University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.

The Indians, if they did not make night-assaults, prowled
about in the day, killing their enemies and destroying such
property as they could not bear away. The Tories, desirous
of escaping detection when the next turn of Fortune's
wheel might dim the lustre of the cause they espoused, contrived
to keep out of view as much as possible. But their
depredations and cruelties after sunset were awful.

Skippie, who saw every thing if he spoke nothing, had
been well advised of the approaching tempest, and gave
his chief early information of Moody's contemplated attack.
And the Gentle Lochiel had invited Julia and Kate to
take shelter within his strong walls, until the company of
patriots, commanded by his son, whose absence had been
protracted, should return to the neighbourhood. The girls,
under injunctions of secresy, had been previously admitted
within the hidden chambers; and therefore, when the summons
came, accompanied by the intelligence that the Indians
(a detachment that passed the forts and descended

the rivers) had murdered Colonel Allen in his bed, and a
whole family by the name of Wells, even tomahawking and
scalping the infant children, they obeyed with alacrity.
It was in vain that Mr. Schooley objected; and Mr. Green
and others, who were ignorant of the nature of the asylum
tendered them, besought them not to take refuge under the
roof of a proscribed exile. The Moravians—those that
remained, being few in number—offered such sanctuary
as their structures afforded, and vainly supposed their precincts
would be respected by the Tory as well as by the
Indian.

Kate and Julia were hastening away with Skippie, when
Mary Schooley's wheel ceased its humming sound, and the
old lady made a last adjuration as follows:—

“Thee will be scandalized forever! Thee must pause
and reflect. Thee should be aware that to be shut up in a
lonely place with a man—”

“I will go, Mary!” said Julia, with decision and firmness.
“Dr. Odell, if he were here, would sanction our
temporary abode with that pure gray-haired old man.
And it seems to me that the pure of heart could never
imagine any ill proceeding from such a source. We may
confide in our fathers, I think, with quite as much security
as in the usual gossiping guardians of the public morality.
Come, Kate!”

“But thee must not return—” began Mary, when she
was checked by Thomas.

“Not return!” cried Julia, thoroughly aroused; “and
why not? Is not this house, this estate, mine? Come,
Solo!”

“If the King will suffer thee to have it,” was the only
reply that reached the ear of the offended girl, who uttered
not another word, but hastened away, followed by Richard,
who had become more desperately in love than ever. But
she did not heed him. Kate, however, pretended to admire
the slighted young man, and derived much amusement from
his perplexities.

The girls had not been gone more than a few hours,
before Paddy ran in from the garden.

“They're coming, yer honour, they're coming!” cried he;
“and I know they're tomahawking and sculping the paple
on the way, for they are the bloody Senecas!”

“How does thee know that?” demanded Mr. Schooley.
“Has thee seen them?”

“No, yer honour, but I heard the jackass!”

“The jackass!”

“Yes, Pater Shaver's jackass; Popcorn's jackass.”

“Thee knows Peter is with the wicked men of blood in
the Northern forts.”

“But the Senecas, with Pater's ass, are here—here, I tell
ye!—and yonder they come through the orchard! Och,
murther! I'll hide! They may spare you, but I know
they'd kill me!”

And Paddy ran out through the back door, and into the
loom-house, and concealed himself in the loft, where a few
planks were laid loosely over the joists.

When the foremost of the Indians leaped over the fence
into the yard, the fat old Rose, who was to have attended
her mistress, but contrived delays, as usual, was met by
them as she emerged from the kitchen with her packs and
bundles.

The leader of the Indians ordered her to put down her
burden, and, being neither comprehended nor obeyed,
he attempted to snatch the articles out of her herculean
arms.

“No you don't, you nasty mulatto! Clar out, and mind
your business, or Massa Charles'll be arter you!”

“Charles! He come back?” said the Indian, still grasping
a bundle.

“None o' your business! Let go!” she continued, and,
making a violent effort, hurled the savage some ten feet
distant, his shoulder coming first in contact with the earth,
to the infinite amusement of his party.

“Dern!” cried the infuriated Indian, using one of the
expletives of the white man; and, springing up, aimed his
tomahawk at Rose's head. It sank into one of the bundles
of clothing without doing her any injury. But it
damaged her mistress's wardrobe, and roused the fury of
the faithful old servant. So, seizing the glittering instrument,
she hurled it back at the leader of the savages. It
flew wide of the mark, but penetrated the forehead of one
of the dusky laughing spectators. He fell, pierced to the
brain, amid the vengeful yells of his companions. In an
instant poor Rose was perforated with half a dozen rifleballs,

and expired without a groan,—her large white eyes
still open, and her brow contracted.

