CHAPTER XIX

THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS

What new danger threatened them now? As they drew ashore at a spot where the bushes parted to allow the rock to jut into the water, Jamie was about to inquire from the Indian youth what was the matter, and how he had managed to strike their trail again, at a moment when perhaps they most needed his presence, but a low "Hist!" which came from the dark figure upon the rock, silenced him. Evidently the lad had feared for their safety, and at great peril had come to save them, or at any rate to make them conscious of the approaching danger.

Silently, they landed on the margin of the forest, and crept ashore. The rustle of a leaf, the snapping of a twig might betray their presence to a lurking scout, though as yet they knew not what danger threatened.

"The Wacondah has made Swift Arrow his messenger, in order to save our scalps. Swift Arrow will now speak," whispered the hunter.

Then in a low, soft, musical voice, untouched by excitement at the nearness of danger, or emotion at seeing his friends again, the Indian pointed to the dark headland, scarce a hundred yards further along the lake, and said--

"Swift Arrow has kept watch for his friends. There is the Algonquin camp, and their scouts are close to us; watching both the lake and the forest. A singing-bird has spoken to them, and they think White Eagle is behind them. Before daybreak, they will enter the Seneca River, at the outlet of the lake, on their way back to the Canadas."

"But must we remain here till they are gone?" asked Jamie.

"No," smiled the youth. "Swift Arrow will now lead his paleface friends out of danger, and pilot them safely to the spot where the White Eagle awaits the Algonquins, at the portage by the Seneca Falls."

Saying this, he stepped into the canoe and took the paddle, motioning the others to lie down in the bottom of the craft, and then noiselessly pushed off from the bank. The Indian did not attempt to continue the former direction, but paddled cautiously back a little way, hugging the shore; then he struck directly across the lake, which is here about two miles broad, and having approached the opposite bank, he turned the head of the canoe once more towards the outlet of the lake, and paddled swiftly.

This manoeuvre succeeded perfectly, and they got away unobserved. Taking turns at the solitary paddle, they soon reached the outlet, and entered the swift stream which takes its name from the lake. Now they were piloted swiftly and safely past the rapids, aided only by the light of the stars, and the daring skill of the Indian.

Two hours before dawn, a dull roar fell upon their ears. It was the cataract, where the whole river tumbles in a frenzy of froth and foam down a chasm of fifty feet, forming the far-famed Seneca Falls.

The canoes were drawn to the bank at the portage, and as they stepped ashore, the dark, shadowy forms of several painted warriors emerged from the cover of the trees. They were the Iroquois scouts, who were keenly watching for the approach of the enemy. Then a powerful and haughty chief confronted them. It was the White Eagle himself, but the stern stoicism of his countenance relaxed for a moment as he greeted his two paleface friends.

"The paleface hunter is welcome to the camp of the Iroquois. Many moons have passed since White Eagle and his friend hunted the red deer, and struck the trail of the moose together," said the chief.

"The home of the Grey Badger is in the wigwams of the Iroquois, and when he has struck his Canada enemies, he will return to his seat at the council fire of the White Eagle," replied the hunter.

"Ugh! It is well! I feared that the Canada snakes had charmed away my friend, but then I remembered that the Grey Badger is too great a warrior to permit his scalp to hang upon the poles of their lodges."

"It was a mighty close shave this time, chief. I didn't expect to see my red friends again."

"Bah! The river is now netted for the Canada salmon. My braves will take 'plenty' scalp before another sunset. Come! My warriors will watch."

A couple of Indians took up the canoe and carried it to the other end of the portage, while several others eliminated from the soft bank the marks made by the bow of the boat and the prints of the moccasins. This precaution was adopted to prevent an alarm being given to the Algonquins, who were shortly expected. Then the party retired within the precincts of the forest, there to await the coming of the dawn.

Dawn came at last--towards the sun-rising a faint yellow streak lit up the horizon. Next, a saffron tint flushed the sky, and then the stars faded and disappeared, as the gates of the morning were unbarred, and a hundred streamers of flashing, roseate hues flooded the blue vault of heaven. Myriads of songsters awoke the stillness of the forest, for the day had come, and the dark curtain of night rolled westward.

