Jim Hart sat down in the boat, drew
his legs up under his blanket, shivered as he took
a long look down the channel at the cold gray lake,
and said:
“Boys, you know how I wanted
to see one of the great lakes; well, I hev saw, an’
hevin’ saw I think the look will last me a long
time. I think Injuns wuz right when they put
pow’ful spirits on these lakes, ready to make
an end of anybody that come foolin’ with thar
region. The land fur me hereafter. Why,
I wuz so skeered an’ I had to work so hard I
didn’t hev time to git seasick.”
“But we have to go on the lake
again, Jim,” said Henry. “This is
an island.”
Jim sighed.
Henry looked at the dense forest that
enclosed the cove, and he thought once of exploring
the islet even if it were in the night, but the woods
were so thick and they still dripped so heavily with
the rain, although the latter had ceased some time
ago, that he resolved to remain by the boat.
Besides it was only an islet anyway, and there was
no probability that it was inhabited.
“I think,” he said, “that
we’d better fasten our clothes so tightly that
they won’t blow away, and sleep in the boat.
Two will keep watch, and as I have had the most rest
I’ll be sentinel until about one in the morning,
and then Tom can take my place.”
The agreement was quickly made.
They took down the sail and the wet blankets, spread
them out to dry, while the four, disposing themselves
as best they could, quickly went to sleep. Henry
sat in the prow, rifle across his knees, and thought
that, despite dangers passed and dangers to come,
Providence had been very kind to them.
The darkness thinned by and by and
a fine moon came out. Beads of water still stood
upon the leaves and boughs, and the moonshine turned
them to silver. The bit of forest seemed to sparkle
and in the blue heavens the great stars sprang out
in clusters. The contrast between the night and
the day was startling. Now everything seemed to
breathe of peace, and of peace only. A light
wind rose and then the silver beads disappeared from
leaf and bough. But it was a friendly wind and
it sang most pleasantly among the trees. Under
its influence the garments of the five would dry fast,
and as Henry looked at them and then down at his comrades,
wrapped in their “togas” he felt
an inclination to laugh. But this desire to laugh
was only proof of his mental relaxation, of the ease
and confidence that he felt after great dangers passed.
Certainly his comrades were sleeping
well. Not one of them moved, and he saw the blankets
across their chests rising and falling with regularity.
Once he stepped out of the boat and walked down to
the entrance of the channel, whence he looked out
upon the surface of the lake. Save for the islet
he saw land nowhere, north, south, east or west.
The great lake stretched away before them apparently
as vast as the sea, not gray now, but running away
in little liquid waves of silver in the moonlight.
Henry felt its majesty as he had already felt its might.
He had never before appreciated so keenly the power
of nature and the elements. Chance alone had
put in their way this little island that had saved
their lives.
He walked slowly back and resumed
his place in the boat. That fine drying wind
was still singing among the trees, making the leaves
rustle softly together and filling Henry’s mind
with good thoughts. But these gave way after
a while to feelings of suspicion. His was an exceedingly
sensitive temperament. It often seemed to the
others and the wilderness begets such beliefs that
he received warnings through the air itself.
He could not tell why his nerves were affected in this
manner, but he resolved that he would not relax his
vigilance a particle, and when the time came for him
to awaken Tom Ross he decided to continue on guard
with him.
“‘Tain’t wuth while,
Henry,” remonstrated Ross. “Nothin’s
goin’ to happen here on an islan’ that
ain’t got no people but ourselves on it.”
“Tom,” replied Henry,
“I’ve got a feeling that I’d like
to explore this island.”
“Mornin’ will be time enough.”
“No, I think I’ll do it
now. I ought to go all over it in an hour.
Don’t take me for an Indian when I’m coming
back and shoot at me.”
“I’d never mistake a Roman
senator in his togy for an Injun,” replied Tom
Ross grinning.
Henry looked at his clothes, but despite
the drying wind they were still wet.
“I’ll have to go as a Roman after all,”
he said.
He fastened the blanket tightly about
his body in the Indian fashion, secured his belt with
pistol, tomahawk and knife around his waist, and then,
rifle in hand, he stepped from the boat into the forest.
“Watch good, Tom,” he said. “I
may be gone some time.”
“You’ll find nothin’.”
“Maybe so; maybe not.”
