"And long shall timorous Fancy see
The painted chief and pointed spear;
And Reason's self shall bow the knee
To shadows and delusions here."

FRENEAU.

Deersfoot and Snake-tongue, with the two prisoners, after a short distance, met the main body of the Senecas. Beyond the grove was a small strip of partially cleared land, which was covered with a thick green-sward. Here the Indians halted, and immediately held a council, in which to deliberate upon the fate of their prisoners, and upon their future proceedings with reference to the cottage. When the failure of the negotiation was announced, the whole wrath of the Indians was concentrated upon the unfortunate attorney and his companion. In their eyes, the latter were answerable for all the wrongs which they fancied they had suffered from the pale-faces and their Tuscarora ally at the cottage.

Bagsley and the bailiff were placed in the centre of a circle of warriors. Rogers maintained a sullen silence, and surveyed the hostile countenances of the Senecas with a look of seeming indifference; but the attorney, from the moment that the unexpected refusal of Barton and Ralph to exchange him for the Tuscarora had shown him his imminent danger, remained seemingly stupefied with fear. But, as he beheld around him the assemblage of warriors, and a certain appearance of deliberation, he began to recover the use of his faculties. Perhaps, he thought that the act of deliberation implied a doubt of their actual intention; or, perhaps, seeing that he might have an opportunity to plead for his life, he placed some reliance upon his oratorical powers. But, whatever was the cause, it is certain that, in his appearance, he resumed a portion of his professional dignity of demeanor.

The warriors and their chiefs were assembled in council. Panther, as principal chief, occupied the most prominent situation; beside him sat Deersfoot and Snake-tongue, and two or three others, who were recognized as superior to the great mass of the Indians. When the assembly had finally assumed an appearance of order, the younger chief, whose name was Bearsclaw, arose to speak. He had never yet gained a reputation for oratory, and he assumed a modesty and humiliation that were proper to his station.

"Brothers," said he, "you know my name – it is Bearsclaw; it is a name which was given to me because I was thought to be strong in struggling with my enemy. I did not deserve it: I should have had a smaller name. I have not the tongue to speak; but I can tell what I think – I think these pale-faces should live. I think that we should keep them prisoners a little while, and then let them go. Shall I tell you why? They came to us freely; we did not take them! they have not wronged us. Perhaps I do not think right; I do not know but a little; but what I think I will speak. I see that you do not like my words, and I am sorry that you do not. If we kill them, we shall get into trouble. The pale-faces from the settlements will come out on the war-path, and will ravage our hunting grounds. I am not a coward – you have seen me in fight. My name is Bearsclaw. I cannot speak much; but I can tell what I think. I have spoken."

This speech was received in silence – a silence, perhaps, that implied dissatisfaction. But Bagsley argued from it a favorable result; for he thought a matter could not be predetermined, about which a chief had spoken, as if there was doubt as to the propriety of the course that had been threatened. When Bearsclaw sat down, Snake-tongue, as the chief next highest in rank arose and said:

"Brothers, you have heard the counsel of Bearsclaw: he has a large name. It is a great pity that a warrior with so brave a name, cannot be brave in speech. I do not think as he does. I am an Iroquois – of the nation of the Senecas. I have always been taught not to be afraid. Bearsclaw has said that the pale-faces from the settlements will follow us on the war-path. Let them come! We want to see them in the woods and fields. We do not want to see them skulking behind walls and log houses. Let them follow us into the woods: there is where I want to see them.

"I say that these pale-faces should die. They have been the cause of all our troubles. If it had not been for their fire-water to-day we should have tortured the brave that we tortured yesterday. He was a brave warrior, and it would have done us good to have tortured him. But he escaped; and how? The fire-water of these pale-faces made our young warriors careless, and we lost him; and we lost the pale-face squaw, and the squaw of Canendesha. We have lost, too, our pale-face friend; he has gone, and no one knows where. He was lost at the same time with the others. They have taken him and killed him. Should we let the pale-faces, who have done all this, go and laugh at us? No – let them die! They are not as brave as the warrior we had yesterday; but they will make sport for our young warriors. We shall be sorry if we do not take their scalps. We shall always think of it, and wish we had done it, when we think of our young men who have been killed in these forests. I have spoken."

