Chapter 5: The Mohawk Chief

The canoe was passing between low shores, and they landed on the left bank, lifting out of the water the little vessel that had served them so well, and carrying it to a point some distance in the bushes. There they sat down beside it a while and drew long, deep and panting breaths.

“I don’t want to repeat that experience soon,” said Robert. “I think every muscle and bone in me is aching.”

“So do mine,” said Willet, “but they ache in a good cause, and what’s of more importance just now a successful one too. Having left no trail the Indians won’t be able to follow us, and we can rest here a long time, which compels me to tell you again to put on your clothes and become respectable.”

They were quite dry now, and they dressed. They also saw that their arms and ammunition were in order, and after Willet had scouted the country a bit, seeing that no human-being was near, they ate breakfast of the deer meat and felt thankful.

“The aches are leaving me,” said Willet, “and in another half-hour I’ll be the man I was yesterday. Not I’ll be a better man. I’ve been in danger lots of times and always there’s a wonderful feeling of happiness when I get out of it.”

“That is, risk goes before real rest,” said Robert.

“That’s about the way to put it, and escaping as we’ve just done from a siege, this dawn is about the finest I’ve ever seen. Isn’t that a big and glorious sun over there? I suppose it’s the same sun I’ve been looking at for years, but it seems to me that it has a new and uncommonly splendid coat of gilding this morning.”

“I think it was put on to celebrate our successful flight,” said Robert. “It’s not only a splendid sun, Dave, but it’s an uncommonly friendly one too. I can look it squarely in the eye for just a second and it fairly beams on me.”

“My brothers are right,” said Tayoga gravely. “If it had not been the will of Manitou for us to escape from the trap that had been set for us the sun rising newly behind the mountains would not smile upon us.”

“I take that as allegorical,” said Robert. “We see with our souls, and our eyes are merely the mirrors through which we look. Seeing, or at least the color of it, is a state of mind.”

Tayoga followed him perfectly and nodded.

“You are getting too deep,” interrupted the hunter. “Let’s be satisfied with our escape. Here, each of you take another piece of venison. I’m glad you still have your bow and arrows, Tayoga, because it won’t be long before we’ll have to begin looking for another deer.”

“The woods swarm with game. It will not be difficult to find one,” said Tayoga.

“But for the present I think we’d better lie close. Of course the chief danger of attack from those savages has passed, but we’re some distance from Canada, and it’s still doubtful ground. Another wandering band may run upon us and that Ojibway, Tandakora, will never quit hunting us, until a bullet stops him. He has a terrible attack of the scalp fever. We want to make good time on our journey, but we mustn’t spoil everything by trying to go too fast.”

“It might be wise for us to remain the entire day in the forest,” replied the Onondaga. “After the great and long trial of our strength last night, we need much rest. And tonight we can make speed on the river again. What says Lennox?”

“I’m for it,” replied Robert, “but I suggest that we go deeper into the forest, taking the canoe with us, and hide our trail. I think I see the gleam of water to our right and if I’m correct it means a brook, up which we can walk carrying the canoe with us.”

“A good idea, Robert,” said Willet. “Suppose you look first and see if it’s really a brook.”

The lad returned in a moment or two with a verification. The water of the little stream was clear, but it had a fine sandy bottom on which footprints were effaced in a few seconds. They waded up it nearly a mile until they came to stony ground, when they left the brook and walked on the outcrop or detached stones a considerable distance, passing at last through dense thickets into a tiny open space. They put the canoe down in the center of the opening, which was circular, and stretched their own bodies on the grass close to the bushes, through which they could see without being seen.

“That trail is well hidden,” said Willet, “or rather it’s no trail at all. It’s just about as much trace as a bird leaves, flying through the air.”

“Do you know where we are, Dave?” asked Robert.

“We’re not so far from the edge of the wilderness. Before long the land will begin to slope down toward the St. Lawrence. But it’s all wild enough. The French settlements themselves don’t go very far back from the big river. And the St. Lawrence is a mighty stream, Robert. I reckon there’s not another such river on the globe. The Mississippi I suppose is longer, and carries more volume to the sea, but the St. Lawrence is full of clear water, Robert, think of that! Most all the other big rivers of the world, I hear, are muddy and yellow, but the St. Lawrence, being the overflow of the big lakes, is pure. Sometimes it’s blue and sometimes it’s green, according to the sunlight or the lack of it, and sometimes it’s another color, but always it’s good, fresh water, flowing between mighty banks to the sea, the stream getting deeper and deeper and broader and broader the farther it goes, till beyond Quebec it’s five and then ten miles across, and near the ocean it’s nigh as wide as Erie or Ontario. I’m always betting on the St. Lawrence, Robert. I haven’t been on all the other continents, but I don’t believe they can show anything to beat it.”

“Have you seen much of the big lakes, Dave?”

