Chapter 4: A Forest Concert

The deep creek with its high banks and interwoven forest and thickets on the other side formed an excellent second line of defense, and Willet, with the instinct of a true commander, made the most of it, again posting his men at wide intervals until they covered a distance of several hundred yards, at the same time instructing them to conceal themselves carefully, and let the enemy make the first move. He allowed Robert and Tayoga to remain together, knowing they were at their best when partners.

The two lay behind the huge trunk of a tree torn down by some old hurricane and now almost hidden by vegetation and trailing vines. They were very comfortable there, and, uplifted by their success of the night they were sanguine of an equal success by day.

To the right Robert caught occasional glimpses of Willet, moving about in the bushes, but save for these stray glances he watched the other side of the stream. Luckily it was rather open there, and no savage, however cunning, could come within fifty yards of it without being seen by the wary eyes in the thickets.

“How long do you think it will be before they come?” Robert asked of Tayoga, for whose forest lore he had an immense respect.

“Three hours, maybe four,” replied the Onondaga. “Tandakora and De Courcelles may or may not know of this creek, but when they see it they are sure to advance with caution, fearing a trap.”

“What a pity our own people don’t show the same wisdom!”

“You are thinking of the great slaughter at Duquesne. Every people has its own ways, and the soldiers have not yet learned those of the forest, but they will learn.”

“At a huge cost!”

“Perhaps there is no other way? You will notice the birds on the bushes on the far side of the stream, Dagaeoga?”

“Aye, I see ‘em. They’re in uncommon numbers. What a fine lot of fellows with glossy plumage! And some of ‘em are singing away as if they lived for nothing else!”

“I see that Dagaeoga looks when he is told to look and sees when he is told to see. The birds are at peace and are enjoying themselves.”

“That is, they’re having a sunlight concert, purely for their own pleasure.”

“It is so. They feel joy and know that danger is not present. They are protected by the instinct that Manitou, watching over the least of his creatures, has given to them.”

“Why this dissertation on birds at such a time, Tayoga?”

“Dissertation is a very long word, but I am talking for Dagaeoga’s own good. He has learned much of the forest, but he can learn more, and I am here to teach him.”

“Wondrous good of you, Tayoga, and, in truth, your modesty also appeals to me. Proceed with your lesson in woodcraft, although it seems to me that you have chosen a critical time for it.”

“The occasion is most fitting, because it comes out of our present danger. We wish to see the approach of our enemies who will lie down among the grass and bushes, and creep forward very silently. We will not see them, perhaps, but others will give warning.”

“Oh, you mean that the birds, alarmed by the warriors, will fly away?”

“Nothing else, Dagaeoga.”

“Then why so much circumlocution?”

“Circumlocution is another very long word, Dagaeoga. It is the first time that I have heard it used since we left the care of our teacher in Albany. But I came to the solution by a circular road, because I wished you to see it before I told it to you. You did see it, and so I feel encouraged over the progress of my pupil.”

“Thanks, Tayoga, I appreciate the compliment, and, as I said before, your modesty also appeals to me.”

“You waste words, Dagaeoga, but you have always been a great talker. Now, watch the birds.”

Tayoga laughed softly. The Indian now and then, in his highest estate, used stately forms of rhetoric, and it pleased the young Onondaga, who had been so long in the white man’s school, to employ sometimes the most orotund English. It enabled him to develop his vein of irony, with which he did not spare Robert, just as Robert did not spare him.

“I will watch the birds,” said young Lennox. “They’re intelligent, reasoning beings, and I’ll lay a wager that while they’re singing away there they’re not singing any songs that make fun of their friends.”

“Of that I’m not sure, Dagaeoga. Look at the bird with the red crest, perched on the topmost tip of the tall, green bush directly in front of us. I can distinguish his song from those of the others, and it seems that the note contains something saucy and ironic.”

“I see him, Tayoga. He is an impudent little rascal, but I should call him a most sprightly and attractive bird, nevertheless. Observe how his head is turned on one side. If we were only near enough to see his eyes I’d lay another wager that he is winking.”

“But his head is not on one side any longer, Dagaeoga. He has straightened up. If you watch one object a long time you will see it much more clearly, and so I am able to observe his actions even at this distance. He has ceased to sing. His position is that of a soldier at attention. He is suspicious and watchful.”

“You’re right, Tayoga. I can see, too, that the bird’s senses are on the alert against something foreign in the forest. All the other birds, imitating the one who seems to be their leader, have ceased singing also.”

“And the leader is unfolding his wings.”

“So I see. He is about to fly away. There he goes like a flash of red flame!”

“And there go all the rest, too. It is enough. Tandakora, De Courcelles and the savages have come.”

Robert and Tayoga crouched a little lower and stared over the fallen log. Presently the Onondaga touched the white youth on the arm. Robert, following his gaze, made out the figure of a warrior creeping slowly through a dense thicket toward the creek.