He sat down amidst loud cheers. He was evidently on the popular side; and the countenances of Bagsley and Rogers grew pale, as they saw the effect of this speech. But there was some hope yet; only two of the warriors had spoken, and, so far, the council was equally divided in opinion. It was with the utmost anxiety that they waited for Deersfoot to arise.

After the noise had subsided, and silence was restored, the latter arose to speak. He stood next to Panther in the estimation of the Senecas; and some there were, who preferred him to that chief, as a braver and more cunning warrior.

"Brothers," he said in a tranquil tone, "we have come here to decide upon two things. We are to say whether these pale-faces shall die, and we are to say what we shall do about the pale-faces at the cottage. I have no secrets; my heart is as open as my face. Snake-tongue has said that these pale-faces are the cause of all of our troubles. May be this is so; but I do not see it as he does. Our young men should not love the fire-water of the pale-faces. If they had not loved it, then the pale-faces could not have done us any harm. I do not know that they are to be blamed. I want to think about it a little while.

"But the other thing I have thought about. I do not want to think any more about it. The pale-faces at the cottage have killed our young men. They have made us ashamed, that so few pale-faces can escape from so many Injins. I am so ashamed that my heart is sad; and it will not be happy any more until we have taken their scalps. I wish to fight them again. I wish to see if we cannot burn down the cottage, and take them all prisoners. I am sure that we can do it. If we cannot, I shall be much more ashamed: and I shall think that the Senecas, like the Oneidas and Tuscaroras, are squaws. I, for one will never leave the valley of the Pleasant River, until I take with me, the scalp of one of those pale-faces. The scalps of these pale-faces will not do me any good; for they have not killed our young men. I want to wear in my belt the scalp of the enemy who has taken the scalp of a Seneca. Until that is done, I shall always be ashamed.

"Let these pale-faces live until we have attacked the cottage. If we take the scalps of our enemies there, we shall have taken enough; and we shall not want any more. If we do not get them, then we will think about these pale-faces. I have spoken."

This speech, which had touched the hearts of the Senecas with shame, and kindled in them a wild hope of revenge, was received with shrieks of delight. In the direction which it had given to the thoughts of the Senecas, the prisoners were, for the moment, forgotten; and the counsel of Deersfoot would doubtless have been acquiesced in, had it not been for the fact that Panther did not share the general enthusiasm. When this was noticed, his more particular adherents at once become silent, and waited to take their cue from him. He was about to arise, when Bagsley, who had also become much excited by this appeal of Deersfoot, in his favor, and who was unable any longer to maintain silence, deeming this the favorable moment to make a finish of the "case," exclaimed, assuming as much of a forensic position and demeanor, as his connection with Rogers would allow:

"If the Court please, gentlemen of the – Council; for I may denominate this respectable body, a Court, while it is actually sitting in banco, according to the peculiar laws by which it is governed – I have listened thus far, to this summary trial – a trial which, I may say, is unrecognized by any statute of which I am cognizant – with a high opinion of the ability and learning with which it has been conducted. But, as a prisoner on trial for his life, I respectfully submit, whether I have not the right to ask that this trial shall be conducted according to some recognized form. I have as yet seen no bill of indictment; I have not been called upon to plead; in other words, I have not had the privilege of alleging my innocence upon the record I have not been confronted with witnesses – therefore, in a legal point of view, I may consider this whole proceeding as coram non judice and void, and of no binding force whatever. According to the law of the land, as generally understood, I am entitled to all of these rights. I, therefore, upon these grounds, to say nothing about many other points which I consider equally conclusive, wish to raise the question of jurisdiction. I could, doubtless, make a motion in arrest of judgment, non obstante veredicto; but a question of jurisdiction can be interposed at any time. I therefore respectfully submit, whether, according to the advice of my friend, Deersfoot, a nolle prosequi should not be entered."

