University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII
THE DECOY.

To construct a canoe of any considerable burthen or
capacity in so short a time, and under so many disadvantages,
was of course impossible. To make a frail machine
for the purpose of strategy, yet capable of attaining some
temporary speed, although a far easier undertaking, still
required no small amount of labor. The sun went down
before the task was finished, although every hand was employed
upon it, not excepting those of the gentle Ellen. If
falling tears could have cemented the bark, the work would
have been sooner done. The project which engrossed such
general attention will be best described, as yet, by the history
of its progress. When the boat was completed, even
to its rude but effective oars, the ignenuity of the Indians
was yet to be more fully displayed. Effigies of every
individual of the company, excepting the Lynx, was immediately
formed, and with a fidelity both astonishing and
ludicrous. The hats and upper garments of the men, and
the bonnet and shawl of Ellen, were of course made use of,
while the absent bodies were supplied by sticks and
branches of trees, artfully arranged. The slight and erect
form of Dudley, the graceful bust of Ellen, the short and
robust sergeant, and the broad-shouldered Wongah, with
his scant mantle, were all there, and with a celerity of
construction that seemed the work of magic. In this boat,
with these his imaginary companions, the Lynx was to
start for the southern shore, with a view to entice the

enemy to a distance from the island. If he were successful
in this artifice, the remainder of the party were at once to
embark in the gondola, and hoped to obtain a sufficient
start before the ruse was discovered to effect their escape.
The Indian, when he gained the shore, if he succeeded in
doing so, would make the best of his way through the
wilderness to the fort.

Where the general hazard was so imminent, it was useless,
perhaps, to calculate degrees of danger; yet none
could refrain from feeling as if an extraordinary peril was
devolved upon the generous savage. The chance of his
being overtaken before he could reach the shore was so
great, that it seemed as if he was devoting himself to immediate
death for his associates. He manifested, however,
not the least fear, and made all his preparations with a
coolness that displayed the utmost presence of mind.

“The Mohawks will chase shadows,” he said, with a low
laugh; “their braves will shoot at blankets.”

Rogers, with well meant, but needless assiduity,
cautioned him as to his trail in the forest, if he was so fortunate
as to reach it, reminding him that a detachment of
the enemy might follow him there. The Indian smiled
scornfully as he replied—

“Let them track the swallows; the Lynx leaves no
trail.”

The night proved, as had been anticipated, still and
starlight; and when the last ray of twilight had disappeared,
the boat with its phantom crew was silently
launched, ready for departure, on the first movement of
the foe. The gondola, in the mean time, had been transported
across the island to the northeastern shore, and was
also in readiness. They had not long to wait. Recumbent
on the beach, his eyes brought nearly on a level with
the horizon, the Lynx himself was the first to detect the

motion of the enemy. Lingering for a few minutes, that
he might make more certain of being discovered, he leapt
into his boat and pulled quickly from the shore. The
flight of the prisoners being anticipated, he was, of course,
almost instantly perceived. A long, shrill yell announced
the discovery from one boat to the other, and the race immediately
commenced. But although tremblingly anxious
for the fate of their companion, the remainder of the party
had but little time to watch the chase. The moment that
the changed position of the enemy seemed to render it safe,
they also embarked, and, taking at first a northerly direction
until they had obtained a considerable offing, they
changed their course and pulled rapidly down the lake.
The race was for life, and the exertion was proportionate.
Not a word was spoken. All felt conscious that in a very
short time the ruse would be discovered. The distance to
the eastern extremity of the lake was about eight miles, and
from that point to the fort about fifteen. Although this latter
course could be chiefly accomplished by means of the inlet,
the navigation of that stream was difficult, and would give
a vast advantage to the pursuers. A route through the
forest was therefore resolved upon, from some point near
the head of the lake, if they should succeed in safely
reaching that point.

About ten minutes had elapsed in silence, when a loud
and prolonged yell of many voices was heard from the direction
of the enemy. The oarsmen paused to listen, and
a momentary shudder pervaded every breast, as the probable
fate of their companion was contemplated.

