Chapter III: Part 3

Spring came at last, unlocking the rivers and the lakes, and the half-wild fur-traders, with their Indian guides, were already preparing to ascend the St. Lawrence, up past Mont Royale, and the Thousand Islands, across the great inland sea called Ontario, to the rude fort of Niagara.

Even here the fatiguing journey would not end, for after a brief respite, they must shoulder their packages, and carry their long birch-bark canoes over the rough portage that led past the mighty, thundering cataract of Niagara, near by the hunting-grounds of the fierce and warlike Senecas. Then they must place their canoes again on the upper reaches of the swift Niagara River, and from thence enter Lake Erie, pass the outposts of Presqu' Isle, Miami and Fort Detroit, to the rivers, the lakes and the forts beyond, where in the surrounding forests the red man in all his primeval simplicity hunted, fished, lived and died. Even to the far-off lands of the Kickapoos, the Ojibways and the Winnebagos these brave fur-traders often ventured, drawn partly by a desire for gain, and partly, no doubt, by the added spice of danger and adventure.

Such, then, was the adventure to which our heroes were committed, as soon as the rivers were clear of the dangerous ice-floes, and the Algonquin chief Wabeno arrived with a dozen of his braves to accompany them as guides and scouts. Here was a prospect of adventure which thrilled the lads, and they anxiously awaited the arrival of the chief, which was to be on the first day of the new moon. They were to have a share in the enterprise, as a reward of their services.

"Wake up, Jack! Here comes the chief, in all his warpaint, with moccasins and deer-skin hunting-shirt, and with a girdle of scalps hanging from his belt," cried Jamie one morning, rushing into the apartment that served them both for sleeping purposes.

"Hurrah!" cried his friend. "I'm coming. Are the canoes ready?"

"Yes, they're all loaded up and waiting in the river, by the lower town."

"Glad we're leaving Quebec at last, aren't you? By all the preparations that the Governor's pushing forward, there's going to be a dreadful fight here some day, and the side that wins will have Canada for a prize."

"So you want to be out of the fighting, do you, old boy? That isn't a bit like you."

"Ah, don't misunderstand me, old fellow. I mean that I don't want to be cooped up in here when the fighting takes place, because our fellows will be outside. I wouldn't mind a hand in the storming, fighting under the British flag, for although the French have been pretty good to us--at least, some of them--they didn't treat the rest of the _Duncan's_ crew too well, when they shipped them all back to England in that leaky old tub."

They had now reached the lower part of the town, and were approaching the river by one of the narrow steep streets of which Quebec has so many, when Jamie, casting up a look at the frowning, embattled citadel, said--

"That place will want some storming! A handful of brave men, well supplied with ammunition and provisions, might sit tight up there for years, and defy the armies of the world."

"You're right, Jamie, and yet, I confess, I'd like to see another flag up there, wouldn't you?"

Turning to his companion, Jamie looked him full in the face, and replied--

"I would, Jack! And who knows? We may help to plant it there, some day. And, then, what would they think of us in Burnside?"

"Ah, they'd forget that they once put us in the lock-up for taking a few trout, and they'd all turn out to welcome us home; or if we died they'd put a tablet to our memory in the old church. Ha! ha!" laughed Jack.

At this point their conversation, which had been partly serious and partly jocular, was interrupted by a sound somewhat unusual at this early hour, for it was only about five o'clock in the morning, and the sun had not long been risen. Sounds of laughter and much shouting greeted them, and the next moment they turned a corner and came upon the _voyageurs_, as these rough, half-wild fur-traders are called. A dozen or so of rough but sturdy Canadians were bidding good-bye to their wives and sweethearts, though there seemed to be more excitement and laughter than tears and sadness of farewell. These men, hard as nails, used to the terrors of the wilderness, and the hardships of the forests, were dressed nearly like their Indian allies, who stood by--Wabeno and his braves.

They wore fur caps, deer-skin hunting-shirts, moccasins and leggings, worked by the Indian squaws. They were all armed with rifles and long hunting-knives, and one or two of them, who were probably half-castes, carried tomahawks as well. Moored to the bank close beside them were three very long canoes, loaded with all the requirements for a six months' trading outfit, and ready to start.