Another two hours passed, and then the hawk-eyed vigilance of the watchers was rewarded by a first glimpse of the enemy. The dull, constant roar of the cataract in their ears prevented their hearing the sound of the approaching paddles, or the crunching of their birch-bark canoes upon the beach, but long ere this, the Iroquois scouts had reported the enemy in sight, and every one was ready for the approaching fight.

The portage was a short one, and the chief had spread his warriors over the whole length in order to prevent the escape of any of the Algonquins. A few scouts headed the party, then came the Indians carrying the five canoes, and after them, the two prisoners, their arms bound with thongs, walking between a couple of braves with tomahawks in their hands.

Every one now eagerly awaited the signal for the combat. The advance party had reached a point about half-way over the ground, when the shrill scream of an eagle rose in the air. At the same instant, the clatter of a dozen rifles, and the fierce war-cry of the thirty Iroquois, burst upon the ear. The very trees about the unfortunate Algonquins seemed to turn into frenzied warriors, who, brandishing their tomahawks, rushed upon their foe. The canoes were thrown to the ground, and in the confusion which followed, brave deeds were done. A fierce hand-to-hand fight ensued, but the Algonquins, mowed down by that first fire, and hopelessly outclassed, were driven nearer and nearer to that perilous brink, where leapt the mighty cataract into the foaming rapids and whirlpools below.

A few bold spirits, rather than leave their scalps in the hands of their enemies, leapt into the chasm beneath, and were never seen again. Except these, not a soul escaped the vengeance of the Iroquois.

The two braves in charge of the prisoners were the first to fall, for from their first landing they had been covered by the rifles of the hunter and Jamie. The latter then drew his hunting-knife from its sheath, and rushing forward, cut the thongs that bound the two prisoners, and quickly drew them out of the mêlée into a place of safety, and left the contest to the Iroquois, for he had no doubt whatever of what the result would be, and taking scalps was not exactly to his liking.

Meanwhile, the White Eagle wielded his tomahawk with all the strength and fury of an Iroquois chief. He fought his way to where Red Wolf was heading and encouraging his braves, and hewed him down. It was quickly over, and in less than a quarter of an hour the Iroquois were masters of the field.

"Thanks, Jamie! You have saved my life, and I can never repay you. I had given up all hope of escape. So rigidly were we watched that there was not the slightest opportunity for us to gain our freedom. We were to have been tortured and put to death at sunset, at soon as we had reached the shambles of Fort Oswego, for you know the French have taken the place, after a dreadful slaughter, and now claim to be masters of both shores of the lake. Still, all that is past now, and I am thankful to be with my friends once more. Jamie, old fellow, how can I thank you for all this?"

"You've had a narrow squeak, Jack, but you must thank the hunter here, and Swift Arrow, who I believe has not taken food since you were made a prisoner. Come!" and Jamie led his old comrade towards the others.

"Let me introduce you to the 'Great Paleface Hunter' who held your trail till the White Eagle could arrive with his braves."

"What! the Grey Badger, the friend of the chief?"

"The same. He is a mighty paleface, and I have learnt to love him already. He is the most renowned hunter in all the forests south of the lakes."

So, while the Indians harvested the spoils of the enemy, the three palefaces lit a fire, and cooked a breakfast from a large salmon, speared in the river below, satisfied the pangs of hunger at a spot a little apart from the braves, near by the lower end of the portage, and then talked for an hour about all the news that had filtered through the forest relative to the great conflict, which was already raging so fiercely on both banks of the St. Lawrence.

The youths listened with pent-up feelings, while the hunter told all he had heard from passing voyageurs and Indian runners of the disasters that had befallen the English arms of late. He described the disaster of Ticonderoga, the fall of Fort Oswego, and the partial success of Dieskau, but when he spoke of the capture of Fort William Henry and the frightful massacre which followed, the lads sprang to their feet, and declared in one breath--

"We will go and offer our services to General Wolfe, for our country needs us!"

