Chapter I. The Lone Canoe

by Joseph A. Altsheler

　　A light canoe of bark, containing a single human figure, movedswiftly up one of the twin streams that form the Ohio. Thewater, clear and deep, coming through rocky soil, babbled gentlyat the edges, where it lapped the land, but in the center thefull current flowed steadily and without noise.

　　The thin shadows of early dusk were falling, casting a pallidtint over the world, a tint touched here and there with livingfire from the sun, which was gone, though leaving burning embersbehind. One glowing shaft, piercing straight through the heavyforest that clothed either bank, fell directly upon the figure inthe boat, as a hidden light illuminates a great picture, whilethe rest is left in shadow. It was no common forest runner whosat in the middle of the red beam. Yet a boy, in nothing butyears, he swung the great paddle with an ease and vigor that thestrongest man in the West might have envied. His rifle, with thestock carved beautifully, and the long, slender blue barrel ofthe border, lay by his side. He could bring the paddle into theboat, grasp the rifle, and carry it to his shoulder with asingle, continuous movement.

　　His most remarkable aspect, one that the casual observer evenwould have noticed, was an extraordinary vitality. He created inthe minds of those who saw him a feeling that he lived intenselyevery moment of his life. Born and-bred in the forest, he wasessentially its child, a perfect physical being, trained by theutmost hardship and danger, and with every faculty, mental andphysical, in complete coordination. It is only by a singularcombination of time and place, and only once in millions ofchances, that Nature produces such a being.

　　The canoe remained a few moments in the center of the red light,and its occupant, with a slight swaying motion of the paddle,held it steady in the current, while he listened. Every featurestood out in the glow, the firm chin, the straight strong nose,the blue eyes, and the thick yellow hair. The red blue, andyellow beads on his dress of beautifully tanned deerskin flashedin the brilliant rays. He was the great picture of fact, not offancy, a human being animated by a living, dauntless soul.

　　He gave the paddle a single sweep and shot from the light intothe shadow. His canoe did not stop until it grazed the northernshore, where bushes and overhanging boughs made a deep shadow.It would have taken a keen eye now to have seen either the canoeor its occupant, and Henry Ware paddled slowly and without noisein the darkest heart of the shadow.

　　The sunlight lingered a little longer in the center of thestream. Then the red changed to pink. The pink, in its turn,faded, and the whole surface of the river was somber gray,flowing between two lines of black forest.

　　The coming of the darkness did not stop the boy. He swung alittle farther out into the stream, where the bushes and hangingboughs would not get in his way, and continued his course withsome increase of speed.

　　The great paddle swung swiftly through the water, and the lengthof stroke was amazing, but the boy's breath did not come faster,and the muscles on his arms and shoulders rippled as if it werethe play of a child. Henry was in waters unknown to him. He hadnothing more than hearsay upon which to rely, and he used all thewilderness caution that he had acquired through nature andtraining. He called into use every faculty of his perfectphysical being. His trained eyes continually pierced thedarkness. At times, he stopped and listened with ears that couldhear the footfall of the rabbit, but neither eye nor ear broughtreport of anything unusual. The river flowed with a soft,sighing sound. Now and then a wild creature stirred in theforest, and once a deer came down to the margin to drink, butthis was the ordinary life of the woods, and he passed it by.

　　He went on, hour after hour. The river narrowed. The banks grewhigher and rockier, and the water, deep and silvery under themoon, flowed in a somewhat swifter current. Henry gave a littlestronger sweep to the paddle, and the speed of the canoe wasmaintained. He still kept within the shadow of the northernbank.

　　He noticed after a while that fleecy vapor was floating beforethe moon. The night seemed to be darkening, and a rising windcame out of the southwest. The touch of the air on, his facewas damp. It was the token of rain, and he felt that it wouldnot be delayed long.

　　It was no part of his plan to be caught in a storm on theMonongahela. Besides the discomfort, heavy rain and wind mightsink his frail canoe, and he looked for a refuge. The river waswidening again, and the banks sank down until they were butlittle above the water. Presently he saw a place that he knewwould be suitable, a stretch of thick bushes and weeds growinginto the very edge of the water, and extending a hundred yards ormore along the shore.