"_Ah, mes camarades! Voici ils vient_," cried Major Ridout, the leader of the expedition, and then in loud, ringing tones, he shouted, "_Aux bateaux!_"--"To the boats!"

In a moment the canoes were filled, Wabeno and three of his men entering the first, and the others distributing themselves as arranged. There were twenty-three all told, and the youths along with the leader, who was a genial man, of great experience, born of a Canadian father and a Scotch mother, entered the last boat, which was rather larger than the other two, and had several buffalo robes spread in the stern sheets.

The last good-bye was said, and to the stirring notes of a Canadian boat song, the rowers paddled away, and soon left their friends and their homes behind. Alas! how few of them were ever to see those homes or those friends again.

They were a merry party at present, however, and the Indians took turns with the hardy _voyageurs_, as they paddled quickly against the rapid stream. The canoes were very light, being made of birch bark, for they had to be carried over rough and sometimes long portages. Yet they were very strong and roomy, and at present were loaded so deeply that the water was only a few inches below the gunwales.

After two hours' hard work, pulling against the stream, the leader gave a quick, sharp command--

"_A terre! A terre!_"

This order to land for breakfast was obeyed with alacrity. Camp-fires were lit. The "billies" were soon boiling, and a hearty meal of pemmican and bread was washed down with a drink of water from the river. After an hour's rest, they continued their journey.

That night they camped on the northern bank, in a little clearing of the forest, about thirty miles above Quebec. They had hardly yet approached the danger zone, though small parties of the Iroquois did sometimes penetrate thus far. A watch was set, however, and campfires were permitted, and after supper the men chatted and laughed and smoked. Then a song was called for--a song with a chorus. And while the flames from the burning logs lit up the surrounding pines, one after another trolled forth a song, and the _voyageurs_ took up the chorus, till the woods resounded with their voices, and the creatures of the forest must have wondered what strange beings these were that disturbed their haunts.

The Indians looked on at all this merriment with stoic countenances, as though they disapproved of such light-heartedness, but at last one of the men cried out--

"Wabeno! Give us a war-dance!"

Instantly the expression of every Indian changed. Wabeno readily acceded to the request. A post was driven into the ground, and a circle formed around it. A few minutes sufficed to arrange their fluttering feathers and scalp-locks, and to paint their faces with red ochre and white lead. Then, suddenly, Wabeno, their chief, with a loud, blood-curdling yell, leapt into the circle, brandishing his tomahawk, and began reciting, in a fierce tone, all the deeds of prowess accomplished by himself and his ancestors.

A second warrior imitated his example, and then another, until at length the war-dance began in real earnest, and the whole pack of Indians were yelling and whooping, like so many demoniacs, hacking and tearing at the wooden post as though they were scalping an enemy. When they had thus worked themselves up into a frenzy, a final whoop from the chief ended the wild frolic, and instantly every warrior assumed a mask of boredom and indifference. A few minutes more, and all except the watch were fast asleep, wrapped in blankets or buffalo robes.

Thus passed the days and nights, until after they had passed the small fort of Mont Royale. Then the merriment ceased, for they were in an enemy's country. The watch was doubled every evening, and fires were left unlit, or extinguished as soon as possible. Once or twice, suspecting the near presence of an enemy, they slept in the canoes.

When they had passed the rapids of La Chine and Long Sault, several Indian scouts were thrown out in advance, along either bank, in order to prevent a sudden attack from an ambushed foe. All went well for some days, although the subdued manner of the _voyageurs_, and the keen alertness of the redskins, created an uneasy feeling in the minds of the youths. Towards sunset one afternoon Jack, who had been examining the river bank some distance ahead of the first canoe, suddenly exclaimed--

"Look! Wabeno is signalling! What has he seen?"

*CHAPTER VIII*

*THE NIGHT-WATCH*

Quickly the canoes were drawn to the bank and hidden amongst the overhanging bushes. A moment later a rustling was heard amongst the branches, and Wabeno stood before them.

"What has my red brother seen?" asked the major.

"Wabeno has seen the trail of a serpent!" replied the chief.

"Had the serpent moccasins?"

"Yes! The moccasins of the Iroquois."

"Humph! How many?"

The Algonquin held up seven fingers, to indicate how many footprints he had seen.