“A lot of Erie and Ontario, but not so much of those farther west, Michigan, Huron and Superior, although they’re far bigger and grander. Nothing like ‘em in the lake line in this world. We don’t know much about Superior, but I gather from the Indians that it’s nigh to four hundred miles long, and maybe a hundred and fifty miles across in the middle. What a power of water! That’s not a lake! It’s a fresh-water sea. I’ve seen Niagara, too, Robert, where the river comes tumbling over two mighty cliffs, and the foam rises up to the sky, and the rainbow is always arching over the chasm below. It’s a tremendous sight and it keeps growing on you the longer you look at it. The Indians, who like myths and allegories, have a fine story about it. They say that Heno, to whom Manitou gave charge of the thunderbolt, once lived in the great cave or hollow behind the falls, liking the damp and the eternal roar of the waters. And Manitou to help him keep a watch over all the thunderbolts gave him three assistants who have never been named. Now, the nations of the Hodenosaunee call themselves the grandchildren of Heno, and when they make invocation to him they call him grandfather. But they hold that Heno is always under the direction of Hawenneyu, the Great Spirit, who I take it is the same in their minds as Manitou. The more you learn of the Indians, and especially of the Hodenosaunee, Robert, the more you admire the beauty and power of their minds.”

Willet spoke with great earnestness, his own mind through the experiences of many years being steeped in forest lore and imagery. Robert, although he knew less of Indian mythology, nevertheless knew enough to feel for it a great admiration.

“I studied the myths of the Greeks and Romans at Albany,” he said, “and I don’t see that they were very much superior to those of the Indians.”

“Maybe they weren’t superior at all,” said Willet, “and I don’t believe the Greeks and Romans ever had a country like the one in which we are roaming. The Book says God made the world in six days, and I think He must have spent one whole day, and His best day, too, on the country in here. Think of the St Lawrence, and all the big lakes and middle-sized lakes and little lakes, and the Hudson and the other splendid rivers, and the fine mountains east of the Hudson and west of it, and all the grand valleys, and the great country of the Hodenosaunee, and the gorgeous green forest running hundreds and hundreds of miles, every way! I tell you, Robert--and it’s no sacrilege either--after He did such a splendid and well-nigh perfect job He could stop for the night and call it a good and full day’s work. I reckon that nowhere else on the earth’s surface are so many fine and wonderful things crowded into one region.”

He took a deep breath and gazed with responsive eyes at the dim blue crests of the mountains.

“It’s all that you call it,” said Robert, whose soul was filled with the same love and admiration, “and I’m glad I was born within its limits. I’ve noticed, Dave, that the people of old lands think they alone have love of country. New people may love a new land just as much, and I love all this country about us, the lakes, and the rivers, and the mountains and the valleys and the forests.”

He flung out his arms in a wide, embracing gesture, and he, too, took deep long breaths of the crisp air that came over the clean forest. Tayoga smiled, and the smile was fathomless.

“I, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee, can rejoice more than either of you, my white friends,” he said, “because I and my fathers for ages before me were born into this wonderful country of which you speak so well, but not too well, and much of it belongs to the Hodenosaunee. The English and the French are but of yesterday. Tododaho lighted the first council fire in the vale of Onondaga many generations before either came across the sea.”

“It’s true, Tayoga,” said Willet, “and I don’t forget it for a moment. All of us white people, English, French, Dutch, Germans and all other breeds, are mere newcomers, and I’m not one ever to deny the rights of the Hodenosaunee.”

“I know that the Great Bear is always our friend,” said the young Onondaga, “and Lennox too, no less.”

“I am, Tayoga,” said Robert fervently.

The white lad went to sleep by and by, the others to follow in their turn, and when he woke it was afternoon. About midway of his comrade’s nap Tayoga had gone to sleep also, and now Willet followed him, leaving Robert alone on guard.

His eyes could pierce the bushes, and for some distance beyond, and he saw that no intruder had drawn near. Nor had he expected any. The place was too remote and well hidden, and the keenest warriors in the world could not follow a vanished trail.

He ate two or three strips of the deer meat, walked around the complete circle of the opening, examining the approaches from every side, and having satisfied himself once more that no stranger was near, returned to his place on the grass near his comrades, full of the great peace that can come only to those of sensitive mind and lofty imagination. His sleep had rested him thoroughly. The overtaxed muscles were easy again, and with the vast green forest about him and the dim blue mountains showing on the horizon, he felt all the keen zest of living.

He was glad to be there. He was glad to be with Tayoga. He was glad to be with Willet and he was glad to be going on the important mission which the three hoped to carry out, according to promise, no matter what dangers surrounded them, and that there would be many they already had proof. But, for the present, at least, there was nothing but peace.

