University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
THE PURSUIT.

The movement had been so instantaneous, the noise was
so slight, and the blow upon Waldon so stunning, that
nearly a minute elapsed before any intelligible alarm was
given. Shouts and execrations were then heard from the
shore, with the dash of oars and all the signs of a quick
pursuit. Shots were also fired, but the arrowy flight of the
boat had already carried it too far into the obscurity that
yet rested upon the waters to admit of any distinct aim.
Faster and farther, under all the impulse that four strong
men, working for their lives, could give, the light gondola
sped, skimming the wave, like a swallow on the wing. But
with a speed scarcely inferior, three heavy batteaux, each
impelled by a dozen oarsmen, dashed forward in pursuit.
The noise of the oars unavoidably revealed the course of
the fugitives, and enabled the enemy to keep in their wake,
while the numbers of the latter allowing them to relieve
each other at the labor of rowing also gave them a decided
advantage. But as the chase was eastward and in a direction
opposite to the march of the army, Dudley conjectured
that the pursuers, who must have left the flotilla without
orders, would not dare to separate themselves far from the
main body. The result proved him to be partly correct.
The batteaux had proceeded but a few miles before they
were seen to draw together, and after a short conference,
and some change of parties, two of the vessels turned about,
and the third, with about a dozen men, continued the chase.

These, as the increasing light soon showed, were all Indians
but one, who it need scarcely be said was Waldon.
The distance that now separated the vessels was about a
quarter of a mile, and the vigor with which the pursuers
laid to their oars evinced a determination that it should
soon be less. Their motion was indeed most alarmingly
accelerated, and the interval between the parties was rapidly
diminishing; but the execrated broad shoulders which
had once proved so disastrous, were now at least of essential
service. Perceiving the exigency, Wongah, for such
was the name of the elder Indian, coolly requested Dudley
to surrender his oar to him, and taking the forward pair,
he bent to his task like a Samson beneath the gates of
Gaza. The trembling bark seemed rather to fly than sail,
and the rearward oarsmen for a while were scarce able to
touch the water, so swiftly did it pass from their stroke.
All looked on in amazement, and expected momentarily to
see the giant's strength give out; but mile after mile was
overcome without the least abatement of speed. The very
vessel seemed instinct with vitality and impelled by fear,
while the spray fell like rain upon her prow, and the water
boiled, hissing in her wake. A glad smile of hope and encouragement
lit up every countenance, for the distance between
the vessels had already more than doubled, notwithstanding
the utmost efforts of the enemy. In vain did
Dudley implore Wongah to spare his strength, lest it might
fail altogether. The quiet smile, the calm equable breathing,
the uniform ponderous motion, told him that there was
as little to fear from fatigue in the huge and compact mass
of muscles before him, as if it had been some mighty mechanical
machine of levers, wheels and springs.

When Lieutenant Dudley had relinquished his oar to the
Indian, his change of position brought him for the first
time near to Ellen; but the absorbing excitement of the

race, and the vigilant oversight now required of him as
chief in command, still prevented his disclosing himself.
His own tumultuous emotions, and the alternating fears
and hopes of Ellen may easily be imagined. She knew
nothing, it will be remembered, of the process by which her
rescue was to be attempted, and when she found herself
once more seated in the dreaded boat she gave up all for
lost. The subsequent events, occurring so unexpectedly,
were at first entirely inexplicable to her, and although she
soon perceived that brave hearts and strong hands were at
work for her delivery, she had still no suspicion of Dudley's
presence. But the temporary sense of relief now experienced
by all afforded an opportunity for the lieutenant
to make himself known. The light had fully dawned, and
as he seized an opportune moment, and turned with a smile
of triumph and affection to Ellen, a speechless surprise and
joy that knew no utterance pervaded her breast. Alas!
that there is no Daguerreotype for the heart!

But a sudden ejaculation from the younger Indian, who
was looking westward with an earnest gaze, now attracted
attention. Turning, he uttered a few words in his native
tongue to his companion, and the latter immediately suspended
his labors and gazed intently in the same direction.