The woods through which Henry now
passed were yet wet, and every time he touched a bough
or a sapling showers of little drops fell upon him.
The patch of forest was dense and the trees large.
The trees also grew straight upward, and Henry concluded
at once that he would find a little distance ahead
a ridge that sheltered this portion of the island
from the cruel north and northwest winds.
His belief was verified as the rise
began within three hundred yards. It ascended
rather abruptly, having a total height of seventy or
eighty feet, and seeming to cross the island from
east to west. Standing under the shadow of a
great oak Henry looked down upon the northern half
of the island, which was quite different in its characteristics
from the southern half. A portion of it was covered
with dwarfed vegetation, but the rest was bare rock
and sand. There were two or three inlets or landing
places on the low shore. As the moonlight was
now good, Henry saw all over this portion of the island,
but he could not detect any sign of human habitation.
“I suppose Tom is right,”
he said to himself, “and that there is nothing
to be seen.”
But he had no idea of going back without
exploring thoroughly, and he descended the slope toward
the north. The way led for a little distance
among the shrub bushes from which the raindrops still
fell upon him as he passed, and then he came into
an open space almost circular in shape and perhaps
thirty yards in diameter. Almost in the center
of the rock a spring spouted and flowed away through
a narrow channel to the lake. On the far side
of the spring rose four upright stakes in a row about
six feet apart. Henry wondered what they meant
and he approached cautiously, knowing that they had
been put there by human hands.
Some drifting clouds now passed and
the moonlight shone with a sudden burst of splendor.
Henry was close to the stakes and suddenly he shuddered
in every vein. They were about as high as a man’s
head, firmly fastened in the ground, and all of them
were blackened and charred somewhat by fire, although
their strength was not impaired. At the base
of every one lay hideous relics. Henry shivered
again. He knew. Here Indians brought their
captives and burned them to death, partly for the
sake of their own vengeance and partly to propitiate
the mighty spirits that had their abode in the depths
of the great lakes. He was sure that his comrades
and he had landed upon a sacrificial island, and he
resolved that they should depart at the very first
light in the morning.
This island which had seemed so fine
and beautiful to him suddenly became ghastly and repellent,
but his second thought told him that they had nothing
to fear at present. It was not inhabited.
The warriors merely came here for the burnings, and
then it was quite likely that they departed at once.
Henry examined further. On the
bushes beyond the stakes he found amulets and charms
of bone or wood, evidently hung there to ward off evil
spirits, and among these bushes he saw more bones of
victims. Then he noticed two paths leading away
from the place, each to a small inlet, where the boats
landed. Calculating by the moon and stars he could
now obtain a general idea of the direction in which
they had come and he was sure that the nearest part
of the mainland lay to the west. He saw a dark
line there, and he could not tell whether it was the
shore or a low bank of mist.
Then he made a diligent exploration
of all this part of the island, assuring himself further
that it had never been occupied permanently. He
saw at one place the ruins of a temporary brush shelter,
used probably during a period of storm like that of
the night before, and on the beach he found the shattered
remains of a large canoe. Henry looked down at
the broken canoe thoughtfully. It may have been
wrecked while on its way with a victim for the stake,
and if the warriors had perished it might have been
due to the wrath of the Great Spirit.
He walked slowly back over the ridge
through the forest and down to the boat. Tom
saw him coming but said nothing until he stepped into
the boat beside him.
“You stayed a long time,”
he said, “but I see you’ve brought nothing
back with you.”
“It’s true that I’ve
brought nothing with me, but I’ve found a lot.”
“What did you find, Henry?”
“I found many bones, the bones of human beings.”
“Men’s bones?”
“Yes. I’m sure that
it is an island to which Indiana come to burn their
prisoners, and although none are here now I’ve
looked it all over I don’t like it.
There’s something uncanny about it.”
“An’ yet it’s a
pretty little islan’, too,” said Tom Ross,
thoughtfully, “an’ mighty glad we wuz
to see it yes’day, when we wuz druv before that
howlin’ an’ roarin’ storm, with but
one chance in a hundred uv livin’.”
“That’s so,” said
Henry. “We owe the island a debt of gratitude
if others don’t. I’ve no doubt that
if it were not for this little piece of land we should
have been drowned. Still, the sooner we get away
the better. How have the others been getting
on, Tom?”
