs,
when the guide restored order, by exclaiming:

“Hist! Injun have big ears—hear great way. Squaw be still,

aud come, and pale-face warrior no die; if don't, him burn to-morrow.”

“Lead on then! lead on!—oh, for heaven's sake! lead on, and
we will do as you desire,” returned Mrs. Danforth, in great
agitation.

The guide said no more, and the party again proceeded in
silence. A few more turns in the rough passage, and they were
agreeably surprised to find themselves entering a large dry cave, in
the central part of which was burning a fire, whose ruddy blaze
formed a cheerful contrast to the cold dreary night without. Near
the fire were several large pitch-pine knots, to serve them both for
fuel and light; and the mysterious guide showed them a quantity
of hominy also, which had been conveyed hither expressly for their
own use, in the event of their being obliged to remain here any
length of time.

He then warned them they must in no case leave the cave till his
return, even though his absence should extend to a week. Giving
them some other advice, unnecessary for us to repeat, he left them
to themselves, and re-threaded his way through the narrow passage
leading to the water's edge. On reaching the canoes, he cut the
thongs that bound them together, and proceeded to secrete two of
them in the mouth of the cave. This done, he jumped into the
third, and with several strokes of his paddle, sent it floating down
the stream. For a moment or two, his dark figure, standing erect
in the boat, could be faintly traced in the dim light; and then it
blended with the darkness and was lost in the gloom.