Thomas and Mary, having witnessed these bloody feats
from the window, were painfully shocked, but still apprehended
no danger themselves.

“How do?” said the chief, entering the house, and followed
by most of his companions.

“I hope thee is well,” said Thomas; “but thee should
not have killed the old woman. Thee should have sought
justice before the civil tribunals. Thee—”

“Stop them, Thomas! Dost thou not see them splitting
the oak chest?” cried Mary, whose wheel hummed spasmodically,
and the thread was broken.

“I am a friend of the King, as thee has no doubt heard,”
continued Thomas.

“Me no hear!” was the angry reply of the Indian.

“I tell thee I am loyal; and we have been preparing
food for thee. Sit down and eat. Call back thy band;
they are killing my woman in the loom-house! Thee must
not permit such acts!”

“Me no come to eat. Me come for scalps!” said the
Indian.

“But thee must not hurt thy friends.”

“Friends' scalp too. You no scalp our enemies. You
no friend. Me take your scalp.”

“No, no; thee will do no such thing. Let us save the
woman in the loom-house. Thee must not permit them to
kill her!”

And Thomas, despite the threatening attitude of the Indian,
led the way into the loom-house, where he was followed,
and quickly surrounded by the savages.

The negro woman, who had been weaving, lay bleeding
before him, tomahawked and scalped; and there Thomas
himself, and Mary, pale and speechless with terror, were
rudely seized.

“Thee will suffer for this deed!” said Thomas. “Do
not tremble, Mary. They will not harm thee. They merely
want our money.”

“Money! where is it?” demanded the chief, whose arm
had only been withheld until he could obtain such intelligence.

“It is not thine, and thee shall not have it!” said
Thomas.

“Oh, let them have it!” said Mary, recovering her speech.
“They will then spare us!”

“No!” was the savage reply; and the Indian would his
hand in her long gray hair.

“Thee will all suffer for this outrage!” said Thomas.

This threat only precipitated matters. Several tomahawks
were uplifted to dispatch the victims; and Thomas,
seeing no relenting symptoms in the countenances of his
captors, cried, “Come down! come, Paddy, to the rescue!”

The savages looked up. Paddy, in petrified horror, had
been gazing down. He was now incapable of stepping
back out of view; but rather, in the terrible fascination of
the moment, like the bird when falling into the jaws of the
rattlesnake, tottered forward on the loose planks, which
gave way, the ends opposite flying up, and he was precipitated,
with a terrible crash, to the earth. The Indians
yelled and ran out. They supposed a large party of the
enemy were concealed in the loft, and believed Thomas had
led them into an ambuscade; and Paddy's voice sufficed for
the tongues of a dozen men. Seeing them run, he called
on an incredible number of saints to save him. The Indians
believed they were the names of persons really existing,
and then present with rifles in their hands; and so
they fled away and sought shelter in the woods.

“Thee has saved us!” said Mary, seizing the hand of
Paddy, which still trembled.

“Howly Pater and Paul!” cried he, “I thank ye both!
It was the blissed saints, yer honour,” he continued, addressing
Thomas, who stood staring at his weltering slave. “The
howly church has saved us; and I hope yer honour will go
to mass for it!”

“Thee knows not what thee says,” was the response of
Thomas. “It was not thy saints nor thy valour, but my
presence of mind, which saved us.”

“Och, murther! Be me sowl, I'll niver do a great
action agin! Sich ingratitude and vanity! And did not
Paddy himself put 'em to flight like King David did Goliah
and his hosts?”

“Nonsense, Patrick! Don't stand there repeating those
old fictions. Thee must be active. Go for Mr. Green—”

“Misther Grane? He's gone himself, sir!”

“Where?”

“Plase yer honour, you forgit what he said yisterday.”

“Thee speaks the truth now; I did forget. He said he
would go to some block-house, and I should have gone with
him.”

“As I was saying, yer honour, the howly saints took pity
on us, and tilted up the planks—”

“Thee must not talk such nonsense, Patrick. Thee must
help me to bury this woman. Dig a grave in the orchard.”

“But I hope yer honour will niver deny that I saved you
and Misthress Schooley from an awful death—”

“Patrick, thee is trembling yet!”

“Trembling, is it? No, yer honour, it's hate!”

“Hate? thee must not hate any one.”

“Hate onybody? that isn't it. I mane hate o' the
blood—choler—passion. Me blood is byling with hate!
And did I not rush down in the middle and surround 'em?
Plase answer me that, Mr. Schooley! And it'll be a tale
to be towld in the chimbley-corners o' winter nights after
Paddy's flesh is grass! And I'm only sorra I didn't kill
more uv 'em!”

