The Shadow of the North Part 9

"You're correct in a.s.suming that my name is Wilton," said the young lieutenant. "I'm William Wilton, of Philadelphia, and I beg to present my second in command, Hugh Carson, of the same city."

He looked questioningly at Robert, who promptly responded:

"My name is Lennox, Robert Lennox, and I can claim either Albany or New York as a home."

"I think I've heard of you," said Wilton. "A rumor came to Philadelphia about a man of that name going to Quebec on an errand for the governor of New York."

"I was the messenger," said Robert, "but since the mission was a failure it may as well be forgotten."

"But it will not be forgotten. I've heard that you bore yourself with great judgment and address. Nevertheless, if your modesty forbids the subject we'll come back to another more pressing. What did you mean when you said Captain Colden's delay was due to the solution of a vexing problem?"

"It had to do with Indians, who you say are not to be found in these forests. I could not help overhearing you, as I approached your camp."

Wilton reddened and then his generous impulse and sense of truth came to his aid.

"I'll admit that I'm careless and that my knowledge may be small!" he exclaimed. "But tell me the facts, Mr. Lennox. I judge by your face that events of grave importance have occurred."

"Captain Colden, far east of this point, was attacked by a strong force of French and Indians under the renowned partisan leader, St. Luc. Tayoga, David Willet, the hunter, the famous ranger Black Rifle and I were able to warn him and give him some help, but even then we should have been overborne and destroyed had not a Mohawk chief, Daganoweda, and a formidable band come to our aid. United, we defeated St. Luc and drove him northward. Captain Colden lost several of his men, but with the rest he is now marching to the junction with you."

Wilton's face turned gray, but in a moment or two his eyes brightened.

"Then a special Providence has been watching over us," he said. "We haven't seen or heard of an Indian."

His tone was one of mingled relief and humor, and Robert could not keep from laughing.

"At all events," he said, "you are safe for the present. I'll remain with you while Tayoga goes back for Captain Colden."

"If you'll be so good," said Wilton, who did not forget his manners, despite the circ.u.mstances. "I've begun to feel that we have more eyes, or at least better ones, with you among us. Where is that Indian? You don't mean to say he's gone?"

Robert laughed again. Tayoga, after his fas.h.i.+on, had vanished in silence.

"He's well on his way to Captain Colden now," he said, exaggerating a little for the sake of effect. "He'll be a great chief some day, and meanwhile he's the fastest runner in the whole Six Nations."

Colden and his troop arrived soon, and the two little commands were united, to the great joy of all. Lieutenant Wilton had pa.s.sed from the extreme of confidence to the utmost distrust. Where it had not been possible for an Indian to exist he now saw a scalplock in every bush.

"On my honor," he said to Colden, "James, I was never before in my life so happy to see you. I'm glad you have the entire command now. As Mr. Lennox said, Providence saved me so far, but perhaps it wouldn't lend a helping hand any longer."

The pack horses carried surgical supplies for the wounded, and Willet and Black Rifle were skillful in using them. All of the hurt, they were sure would be well again within a week, and there was little to mar the general feeling of high spirits that prevailed in the camp. Wilton and Carson were lads of mettle, full of talk of Philadelphia, then the greatest city in the British Colonies, and related to most of its leading families, as was Colden too, his family being a branch of the New York family of that name. Robert was at home with them at once, and they were eager to hear from him about Quebec and the latest fas.h.i.+ons of the French, already the arbiters of fas.h.i.+on, and recognized as such, despite the war between them, by English and Americans.

"I had hoped to go to Quebec myself," said Wilton reflectively, "but I suppose it's a visit that's delayed for a long time now."

"How does it happen that you, a Quaker, are second in command here?"

asked Robert.

"It must be the belligerency repressed through three or four generations and breaking out at last in me," replied Wilton, his eyes twinkling. "I suppose there's just so much fighting in every family, and if three or four generations in succession are peaceful the next that follows is likely to be full of warlike fury. So, as soon as the war began I started for it. It's not inherent in me. As I said, it's the confined ardor of generations bursting forth suddenly in my person. I'm not an active agent. I'm merely an instrument."

"It was the same warlike fury that caused you to come here, build your fire and set no watch, expecting the woods to be as peaceful as Philadelphia?" said Colden.

Wilton colored.

"I didn't dream the French and Indians were so near," he replied apologetically.

"If comparisons are valuable you needn't feel any mortification about it, Will," said Colden. "I was just about as careless myself, and all of us would have lost our scalps, if Willet, Lennox and Tayoga hadn't come along."