“Sleepin’ ez reg’lar
an’ steady ez clocks. It’s wuth while
to see fellers snoozin’ away so happy.”
Henry smiled. The three, as they
lay in the boat, breathing deeply and unconscious
of everything, were certainly a picture of rest.
“How long do you calculate it
is to daylight?” asked Henry.
“Not more’n two hours,
an’ it’s goin’ to come bright an’
clear, an’ with a steady wind that will take
us to the south.”
“That’s good, and I think
that you and I, Tom, ought to be getting ready.
This drying wind has been blowing for a long time,
and our clothes should be in condition again.
Anyway I’m going to see.”
He took down the garments from the
bushes, and found that all were quite dry. Then
he and Tom reclothed themselves and laid the apparel
for the other three by their sides, ready for them
when they should awake. Tom puckered up his lips
and blew out a deep breath of pleasure.
“It may be mighty fine to be
a Roman senator in a togy,” he said, “but
not in these parts. Give me my good old huntin’
shirt an’ leggings. Besides, I feel a sight
more respectable.”
Shortly, it was dawn, and the three
sleepers awoke, glad to have their clothes dry again,
and interested greatly in Henry’s exploration
of the island.
“Jim, you do a little more cooking,”
said Henry, “and Sol, Tom and I will go over
to the other end of the island again. When we
come back we’ll hoist our sail, have breakfast,
and be off.”
They followed the path that Henry
had taken during the night, leaving Paul and Jim busy
with the cooking utensils. The little patch of
forest was now entirely dry, and a great sun was rising
from the eastern waters, tingeing the deep green of
the trees with luminous gold. The lake was once
more as smooth and peaceful as if no storm had ever
passed over its surface.
They stopped at the crest of the transverse
ridge and saw in the west the dark line, the nature
of which Henry had been unable to decipher by moonlight.
Now they saw that it was land, and they saw, too, another
sight that startled them. Two large canoes were
approaching the island swiftly, and they were already
so near that Henry and Shif’less Sol could see
the features of their occupants. Neither of the
boats had a sail. Both were propelled wholly
by paddlers six paddlers to each canoe stalwart,
painted Indians, bare of shoulders and chest.
But in the center of the first canoe sat a man with
arms bound.
“It’s a victim whom they
are bringing for the stake and the sacrifice,”
said Henry.
“He must be from some tribe
in the far North,” said Shif’less Sol,
“’cause all the Indian nations in the valley
are allied.”
“He is not from any tribe at
all,” said Henry. “The prisoner is
a white man.”
“A white man!” exclaimed
Shif’less Sol, “an’ you an’
me, Henry, know that most o’ the prisoners who
are brought to these parts are captured in Kentucky.”
“It’s so, and I don’t
think we ought to go away in such a hurry.”
“Meanin’ we might be o’ help?”
“Meaning we might be of help.”
Henry watched the boats a minute or
two longer, and saw that they were coming directly
for one of the little inlets on the north end of the
island. Moreover, they were coming fast under
the long sweep of the paddles swung by brown and sinewy
arms.
“Tom,” he said to Ross,
“you go back for Paul. Tell Jim to have
the sail up and ready for us when we come, and meanwhile
to guard the boat. That’s a white man and
they intend to burn him as a sacrifice to Manitou
or the spirits of the lake. We’ve got to
rescue him.”
The others nodded assent and Tom hurried
away after Paul, while Henry and Sol continued to
watch the oncoming boats. They crept down the
slope to the very fringe of the trees and lay close
there, although they had little fear of discovery,
unless it was caused by their own lack of caution.
The boats reached the inlet, and,
for a few moments, they were hidden from the two watchers,
by the bushes and rocks, but they heard the Indians
talking, and Henry was confirmed in his opinion that
they did not dream of any presence besides their own
on the island. At length they emerged into view
again, the prisoner walking between two warriors in
front, and Henry gave a start of horror.
“Sol,” he said in a whisper,
“don’t you recognize that gray head?”
“I think I do.”
“Don’t you know that tall, slender figure?”
“I’m shore I do.”
“Sol, that can be nobody but
Mr. Silas Pennypacker, to whom Paul and I went to
school in Kentucky.”
“It’s the teacher, ez shore ez you’re
born.”