“What do the Oneidas see, Mr. Rogers?” exclaimed
Dudley from the helm, with ill disguised alarm. Rogers
listened a moment to their guttural dialogue, and rising to
his feet, peered earnestly across the waters; then turning
to the lieutenant, he said in a low voice: “I see nothing
myself, but the Lynx says that there are two armed canoes
turning yonder point, and coming down with the speed of
wind.”

“Is Wongah frightened?” said Dudley, impetuously,
turning to the Indian, who was yet leaning upon his oars;
“does he think they can overtake us?”

“Wongah does not fear,” was the characteristic reply;
“but the hawk is swifter than the heron.”

This figurative allusion to the fleetness of the birchen
canoe was not misunderstood, and every eye was now anxiously
strained to catch a glimpse of this new object of
alarm. The Indian, meanwhile, had resumed his labors
with all his former force, and without the least change of
countenance. The canoes were too much in the shade of
the shore to be perceptible to unpractised eyes, but the
movements of the batteau soon furnished additional proof
of their approach. She turned suddenly about, and hastening
to meet her allies, was also soon nearly lost from
view in the shadows. What changes took place upon the
meeting of the boats could not be discerned, but the large
vessel did not return. The canoes, on the contrary, dancing
like corks upon the wave, were soon seen to emerge
from the obscurity, and flashing the sunlight from their
dripping oar blades, seemed like distant sea birds pluming
their wings for flight. They each contained seven men, of
whom, as before, all save one were Indians. It was useless
to disguise the alarm inspired by this new aspect of
affairs; for although the pursuers were nearly a mile behind,
it was apparent to all that their present speed would
soon bring them up with the gondola. The latter boat was
already tasked to her full capacity, but no human strength
could impart to such a vessel the impetus which two pairs
of well plied oars gave to the feathery canoe. A hasty consultation
was held, at which Rogers and the Lynx proposed
running for the shore, and trying to make good their escape
through the forests. Wongah opposed this as fatal,
but offered no substitute. He gave his opinion with stoical
calmness, when called upon, without at all suspending
his labors. Dudley spoke last.

“It is idle,” he said, “to think of escape through twenty

miles of wilderness, with such a pack of bloodhounds on
our track. But there is a small island which cannot be
many miles distant. Let us gain that, if we can, and once
under cover we can at least keep the fiends at bay until
dark, when some means of relief may possibly be found.”

To this proposition the Indians responded together, with
their sententious exclamation “good.”

“So it is good!” said Rogers, energetically, recovering,
despite the danger, a portion of his natural humor; “if the
red devils can land under our four rifles, they shall be welcome
to the scalp of Joe Rogers. Pull away, Mr. Lynx,
and three cheers for the skipper.”

Endeavoring thus to arouse his own failing spirits, and
those of his companions, the noble hearted sergeant resumed
his diligent labors at the oar. The refuge referred
to by Dudley was a small wooded islet, scarcely forty rods
in length, which had attracted his notice on the preceding
day. It became visible on rounding a small promontory,
but still at the distance of several miles. The pursuers
seemed immediately to comprehend the design of the fugitives,
and the trial became at once which party should first
gain the island. There was no way to increase the gondola's
speed, and all that remained was patiently to watch
the chances. Although the canoes were soon within rifle
shot, neither party seemed disposed to resort to fire-arms.
Waldon felt too sure of success to risk the life of Ellen unnecessarily,
and Dudley's company were all actively employed
in the management of their boat. For a third of
an hour the most perfect silence was preserved in the gondola,
while every nerve of the oarsmen seemed strained to
its utmost tension. The eyes of Ellen wandered incessantly
from boat to boat and forward to the island, measuring
the rapidly diminishing intervals between each, and
resting ocoasionally upon Dudley's countenance, as if they

would read there a solution of her dreadful doubts. At
the distance of half a mile from the island, the forward canoe
was running nearly abreast of the fugitives, about forty
rods distant, and making for the northern extremity of the
land. There seemed no longer any hope; but at this critical
moment a crackling noise was heard, and one of the oar
blades of the parallel boat was seen floating astern. The
speed of the canoe was sensibly diminished; Wongah's
ponderous blows fell with redoubled rapidity upon the
water; the gondola shot ahead, and in three minutes
touched the shore.