At War with Pontiac; Or, The Totem of the Bear: A Tale of Redcoat and Redskin

CHAPTER XX
BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT AT FORT DETROIT

The month elapsed since Donald left Detroit had been to the imprisoned garrison of that important post a period of gloom and incessant anxiety. Although, after the first outbreak, no general attack had been made on the place, the rigor of its siege had not for a moment been relaxed. It was seldom that an Indian was to be seen; but if a soldier exposed himself above the walls or at a loop-hole, the venomous hiss of a bullet instantly warned him of his peril, and of the tireless vigilance of the unseen foe. Provisions became so scarce that every ounce of food was carefully collected in one place, kept under guard, and sparingly doled out each morning. The faces of men and women grew wan and pinched with hunger, while the children clamored incessantly for food. If it had not been for the brave aid of a French farmer, dwelling across the river, who occasionally, on dark nights, smuggled scanty supplies to the beleaguered garrison, they would have been forced by starvation to a surrender.

In all this time no man slept, save in his clothes, and with a gun by his side. Night alarms were frequent, and only incessant watchfulness averted the destruction of the place by fire, from arrows tipped with blazing tow, that fell at all hours, with greater or less frequency, on the thatched roofs within the palisades.

With all this, there was no thought of yielding in the minds of Gladwyn or his men. The red cross of St. George still floated proudly above them, and each evening the sullen boom of the sunset gun echoed defiantly across the waters of the broad river.

While the Indians could not be induced to attempt a general assault upon the slight defences, in spite of its prospects of almost certain success, Pontiac so skilfully disposed his forces that not only was the fort under constant watch, but no one could approach it in any direction without discovery. They, too, collected all the provisions within their reach, purchasing quantities from the Canadians, and gathering them in the commodious house that still held Major Hester a prisoner-guest. Eagerly as the besieged watched for reinforcements and supplies, the Indians were no less keenly on the lookout for the same things.

Knowing that Cuyler's expedition must have started from Fort Niagara, Major Gladwyn despatched the schooner that bore his name down the lake, to intercept, warn, and hasten it. The Gladwyn narrowly escaped capture by a great fleet of canoes, as she lay becalmed at the mouth of the river, and was only saved by the springing up of a timely breeze. She failed to discover the object of her search, and finally reached the Niagara without having delivered her warning.

It was now time for her return, while Cuyler should have arrived long since; and day after day were the eyes of the weary garrison directed down the shining river, in efforts to detect the first glint of sails or flash of oars.

While matters stood thus, there came, late one afternoon, a loud cry, announcing joyful tidings, from the sentinel on one of the river bastions. His shout was taken up and repeated by all who happened to be on the water front, and in a minute the whole place was astir. The inhabitants poured into the narrow streets and hastened to the river's edge, their haggard faces lighted with a new hope and their eager voices exchanging the welcome news. The long-expected reinforcements had come at last. The boats were in sight. They had escaped the perils of their journey and were safely arrived. Now the danger was over, and all would again be well with Detroit.

As the motley throng of soldiers, in soiled uniforms, traders, voyageurs, pale-faced women, and wondering children, streamed to the narrow beach beyond the water gate, all could see the approaching boats as, in long-extended line and with flashing oars, one after another rounded the last wooded point and advanced slowly up the river.

From the stern of the foremost boat flew the red flag of England. As it drew near, cheer after cheer broke from the excited garrison, while from the rampart above them a loud-voiced cannon boomed forth it assurance that the fort still held out.

Alas, for the high hopes of the stout defenders! Their joy was quickly quenched; for when the long column of eighteen boats was in full view, and the rejoicing was at its height, dark, naked figures suddenly leaped up, with brandished weapons and exulting yells, in every boat. The fierce war-whoop came quavering over the water, and in a moment the dreadful truth was known. The entire convoy had been captured, and was in the enemy's hands.

As the mournful procession of boats moved past, though well over toward the opposite bank of the river, the disheartened garrison saw that each was rowed by two or more white captives, who were guarded and forced to their labor by armed savages. As the heavy-hearted spectators were about to turn away from this distressing sight, a thrilling incident absorbed their attention, and held them spellbound.