　　He pushed his canoe far into the undergrowth, and then stopped itin shelter so close that, keen as his own eyes were, he couldscarcely see the main stream of the river. The water where hecame to rest was not more than a foot deep, but he remained inthe canoe, half reclining and wrapping closely around himself andhis rifle a beautiful blanket woven of the tightest fiber.

　　His position, with his head resting on the edge of the canoe andhis shoulder pressed against the side, was full of comfort tohim, and he awaited calmly whatever might come. Here and therewere little spaces among the leaves overhead, and through them hesaw a moon, now almost hidden by thick and rolling vapors, and asky that had grown dark and somber. The last timid star hadceased to twinkle, and the rising wind was wet and cold. He wasglad of the blanket, and, skilled forest runner that he was, henever traveled without it. Henry remained perfectly still. Thelight canoe did not move beneath his weight the fraction of aninch. His upturned eyes saw the little cubes of sky that showedthrough the leaves grow darker and darker. The bushes about himwere now bending before the wind, which blew steadily from thesouth, and presently drops of rain began to fall lightly on thewater.

　　The boy, alone in the midst of all that vast wilderness,surrounded by danger in its most cruel forms, and with a blackmidnight sky above him, felt neither fear nor awe. Being whatnature and circumstance had made him, he was conscious, instead,of a deep sense of peace and comfort. He was at ease, in a nestfor the night, and there was only the remotest possibility thatthe prying eye of an enemy would see him. The leaves directlyover his head were so thick that they formed a canopy, and, as heheard the drops fall upon them, it was like the rain on a roof,that soothes the one beneath its shelter.

　　Distant lightning flared once or twice, and low thunder rolledalong the southern horizon, but both soon ceased, and then arain, not hard, but cold and persistent, began to fall, comingstraight down. Henry saw that it might last all night, but hemerely eased himself a little in the canoe, drew the edges of theblanket around his chin, and let his eyelids droop.

　　The rain was now seeping through the leafy canopy of green, buthe did not care. It could not penetrate the close fiber of theblanket, and the fur cap drawn far down on his head met theblanket. Only his face was uncovered, and when a cold drop fellupon it, it was to him, hardened by forest life, cool andpleasant to the touch.

　　Although the eyelids still drooped, he did not yet feel thetendency to sleep. It was merely a deep, luxurious rest, withthe body completely relaxed, but with the senses alert. The windceased to blow, and the rain came down straight with an even beatthat was not unmusical. No other sound was heard in the forest,as the ripple of the river at the edges was merged into it.Henry began to feel the desire for sleep by and by, and, layingthe paddle across the boat in such a way that it sheltered hisface, he closed his eyes. In five minutes he would have beensleeping as soundly as a man in a warm bed under a roof, but witha quick motion he suddenly put the paddle aside and raisedhimself a little in the canoe, while one hand slipped down underthe folds of the blanket to the hammer of his rifle.

　　His ear had told him in time that there was a new sound on theriver. He heard it faintly above the even beat of the rain, asoft sound, long and sighing, but regular. He listened, and thenhe knew it. It was made by oars, many of them swung in unison,keeping admirable time.

　　Henry did not yet feel fear, although it must be a long boat fullof Indian warriors, as it was not likely, that anybody else wouldbe abroad upon these waters at such a time. He made no attemptto move. Where he lay it was black as the darkest cave, and hiscool judgment told him that there was no need of flight.

　　The regular rhythmic beat of the oars came nearer, and presentlyas he looked through the covert of leaves the dusky outline of agreat war canoe came into view. It contained at least twentywarriors, of what tribe he could not tell, but they were wet, andthey looked cold and miserable. Soon they were opposite him, andhe saw the outline of every figure. Scalp locks drooped in therain, and he knew that the warriors, hardy as they might be, weresuffering.