“It is likely that Great Bear sees him, too,” said Tayoga, “but we will not fire. He will not come nearer than fifty yards, because good cover is lacking.”

“I understand that the contest is to be one of patience. So they can loose their bullets first. I see the bushes moving in several places now, Tayoga.”

“It is probable that their entire force has come up. They may wait at least an hour before they will try a ford.”

“Like as not. Suppose we eat a little venison, Tayoga, and strengthen ourselves for the ordeal.”

“You have spoken well, Dagaeoga.”

They ate strips of venison contentedly, but did not neglect to keep a wary watch upon the creeping foe. Robert knew that Tandakora and De Courcelles were trying to discover whether or not the line of the creek was defended, and if Willet and his men remained well hidden it would take a long time for them to ascertain the fact. He enjoyed their perplexity, finding in the situation a certain sardonic humor.

“The Ojibway and the Frenchman would give a good deal to know just what is in the thickets here,” he whispered to Tayoga. “But the longer they must take in finding out the better I like it.”

“They will delay far into the afternoon,” said Tayoga. “The warriors and the Frenchmen have great patience. It would be better for the Americans and the English if they, too, like the French, learned the patience of the Indians.”

“The birds gave us a warning that they had come. You don’t think it possible, Tayoga, that they will also give the savages warning that we are here?”

“No, Dagaeoga, we have been lying in the thickets so long now, and have been so quiet that the birds have grown used to us. They feel sure we are not going to do them any harm, and while they may have flown away when we first came they are back now, as you can see with your own eyes, and can hear with your own ears.”

Almost over Robert’s head a small brown bird on a small green bough was singing, pouring out a small sweet song that was nevertheless clear and penetrating. Within the radius of his sight a half dozen more were trilling and quavering, and he knew that others were pouring out their souls farther on, as the low hum of their many voices came to his ears. Now and then he saw a flash of blue or brown or gray, as some restless feathered being shot from one bough to another. The birds, unusual in number and sure that there was no hostile presence, were having a grand concert in honor of a most noble day.

Robert listened and the appeal to his imagination and higher side was strong. Overhead the chorus of small sweet voices went on, as if there were no such things as battle or danger. Tayoga also was moved by it.

“By the snakes in the hair of the wise Tododaho,” he said, “it is pleasant to hear! May the wilderness endure always that the birds can sing in it, far from men, and in peace!”

“May it not be, Tayoga, that the warriors watching the thickets here will see the birds so thick, and will conclude from it that no defenders are lying in wait?”

“De Courcelles might, but Tandakora, who has lived his whole life in the forest, will conclude that the birds are here, unafraid, because we have been so long in the bushes.”

Time went on very slowly and the forest on either side of the creek was silent, save for the singing of the birds among the bushes in which the defenders lay hidden. Robert, from whom the feeling of danger departed for the moment, was almost tempted into? a doze by the warmth of the thicket and the long peace. His impressions, the pictures that passed before his mental and physical eye, were confused but agreeable. He was lying on a soft bank of turf that sloped up to a huge fallen trunk, and warm, soothing winds stole about among the boughs, rustling the leaves musically. The birds were singing in increased volume, and, though his eyes were half veiled by drooping lids, he saw them on many boughs.

“‘Tis not their daily concert,” he said to Tayoga “In very truth it must be their grand, annual affair I believe that a great group on our right is singing against another equally great group on our left. I can’t recall having heard ever before such a volume of song in the woods. It’s in my mind that a contest is going on, for a prize, perhaps. Doubtless juicy worms are awaiting the winners.”

Tayoga laughed.

“You are improving, Dagaeoga,” he said in precise tones. “You do not merely fight and eat and sleep like the white man. You are developing a soul. You are beginning to understand the birds and animals that live in the woods. Almost I think you worthy to be an Onondaga.”

“I know you can pay me what is to you no higher compliment, but I have a notion the end of the concert is not far away. It seems to me the volume of song from the group on the left is diminishing.”

“And you notice no decrease on our right?”

“No, Tayoga. The grand chorus there is as strong as ever, and unless my ears go wrong, I detect in it a triumphant note.”

“Then the test of song which you have created is finished, and the prize has been won by the group on the right. It is a fine conceit that you have about the birds, Dagaeoga. I like it, and we will see it to the end.”

The song on their left died, the one on their right swelled anew, and then died in its turn. Soon the birds began to drift slowly away. Robert watched some of them as they disappeared among the green boughs farther on.

“I also am learning to read the signs, Tayoga,” he said, “and, having observed ‘em, I conclude that our foes are about to make an advance, or at least, have crept forward a little more. The birds, used to our presence, know we are neither dangerous nor hostile, but they do not know as much about those on the other side of the creek. While the advance of the warriors is not yet sufficient to threaten ‘em, it’s enough to make ‘em suspicious, and so they are flying away slowly, ready to return if it be a false alarm.”