"'Tis only a small scalping party, then, which has passed this way. We'd better camp here for the night."

Wabeno insisted, however, that there was probably a larger party of Iroquois in the neighbourhood, and was for resting only until sunset, and then travelling rapidly through the night in order to reach the lakes as soon as possible. He seemed to think, also, that for several days past they had been watched by the scouts of the enemy.

As the chief spoke he looked keenly at the forest on the other side of the stream, as though he would like to read some fatal secret which that dense, virgin growth held inviolate; then, without further words, he turned and disappeared into the forest, as though to join his scouts.

"His words seem rather ominous, Jamie," said Jack, when he had gone, and they were busying themselves making fast the canoes and unloading a few things.

"Yes, I'm sorry that the major paid so little attention to his words. He seems to think that they are only a small band of marauding Indians who have recently crossed the river, and that if they do attack us we shall be more than a match for them. Well, let's hope he's right."

"There's something wrong, and I like not the redskin's uneasiness, old fellow. He scents danger, though he won't press his opinions upon the leader. He believes it's more than a scalping party, but he evidently thinks he's a match for Iroquois cunning."

"Did you notice the way he looked across the river? I wonder if that's the quarter he suspects? But come, we must lend the men a hand, for 'twill be dark in a few minutes," said Jamie.

Major Ridout took every precaution, however, against a surprise attack. All the Indians except two were sent into the forest to keep a strict watch. A few trees were felled and a rude abattis constructed, which instilled a certain amount of security into each mind.

Then darkness fell, and one by one the men stretched themselves on the ground and slept, with their rifles beside them. The two comrades, however, still talked in whispers as they lay rolled in their blankets.

"Just look at the men, Jack! How quiet they all are to-night? No noise, no singing or dancing this time. 'Tis my belief that we're in a tight corner, and if the Iroquois manage to get in past the scouts, there won't be a scalp left on any of us at daybreak."

"Never mind, we can only die once. The scouts are sure to give us warning, and then we'll sell our lives dearly. We've been in many a scrape before, old fellow, and we've always pulled through. There seems to be a Providence over us."

"Why, yes, it seems so. Do you remember the fight with the French cruiser?"

"Shall I ever forget it? I thought every moment would be my last when the broadsides opened upon us."

"Hush! What was that?"

The hoot of an owl was distinctly heard twice, and a moment afterwards it was answered by the call of the night-raven. The first call seemed to come from the depth of the forest on the other side of the river.

Scarcely had the last sound died away when the two Indians who remained in the camp, though apparently fast asleep, sprang to their feet, seized their rifles and disappeared into the thicket. Several of the men half raised themselves, looked around, and then lay down once more.

For a moment the boys listened in silence, their faces turned first to the deep gloom of the forest shades, half expecting to hear from thence the deadly whoop of the fierce Iroquois, and to see the rush of savage warriors upon the sleeping camp, then they looked suspiciously across the stream that flowed at their feet.

Overhead the stars shone brightly, and the placid stream reflected their fiery points on its broad bosom. Now and again its mirrored surface was broken by the splash of the salmon and the large river-trout.

"'Twas only a bird after all, Jack. Let us go to sleep. See, the men are sleeping peacefully."

"If 'twas only a bird, then why did the Indians leave to join the scouts?"

"I can't say. Perhaps 'twas only a private call for extra scouts. You know the call to arms is the howl of the coyote, repeated twice. Besides, 'tisn't likely that the enemy will get through the scouts without being seen. An Indian is all eyes, even in the dark."

The boys laid down again, but though Jamie was soon asleep Jack remained awake, gazing up at those bright twinkling points, and listening acutely for any sound that might come. Once or twice he raised himself and looked around.

A ripple in mid-stream caught his attention. While in the starlight he gazed upon it, it seemed to come nearer. Then another ripple, and another, that spread themselves out wider and wider, and in the middle of the disturbed area there appeared a tiny speck, as though a swimmer were breasting the stream. But even as he watched it, it disappeared and was lost in the darkness.

Five minutes--ten minutes passed, but the speck, whatever it was, did not reappear. What could it be? It would be foolish to alarm the camp prematurely, so he would just creep down to the water's edge and make sure. He threw off his blanket and crawled along through the reeds and willows. He had nearly reached the water when a rustling amongst the reeds caused his heart to cease beating for an instant. What could it be?

