Part 13 (1/2)
”Bravo, my worthy companion in toil. Verily thou makest the bending ash to glide through the water like a swan's wing. Another verse and we bid adieu to work.”
”If it affects the Chevalier that ar way, better give him another, Nick,” said one of the men.
”The trees do grow tall where the corn ought to grow, Push her along, boys, push her along.
Virginny's a-comin' an' she don' move slow.
Shove her along, boys, shove her along.”
”I would applaud, but my paddle is now going of itself and I dare not let go. Methinks we'll find around the next bend Pan with his flocks of aborigines a.s.sembled and kneeling in adoration. I'm not sure but he'll have the moon G.o.ddess with him.”
Now the Chevalier's three companions knew nothing of Pan or the moon G.o.ddess, with the possible exception of Nick, whose knowledge of mythology, if he possessed it, had not as yet appeared. Not knowing, they resented this intrusion of cla.s.sical subjects and one remarked, ”Your talk has a sweet sound; 'sposin' you sing us a verse.”
”Oh, melody is a wayward minx and vouchsafes her treasures of song to few. Were it springtime and had I the gift I would sing:
”'When the red is on the maple and the dogwood is in bloom.'”
”Keep right on, you'll bloom right soon,” said Nick with a laugh in which all joined.
”Keep her goin', Chevalier,” said another.
”Forsooth, my merry men, Puritans, Roundheads, I'll try:
”When cavalier doth draw his steel The ranks fall back and yeomen kneel, For that is as they should.
The pikes may gleam in thousands strong, But men who ride shall right the wrong.
For throne and home they stood.”
”Sure they stood not on the order o' goin', or I've misread me history,” laughed Nick.
”Ho, ho! my merry figure-head at the prow, this from you, _et tu Brute_! I feared the lines would not scan, but it's not expected that every man in the crew must be an Adonis because the figure-head of the craft is a thing of beauty. One failure begets another, 'tis said, so perhaps you'll like this no better:
”Oh, the paddle, the knife and the trusty gun, And a land in which to roam; The stars at night for my beacon light, Wildwood for my home; What care I for the gay cavalier, His plumes and his flas.h.i.+ng steel?
He rides not here in the gra.s.sy mere.
In grateful shade of the forest glade We laugh at those who kneel.”
”Ah! but that's worse than the first. I yield the palm of song to him who goes before me.”
This bantering was interrupted by a stalwart man sitting in the prow of a canoe which overtook them at this point. He was as fine a specimen of rugged manhood as all the border could produce, being over six feet in height, of commanding figure and boundless energy and courage. He was Daniel Morgan and, laughing as he spoke, he said: ”I've heard of hunting Indians with fife and drum, but charmin' 'em with song is something new, I reckon.”
CHAPTER XIV
HORNETS WITH AND WITHOUT WINGS
During Francois's visit a runner came in with the report that two Indians, descending the Ohio River in a canoe, had been fired upon and killed by the whites. Inflamed by the brandy they had drank, and infuriated by the report, several of the younger men blacked their faces, set up a war post and danced around it in the firelight like demons, yelling and throwing their hatchets into the post. The following morning a party of them set out for revenge.
On such occasions Rodney kept in hiding as much as possible and his mind was dark with forebodings, so that he would wake in the night from dreams of torture and find himself wet with perspiration.
A little later Logan himself came to the village, pleading that the Indians dig up the hatchet and unite in a war of revenge upon the whites for the outrage committed against him. He was a distinguished looking Indian, straight and tall, a typical chieftain of the better sort. Ahneota pleaded the necessity of delay, but, that being of no avail, urged him to secure the services of Cornstalk, the wise and wily Shawnee chief.