Wilton was consoled. But both he and Colden after the severe lesson the latter had received were now all for vigilance. Many sentinels had been posted, and since Colden was glad to follow the advice of Willet and Tayoga they were put in the best places. They let the fire die early, as the weather had now become very warm, and all of them, save the watch soon slept. The night brought little coolness with it, and the wind that blew was warm and drying. Under its touch the leaves began to crinkle up at the edge and turn brown, the gra.s.s showed signs of withering and Willet, who had taken charge of the guard that night, noticed that summer was pa.s.sing into the brown leaf. It caused him a pang of disappointment.

Great Britain and the Colonies had not yet begun to move. The Provincial legislatures still wrangled, and the government at London was provokingly slow. There was still no plan of campaign, the great resources of the Anglo-Saxons had not yet been brought together for use against the quick and daring French, and while their slow, patient courage might win in the end, Willet foresaw a long and terrible war with many disasters at the beginning.

He was depressed for the moment. He knew what an impression the early French successes would make on the Indian tribes, and he knew, too, as he heard the wind rustling through the dry leaves, that there would be no English campaign that year. One might lead an army in winter on the good roads and through the open fields of Europe, but then only borderers could make way through the vast North American wilderness in the deep snows and bitter cold, where Indian trails alone existed. The hunter foresaw a long delay before the British and Colonial forces moved, and meanwhile the French and Indians would be more strongly planted in the territory claimed by the rival nations, and, while in law possession was often nine points, it seemed in war to be ten points and all.

As he walked back and forth Black Rifle touched him on the arm.

"I'm going, Dave," he said. "They don't need me here any longer. Daganoweda and his Mohawks, likely enough, will follow the French and Indians, and have another brush with 'em. At any rate, it's sure that St. Luc and Tandakora won't come back, and these young men can go on without being attacked again and build their fort. But they'll be threatened there later on, and I'll come again with a warning."

"I know you will," said Willet. "Wherever danger appears on the border, Black Rifle, there you are. I see great and terrible days ahead for us all."

"And so do I," said Black Rifle. "This continent is on fire."

The two shook hands, and the somber figure of Black Rifle disappeared in the forest. Willet looked after him thoughtfully, and then resumed his pacing to and fro.

They made an early start at dawn of a bright hot day, crossed the ford, and resumed their long march through the forest which under the light wind now rustled continually with the increasing dryness.

But the company was joyous. The wounded were put upon the pack horses, and the others, young, strong and refreshed by abundant rest, went forward with springing steps. Robert and Tayoga walked with the three Philadelphians. Colden already knew the quality of the Onondaga, and respected and admired him, and Wilton and Carson, surprised at first at his excellent English education, soon saw that he was no ordinary youth. The five, each a type of his own, were fast friends before the day's march was over. Wilton, the Quaker, was the greatest talker of them all, which he declared was due to suppression in childhood.

"It's something like the battle fever which will come out along about the fourth or fifth generation," he said. "I suppose there's a certain amount of talk that every man must do in his lifetime, and, having been kept in a state of silence by my parents all through my youth, I'm now letting myself loose in the woods."

"Don't apologize, Will," said Colden. "Your chatter is harmless, and it lightens the spirits of us all."

"The talker has his uses," said Tayoga gravely. "My friend Lennox, known to the Hodenosaunee as Dagaeoga, is golden-mouthed. The gift of great speech descends upon him when time and place are fitting."

"And so you're an orator, are you?" said Carson, looking at Robert.

Young Lennox blushed.

"Tayoga is my very good friend," he replied, "and he gives me praise I don't deserve."

"When one has a gift direct from Manitou," said the Onondaga, gravely, "it is not well to deny it. It is a sign of great favor, and you must not show ingrat.i.tude, Dagaeoga."

"He has you, Lennox," laughed Wilton, "but you needn't say more. I know that Tayoga is right, and I'm waiting to hear you talk in a crisis."

Robert blushed once more, but was silent. He knew that if he protested again the young Philadelphians would chaff him without mercy, and he knew at heart also that Tayoga's statement about him was true. He remembered with pride his defeat of St. Luc in the great test of words in the vale of Onondaga. But Wilton's mind quickly turned to another subject. He seemed to exemplify the truth of his own declaration that all the impulses bottled up in four or five generations of Quaker ancestors were at last bursting out in him. He talked more than all the others combined, and he rejoiced in the freedom of the wilderness.

"I'm a spirit released," he said. "That's why I chatter so."

"Perhaps it's just as well, Will, that while you have the chance you should chatter to your heart's content, because at any time an Indian arrow may cut short your chance for chattering," said Carson.

"I can't believe it, Hugh," said Wilton, "because if Providence was willing to preserve us, when we camped squarely among the Indians, put out no guards, and fairly asked them to come and shoot at us, then it was for a purpose and we'll be preserved through greater and continuous dangers."

"There may be something in it, Will. I notice that those who deserve it least are often the chosen favorites of fortune."