Part 84 (1/2)

But now that I was truly an Oneida, and in absolute authority, I must act quickly.

”Come, then,” said I in a shaky voice, ”we People of the Rock must march on the Gates of Sunset. If my fate lies there, why then I am due to die in that place!... Make ready, Oneidas!”

The Screech-owl found a hollow under a windfall; and here we hurriedly hid our heavier baggage.

Then, when all had completed painting the Little Red Foot on their bellies, I stepped swiftly ahead of them and turned northwest.

”March,” I said in a low voice.

We travelled as the honey-bee flies, and as rapidly while the going was good en route; but to cover this great triangle of forests we were obliged to use the tactics of hunting wolves and, from some given point, circle the surrounding country, in hopes of cutting the hidden British trail we sought.

This delayed us; but it was the only way. And, like trained hunting dogs, we even quartered and cut up the wilderness, halting and encircling Cherry Valley on the second day out, because I knew how familiar was Walter Butler with that region and with the people who inhabited it, and suspected that he might be likely to lead his first attack over ground he knew so well.

Ah, G.o.d!--had I known then what all the world knows now! And I erred only in guessing at the time of Cherry Valley's martyrdom, not in estimating the ferocious purpose of young Walter Butler.

On the afternoon of our second day out from Schoharie, while we were still beating up the bush of the Cherry Valley district, I left my Indians and went alone down into the pretty settlement in quest of information and also to renew our scanty stock of provisions. I found the lovely place almost deserted, save for a few old men of the exempts working on a sort of fort around Colonel Clyde's house, and a few women and children who had not yet gone off to Schenectady or Albany.

I stopped at the house of the Wells family. John Wells, the father of my friend Bob, had been one of the Judges of the Tryon County courts, sitting on the bench with old John Butler, who now was invading us, with Sir John, in arms.

Bob was away on military duty, but there were in the house his mother, his wife, his four little children, his brother Jack, and Janet, his engaging sister whom I had admired so often at the Hall, and who was beloved like a daughter by Sir William.

I shall never forget the amazement of these delightful and kindly people when I appeared at their door in Cherry Valley, nor their affectionate hospitality when they learned my purpose and my errand.

A sack of provisions was immediately provided me; their kindness and courtesy seemed inexhaustible, although even now the shadow of terror lay over Cherry Valley. Their young men under Colonels Clyde and Campbell had gone to join Herkimer; they were utterly dest.i.tute of defense against McDonald or Sir John if Schoharie were invaded, or if Stanwix fell, or if Herkimer gave way before St. Leger.

They asked news of me very calmly, and I told them all I had learned and something of the sinister rumours which now were current in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys.

They, in their turn, knew nothing positive of Sir John, but had heard that he was marching on Stanwix with St. Leger and Brant, and that a thousand savages were with them.

My sojourn at the Wells house was brief; the family was evidently very anxious but not gloomy; even the children smiled courageously when I made my adieux; and my dear little friend, Janet, led me by the hand to the edge of the brush-field, through which I must travel to regain the forest, and kissed me at our parting.

On the wood's edge, I paused and looked back at the place called Cherry Valley, lying so peacefully in the suns.h.i.+ne, where in the fields grain already was turning golden green; and fat cattle grazed their pastures; and wisps of smoke drifted from every chimney.

That is my memory of Cherry Valley in the sunny tranquillity of late afternoon, where ta.s.seled corn like ranks of plumed Indians, covered vale and hillock; and clover and English gra.s.s grew green again after the first haying; and on some orchard trees the summer apples glimmered rosy ripe or lush gold among the leaves;--ah, G.o.d!--if I could have known what another year was to bring to Cherry Valley!

There was no sound in the still settlement except a dull and distant stirring made by the workmen sodding parapets on the new and unfinished fort.

From where I stood I could see the Wells house, and the little children at play in the dooryard; and Peter Smith, a servant, drawing water, who one day was to see his master's family in their blood.

I could make out Colonel Campbell's house, too, and the chimney of Colonel Clyde's house; and had a far glimpse of the residence of the Reverend Mr. Dunlop, the aged minister of Cherry Valley.

From a gilded weather-c.o.c.k I was able to guess about where Captain M'Kean should reside; and Mr. Mitch.e.l.l's barn I discovered, also. But M'Kean and his rangers must now be marching with Herkimer's five regiments to meet the hordes of St. Leger.

The sun sank blood-red behind the unbroken forests, and the sky over Cherry Valley seemed to be all afire as I turned away and entered the twilight of the woods, lugging my sack of provisions on my back.

That night my Indians and I lay within rifle-shot of the Mohawk River; and at dawn we made a crow-flight of it toward Oneida Lake; and found not a trace of Sir John or of anybody in that trackless wilderness; and so camped at last, exhausted and discouraged.

On the fourth day, toward sunset, the Screech-owl, roaming far out on our western flank, returned with news of a dead and stinking fire in the woods, and fish heads rotting in it; and he thought the last ember burnt out some four days since.

He took us to it in the dark, and his was a better woodcraft than I could boast, who had been Brent-Meester, too. At dawn we examined the ashes, but discovered nothing; and we were eating our parched corn and discussing the matter of the fire when, very far away in the west, a shot sounded; and in that same second we were on our feet and listening like d.a.m.ned men for the last trumpet.