"Bearsclaw has presented the case upon somewhat different grounds, but he arrives at the same conclusions. He alleges that we are guilty of no offence. He is correct, not only in fact, but as matter of law. It is a principle of the law, originating in a benevolent idea of mercy, that a prisoner is to be presumed innocent until he is proved guilty. I rely upon this principle, and I hope the court will make a note of it. On examination, it will be found to be a principle admirably adapted to Indian jurisprudence. Upon all of these grounds, I insist that Mr. Rogers and myself should be discharged."

At the conclusion of this speech, Rogers, who had listened with great pleasure, and who had a high idea of his friend's eloquence exclaimed with a gesture that lifted the attorney at least a foot from the ground, "Them's my sentiments, and they are good law anywhere."

The Indians had listened to this voluble speech of the attorney with mingled feelings of amazement and disgust. They could comprehend scarcely a word of the discourse, but its general tenor they understood; and that was, that he was begging for his life. If there is anything in the conduct of a prisoner which removes from an Indian all idea of mercy, it is an exhibition of cowardice, or a desire to escape torture, except by force or stratagem. The current which had set in their favor, on the conclusion of Deersfoot's speech, was effectually checked; and all that was now wanting, was Panther's approval, to decide them in favor of putting the prisoners to immediate torture.

Panther arose, and the assembly immediately became silent.

"Brothers," said he, "you have heard the words which have been spoken to you. It is for you to say which are wise, and which are foolish. Bearsclaw, Snake-tongue and Deersfoot have all told you what they think. The pale-faces, too, have spoken to you. You have heard their words. I think with Deersfoot, that we must have the scalps of the pale-faces at the cottage, and the scalp of Canendesha. There is no warrior here that does not say so. We have thought so from the first. It was not a new thing with Deersfoot; you have all thought so. That is not the matter we have come here to talk about. We should be ashamed to talk about it. We know what we will do.

"I say let these pale-faces die. They do not deserve to live. They are bad men – they are bad even among the pale-faces, and the pale-faces hate them. They are like snakes, and have forked tongues; they do not tell what they think. They lie in the grass, and bite at the foot of the unwary. Even the pale-faces hate them; but they are worse to the Injins than they are to the pale-faces; for they steal away our hunting-grounds. Why should we let them loose to lie like snakes in the grass and bite at us? Bearsclaw says that they came to us, and that we did not take them on the war-path. That is true; but they came to us with forked tongues, to get away our prisoner; and I do not know but that they did get him away. They came, and he is gone.

"If we keep them prisoners, we shall have to set some of the warriors to watch them. That we ought not to do; for we shall want all of our warriors to-night. I have said more than I meant to say. They are not worth talking about; they are not braves that will laugh at the torture, and please our ears with harsh words. They are cowards that will cry and faint. Such men are not fit to live. Let the pale-faces die."

This conclusion was received by the Senecas with shouts of savage exultation. The unfortunate prisoners quailed beneath the fiery glances of their enemies. The attorney endeavored to speak, but his utterance failed – fear deprived him of the power of speech. The bailiff, however, as the danger actually approached, grew firm and brave, and looked at them with that peculiar gaze with which the officer looks into the eyes of the thief.

The Senecas approached them for the purpose of preparing them for the torture.

"Stand back, you rascals!" cried the bailiff. "You are now in my bailiwick. Look me in the eyes, if you dare, and see if you can stand the gaze of the law."

But notwithstanding this effort at overawing them, the Indians rudely tore apart the thongs that bound the attorney and the bailiff together, and dragged them into the woods south of the little clearing in which they were.

We shall not attempt to narrate the disgusting and horrible scene; but on that day, the bar of Tryon county lost a distinguished member, and that bailiwick a faithful officer.

While these scenes of savage cruelty are being enacted, let us return to the cottage. The presence of the Indians in their neighborhood, was known to the inmates of the cottage; for, occasionally, during the council, the ferocious yells which had cheered the "hit" of some favorite orator, had been heard with distinctness. Neither Ichabod, Eagle's-Wing, nor any one who was acquainted with the customs and habits of the Indians, could doubt as to the nature of the proceedings, of which they heard frequent indications. It was rendered certain, by the fact that the Indians were about to take the lives of the prisoners, that the cottage would be again attacked.