Henry’s thrill of horror came
again. Mr. Pennypacker lived at Wareville, the
home of his own family and Paul’s. What
had happened? There was the expedition of the
harelipped Bird with his powerful force and with cannon!
Could it be possible that he had swept Wareville away
and that the teacher had been given to the Indians
for sacrifice? A terrible anger seized him and
Shif’less Sol, by his side, was swayed by the
same emotion.
“It is he, Sol! It is he!” he whispered
in intense excitement.
“Yes, Henry,” replied the shiftless one,
“it’s the teacher.”
“Do you think his presence here
means Wareville has been destroyed by Bird?”
“I’m hopin’ that it doesn’t,
Henry.”
Shif’less Sol spoke steadily,
but Henry could read the fear in his mind, and the
reply made his own fears all the stronger.
“They are going to sacrifice that good old man,
Sol,” he said.
“They mean to do it, but people
sometimes mean to do things that they don’t
do.”
They remained in silence until Tom
returned with Paul, who was excited greatly when he
learned that Mr. Pennypacker was there a prisoner.
“Lie perfectly still, all of
you, until the time comes,” said Henry.
“We’ve got to save him, and we can only
do it by means of a surprise and a rush.”
The Indians and their prisoner were
now not more than a hundred yards away, having come
into the center of the open circle used for the sacrifice,
and they stood there a little while talking. Mr.
Pennypacker’s arms were bound, but he held himself
erect. His face was turned toward the South,
his home, and it seemed to Henry and Paul although
it was fancy, the distance being too great to see that
his expression was rapt and noble as if he already
saw beyond this life into the future. They loved
and respected him. Paul had been his favorite
pupil, and now tears came into the eyes of the boy
as he watched. The old man certainly had seen
the stakes, and doubtless he had surmised their purpose.
“What’s your plan, Henry?” whispered
Shif’less Sol.
“I think they’re going
to eat. Probably they’ve been rowing all
the morning and are tired and hungry. They mean
after that to go ahead with their main purpose, but
we’ll take ’em while they’re eating.
I hate to fire on anybody from ambush, but it’s
got to be done. There’s no other way.
We’ll all lie close together here, and when the
time comes to fire, I’ll give the word.”
The Indians sat on the ground after
their fashion and began to eat cold food. Apparently
they paid little attention to their prisoner, who stood
near, and to whom they offered nothing. Why should
he eat? He would never be hungry again.
Nor need they watch him closely now. They had
left a man with each of the boats, and even if he should
run he could not escape them on the island.
Henry and Paul saw Mr. Pennypacker
walk forward a few steps and look intently at the
posts. Then he bowed his gray head and stood quite
still. Both believed that he was praying.
Water again rose in Paul’s eyes and Henry’s
too were damp.
“Boys,” whispered Henry,
“I think the time has come. Take aim.
We’ll pick the four on the left, Sol the first
on the end, the second for me, Tom the third and Paul
the fourth. Now, boys, cock your rifles, and take
aim, the best aim that you ever took in your life,
and when I say ‘Fire!’ pull the trigger.”
Every man from the covert did as he
was directed. When Henry looked down the sights
and picked out the right place on the broad chest of
a warrior, he shuddered a little. He repeated
to himself that he did not like it, this firing from
ambush, but there was the old man, whom they loved,
doomed to torture and the sacrifice. His heart
hardened like flint and he cried “Fire!”
Four rifles flashed in the thicket.
Two warriors fell without a sound. Two more leaped
away, wounded, and all the others sprang to their feet
with cries of surprise and alarm.
“Up and at ’em!”
cried Henry in a tremendous voice. “Cut
them to pieces!”
Drawing their pistols they rushed
into the open space and charged upon the warriors,
firing as they came.
The Indians were Wyandots, men who
knew little of fear, but the surprise and the deadly
nature of the attack was too much for them. Perhaps
superstition also mingled with their emotions.
Doubtless the spirits of the lake were angry with
them for some cause, and the best thing they could
do was to leave it as soon as they could. But
one as he ran did not forget to poise his hatchet
for a cast at the prisoner. The Reverend Silas
Pennypacker would have seen his last sun that day had
not Henry noticed the movement and quickly fired his
pistol at the uplifted hand. The bullet pierced
the Indian’s palm, the tomahawk was dashed from
his hand, and with a howl of pain he sped after the
others who were flying for the boats.