　　Henry expected to see the long boat pass on, but it was turnedtoward a shelving bank fifty or sixty yards below, and theybeached it there. Then all sprang out, drew it up on the land,and, after turning it over, propped it up at an angle. When thiswas done they sat under it in a close group, sheltered from therain. They were using their great canoe as a roof, after thehabit of Shawnees and Wyandots.

　　The boy watched them for a long time through one of the littleopenings in the bushes, and he believed that they would remain asthey were all night, but presently he saw a movement among them,and a little flash of light. He understood it. They were tryingto kindle a fire-with flint and steel, under the shelter of theboat. He continued to watch them 'lazily and without alarm.

　　Their fire, if they succeeded in making it, would cast no lightupon him in the dense covert, but they would be outlined againstthe flame, and he could see them better, well enough, perhaps, totell to what tribe they belonged.

　　He watched under his lowered eyelids while the warriors, gatheredin a close group to make a shelter from stray puffs of wind,strove with flint and steel. Sparks sprang up and went out, butHenry at last saw a little blaze rise and cling to life. Then,fed with tinder and bark, it grew under the roof made by the boatuntil it was ruddy and strong. The boat was tilted farther back,and the fire, continuing to grow, crackled cheerfully, while theflames leaped higher.

　　By a curious transfer of the senses, Henry, as he lay in thethick blackness felt the influence of the fire, also. Its warmthwas upon his face, and it was pleasing to see the red and yellowlight victorious against the sodden background of the rain anddripping forest. The figures of the warriors passed and repassedbefore the fire, and the boy in the boat moved suddenly. Hisbody was not shifted more than an inch, but his surprise wasgreat.

　　A warrior stood between him and the fire, outlined perfectlyagainst the red light. It was a splendid figure, young, muchbeyond the average height, the erect and noble head crowned withthe defiant scalplock, the strong, slightly curved nose and themassive chin cut as clearly as if they had been carved in copper.The man who had laid aside a wet blanket was bare now to thewaist, and Henry could see the powerful muscles play on chest andshoulders as he moved.

　　The boy knew him. It was Timmendiquas, the great White Lightningof the Wyandots, the youngest, but the boldest and ablest of allthe Western chiefs. Henry's pulses leaped a little at the sightof his old foe and almost friend. As always, he felt admirationat the sight of the young chief. It was not likely that he wouldever behold such another magnificent specimen of savage manhood.

　　The presence of Timmendiquas so far east was also full ofsignificance. The great fleet under Adam Colfax, and with Henryand his comrades in the van, had reached Pittsburgh at last.Thence the arms, ammunition, and other supplies were started onthe overland journey for the American army, but the five lingeredbefore beginning the return to Kentucky. A rumor came that theIndian alliance was spreading along the entire frontier, bothwest and north. It was said that Timmendiquas, stung to fieryenergy by his defeats, was coming east to form a league with theIroquois, the famous Six Nations. These warlike tribes werefriendly with the Wyandots, and the league would be a formidabledanger to the Colonies, the full strength of which was absorbedalready in the great war.

　　But the report was a new call of battle to Henry, Shif'less Sol,and the others. The return to Kentucky was postponed. Theycould be of greater service here, and they plunged into the greatwoods to the north and, east to see what might be stirring amongthe warriors.

　　Now Henry, as be looked at Timmendiquas, knew that report hadtold the truth. The great chief would not be on the fringe ofthe Iroquois country, if be did not have such a plan, and he hadthe energy and ability to carry it through. Henry shuddered atthe thought of the tomahawk flashing along every mile of afrontier so vast, and defended so thinly. He was glad in everyfiber that he and his comrades had remained to hang upon theIndian hordes, and be heralds of their marches. In the forest awarning usually meant the saving of life.

　　The rain ceased after a while, although water dripped from thetrees everywhere. But the big fire made an area of dry earthabout it, and the warriors replaced the long boat in the water.Then all but four or five of them lay beside the coals and wentto sleep. Timmendiquas was one of those who remained awake, andHenry saw that he was in deep thought. He walked back and forthmuch like a white man, and now and then he folded his handsbehind his back, looking toward the earth, but not seeing it.Henry could guess what was in his mind. He would draw forth thefull power of the Six Nations, league them with the Indians ofthe great valley, and hurl them all in one mass upon thefrontier. He was planning now the means to the end.