The last boat contained four white men and but three Indians. One of the former was Donald Hester, and he it was who steered. Although he had been well treated by his captors, after the mystic marking on his arm to which the Zebra attracted their attention had saved him from an awful death, he was still held a close prisoner, and was still uncertain as to the fate reserved for him. This, however, concerned him little. Nothing could be worse than the mental suffering he had already undergone, and his present anxiety was only for his sister Edith. What had become of her? Where was she, and by what perils was she surrounded? He became frantic as he reflected upon her helplessness and the restraints that prevented him from flying to her assistance. He had learned from his fellow-captives that nothing had been seen of her nor of her companion after the attack on Cuyler's camp, and also that two boats, containing many fugitives, had effected an escape. She must then be in one of those, and if she were, what might she not be suffering, without food or shelter, and liable at any moment to fall into the hands of some roving band of savages? For her sake, he must regain his freedom. Yes, he must, and he would. Why not strike for it at that very moment? Would he ever have a better chance?

As the last boat came abreast of the schooner Beaver, surging at her cables not more than a quarter of a mile away, Donald called out in English to the rowers in his boat that each should seize one of the Indian guards and throw him overboard, while he would stand ready to aid any one, or all of them, in the undertaking.

The soldier nearest him replied that he feared he had not the requisite strength.

"Very well," said Donald; "pretend exhaustion and change places with me."

As this order was obeyed and the young ensign stepped forward, as though to take his comrade's place, he suddenly seized hold of an unsuspecting Indian, lifted him bodily, and flung him into the river. At the same moment the savage clutched his assailant's clothing, and as he cleared the boat dragged Donald after him over its side. The two remaining Indians, seized with a panic, leaped overboard and struck out for shore, while the three soldiers, bending to their oars, directed their craft with desperate energy toward the schooner, followed by a storm of bullets and a dozen canoes.

In the meantime, Donald and his antagonist, swept away by the current, were engaged in a frightful struggle for life and death, now rising gasping to the surface, then sinking to unknown depths, but always grappling, and clutching at each other's throat.

At length, when it seemed to the white lad that he had spent an eternity in the cruel green depths, when his ears were bursting and his eyes starting from their sockets, he found himself once more at the surface, breathing in great gulps of the blessed air, and alone. For a moment he could not believe it, but gazed wildly about him, expecting each instant to feel the awful clutch that should again drag him under. He was nearly exhausted, and so weak that had not a floating oar come within his reach he must quickly have sunk, to rise no more.

Clinging feebly to that Heaven-sent bit of wood, he kept his face above the water while his spent strength was gradually restored.

At the boom of a cannon, he lifted his head a little higher, and looked back. A cloud of blue smoke was drifting away from the now distant schooner, a boat was alongside, and a fleet of canoes was scurrying out of range. His recent companions had then escaped, and pursuit of them had so attracted the attention of the Indians that none had given him a thought. They doubtless never questioned but what that death grapple in the water had resulted fatally to both contestants. So much the better for him. No search would be made, and he might escape, after all. And dear Edith! At length he was free to go in search of her. With this thought the lad took a new hold on life, grasped his friendly oar more firmly, and tried to plan some course of action.

Making no motion that might attract hostile attention, he drifted passively, until the sun had set in a flood of glory, and the stars peeped timidly down at him from their limitless heights. By this time he was some miles below the fort, and near the eastern bank of the river. Though he had seen many canoes pass up stream, at a distance so great that he was not noticed, there was now neither sign nor sound of human presence, and very gently the young soldier began to swim toward land. How blessed it was to touch bottom again, then to drag himself cautiously and wearily into a clump of tall sedges, and lie once more on the substantial bosom of mother earth. For an hour or more he slept, and then, greatly refreshed, he awoke to renewed activity.