Henry and his comrades did not pursue.
They knew that they must act with all speed, as the
Wyandots would quickly recover from their panic, and
come back in a force that was still two to one.
A single sweep of his knife and his old schoolmaster’s
arms were free. Then he shouted in the dazed
man’s ears:
“Come, Mr. Pennypacker, we must
run for it! Don’t you see who we are?
Here’s Paul Cotter, and I’m Henry Ware,
and these are Sol Hyde and Tom Ross! We’ve
got a boat on the other side of the island and the
sooner we get there the better!”
He snatched up a rifle, powder horn
and bullet pouch from one of the fallen warriors and
thrust them in the old man’s hands. Mr.
Pennypacker was still staring at them in a dazed manner,
but at last the light broke through.
“Oh, my boys! my brave boys!”
he cried. “It is really you, and you have
saved me at the eleventh hour! I had given up
all hope, but lo! the miracle is done!”
Henry took him by the arm, and obeying
the impulse he ran with them through the wood.
Already Henry heard shouts which indicated to him that
the Wyandots had turned, and, despite his anxiety about
Wareville, he asked nothing of Mr. Pennypacker for
the present.
“You lead the way, Paul,”
he cried. “Jim, of course, has the boat
ready with the sail up and the oars in place.
We’ll be out on the lake in a few minutes, Mr.
Pennypacker. There, do you hear that? The
Wyandots are now in full pursuit!”
A long piercing cry came from the
woods behind them. It was the Wyandot leader
encouraging his warriors. Henry knew that they
would come fast, and Mr. Pennypacker, old and not
used to the ways of the wilderness, could go but slowly.
Although Long Jim was sure to be ready, the embarkation
would be dangerous. It was evident that Mr. Pennypacker,
extremely gaunt and thin, was exhausted already by
a long march and other hardships. Now he labored
heavily, drawing long breaths.
“Those fellows will be on us
in a minute or two, Sol,” Henry whispered to
the shiftless one, “unless we burn their faces.”
“I reckon we’re able to
do the burnin’,” replied Shif’less
Sol.
Henry, Tom and Sol dropped to a walk,
and in a few moments stopped altogether. Paul,
with Mr. Pennypacker by his side, kept on for the boat
as fast as the old man’s strength would allow.
Henry caught a glimpse of a figure running low in
the thicket and fired. A cry came back, but he
could not tell whether the wound was mortal. Shif’less
Sol fired with a similar result. Two or three
bullets were sent back at them, but none touched.
Then the three, keeping themselves hidden resumed their
flight. They reckoned that the check to the Wyandots
would give Paul, with Mr. Pennypacker, time to reach
the boat before the warriors could come within range
of the latter.
The three now ran very swiftly, and,
in a few minutes, were at the edge of the inlet, where
the boat lay, just in time to see Paul pick up the
old schoolmaster, who had fallen with exhaustion, and
lift him into the boat. The three sprang in after
them.
“We’ll watch with the
rifles, Sol,” exclaimed Henry. “The
rest of you row until we’re outside, when the
sail can do most of the pulling.”
It was quick work now and skillful.
Mr. Pennypacker, scarcely able to draw a breath, lay
like a log in the bottom of the boat, but in less
than a half minute after the three leaped on board
they were gliding down the inlet. Before they
reached the open lake the Indians appeared among the
trees and began to shout and fire. But they were
in such haste that nothing was struck except the boat,
which did not mind. Silent Tom, who had restrained
his fire, now sent a bullet that struck the mark and
the warriors rushed to cover. Then they were out
of the inlet, the fine wind filled the sail, and away
they sped toward the south.
The warriors appeared at the edge
of the water while the boat’s crew were still
within range, but when Henry and the shiftless one
raised their rifles they shrank back. They had
tested already the quality of their foes, and they
did not like it. When they reappeared from the
shelter of the trees the boat was out of range.
Nevertheless they fired two or three shots that spattered
on the water, waved their tomahawks and shouted in
anger. Shif’less Sol stood up in the boat
and shouted back at them:
“Keep cool, my red brethren,
keep cool! We have escaped and you see that we
have! So do not waste good bullets which you may
need another time! And above all keep your tempers!
Wise men always do! Farewell!”
It is not likely that they understood
the words of the shiftless one, but certainly the
derisive gestures that he made as he sat down were
not lost upon them.
“Sol, can’t you ever be
serious?” said Henry to his comrade.
“Be serious? O’ course
I kin at the right time,” replied the shiftless
one, “but what’s the use o’ bein’
serious now? Haven’t we rescued ourselves
an’ the schoolmaster, too? Ain’t we
in a boat with a sail that kin leave the two boats
o’ them warriors far behind, an’ ain’t
we got a bee-yu-ti-ful day to sail over a bee-yu-ti-ful
lake? So what’s the use o’ bein’
serious? The time fur that wuz ten minutes ago.”
It was evident that the Wyandots considered
pursuit useless or that they feared the Kentucky rifles,
as they gathered in a group on the beach and watched
the flying boat recede.
“Didn’t I tell you it
wuzn’t wuth while to be serious now, Henry?”
said Shif’less Sol. “We’re
hevin’ the easiest kind o’ a time an’
them warriors standin’ thar on the shore look
too funny for anything. I wish I could see their
faces. I know they would look jest like the faces
o’ wolves, when somethin’ good had slipped
from between their teeth.”
Paul and Henry were busy reviving
Mr. Pennypacker. They threw fresh water from
the lake over his face and poured more down his throat.
As they worked with him they noted his emaciated figure.
He was only a skeleton, and his fainting even in so
short a flight was no cause for wonder. Gradually
he revived, coughed and sat up.
“I fell,” he said.
“It was because I was so weak. What has
happened? Are we not moving?”
His eyes were yet dim, and he was
not more than half conscious.
“You are with us, your friends.
You remember?” said Henry. “We rescued
you at the place of the stakes, and we all got away
unhurt. We are in a boat now sailing over Lake
Erie.”
“And I saved you a rifle and
ammunition,” said Paul. “Here they
are, ready for you when you land.”
Mr. Pennypacker’s dim eyes cleared,
and he gazed at the two youths in wonder and affection.
“It is a miracle a
miracle!” he said. Then he added, after
a moment’s pause: “To escape thus
after all the terrible things that I have seen!”
Henry shivered a little, and then
he asked the fateful questions.
“And what of Wareville, Mr.
Pennypacker? Has it been destroyed? Do Paul’s
people and mine still live? Have they been taken
away as captives? Why were you a prisoner?”
The questions came fast, then they
stopped suddenly, and he and Paul waited with white
faces for the answers.
“Wareville is not destroyed,”
replied Mr. Pennypacker. “An English officer
named Bird, a harelipped man, came with a great force
of Indians, some white men and cannon. They easily
took Martin’s and Ruddle’s stations and
all the people in them, but they did not go against
Wareville and other places. I think they feared
the power of the gathering Kentuckians. I was
at Martin’s Station on a visit to an old friend
when I was captured with the others. Bird and
his army then retreated North with the prisoners,
more than three hundred in number, mostly women and
children.”
The old man paused a moment and put
his hands over his face.
“I have seen many terrible things,”
he resumed, “and I cannot forget them.
They said that we would be taken to Detroit and be
held as prisoners there, but it has been a long and
terrible march, many hundreds of miles through the
wilderness, and the weak ones they were
many could not stand it. They died
in the wilderness, often under the Indian tomahawk,
and I think that less than half of them will reach
Detroit.”
The old schoolmaster paused, his voice
choked with emotion, and every one of the five muttered
something deep and wrathful under his breath.
“I did the best I could,”
he resumed. “I helped whenever they let
me, but the hardships were so great and they permitted
us so little rest that I wasted away. I had no
more than the strength of a little child. At
last the warriors whom you saw took me from the others
and turned to the east. We went through the woods
until we came to the great lake. A terrible storm
came up, but when it died we embarked in two boats
and went to the island on which you found me.
I did not know the purpose for which I was intended
until I saw the stakes with those ghastly relics about
them. Then I made up my mind to bear it as best
I could.”
“You were to be made a burnt
offering to the spirits of the lakes,” said
Henry. “Thank God we came in time.
We go now to warn of another and greater expedition,
led by Timmendiquas, the famous chief of the Wyandots.”