The light of battle was in their eyes, the courage of manhood mounted to their brows, as they clasped each other's hand across the fire, and repeated their promise to join the English lines; then, turning to the trapper, who remained seated by the fire, smoking calmly and puffing the blue smoke from an Indian calumet, Jamie said--

"Say, hunter! Will you join us on yet another trail, where the game shall be, not redskins, but the recreants of Montcalm, and the reward, not Indian scalps, but the honour of the old flag, or--a soldier's grave?"

"Lads," he replied, "my country has not been over kind to me. I am an exile from my native land, and yet I have never committed a crime. My conscience is clear; but I, too, feel my country's call, and I know her need, and it shall never be said of me that I shirked the call of duty, when already so many exiles have left their bones to bleach in the forest, for the land that has denied to them a hearth and a home. I will go! Let us bid good-bye to the chief and his braves."

The parting scenes between the White Eagle and the hunter, the paleface youths and their Indian friends, was affecting in the extreme, when it became known that they were now about to part, and perhaps for ever. All the rich memories of their forest life were brought back to them, and to the palefaces especially the fidelity of their red brothers, their lofty characters, despite their many failings, their simple faith in the Great Spirit, the Wacondah of their race; their comradeship in hunting the red deer and the shaggy brown bear amid all the savage scenery of mountain and forest, and taking from the streams and lakes the salmon and the sturgeon, or descending wild rapids and torrents in their frail birch-bark canoes, with these children of the Manitou--all this they recalled, and forsook it with a pang of regret; but another voice was calling to them, and their beating hearts were but responding to the call of Duty.

At last, they stood by their canoe ready to depart, at the lower end of the portage, below the Falls; and the Indians were standing around them, sad and melancholy, for their grief had for once broken down their manly reserve, and the stoic mask, which had enabled some amongst them to endure torture without flinching, could not now keep back the moisture from many an eye.

Listen! the great chief, in prophetic strain, is speaking his last solemn words of farewell--

"The face of the Manitou is hid behind a cloud, and the hearts of his red children are sad. Nevermore will the Great Paleface Hunter, the friend of the White Eagle, hunt the deer in the hills of the Iroquois. Nevermore will he sit at the council fire of my people, and smoke the calumet, while his red brothers listen to the wisdom that falls from his lips like the dew from heaven. Nevermore will he speak to us of the sacred writings that the Wacondah has given to the children of the Sun-rising!

"When his canoe has sailed into the regions of the East-wind, then shall my people be scattered like the leaves in autumn, and the few that remain, to fish the streams and hunt the moose and the elk, will be but as blasted pines, where the fires of the forest have raged."

"Nay, chief! The sun will shine again, and I shall return if the Manitou wills it," urged the hunter, as he flicked the water impatiently with his paddle.

"The Wacondah has said it! My paleface brother shall nevermore look upon the face of the White Eagle."

"Then I shall look for my red friend in the happy hunting-grounds of the Manitou. Good-bye!"

The next moment the canoe shot into the stream, and began to descend rapidly towards the great lake. A last long look was cast behind, a last adieu waved to their friends, who stood watching till they passed from view, then the low murmur of the Falls ceased as they sped on their way.

Soon, they passed the ruins of Fort Oswego, and entered Lake Ontario. Then they stretched across the lake to the Thousand Islands, and entered the St. Lawrence and stole quietly past the French post at Fort Frontenac. Then for hundreds of miles they were carried by the swift current of the Canada River, down past Mont Royale, and the mouth of the Ottawa River, past Trois Rivières, until one day they heard the sounds of heavy firing, as though a battle were in progress.

'Twas early in September 1759, and the guns of Quebec were firing at the English ships and batteaux, as they passed the citadel, to gain the upper reaches of the river. As they passed the next bend in the river, they saw the French warships which had retreated up the stream, away from those terrible English. They also perceived on the heights to the left, in the vicinity of Cape Rouge, the sentries of Bougainville's detachment, and here they ran a narrow escape of capture, being taken by the French for spies.

Before sunset on the eleventh of September, they espied with great joy, on the southern bank, the white tents and the red coats of Wolfe's army.