"With us five inside here," said Ichabod, "I'd risk all the Injins this side of Tophet – provided they didn't set down in reg'lar siege, or set the buildings afire. I reckon that last remark of mine will be found to be a pretty good guess, as to the worst danger we shall run in this attack."

"Other time, Seneca want prisoner," said the Tuscarora. "Didn't want pale-face scalp, half so bad as now. They take 'em to-night, if they can."

"I think," said Ralph, "we can guard against danger by fire; but, nevertheless, we should not be so certain of it as to neglect any proper precautions. The wooden portions of the building are very dry and if the Indians can get fire upon the roof, we shall, indeed, run a serious danger, for we could not show ourselves upon the outside, without presenting fair marks for every Indian rifle."

"The house is well provided with water," said Barton. "We have a large cistern, which is supplied by an unfailing stream that comes down from the west."

"Yes, but the question is," said Ichabod, "how we're going to get the water upon the roof, in case of necessity? The difficulty, in that business, has been stated by the Captin. Now, I've got an idea about managing the matter, if it comes to the worst; and that is, to leave the cottage, and take to the water."

This idea took the whole party by surprise; and Barton, with a look of incredulity, asked Ichabod how he supposed they should be able to leave the burning building without being exposed to the watchful eyes of the Indians.

"That's the p'int, Squire, that I've been thinking about; and Eagle's-Wing and I have been talking it over, and you'll see we'll manage it, in case of necessity. It's rayther risky, sartin; but I calculate it ain't any more so than it would be to stay here, and be burnt up. The best calculations will fail sometimes, in war, as well as in business matters: but if them Injins should drive us to it, they'll have to show more cunning than the sarpints have yet shown, to keep our plan from working."

The manner of the escape – should it be necessary – with as many of the details as could be anticipated, were agreed upon and arranged. Any such anticipation was sufficiently melancholy, as, if they were driven from the cottage, they would be much more exposed to the danger of capture than they had yet been. On the conclusion of these arrangements, Ralph found himself by the side of Ruth, who seemed to be suffering a great depression of spirits, from the saddening forebodings which she had overheard. She had become attached to her quiet home – she had acquired a fondness for the objects by which she was surrounded; and she could not think of their destruction, without a feeling of exquisite sorrow.

"If such be the will of Heaven," she said to Ralph, "we must submit."

"It is but an anticipation. Ruth, against which we must guard. We may succeed in repelling this attack, as easily as we did the former. But it is not to be disguised, that while on the previous attack, the great object of the enmity of the Indians was the Tuscarora; now, we as well as he are the objects; and they will resort to the method we have anticipated, if possible."

"Would it not be better to escape at once? We could leave the cottage, now, without danger; but during the attack, it seems to me it will be impossible to do so."

"We should then certainly abandon the cottage to destruction, and encounter dangers that now are only possible and not certain. No, I am willing to trust to the plan suggested by Ichabod and Eagle's-Wing. Although they have not given us the full details of it, I think I understand it. We have, thus far, been signally successful, and let us rely upon our good fortune a little farther."

"Say, rather, Ralph, upon God. It is His power, only, that supports and protects us."

Ralph at once admitted the propriety of the correction. "In affairs of the world, we use worldly terms. We speak of the protection we receive from our good fortune, without intending to imply any doubt of the protection which we receive from Heaven."

"Would it not be better, Ralph, at all times to acknowledge, by a proper use of words, our dependence upon Him from whom good or bad fortune proceeds, than only to acknowledge the results of circumstances?"

"I do not doubt it. Let us rely upon His assistance, then," said Ralph. "We shall certainly need it, to-night."

The sun was already sinking behind the western hills, into a rich mass of crimson clouds. The night approached with a melancholy step, and every heart in the cottage beat with anxiety for the first sound that should indicate the presence of the enemy. The aspect of nature was calm and lovely. The setting sun wore the look of yesterday; familiar objects gazed brightly in the golden garments which were woven around them; the long shadows pointed eastward, towards the coming to-morrow. But who can foretell, from the look of this day, what shall be the appearance of the next?

CHAPTER XIX

"Ah! whence yon glare,
That fires the arch of heaven? – that dark-red smoke,
Blotting the silver moon?"

SHELLEY.

An hour had passed, and yet there were no indications of an attack. The inmates of the cottage had taken their places as on the night of the previous conflict; and, with all their senses upon the alert, endeavored to detect the approach of an enemy, from whom so much was to be feared. Ruth and Singing-Bird had both taken positions by the loop-holes, and without strenuous objection; for, on a night that threatened to be so dangerous, they, even, might render important resistance. Another hour passed. Was it possible that the Indians, satisfied with the lives of their two unfortunate prisoners, had abandoned the idea of again attacking the cottage? This query presented itself to the mind of more than one of the little garrison; and it was with a pleasant thrill of hope, that the idea first occurred to the mind of Ruth. Even Ichabod, with all his experience in Indian character, suggested to Eagle's-Wing the possibility that such a hope might be well-founded.

"No," was the answer; "don't know Injins if you think so. They come, sartin, by'mby. Panther cunning Injin. He mean to get cottage to-night, any way – that what it means."

"Do you suppose, Eagle's-Wing, that they're anywhere round here now?" asked Ichabod, more to hear what his friend would answer, than for any other purpose.

"Guess so; guess that ravine full of Injins. Hear 'em, by'mby. They won't yell nor shoot. Know that don't do any good. Can't shoot through logs; that they know."

"I reckon you're about right, Eagle's-Wing. They want to put us off our guard; and by-and-by some miscreant will try to set us afire. But if we watch, we can prevent that; they can't carry fire without our seeing it."

"Don't know that. Little spark make great fire, sometime. Hide little spark pretty well, if they try."

The night had now become dark; the sky was partly obscured by clouds – sufficiently so to render it extremely difficult to discern objects no larger than the size of a man, at even a rod's distance. But while the darkness would allow the Indians to approach nearer the building with less chance of detection, it would also render it more difficult for them to conceal any attempt to set the cottage on fire.

Two, three, or even four hours, might elapse ere any demonstration on the part of the Senecas would be made. This uncertainty, united with the darkness and silence which reigned both within and without, tasked the spirits of the defenders more than any open attack would have done. No anxiety is more overpowering than that of awaiting an event the coming of which is to be dreaded, and yet which will certainly arrive. In the whole range of catastrophes to which mankind are subject, there is, perhaps, but one important exception to this remark, and that is the great catastrophe to which each individual of the human family is subject, which is certain to arrive, and which is universally dreaded. It may arrive soon or late – no one knows when, or how it will come; yet the anxiety incident to that event, is easily overcome; and one by one, a generation passes away, each one knowing well his doom, yet neglecting the least preparation.

This anxiety at length became so irksome, that a desultory conversation sprung up between the different individuals of the party – yet, without any cessation of watchfulness, Ichabod, who had remained silent since the last reply of Eagle's-Wing, now again addressed his companion.

"Why wouldn't it be a good idea for one of us to reconnoitre a little? We could find out for sartin whether any of the reptiles are ra'ally round here or not?"

Eagle's-Wing did not answer. His eyes seemed to be strained almost from their sockets in endeavoring to pierce the darkness. Suddenly the silence was broken by the discharge of his rifle; and at the unexpected sound amidst the unnatural quiet which reigned around them, every member of the little garrison started simultaneously with the report. A scream was heard from the outside, towards the ravine, and Ichabod saw an Indian fall struggling upon the ground, while a small brand of fire fell by his side upon the dry leaves along the edge of the ravine.

"Well done, Eagle's-Wing!" exclaimed Ichabod. "It takes an Injin to see an Injin in the dark; but that rascal won't set fire to the cottage, any way."

"Plenty more, down yonder, where he come from. They keep still, though; won't be foolish, this time."

It was true, that although the Seneca had fallen, and the brand of fire which he had carried concealed, lay by his side; not a sound indicated the presence of another enemy. They had failed in this attempt; but another might be more successful. It was evident, that on this occasion, the Senecas would throw away no chances of triumph.

It has already been mentioned that the forest on the edge of the ravine, approached within three or four rods of the cottage; and as the ground was strewn with dry leaves and dead underbrush, the feelings of safety which the defenders of the cottage, for a moment, had entertained on the detection of this attempt to set the building on fire, was now exchanged for alarm. The brand which had fallen by the side of the Indian, had unfortunately fallen upon a small pile of dry underbrush, which was also covered with dry leaves. A slight wind, which now blew in occasional light gusts from the northward, ignited the whole brand into a live coal, and a feeble blaze began to ascend from around it.