“'Tis the scalp-halloo of the Mohawks,” said Rogers,
solemnly; “our friend is dead.”

All turned to Wongah for his opinion; but the Indian,
with one finger raised to enjoin silence, still remained listening.
At that moment the well known war-cry of the

Oneidas rang in one long shrill note across the silent
waters, waking the slumbering echoes with the sound.

“The Lynx is safe!” said the old man, as he again bent
energetically to his task. A single shot was all the additional
noise that was heard, and they now knew that the
foe was in swift pursuit of themselves. The succeeding
hour, fleet winged as it may have been to some, was a long
age of suspense to the fugitives. Keeping close to the
land, they held their course with unabated speed, until at
length the converging shores announced that they were
near their intended place of debarkation. But hope
seemed only to tantalize and mock them; for at this moment
a fiendish shout from the enemy announced that they
were again discovered. The stout heart of Dudley, the
merry sergeant, and even the stoical Wongah, seemed now to
despair, while the terrified and exhausted Ellen fell senseless
in the boat. They did indeed hasten toward the land,
but it was with no well defined hope of either defence or
escape. Bloodhounds might possibly have been eluded,
but to avoid the pursuit of a dozen Mohawks through such
a wilderness was impossible. While Dudley and Rogers
lifted the lifeless form of Ellen from the vessel, another
wild yell reached their ears, and the enemy were distinctly
seen making for the shore, at a point about sixty rods below.
Still bearing their beauteous burden, the young men
hastened up the bank and rushed wildly and aimlessly
through the woods. But an unseen hand was guiding their
steps. The rattling of a bayonet, and the quick sharp call
of a sentinel announced, what the next moment's glance
confirmed, that they were within the lines of a military encampment.
Stunned by the sudden reaction of his feelings,
Dudley scarcely found words to announce his name
and rank; having done which, he demanded to be conducted
forthwith to the commander's tent. He knew that

he was in an American camp, but was scarcely prepared
for so great a delight as finding himself in the immediate
presence of Col. Willett, who was on his return from a pursuit
of St. Leger. It was yet early in the night, and the
officers had not retired to rest. Having hastily given information
of the approach of his pursuers, orders were immediately
issued for extinguishing the lights of the camp
and calling in the sentinels. Three detachments of fifty
men each were detailed to take up positions, with short intervals
between, stretching transversely from the shore.
The utmost silence was preserved, and Waldon and the
Mohawks rushed heedlessly into the trap. Their first notice
of danger was the command to fire, and simultaneous
with the sound, eight of the band, including their vindictive
and treacherous leader, lay stretched upon the ground.
The remainder, with one or two exceptions, were taken
prisoners.

On Dudley, the more agreeable task had devolved of
restoring Ellen to animation, and of witnessing the first
overpowering sense of delight which the knowledge of their
changed fortunes created. How amply his own perils and
privations were repaid, by the fruition of that affection
which only woman's heart can bestow, need scarcely
be said.

On the ensuing day, Col. Willett returned with his detachment
to the fort, where the Lynx had already safely
arrived. He related with much minuteness the cautious
approach of his pursuers to his deserted vessel upon the
shore, and their successful capture of its non-combatant
crew, concluding by asserting with grave irony that “the
Mohawks were great warriors.” Himself and the aged
Wongah, like most of the Oneidas, ever continued faithful
to the republican cause, and lived to receive many proofs
of the esteem and gratitude of Dudley and Ellen.

The tide of war, during the remaining period of the
Revolution, rolled chiefly in a direction remote from the
county of Tyron, but neither Dudley or Rogers were sufficiently
enamored of martial glory to follow its retiring
banners. Yet in those minor, but sanguinary struggles,
which long convulsed the beautiful valley of the Mohawk,
they continued among the most valiant defenders of their
native soil, receiving the rich meed of their country's approbation,
and the still richer reward of an approving conscience.