Part 22 (1/2)

”No nation can stand a thing like that,” said Paul, ”and I didn't dream it could happen.”

They now left the oasis, and went swiftly along the trail left by the fugitives. All of them had confidence in the word of Timmendiquas. There was a remote chance that some other band had entered the swamp at a different point, but it was remote, indeed, and it did not trouble them much.

Night was now over the great swamp. The sun no longer came through the gray clouds, but here and there were little flashes of flame made by fireflies. Had not the trail been so broad and deep it could easily have been lost, but, being what it was, the skilled eyes of the frontiersmen followed it without trouble.

”Some uv 'em are gittin' pow'ful tired,” said Tom Ross, looking at the tracks in the mud. Then he suddenly added: ”Here's whar one's quit forever.”

A shallow grave, not an hour old, had been made under some bushes, and its length indicated that a woman lay there. They pa.s.sed it by in silence. Henry now appreciated more fully than ever the mercy of Timmendiquas. The five and Carpenter could not possibly have protected the miserable fugitives against the great chief, with fifty Wyandots and Iroquois at his back. Timmendiquas knew this, and he had done what none of the Indians or white allies around him would have done.

In another hour they saw a man standing among some vines, but watchful, and with his rifle in the hollow of his arm. It was Carpenter, a man whose task was not less than that of the five. They were in the thick of it and could see what was done, but he had to lead on and wait. He counted the dusk figures as they approached him, one, two, three, four, five, and perhaps no man ever felt greater relief. He advanced toward them and said huskily:

”There was no fight! They did not attack!”

”There was a fight,” said Henry, ”and we beat them back; then a second and a larger force came up, but it was composed chiefly of Wyandots, led by their great chief, Timmendiquas. He came forward and said that they would not pursue women and children, and that we could go in safety.”

Carpenter looked incredulous.

”It is true,” said Henry, ”every word of it.”

”It is more than Brant would have done,” said Carpenter, ”and it saves us, with your help.”

”You were first, and the first credit is yours, Mr. Carpenter,” said Henry sincerely.

They did not tell the women and children of the fight at the oasis, but they spread the news that there would be no more pursuit, and many drooping spirits revived. They spent another day in the Great Dismal Swamp, where more lives were lost. On the day after their emergence from the marsh, Henry and his comrades killed two deer, which furnished greatly needed food, and on the day after that, excepting those who had died by the way, they reached Fort Penn, where they were received into shelter and safety.

The night before the fugitives reached Fort Penn, the Iroquois began the celebration of the Thanksgiving Dance for their great victory and the many scalps taken at Wyoming. They could not recall another time when they had secured so many of these hideous trophies, and they were drunk with the joy of victory. Many of the Tories, some in their own clothes, and some painted and dressed like Indians, took part in it.

According to their ancient and honored custom they held a grand council to prepare for it. All the leading chiefs were present, Sangerachte, Hiokatoo, and the others. Braxton Wyatt, Blackstaffe, and other white men were admitted. After their deliberations a great fire was built in the center of the camp, the squaws who had followed the army feeding it with brushwood until it leaped and roared and formed a great red pyramid. Then the chiefs sat down in a solemn circle at some distance, and waited.

Presently the sound of a loud chant was heard, and from the farthest point of the camp emerged a long line of warriors, hundreds and hundreds of them, all painted in red and black with horrible designs. They were naked except the breechcloth and moccasins, and everyone waved aloft a tomahawk as he sang.

Still singing and brandis.h.i.+ng the tomahawks, which gleamed in the red light, the long procession entered the open s.p.a.ce, and danced and wheeled about the great fire, the flames casting a lurid light upon faces hideous with paint or the intoxication of triumph. The glare of their black eyes was like those of Eastern eaters of hasheesh or opium, and they bounded to and fro as if their muscles were springs of steel.

They sang:

We have met the Bostonians [*] in battle, We slew them with our rifles and tomahawks.

Few there are who escaped our warriors.

Ever-victorious is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee.

[* Note: All the Americans were often called Bostonians by the Indians as late as the Revolutionary War.]

Mighty has been our taking of scalps, They will fill all the lodges of the Iroquois.

We have burned the houses of the Bostonians.

Ever-victorious is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee.

The wolf will prowl in their corn-fields, The gra.s.s will grow where their blood has soaked; Their bones will lie for the buzzard to pick.

Ever-victorious is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee.

We came upon them by river and forest; As we smote Wyoming we will smite the others, We will drive the Bostonians back to the sea.

Ever-victorious is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee.