Part 16

Washington had just arrived at the camp, in a wagon. Thin and pale he was from his sickness. The wagon trip must have hurt him, but evidently he had been determined not to miss a battle.

His eyes saw the procession as it wended through among the soldiers; he read Scarouady’s paint; and he hurried upon unsteady legs.

“What, brother! You wear the death paint!” he exclaimed.

“You see my son. He is dead by soldier bullets,” said Scarouady.

“How is that? Where is he?”

“He is with my people,” said Scarouady. “I go to ask the great chief why he kills my son. Now I have no more to live for.”

“What happened?” Washington asked of George Croghan, whom Scarouady had sent for.

Croghan told him. Washington closed his lips firmly, but he, too, made no complaint.

“Do you and Scarouady come with me,” he uttered. “I will take you, myself, to General Braddock. It is unfortunate, unfortunate.” And he added, to Scarouady: “Be brave, my brother. The Buck died as a warrior, serving our country.”

Scarouady did not answer; he only followed after Washington and Croghan.

When he returned to where the rest of them were sitting with Gist, while Iagrea beat the deerskin drum and sang praises of the warrior Buck, he seemed to feel better.

“Is it well with you, Monacathuatha?” Gist asked, using Scarouady’s other name as Half-King.

“One chief has talked to another,” said Scarouady. “I have heard good words.”

Then came Croghan and a squad of red-coat soldiers, under an officer, with a litter. They took the Buck to a tent, and put him in it on a bed, and a guard of soldiers walked before it.

After supper the Buck was buried by soldiers. Many officers shook Scarouady’s hand; General Braddock was there, and Washington, and the other head men. When the Buck had been covered up soldiers fired volleys over him――to drive off the evil spirits, said White Thunder, but Croghan explained that the guns were soldier honors, announcing the burial of a brave warrior.

This camp was named Monacathuatha, in Scarouady’s honor, and should always be known as such. All that pleased Scarouady.

“I can see that the Buffalo (who was Braddock) has a good heart,” he said, after everything had been done. “But he should not send his red-coat men alone into the woods. They have no eyes. Now my son is lost to me. The Washington men would have looked before they shot.”

Pretty soon Washington came with Andrew Montour and Doctor Craik to sit by the fire. Washington had put off his red coat and was in buckskin hunting-shirt, like a Long Knife Ranger.

“Wah!” Scarouady approved. “My brudder no turkey gobbler on bare limb. He a panther in the bushes.”

“You are feeling stronger, colonel?” Gist asked. “We rejoice to have you at the front again.”

“Somewhat stronger,” Washington answered. “I would not for five hundred pounds have missed a battle, so I travelled up by wagon as I found myself unable to sit a horse.”

“He should be in bed,” said Doctor Craik. “But I can do nothing with him.” Then the merry doctor laughed. “Nor he with Braddock. I should hate to have two such patients.”

“You find the General difficult to advise, I take it, colonel,” said Gist. “Since you have been behind we have moved on like a tortoise――as you know. At this gait I feared we would spend the rest of our life in the woods.”

“The General has stopped to bridge every little stream and level every mole-hill, despite the danger that the French might be reinforced meantime,” said Washington. “But it has not been my place to advise unless requested; my rank as captain does not entitle me to that, and I am only a Provincial.”

“But with experience in this kind of country, and against that kind of enemy, colonel,” Croghan retorted. “You have taken matters into your own hand and changed your garb, at least, I see.”

“Yes,” said Washington. “I did go so far as to suggest to my friends among the officers that we all adopt woodsman clothes instead of the flaming red, as less easier targets; and reminded them of Mr. Benjamin Franklin’s remark, when at Fort Cumberland: ‘The finer the feathers, the better for the fowler.’ But they assured me that the General would never permit it――he would call it unworthy of the King’s soldiers. I have been no little jeered at for my own prudence, but I see no virtue in needless exposure either of men or armies.”

“By that token, then, His Excellency will still insist upon beating up the enemy with his red-coat Regulars who can be seen for five miles, rather than use the Virginia woodsmen,” Gist grumbled.

“As we will soon be within touch of the fort,” replied Washington, “and are liable to surprise, for our approach is surely known, I did make bold to suggest to the General that he now permit me to take my Virginia Rangers and scout well to the fore. And I explained to him that these men were accustomed to the Indian mode of warfare and would be of utmost service in protecting his advance column from ambush. But this idea of relying upon what he was pleased to term ‘half-drilled farmers’ to protect the King’s Regulars appeared to anger him, so I said no more. Besides, he was so good as to state for my further understanding that Lieutenant-Colonel Gage has been promised the honor of the advance, with a detachment of picked grenadiers and one company of the New York Regulars and would probably resent being displaced by raw Provincials.”

“Then what use is to be made of the Rangers, I wonder?” said Gist.

“They are to be employed as a rear guard, to protect the baggage, I believe.”

“And I believe, that unless you would be consigned to the rear guard yourself, colonel, you should go to bed at once and gain strength,” laughed Doctor Craik. “Now, sir! Are you one to take advice or not?”

“As I have no mind to be anywhere near the rear in time of action――good night, gentlemen,” Washington said promptly. He rose. “I have talked only as among friends, with no thought of criticizing His Excellency General Braddock. He is an experienced soldier, of distinguished record――――”

“But not in our style of fighting, colonel,” put in Gist. “This is not settled Europe; it is the American wilderness, as you know.”

“Nevertheless he is trained to arms, and is of great courage, and will fight. He is certain that the French Indians will not face our cannon and the bayonets of the British Regulars; and neither will the few French. We have not been attacked as yet, and here we are, almost within striking distance. In fact, very likely our showing will induce the fort to surrender without a blow. I wish the neighborhood of the fort had been a little better scouted upon, and so does he; but I realize the difficulty of anyone leaving the column without being observed by spies and cut off.”

“Well, we will do our duty and hope for the best,” said Doctor Craik. “And if there’s no work for the surgeon, here’s one who will be satisfied. Now, colonel, my duty is to place you in bed.”

With that, he put his arm through Washington’s and led him away. Captain Montour, Croghan and Gist talked together. The red-coat soldiers were singing again, around their fires:

See how, see how, they break and fly before us! See how they are scattered over all the plain! Now, now――now, now, our country will adore us! In peace and in triumph, boys, when we return again!

And the chorus, with everybody joining in:

Huzzah, my valiant countrymen! Again I say huzzah! ’Tis nobly done――the day’s our own――huzzah, huzzah!

“Wah!” said Scarouady. “They sing to the woods, and the woods have ears. Braddock does not send the Long Knives on the scout, though they are many. He sends us, who are few; and he sends his red-coat bears, who shoot us. He asks us to go closer to the French fort, and spy; and then we will have the French and Ottawa and Huron all around us and the red-coat fools behind us. Very well; early in the morning I will take Aroas and go to spy on the French fort. I will show him that my heart is good toward him, for he has taken me by the hand like a man. I will show him and Washington that Scarouady can be strong in sorrow. When I have washed off my mourning paint with scalps I shall feel better.”

So saying, Scarouady drew his blanket over his head, and lay down as if to sleep.

Pretty soon the others went to sleep, although Robert stayed awake a little time thinking of the Buck. He was going to miss the Buck, who had been like a brother to him. But if Scarouady could face the grief, he ought to, also. Scarouady certainly was a fine man.

The Hunter dozed off; he slept――and he was awakened by Gist’s hand upon his shoulder and Gist’s voice in his ear.

“Come.”

“Where?”

“We are going on a scout, too. Scarouady and Aroas are already gone.”

Robert threw off his blanket and sat up and grabbed his gun.

“To the French fort?”

“Yes. Or as near as we can get. They two, now we two.”

Wah! That promised sport. He and Gist were to see if they could not find out more than Scarouady and Aroas could. So he sprang to his feet and followed Christopher Gist out of the sleeping group. A sentry muffled in a great-coat and looking like a bear indeed leveled his gun and said something; Gist answered with a word, and they passed on into the woods.

The sky was not yet gray, but the air seemed to have thinned a little, so that morning was not far removed. Gist trotted rapidly, munching a piece of meat; and Robert trotted in his steps, munching likewise.

It was a good hour. The woods were silent. The Forks of the Ohio where the French fort lay were only thirteen miles across country; and Gist knew the way as well as Robert did. By daylight they should be near enough to it to use their eyes; then if the coast were clear they could hide, and go on in the evening, and spy again in the early morning, and get back.

So they trotted rapidly. After a time the dusk had paled and birds were twittering. They kept on. The sun rose, and still they kept on. They had seen nobody and nobody had seen them. It looked as though they might get almost to the fort――maybe they could see it.

The fort now could not be far ahead. Robert thought that he heard axes chopping, away, ’way before. Sounds carried a long distance. They two stole forward, more cautiously. Yes, those were axes; and that was a faint shout.

Surely the French at the fort feared nothing. Where were their scouts? Then, just as they two were topping a hill from which they ought to look down upon the Forks, sharp and swift there broke the crack of a rifle, ringing through the woods.

Gist halted. He knew that rifle-crack; so did the Hunter.

“That’s Scaddy’s barker; I can tell it among a thousand,” said Gist. “He’s after a scalp. Pshaw! Is he crazy? Now the woods will be alive. You wait here. I’ll spy ahead and see what’s what. If I’m chased, never mind me; take care of yourself, and go back to the camp.”

On went Gist, and disappeared in the timber at the top of the hill. Now the air beyond, toward the fort, was tremulous with yells. Scarouady had waked the enemy; the Ottawas and Hurons were pouring out. The Hunter stood listening. Where was Gist? He had no notion of going back without Christopher Gist; but this place was rather open to wait in.

He was near a big white-oak tree. Why not climb into that? Then he would be off the ground, and he might see around better. Wah! Hark! Those were pursuit whoops! The French Indians were upon a warm trail! They seemed to be coming, too!

The Hunter leaned his heavy flint-lock against the white-oak trunk, and sprang for the lowest branch. The woods were echoing to the shouts. He had hauled himself up and was about to turn and reach down for his gun, when the shouts burst louder; the brush crackled――Gist passed, running and darting, at one side, and while the Hunter held motionless, waiting, two Ottawas sped like hounds right under the tree, eager to cut the trail.

They did not see the gun, which was behind the tree trunk. Were more Indians to follow? The Hunter gently tried for his gun, and could not quite reach it. Listen! Would he have time to get down? No! He kicked at the gun and it fell flat, to lie as if it had been dropped; and he started to climb higher, out of sight, for there were Indians all about.

Then he stopped short, frozen where he was; for he heard the soft thud of moccasins. He did not dare to turn his head and look. After a moment the sound ceased. He could hear nothing, and he simply had to look.

Through the leaves and branches he could glimpse an Indian under the tree. The Indian had discovered the gun, and was gazing about. Perhaps he would go on. Robert certainly hoped so. The Indian’s eyes wandered up into the tree. He did not appear to see anybody there. They swept the ground again――hah! They began to read the prints there! They travelled back to the tree trunk――they saw something――maybe a place where the bark had been freshly torn by the gun-barrel, or by Robert’s kicks when he climbed or knocked over the gun.

Ugh! The Indian gradually raised his face, his eyes travelled on up――he made discovery again――his rifle pointed; and the Hunter found himself gazing down into the muzzle and into the painted, wrinkled face behind it of old King Shingis the Delaware.

Shingis knew him, and commenced to grin.

“Ho, little bear!” he chuckled. “Come down. Acorns not ripe yet.”

Well, Robert the Hunter came down. He thought it possible to land upon his gun, but Shingis had quickly picked that up and knocked out the flint.

“Ugh!” said Shingis, receiving him with a grip in his hair. “Fine little bear. But tree a bad place. Many hunters around. Look for Mingo bear. Better be Delaware bear. Go to fort with Shingis. Shingis got no boy. Now he take care of this boy. Make him Delaware.”

So saying, Shingis gave a series of whoops; other Indians came running――they laughed, and tying the Hunter’s arms hustled him on to the fort.

The pursuit sounds had died away. Christopher Gist may have won free, and so he had; for, as Robert afterward found out, Gist and Scarouady and Aroas as well, got back to the column――Scarouady with the scalp of a French officer whom he had shot in the woods.

XIX

IN FORT DUQUESNE AGAIN

This was tough. There was a lot of whooping and shouting when from the edge of the clearing over which floated the white flag of France above the log walls old Shingis uttered his prisoner yell; and there was a lot of joking and laughing――and disappointment, too――when he marched his prisoner in and they all saw that it was nobody but a boy.

But hold! What boy? Why, the boy who had run away last fall! Wah! Ugh! Hurons and Pontiac’s Ottawas recognized this boy; and Pontiac himself strode, scowling, to demand the prisoner of old Shingis.

Shingis and Pontiac had an argument about the matter. Then that seemed settled. Pontiac called, the Indians ran about grabbing things, and formed a long, double line, of men and women facing inward equipped with clubs and switches. The double line extended like a living lane to the fort gates.

The Hunter was to be punished by running the gantlet. He had to run through that lane while everybody took a whack at him as he passed; but when he came to the other end he was safe. Unless he was smart he would be well beaten.

Old Shingis plucked knife and hatchet from him, and shoved him forward to the entrance to the lane. Pontiac was watching.

“Now we see how fast a little bear runs,” said King Shingis. “Go in Mingo; come out Delaware, get hurt no more. Run!” And with another shove would have started him off.

But the Hunter had not waited to be shoved. In a great bound he had torn free and had ducked past the first two or three double files, who missed him entirely with their switches. On he sped, ducking, dodging, diving――stung with switches and battered at by hasty clubs, amid wild shouts and laughter.

He was more than half way when he dimly saw his chance. Just ahead an old Indian was waiting straddled and bent over, to land a good blow upon him. The Hunter suddenly ducked lower; right under between the old Indian’s legs he dived――up rose the Indian, down he came, but the Hunter was beyond, and outside the gantlet and scudding like a deer for those gates.

The lane scattered. A few of the Indians ran to head him off and hit him. These he dodged; they and the other Indians were not much in earnest now, anyway; he tore through a little knot of men at the gate and was inside. He had gained sanctuary, but when he stopped for breath he felt that he had been given a sound thrashing just the same, and had twisted his ankle. Maybe Pontiac would be satisfied with all that.