"Con-found the fire!" exclaimed Ichabod. "I'll try and stop that enemy, any way."

He discharged his rifle at the burning brand, and the coal flew scattered in all directions. This was a risk which he foresaw. The scattered coals might fall upon other places which were equally dangerous; if so, the danger would be increased; but there was a chance, too, that they might fall upon places where they would be extinguished. For a moment, the experiment seemed perfectly successful; a feeble and flickering blaze, that seemed about to expire, only remained where the brand had originally fallen. But another slight gust of wind now came, and the feeble blaze streamed upwards into a steady fire.

"Over here, with your rifles," shouted Ichabod; and five rifles were at once discharged into the burning pile. The blazing brush was partially scattered; but that now seemed to increase the danger. The wind came in gentle currents, and the dry leaves and brush were taking fire in half-a-dozen different places. It was useless to fight an enemy which was only multiplied and made more dangerous by defeat.

"I reckon it's bad enough," said Ichabod, "to have to fight them rascally Injins, without being obliged to fight the elements, besides. Wind, fire, and Injins, all at once, are rayther too much for human natur'."

"What's to be done now?" inquired Barton, who had become very much agitated by this new danger, for it was apparent that should the dry wood in the forest set fire to the trees, as would be most likely, with a northern wind to blow the flames in the direction of the cottage, nothing could prevent the building from taking fire. But there was yet hope; the fire might be confined to the underbrush, and expire without catching among the trees.

"I don't know of anything we can do just now, Squire," replied Ichabod, to the question of Barton, "except to wait. I've known things to be as desp'rate before, and come out right in the end. I don't like it, though, that's sartin. I'm afeard, Eagle's-Wing, that we shall have to try that thing we talked about."

"Think so, too," was the calm reply of the Tuscarora; "when time come, then I'm ready."

For a short time, the anxiety felt in the cottage was extreme. It was yet doubtful whether there was any serious danger from this new enemy or not. But the fire steadily increased; it ran along the ground, catching from bush to bush, and among heaps of dry bushes and limbs of trees, which had been collected by the labor of Barton, and soon the light began to penetrate the recesses of the forest. The red rays darted in among the old trees, and lit them up with a strange, wild glare. The flames crept along with steady pace, as the fire increased, until the whole ravine was suddenly illumined by a blaze of light, and in its recesses were disclosed the main body of the Senecas, watching with savage delight the insidious approaches of their new ally. When they saw that they were discovered, a wild yell of exultation broke from every throat, and darting from the ravine, they scattered in all directions about the cottage; but at sufficient distance to be out of reach of the rifles. For a short time, all was silent again, and all were intent upon observing the progress of this new assailant.

The whole surface of the ground for four or five rods in extent, immediately north of the cottage, seemed now to be on fire. At numerous points, the fire raged intensely, and shot up tall spires, of flames among the crackling branches; now catching upon the mossy side of a tree, it ran upward, darting with the rapidity of lightning for a moment, then suddenly expiring, leaving a blackened crust, instead of the fresh green moss. The wind gradually blew stronger and wilder. Unluckily, heaps of dry wood had been piled around the trunks of trees, and now the bodies of those trees were seen to be on fire. Up among the branches leaped the flames: points of fire darted here and there, like blazing serpents, while, borne by the wind, thick clouds of sparks began to load the air, and dart towards the doomed roof of the cottage. Soon, a steady stream of flame began to mount the trunk of a tall dead pine, which stood upon the edge of the forest. Upward and upward it crept; now pausing, as if to gnaw inward into its centre, then darting with a leap like a wild beast, pouncing on its prey. Around the base of the tree, the fire raged intensely, for here a mass of dry limbs and logs had been collected; and momentarily, the flames from all sides ate inwardly towards its centre. A few dry and leafless limbs stood out from the old trunk, pointing upward; and along these the fire now crept, and they seemed like tortured arms held bleeding to the sky.