CHAPTER XXI
IN SEARCH OF A LOST SISTER

Donald had no difficulty in finding the broad trail that connected all the widely scattered Indian villages on the east bank of the river, and when he reached it he instinctively turned to the south. The main body of the enemy lay to the northward, and to proceed in that direction would be the height of folly. There was still one small camp below him, as Donald knew from having seen it that morning when on his way up the river, and to this he determined to go. He needed food, clothing, arms, and a canoe. All of these might be obtained in an Indian camp, as well as elsewhere, if only one dared go in search of them and possessed the skill necessary to secure them. Much also would depend on chance; but, after his recent experiences, the young soldier felt assured that he had been born under a propitious star. At any rate, he was ready to do and dare anything in furtherance of his present plan, and so he set forth at a brisk pace in search of some source of supplies.

He had covered several miles with every sense keenly alert, but without detecting an indication of human presence, when he suddenly smelled an Indian encampment. He could neither see nor hear anything of it, but no one having once recognized the pungent odor, combined of smoke, skins, furs, freshly peeled bark, dried grasses, and decayed animal matter, that lingers about the rude dwellings of all savage races, could ever mistake it for anything else. A single faint whiff of this, borne to Donald, on a puff of the night wind, gave him the very knowledge he wanted, and he at once began to move with the same caution that he had observed on the previous evening while creeping up to the fire-lighted circles of the victorious Wyandots.

It was perilous business, this venturing into a camp of hostile Indians through the darkness, but Donald reflected that it would be even worse by daylight. He also argued, that while success in his proposed thieving would mean everything to him, he could not be worse off than he was a few hours since, even if he failed and was captured. So he crept forward with the noiseless motions of a serpent, until the conical lodges were plainly in view by the dim light of smoldering camp-fires.

There was one feature of this camp that greatly puzzled our young woodsman, and that was its silence. Surely the night was too young for all the inmates of those lodges to have retired, and yet there was no sound of voices. Not even the wail of a child was to be heard nor the barking of a dog. It was unaccountable, and gave Donald a creepy feeling that he tried in vain to shake off. He moved with an even greater caution than if he had been guided by the usual sounds of such a place and spent a full hour in examining the camp from all points before daring to enter it.

At length he detected a faint muttering in one of the lodges and a reply to it; but both voices were those of querulous age. A moment later the tottering figure of an old man emerged from the lodge, and crouching beside a dying fire threw on a few sticks with shaking hands and drew his blanket more closely about his shrunken form.

In an instant a full meaning of the situation flashed into Donald's mind. The camp was deserted of all except the infirm and very aged. All the others—men, women, children, and even the very dogs—had gone to participate in the festivities of the up-river camps to which so many white prisoners had that day been taken. He shuddered to contemplate the nature of these festivities,—the tortures, the anguish, and the fearful tragedies that would furnish their entertainment; but he no longer hesitated to enter this deserted camp and appropriate such of its properties as suited his fancy.

From the very fire beside which the old man crouched and shivered, he took a blazing brand and using it to light his way entered the lodge from which the former had emerged. It seemed empty of everything save that in one corner, on a heap of dried grasses, there lay an old wrinkled hag, who stared at him with keen beady eyes, and then set up a shrill screaming that caused him to beat a hasty retreat.

He fared better in other lodges, some of which were empty of inmates, and some occupied by persons too aged or ill to harm him. These either cowered trembling before him, or spit at and reviled him with distorted features and gestures of impotent rage. It was an unpleasant task, this taking advantage of helplessness to walk off with other people's property; but under the circumstances it seemed to Donald right, and he was soon clad in the complete buckskin costume of a warrior, besides having accumulated a comfortable store of provisions. He was grievously disappointed at not discovering a rifle, nor indeed a firearm of any kind, and being obliged to put up with a hunting-knife as his sole weapon. Still, on the whole, he had so little cause for complaint that as he left the camp and made his way to the landing where he hoped to find a canoe he congratulated himself upon his good fortune.