French officers were saying: “Smart little boy! Brave leetle fellow,” in French and English. Then he heard another voice in English:

“Hurt you?”

He looked. This was a white boy, about his size but maybe somewhat older, rather battered up and limping with a stick.

“No,” Robert answered.

“Come along with me. I’ll fix you,” the white boy bade.

He took the Hunter (hobbling proudly) to a house where there were medicines and a French doctor. The house was called a hospital. Here the few cuts from the clubs and switches were greased, but the cuts did not amount to much. He said nothing about his ankle.

The white boy’s name was James Smith. He too had been captured――had been captured in the woods of Pennsylvania and brought here; had had to run the gantlet, but had not got off so easily as Robert.

Now for a second time Robert found himself in Fort Duquesne of the French, and wondering how he was to get out. Nobody appeared to pay much attention to him, but the whole place was much excited, as if not knowing what to do. The army of English and Long Knives was coming.

The French and the Indians of course knew this. Spies were keeping watch; Indians were constantly passing in through the gates, with word of the English, and French parties hastened out to scout the trails. For the Hunter to get back to Gist and Scarouady and Washington might be difficult.

He saw Guyasuta, but Guyasuta pretended not to notice him and he put in most of the daytime with James Smith. James had been here for a week and more and had picked up much information.

The French officers were not the same as last fall. Contrecoeur who had driven Ward away was still commander; his captains were now men named Beaujeu, Dumas, and Ligneris. Langlade, the half-Ottawa, was here too; while inside and outside the fort there were the Indians――more kinds than the Hunter had ever seen together before.

A great many from the Big Lakes of the north――French Iroquois, the Hurons, Potawatomis, Ojibwas and Ottawas; besides Wyandots and Delawares and Shawnees and Mingos from the Ohio Country; all in their best costumes of bright blankets, fringed leggins, and beaded or quilled moccasins, and red, yellow and blue paint, with strips of black also.

Black Hoof of the Shawnees was here; Shingis, Beaver and Killbuck of the Delawares; Pontiac, the war chief of the Ottawas, and old Nissowaquet, head chief of all the Ottawas, whose sister was Langlade’s wife; Anastase, head chief of the Hurons; oh, a score of famous chiefs, all helping the French.

Outside there were games and feasting and much loafing about; inside, the French soldiers drilled and stood guard and loafed, as though the English army was not feared. Nevertheless it was feared.

“These French know they can’t fight off Braddock’s men and cannon,” said James Smith. “I’ve guessed that. They’re layin’ low and foxin’ so the Injuns won’t run away. The Injuns are scared, you bet.”

He was glad to learn from Robert that the army was indeed very strong.

This evening there was a council of the French and the Indians, to talk things over. On his way to the council Shingis passed the Hunter and James. He grinned, and he said:

“Ugh! Pretty soon English come. March like fools, all togedder. Easy see ’um. French an’ Injun shoot ’um all down like one pigeon. What white boy an’ leetle Delaware think of that; huh?”

That did not sound good. But in the morning it looked as if the council had not agreed, for the French did not march out, and neither did the Indians. They still waited, and the French officers acted rather glum. Captain Beaujeu (who was a handsome young man, slim and pink-cheeked) spent considerable time among the chiefs. He appeared to be arguing with them, and talking with Langlade.

This afternoon, when James Smith was sleeping and Robert was sitting alone, trying to figure upon getting away, Guyasuta came at last and sat beside him.

“Too bad you here,” said Guyasuta in the Seneca. “Maybe you want to go.”

“You fight the English, Guyasuta?” the Hunter asked.

“I fight the English,” said Guyasuta. “That big red-coat general does not know how to treat Indians. He sends for us, then he sends us away. He treats us like children, and so do his red-coat soldiers. I will not march around by his orders. But I do not fight Washington and Scarouady. They are my brothers. You can tell them so.”

“That is good, but how can I tell them?” answered Robert――with excellent reason.

“Yes,” said Guyasuta; “you ran off from here once and the Ottawa are mad. Now Shingis would make you his son. You are Delaware. You will have hard work to run off again. Wait and we will see.”

“I will wait till the English and the Long Knives come to take the fort; and that won’t be long,” replied Robert. “Then the French and their Indians will run, themselves.”

“Wah!” said Guyasuta. “Maybe. It is a great army, with big guns. I know, because I saw it; everybody knows. The council hasn’t decided what to do. There is another council tonight. The French are too few yet. The Indians ask the French captain how he expects their eight hundred men to whip four thousand with great guns. You must not try to run off. You had better wait. And I ask you not to tell that white boy that you have seen me. If I am known to be your friend then you will be shut up.”

“He goes with me,” said Robert, at once.