　　The chief, in his little walks back and forth, came close to theedge of the bushes in which Henry lay, It was not at all probablethat he would conclude to search among them, but some accident, achance, might happen, and Henry began to feel a little alarm.Certainly, the coming of the day would make his refuge insecure,and he resolved to slip away while it was yet light.

　　The boy rose a little in the boat, slowly and with the utmostcaution, because the slightest sound out of the common mightarouse Timmendiquas to the knowledge of a hostile presence. Thecanoe must make no plash in the water. Gradually he unwrappedthe blanket and tied it in a folded square at his back. Then hetook thought a few moments. The forest was so silent now that hedid not believe he could push the canoe through the busheswithout being heard. He would leave it there for use another dayand go on foot through the woods to his comrades.

　　Slowly he put one foot down the side until it rested on thebottom, and then he remained still. The chief had paused in hisrestless walk back and forth. Could it be possible that he hadheard so slight a sound as that of a human foot sinking softlyinto the water? Henry waited with his rifle ready. If necessaryhe would fire, and then dart away among the bushes.

　　Five or six intense moments passed, and the chief resumed hisrestless pacing. If he had heard, he had passed it by asnothing, and Henry raised the other foot out of the canoe. Hewas as delicate in his movement as a surgeon mending the humaneye, and he had full cause, as not eye alone, but life as well,depended upon his success. Both feet now rested upon the muddybottom, and he stood there clear of the boat.

　　The chief did not stop again, and as the fire had burned higher,his features were disclosed more plainly in his restless walkback and forth before the flames. Henry took a final look at thelofty features, contracted now into a frown, then began to wadeamong the bushes, pushing his way softly. This was the mostdelicate and difficult task of all. The water must not beallowed to plash around him nor the bushes to rustle as hepassed. Forward he went a yard, then two, five, ten, and hisfeet were about to rest upon solid earth, when a stick submergedin the mud broke under his moccasin with a snap singularly loudin the silence of the night.

　　Henry sprang at once upon dry land, whence he cast back a singleswift glance. He saw the chief standing rigid and gazing in thedirection from which the sound had come. Other warriors werejust behind him, following his look, aware that there was anunexpected presence in the forest, and resolved to know itsnature.

　　Henry ran northward. So confident was he in his powers and theprotecting darkness of the night that he sent back a sharp cry,piercing and defiant, a cry of a quality that could come onlyfrom a white throat. The warriors would know it, and he intendedfor them to know it. Then, holding his rifle almost parallelwith his body, he darted swiftly away through the black spaces ofthe forest. But an answering cry came to his, the Indian yelltaking up his challenge, and saying that the night would notcheck pursuit.

　　Henry maintained his swift pace for a long time, choosing themore open places that he might make no noise among the bushes andleaves. Now and then water dripped in his face, and hismoccasins were wet from the long grass, but his body was warm anddry, and he felt little weariness. The clouds were now all gone,and the stars sprang out, dancing in a sky of dusky blue.Trained eyes could see far in the forest despite the night, andHenry felt that he must be wary. He recalled the skill andtenacity of Timmendiquas. A fugitive could scarcely be trailedin the darkness, but the great chief would spread out his forceslike a fan and follow.

　　He had been running perhaps three hours when he concluded to stopin a thicket, where he lay down on the damp grass, and restedwith his head under his arm.

　　His breath had been coming a little faster, but his heart nowresumed its regular beat. Then he heard a soft sound, that offootsteps. He thought at first that some wild animal wasprowling near, but second thought convinced him that human beingshad come. Gazing through the thicket, he saw an Indian warriorwalking among the trees, looking searchingly about him as if hewere a scout. Another, coming from a different direction,approached him, and Henry felt sure that they were of the partyof Timmendiquas. They had followed him in some manner, perhapsby chance, and it behooved Mm now to lie close.