“Good! Very good, Dagaeoga! I can believe that your conclusions are true, and I can say to you once more that almost you are worthy to be an Onondaga. If you will look now toward the spot where the banks shelve down, and the grass grows high you will see four warriors on their hands and knees approaching the creek. If they reach the water without being fired upon they will assume that we are not here. Then the entire force will rush across the stream and take up the trail.”

“But the creeping four will be fired upon.”

“I think so, too, Dagaeoga, because there is no longer any reason for us to delay, and the rifle of the Great Bear will speak the first word.”

There was a report near them, and one of the warriors, sinking flat in the grass, lay quite still. Robert, through the bushes, saw Willet, smoking rifle in hand. The three savages who lived began a swift retreat, and the others behind them uttered a great cry of grief and rage. They fired a dozen shots or so, but the bullets merely clipped leaves and twigs in the thickets. Nobody among the defenders save Willet pulled trigger, but his single shot was a sufficient warning to Tandakora and De Courcelles. They knew that the creek was held strongly.

Now ensued another long combat in which the skill, courage and ingenuity of warriors and hunters were put to the supreme test. Many shots were fired, but faces and bodies were shown only for an instant. Nevertheless a bullet now and then went home. One of Willet’s men was killed and three more sustained slight wounds. Several of the warriors were slain, and others were wounded, but Robert had no means of telling the exact number of their casualties, as it was an almost invisible combat, which Willet and Tayoga, as the leaders, used all their skill to prolong to the utmost with the smallest loss possible. What they wanted was time, time for the fugitive train, now far away among the hills.

So deftly did they manage the defense of the creek that the entire afternoon passed and Tandakora and De Courcelles were still held in front of it, not daring to make a rush, and Willet, Robert and Tayoga glowed with the triumph they were achieving at a cost relatively so small. Night arrived, fortunately for them thick and black, and Willet gathered up his little force. They would have taken away with them the body of the slain man, but that was impossible, and, covering it up with brush and stones, they left it. Then still uplifted and exulting, they slipped away on the trail of the wagons, knowing that the Indian horde might watch for hours at the creek before they discovered the departure of the defenders.

“You see, Dagaeoga,” said Tayoga to Robert, “that there is more in war than fighting. Craft and cunning, wile and stratagem are often as profitable as the shock of conflict.”

“So I know, Tayoga. I learned it well in the battle by Duquesne. What right had a force of French and Indians which must have been relatively small to destroy a fine army like ours!”

“No right at all,” said Willet, “but it happened, nevertheless. We’ll learn from it, though it’s a tremendous price to pay for a lesson.”

“Do we make a third stand somewhere, Dave?” asked Robert, “and delay them yet another time?”

“I scarcely see a chance for it,” replied the hunter. “We must have favorable ground or they’d outflank us. How old does the trail of the wagons look, Tayoga?”

“They are many, many hours ahead,” replied the Onondaga. “They have made good use of the time we have secured for them.”

“Another day and night and they should be safe,” said Willet. “Tandakora and De Courcelles will scarcely dare follow deep into the fringe of settlements. What is it, Tayoga?”

The Onondaga had stopped and, kneeling down, he was examining the trail as minutely as he could in the dusk.

“Others have come,” he replied tersely.

“What do you mean by ‘others’?” asked Willet.

“Those who belong neither to pursued nor pursuers, a new force, white men, fifteen, perhaps. They came down from the north, struck this trail, for which they were not looking, and have turned aside from whatever task they were undertaking to see what it means.”

“And so they’re following the fugitive train. Possibly it’s a band of French.”

“I do not think so, Great Bear. The French do not roam the forest alone. The warriors are always with them, and this party is composed wholly of white men.”

“Then they must be ours, perhaps a body of hunters or scouts, and we need ‘em. How long would you say it has been since they passed?”

“Not more than two hours.”

“Then we must overtake ‘em. Do you lead at speed, Tayoga, but on the bare possibility that they’re French, look out for an ambush.”

“The new people, whoever they are,” said Robert, “are trailing the train, we’re trailing them, and the French and Indians are trailing us. It’s like a chain drawing its links through the forest.”

“But the links are of different metals, Robert,” said Willet.

They talked but little more, because they needed all their breath now for the pursuit, as Tayoga was leading at great speed, the broad trail in the moonlight being almost as plain as day. It was a pleasure to Robert to watch the Onondaga following like a hound on the scent. His head was bent forward a little, and now and then when the brightest rays fell across them, Robert could see that his eyes glittered. He was wholly the Indian, his white culture gone for the moment, following the wilderness trail as his ancestors had done for centuries before him.