“Thee has been much with the Indians,” said Mary,
“and thee ought to know what that noise means.”

“That,” said Paddy, listening to the yells down the valley
in the direction of Mrs. Van Wiggens's inn, “is the
murthering-halloo; and they'll be back agin for our
sculps! so, Mrs. Schooley, if ye'll take an ould Indian-fighter's
advice, you'll get Mr. Schooley's money and be
off to the bushes widout losing a minute. I'll pilot ye
through the woods to the Moravian church—”

“No, thee shall do no such thing,” said Thomas. “If
the episcopal mummery of those people can save them, the
higher spirits within our own bosoms must suffice for us, as
they have already rescued us once.”

“Divil the fear they have of ony sperits! It was
Paddy's arm that made 'em run.”

“Patrick, thee forgets thyself!” said Mr. Schooley,
nevertheless hastening to save his money; and, when it was
obtained, they set out toward the block-house.

The Indian accidentally killed by Rose was buried with
great care by his comrades, so that his body might not be

found and the scalp torn from his head. The greensward,
after being cut smoothly round, was lifted aside, and replaced
when the body was deposited in the earth, so that
no one could have discovered the grave. Nevertheless, the
slain savage did not appear to be a man of much importance
among his fellows, for their mirth and laughter, when
they recounted the events at Mr. Schooley's house, seemed
very hearty. However, they made no unnecessary delay
in their progress, and the next place they visited was Mrs.
Van Wiggens's establishment. They appeared first before
the blacksmith's shop. There was a Mr. Van Etten (and
Mrs. Van Wiggens seemed to have a partiality for Dutchmen)
employed to shoe horses and mend ploughs during
Van Wiggens's absence; and this man saw the Indians
when approaching, guided by the sound of the negro's
hammer on the anvil.

“Indians! Stop dat blaw-mock,” (bellows,) said he,
hurriedly, addressing the negro. “Dey von't hurt you,
Sambo; tam it, you stay here, viles I climb up de
chimbley.”

The negro, terror-stricken, seemed incapable of disobedience.
The Indians came in and gazed round. They
looked under the bench and behind the bellows, but did not
see the one they were in quest of. Van Etten had been a
famous Indian-fighter in the former war, and was well
known to them.

“Where Van Etten?” demanded the leader, seizing the
negro by the shoulder.

“Gone!” said Sambo, recollecting his orders; “dar's no
sich man here; he's gone, I tell you, and dat's 'ficient.”

The Indians, amused at the negro's manner, entertained
themselves with an examination of the tools in the shop,
retaining such as they might have use for. One of them,
in imitation of the smith, thrust a bar of iron into the fire,
and, seizing the handle of the bellows, blew vigorously.
The negro, hearing Van Etten sneeze, slapped the Indian
on the arm, and said, as his master had done a few minutes
before, “Stop dat blaw-mock!”

The Indians, diverted at his seeming unconsciousness of
danger, desisted from further annoyance, and, leaving him
in the shop, directed their steps toward the house. The
leader, aware there were no men within, entered first, and

seeing in the small bar bottles of apple-brandy and Jamaica
rum, could not resist his inclination to take a dram.
It was when the bottle was at his mouth that Mrs. Van
Wiggens entered from the dining-room. Supposing the
brawny savage to be her lawfully-wedded husband, returned
from the war, she said nothing; but, seizing the
broom, and approaching on tiptoe, aimed a blow at his head
with the straw end of it. The Indian, astonished, and
slightly stunned, let the bottle fall, and then, gazing regretfully
a moment at the wasted fluid inundating the floor, fell
into a violent passion.

“Dern!” exclaimed he. “Me—you be dern! White
squaw! Dern me you!”

“How dare you swear at me, Van Wiggens?” cried Mrs.
Van Wiggens.

“Van Wiggens be dern!” cried the Indian. “Me have
white squaw's scalp!” he continued, drawing forth his
tomahawk.

But Mrs. Van Wiggens, perceiving her mistake, turned
the other end of the broom handle, which was of hickory,
and dealt him a blow on the head that brought him to his
knees, and the tomahawk falling from his grasp, she picked
it up. But he arose and rushed forth before she could use
it. She followed him to the door, however, and hurled the
instrument harmlessly after him.

The Indians laughed heartily to see their leader flying
from a squaw; and that little incident induced them to spare
the lives of the negro and his mistress, or at least to postpone
the operation of taking their scalps, and to pursue
the trail of the young girls without further delay.