He lay on his back and stared up at the blue sky, in which clouds fleecy and tiny were drifting. All were going toward the northeast and that way the course of himself and his comrades lay. If Manitou prospered them, they would come to the Quebec of the French, which beforetime had been the Stadacona of old Indian tribes. That name, Quebec, was full of significance to him. Standing upon its mighty rock, it was another Gibraltar. It told him of the French power in North America, and he associated it vaguely with young officers in brilliant uniforms, powdered ladies, and all the splendor of an Old World court reproduced in the New World. St. Luc had come from there, and with his handsome face and figure and his gay and graceful manner he had typified the Quebec of the chevaliers, which the grave and solid burghers of Albany regarded with dread and aversion and yet with a strange sort of attraction.

He did not deny to himself that he too felt the attraction. An unknown kinship with Quebec, either in blood or imagination, was calling. He wondered if he would see St. Luc there, but on reflection he decided that it was impossible. The mission of the chevalier to the Hodenosaunee would require a long absence. He might arrive in the vale of Onondaga and have to wait many days before the fifty sachems should decide to meet in council and hear him.

But Robert believed that if St. Luc should appear before the fifty he would prove to be eloquent, and he would neglect no artifice of word and manner to make the Hodenosaunee think the French power at Quebec invincible. He would describe the great deeds of the French officers and soldiers. He would tell them of that glittering court of Versailles, and perhaps he would make them think their salvation depended upon an alliance with France.

Robert was sorry for the moment that his mission was taking him to Quebec and not to the vale of Onondaga, where Willet and he--and Tayoga too--could appear before the sachems as friends true and tested, and prove to them that the English were their good and natural allies. They would recall again what Frontenac had done. They would dwell upon the manner in which he had carried sword and fire among the Six Nations, then the Five, and they would keep open the old wound that yet rankled.

It was a passing wish. The Iroquois would remain faithful to their ancient allies, the English. The blood that Frontenac had shed would be forever a barrier between the Long House and the Stadacona that was. Once more Quebec filled his eye, and he gazed into the northeast where the French capital lay upon its mighty and frowning rock. His curiosity concerning it increased. He wanted to see what kind of city it was, and he wanted to see what kind of a man the Marquis Duquesne, the Governor-General of Canada, was. Well, he would be there before many days and he would see for himself. He and his comrades already had been triumphant over a danger so great that nothing could stop them now. He felt all the elation and certainty that came from a victory over odds.

He rose, parted the bushes and made another tour of the region about their covert. When he was at a point about a hundred yards away he fancied that he heard a sound in a thicket a considerable distance ahead. Promptly taking shelter behind a large tree, he used both eyes and ears, watching the thicket closely, and listening for any other sound that might come.

He heard nothing else but his keen eyes noted a bush swaying directly into the teeth of the wind, a movement that could not occur unless something alive in the thicket caused it. He slid his rifle forward and still watched. Now the bush shook violently, and an awkward black figure, shooting out, ran across the open. It was only a bear, and he was about to resume his circling walk, but second thought told him that the bear was running as if he ran away from an object of which he was afraid, and there was nothing in the northern forests except human beings to scare a bear.

He settled back in his shelter and resumed his watch in the thicket, leaving the bear to run where he pleased, which he did, disappearing with a snort in another thicket. A full ten minutes passed. Robert had not stirred. He was crouched behind the tree, blending with the grass, and he held his rifle ready to be fired in an instant, should the need arise.

The bush that had moved against the wind had ceased stirring long since, but now he saw another shaking and it, too, paid no attention to the laws of nature, defying the wind as the first had done. Robert concentrated his gaze upon it, thankful that he had not made the black bear the original cause of things, and presently he saw the feathered head of an Indian appear among the leaves. It was only a glimpse, he did not see the body or even the face of the warrior, but it was enough. Where one warrior was another was likely to be in those northern marches, the most dangerous kind of neutral ground.

He began to slide away, keeping the big tree trunk between him and the thicket, using all the arts of the forest trailer that he had learned by natural aptitude and long practice. He went back slowly, but the grass stems moved only a little as he went, and he was confident that he not only had not been seen, but would not be seen. Yet he scarcely dared to breathe--until he reached the bushes inclosing the opening in which his comrades lay.

He paused a few moments before waking the others and filled his lungs with air. He was surprised to find that the hands holding his rifle were damp with perspiration, and he realized then how great the brief strain had been. Suppose he had not seen the Indian in the bush, and had been ambushed while on his scouting round! Or suppose he had stayed with his comrades and had been ambushed there! But neither had happened, and, taking Willet by the shoulder, he shook him, at the same time whispering in his ear to make no noise. The hunter, his trained faculties at once awake and on guard, sat up quietly, and Tayoga, who seemed to awake instinctively at the same time, also, sat up.

“What is it, Robert?” whispered Willet.

“An Indian in the bush about two hundred yards away,” replied the youth. “I merely saw his hair and the feather in it, but it’s safe to assume that he’s not the only one.”