It seemed to fail him, however, at the river-bank; for, search as he might, he could not find a canoe nor a craft of any kind. Now, he was indeed in a quandary. It would be worse than useless to return to the Indian camp, that might at any moment be repeopled. He dared not go up the river, for that way lay the hosts of Pontiac; nor could he cross it and make his way to the fort. There was obviously but one course to pursue, which was to keep on down stream until he had put a safe distance between himself and the Indian camp, and then to wait for daylight by which to resume his search for a canoe.

This he did, first wading for a long distance in the shallow water close to shore to conceal his trail, and then plodding sturdily ahead through the bewildering darkness of the forest for hours, until finally, overcome by exhaustion, he sank down at the foot of a great tree and almost instantly fell asleep.

When Donald next awoke, stiff and aching in every joint, the rising sun warned him that he must lose no time in placing a greater distance between himself and those who would soon be on his trail, if, indeed, the pursuit were not already begun. So he set off at a brisk pace, still keeping the general southerly direction on which he had determined until he should reach the lake. He had not walked more than two hours, and was staying his stomach with a handful of parched corn brought from the Indian camp, when, all at once, he found himself amid the remains of recent camp-fires on ground that was much trampled. It was the very scene of his capture by the Wyandots and of his narrow escape from death. Yes, there was the identical tree to which he had been bound. Turning, with a shudder, he hastened from the place of such horrid memories, and instinctively retraced his course of two nights before across the narrow neck of land that had proved fatal to so many of his countrymen, and on which the dear sister whom he now sought had last been seen.

Reaching the eastern side of the point, and skirting the shore for a short distance, he came upon another place of camping, which he instantly recognized as the spot where he had left Paymaster Bullen.

"Poor old Bullen!" he reflected half aloud. "I wonder what he thought of my deserting him the way I did; and I also wonder what became of him. I suppose he must be dead long before this, and 'Tummas,' too, poor fellow; for I didn't see anything of them among the prisoners yesterday. I never trusted those Senecas; but Wilkins was so cocksure of them that he wouldn't listen to a word against them. Wonder what he'll say now. I wouldn't be here at this moment, though, if it hadn't been for that fellow, 'Zebra,' as Bullen called him. Queer how things turn out in this funny old world! I only wish I knew just what that tattooing on my arm means, and what the Metai is, anyway. If I did, I might turn the knowledge to advantage. Hello! Something has been carried into those bushes,—the paymaster's tub for a guinea."

During his soliloquy the young woodsman's trained eye rested on a broken twig and a bit of bruised bark at the edge of a near-by thicket. Stepping to the place and parting the bushes, he uttered a cry of joy. There, bottom-side up, and imperfectly concealed, as though in great haste, lay the canoe in which he had so recently journeyed. Beneath it he found a rifle that had belonged to the paymaster, as well as most of his luggage, which included a good supply of ammunition, provisions, and cooking-utensils. In fact, nearly everything that the canoe had contained was there excepting its passengers and the redoubtable tub.

"The disappearance of that tub is the strangest thing of all," muttered Donald, as, exulting in this sudden wealth, he hastened to build a fire and make the cup of coffee for which he was longing. "What reason could the beggars have had for lugging it off? and why didn't I see something of it in the boats yesterday? Too bad about Bullen, though, for he was a good fellow in spite of his crotchets."

The daring plan that forced itself in Donald's mind the minute he saw that canoe was to cross Lake Erie in it to Sandusky. There he would certainly learn what had become of Cuyler and those who escaped with him. Perhaps he would even find Edith there.

He was off the moment he had finished the hearty breakfast that restored his strength, his confidence in himself and his belief that everything was about to turn out for the best, after all. Nor did his good fortune desert him, for the broad surface of the great lake was as peaceful as a mill-pond all that day; the light breeze that ruffled it was so directly in his favor that he was enabled to aid his paddle with a sail, and at sunset he was nearing the southern coast. Camping where he landed, he cooked, ate, and slept, starting again at break of day for Sandusky, full of hope and anticipations of a warm welcome in that stout little post.

The sun was barely an hour high when he reached his destination, only to find a mass of charred and desolate ruins, that told with a mute eloquence of the fate that had overtaken Sandusky.