　　A third warrior joined them and they began to examine the ground.Henry realized that it was much lighter. Keen eyes under such astarry sky could see much, and they might strike his trail. Thefear quickly became fact. One of the warriors, uttering a shortcry, raised his head and beckoned to the others. He had seenbroken twigs or trampled grass, and Henry, knowing that it was notime to hesitate, sprang from his covert. Two of the warriorscaught a glimpse of his dusky figure and fired, the bulletscutting the leaves close to his head, but Henry ran so fast thathe was lost to view in an instant.

　　The boy was conscious that his position contained many elementsof danger. He was about to have another example of the tenacityand resource of the great young chief of the Wyandots, and hefelt a certain anger. He, did not wish to be disturbed in hisplans, he wished to rejoin his comrades and move farther easttoward the chosen lands of the Six Nations; instead, he mustspend precious moments running for his life.

　　Henry did not now flee toward the camp of his friends. He wastoo wise, too unselfish, to bring a horde down upon them, and hecurved away in a course that would take him to the south of them.He glanced up and saw that the heavens were lightening yet more.A thin gray color like a mist was appearing in the east. It wasthe herald of day, and now the Indians would be able to find histrail. But Henry was not afraid. His anger over the loss oftime quickly passed, and he ran swiftly on, the fall of hismoccasins making scarcely any noise as be passed.

　　It was no unusual incident. Thousands of such pursuits occurredin the border life of our country, and were lost to thechronicler. For generations they were almost a part of the dailylife of the frontier, but the present, while not out of thecommon in itself, had, uncommon phases. It was the most splendidtype of white life in all the wilderness that fled, and thefinest type of red life that followed.

　　It was impossible for Henry to feel anger or hate towardTimmendiquas. In his place he would have done what he was doing.It was hard to give up these great woods and beautiful lakes andrivers, and the wild life that wild men lived and loved. Therewas so much chivalry in the boy's nature that he could think ofall these things while he fled to escape the tomahawk or thestake.

　　Up came the sun. The gray light turned to silver, and then tored and blazing gold. A long, swelling note, the triumphant cryof the pursuing warriors, rose behind him. Henry turned his headfor one look. He saw a group of them poised for a moment on thecrest of a low hill and outlined against the broad flame in theeast. He saw their scalp locks, the rifles in their hands, andtheir bare chests shining bronze in the glow. Once more he sentback his defiant cry, now in answer to theirs, and then, callingupon his reserves of strength and endurance, fled with a speedthat none of the warriors had ever seen surpassed.

　　Henry's flight lasted all that day, and he used every device toevade the pursuit, swinging by vines, walking along fallen logs,and wading in brooks. He did not see the warriors again, butinstinct warned him that they were yet following. At longintervals he would rest for a quarter of an hour or so among thebushes, and at noon he ate a little of the venison that he alwayscarried. Three hours later he came to the river again, andswimming it he turned on his course, but kept to the southernside. When the twilight was falling once more he sat still indense covert for a long time. He neither saw nor heard a sign ofhuman presence, and he was sure now that the pursuit had failed.Without an effort he dismissed it from his mind, ate a littlemore of the venison, and made his bed for the night.

　　The whole day had been bright, with a light wind blowing, and theforest was dry once more. As far as Henry could see it circledaway on every side, a solid dark green, the leaves of oak andbeech, maple and elm making a soft, sighing sound as they wavedgently in the wind. It told Henry of nothing but peace. He hadeluded the pursuit, hence it was no more. This was a great,friendly forest, ready to shelter him, to soothe him, and toreceive him into its arms for peaceful sleep.

　　He found a place among thick trees where the leaves of last yearlay deep upon the ground. He drew up enough of them for a softbed, because now and for the moment he was a forest sybarite. Hewas wise enough to take his ease when he found it, knowing thatit would pay his body to relax.

　　He lay down upon the leaves, placed the rifle by his side, andspread the blanket over himself and the weapon. The twilight wasgone, and the night, dark and without stars, as he wished to seeit, rolled up, fold after fold, covering and hiding everything.He looked a little while at a breadth of inky sky showing throughthe leaves, and then, free from trouble or fear, he fell asleep.