CHAPTER XXII
AMID THE RUINS OF FORT SANDUSKY

To discover only ruin, desolation, and death, instead of the cheery greetings of friends and the longed-for intelligence of Edith's safety that he had so confidently expected to gain at Sandusky, was so bitter a disappointment as to be bewildering, and it was some time ere Donald could do aught save wander like one who is dazed, among the melancholy ruins. He recalled his pleasant reception by Ensign Paully, the commanding officer, only a month before, when he had stopped there on his way down the lake, the cheerful evening he had spent in the mess-room, and the hopeful conversation concerning the settlement soon to be made near the sturdy little post. Now all that remained were great heaps of ashes and half-burned logs, gaunt chimneys, and a score of bodies, stripped, mutilated, and decomposed beyond recognition. The presence of these, and the fact that all of them were scalped, showed the destruction of the post to be the work of savages and not the voluntary act of its garrison; otherwise Donald might have hoped that the place had been abandoned and a retreat made to some stronger position.

Not only was the story of the tragedy plainly to be read in the mute evidences abounding on all sides, but the young woodsman was able to determine from the drift of ashes, the indentations of raindrops, and other distinct signs, just how many days had elapsed since the king's flag last waved above Sandusky. He found traces showing that Cuyler with his fugitives had been there since the destruction of the place, and from his own feelings he could readily imagine what theirs must have been.

These things he learned as easily as from a printed page; but with all his art he could gain no inkling of the information he most desired. Were his sister and Madam Rothsay among those who had escaped with Cuyler? In vain did he scan the prints of moccasined and booted feet, that abounded among the ruins. None was dainty enough to be that of a lady.

While Donald was bending over some footprints beside a small field-piece that, dismounted and rusted, lay half buried in ashes, a sudden whir-r-r caused him to spring back as though he had received an electric shock. Only his quickness saved him from the living death held in the fangs of a rattlesnake that had evidently just crawled from the black muzzle of the gun. The snake instantly re-coiled to repeat its venomous stroke, and though Donald could easily have killed it as he had scores of its kind, the presence of this hideous and sole representative of life in that place of the dead so filled him with horror that he turned and fled to his canoe. Nor did he pause in his flight until he had covered many miles of water, and was compelled to do so by the faintness of hunger.

He had instinctively shaped his course to the eastward, and now reason decided him to continue it in that direction. It was the only one that Cuyler could have taken, and in searching for his sister the young ensign had no other clue to follow save that afforded by the fugitives.

Coasting the shore until he discovered the mouth of a small stream, Donald forced his canoe up this until it was effectually concealed from the lake. Then he made a fire of dry wood that would give forth little smoke, and cooked the noontide meal, that was for that day his breakfast as well. Before it was finished he had decided to remain in his present place of concealment until nightfall, in order to have the aid of darkness in avoiding such Indians as might be travelling up or down the coast. Having satisfied his hunger, and extinguished his modest fire, he stationed himself at the foot of a great oak on the shore, where he commanded a good view of the lake and was at the same time well hidden from it. Here he reflected upon all that had happened, wondered if Cuyler had reached Presque Isle, if so, whether Edith and Christie had met, and tried to imagine the meeting, until at length he fell asleep and dreamed that Presque Isle was destroyed and that he was searching for traces of Edith in its ashes.

When he awoke, the sound of voices was in his ears, and for a moment it seemed as though his waking was but a continuation of his dream. Within a stone's-throw of where he lay barely hidden by a slight screen of leaves, a fleet of canoes was moving to the eastward, the very direction he must take if he adhered to his original plan. He counted ten, twenty, thirty, and believed that some had already passed when he awoke. They were filled with warriors, all armed and decked with war-paint of vermilion and black. There were a few squaws; but no children, no dogs, and but slight camp equipage. It was evidently a war-party, and a strong one.

Donald lay motionless, hardly daring to breathe, and watched them out of sight. Were they in pursuit of Cuyler and his handful of fugitives? were they on their way to attack Christie in his little fort? or were they in search of him to avenge his looting of the Wyandot lodges? This last thought was dismissed as quickly as formed; for, of course, no party of that size would be in pursuit of an individual, no matter how important he was or what he had done. No; they must be bound for Presque Isle, with the hope of picking up Cuyler on the way.

As the youth was in the very act of rising to go to the beach for a parting glimpse of the fleet, a movement on the water warned him to sink back just in time to escape the keen glances of the occupants of a single canoe, that seemed to have been left behind and to be in haste to overtake the main body. Besides the four Indians who paddled it, this canoe held a fifth, seated luxuriously in an object so unusual and startling that Donald almost uttered an exclamation at sight of it. "It could not be!" Donald rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes, it was. There was no mistaking its shape or color.

"Bullen's tub, as I'm a sinner!" muttered the young man, under his breath. "If that doesn't beat everything! Where did they get it? What are they going to do with it? and what has become of its owner? Poor old chap! He can't possibly be alive, for he would have died rather than be parted from it. Now, though, I had better keep quiet for awhile and see what is coming next."

Although it lacked two hours of sunset, and Donald maintained his lonely watch until then, nothing more came in sight. He prepared another meal to strengthen him for a night of toil, and as soon as darkness had set in, made a start. Keeping so far out on the lake that the shore was but a dim line, he urged the canoe forward with his utmost strength through the solemn stillness of the long hours. He did not venture near shore until the eastern sky was paling with approaching dawn. Then, though he sought anxiously for some friendly stream in which to conceal his canoe, he failed to find one before the growing light warned him that it was no longer safe to remain on the water. He was thus forced to land on the open beach, and with great labor drag his craft up a steep bank to a hiding-place in the forest beyond. After that, with infinite pain, and moving backward as his work progressed, he carefully obliterated all traces of his landing by sweeping them with a bunch of twigs.

While certain that he must have passed the Indian fleet during the night, and that it would in turn pass him before the day was ended, he was compelled by utter weariness to sleep, which he did in a dense thicket at some distance from where he had hidden the canoe. When he awoke, it was so late in the day that he feared the savages had gone by, but after a while he again heard their voices, and peering from his covert again saw the entire fleet sweep past. This time he counted its occupants as well as he could, and discovered that the war-party numbered something over two hundred members. On this occasion the canoe containing the paymaster's tub was in the foremost rank, and there were no stragglers.

It was a great relief to the anxious watcher to catch this glimpse of the enemy and thus gain an approximate knowledge of their whereabouts, and after they had disappeared he felt at liberty to attend to his own wants by cooking a supply of provisions for future use.

For two more nights and days was this strange and perilous journey continued, until at daylight of the third day Donald felt that he must be within a few miles of Presque Isle. The most critical moment of his undertaking had now arrived. In spite of the rising sun he must push on, for he was determined to reach the fort if possible before the Indians, and warn Christie of their coming. At the same time he realized that, as they had been able to travel much faster than he in his big canoe, he could not be much if any past their camp of the night just ended. Nor did he dare keep far out in the lake, for fear lest they cut him off from the shore and so hold him at their mercy.

Wearied with his night's work, compelled to keep on, not daring to land, and expecting each moment to hear the exulting yell or crack of a rifle that should announce his discovery, Donald was thus obliged to paddle doggedly forward within a hundred yards of the shore. His suspense was well-nigh unbearable. Every nerve was strung to its utmost tension. In each new indentation of the coast he expected to see the waiting fleet of canoes, and with each fearful backward glance he wondered at not finding them in pursuit.

At length, as he rounded a point, he thought he saw far down the lake, against the blue of the sky and above the sombre forest, a flutter of red. At the same moment be glanced behind him to see if he were still free from pursuit. Alas! He was not. Two canoes, each urged by half a dozen gleaming paddles, were following as swiftly and silently as sharks that had scented blood, and they were not a quarter of a mile away. As their occupants noted that they were discovered they uttered yells of exultation that chilled the poor lad's blood in his veins and caused him to feel faint with a despairing terror.