Two glaring eyeballs, that glowed like fire, were fixed upon his, not six feet away. Jack instinctively felt for his pistol, when, horror of horrors, he had left it beside the embers of the fire. He drew his hunting-knife from its sheath, keeping his eyes fixed the while upon those glaring eye-balls; when the wild creature, evidently a wolf, attracted to the river by thirst, suddenly uttered a snarl, turned tail and made off.

"Thank God!" he gasped. "Better a wolf than an Indian." For though naturally a brave lad this sudden apparition had given him a shock that made the perspiration stand out like beads on his forehead, but he quickly recovered himself and crept down to the edge of the stream.

He could just make out the dark, indistinct outline of the forest on the opposite bank, but no ripples or dark objects were visible. Then he looked down-stream, but nothing could he see.

"I must have been deceived. What a good thing I didn't alarm the camp! How they would have laughed at me," he muttered.

Just then, however, he cast his eyes upstream. As he did so, he started again. A long, dark shadow, like a log or a canoe, half-way across, seemed to be drifting towards the northern shore on which they were camped. It was not more than two hundred yards away. It seemed to crawl along, then close behind it he saw a similar object, and still another.

What were the scouts doing? Had they been betrayed? What could they be, but canoes--Indians? Then the enemy must be crossing over, and he raised his voice for one mighty shout of--

"Iroquois."

But even as he uttered that startling cry the fierce howl of the coyote, repeated twice, the signal to alarm the camp, came from the woods, and the crack of a rifle awoke a hundred echoes and roused the men to a sense of their danger.

Even as for an instant he lingered beside the river-bank a blood-curdling yell, the war-whoop of the Iroquois, rang across the stream and echoed and re-echoed through the forest. A dozen rifles spattered out their leaden hail, for the conflict had begun at last.

Jack rushed back into the camp and found Major Ridout and the men already in position behind the logs, prepared to receive the enemy as soon as they should burst through that thin line of Algonquin scouts.

"Hullo, Jack!" cried Jamie. "Where have you been? I feared that you were a prisoner. Have you been scouting too?"

"Why, yes! That is, I couldn't sleep, and I thought I saw a curious object in mid-stream and went down to see what it was."

"And what did you find?"

"Well, I could no longer see it when I got there, but just as I was coming away I happened to look up-stream, and I saw three canoes crossing over from the southern bank.

"I wonder why the chief did not discover them before. He seems to have been watching the forest instead of the river! Hullo! What's this?"

The sounds of a desperate struggle, a hand-to-hand fight in the bushes a few yards away, attracted their attention. It was too dark, however, to see anything as yet, although the dawn would be upon them shortly.

"Stand ready, lads!" cried their leader, and every man levelled his rifle in the direction whence the sounds came.

The next moment a wounded Algonquin rushed into the camp, leaping over the abattis, and then rolled over on the ground dead. He was fearfully gashed, and it was evident that an attempt had even been made to scalp him. How he had escaped was a marvel. The yells and war-whoops had ceased now, and for a brief space even the rifles had ceased to speak, and there was a dead silence. The men waited impatiently behind that rude barricade, reserving their fire.

Suddenly a sharp, short, piercing scream, broken short, fell upon their ears, as though a mortal wound had been given and received.

"Ah, Wabeno! That is the end of Wabeno!" exclaimed one of the men.

It was indeed Wabeno who uttered that scream, and it was both his war-cry and his death-cry, for at that instant he had met in single combat the Iroquois chief, and the tomahawk of the greatest warrior within a hundred leagues of the lakes, had sunk into his brain and stretched him lifeless.

"Now the Algonquins will scatter like the leaves of the forest, and we must fight it out alone, lads. Oh! that the dawn would come!" exclaimed the major, casting a brief look towards the east.

Even as he spoke the first flush of the sunrise was lighting up the edge of the forest and the river, but the dawn only revealed to them the utter hopelessness of their position. The enemy were in great numbers, and had almost completely surrounded them, for though the river was at their rear it was being eagerly watched from the opposite bank.

Still, for some reason, the enemy did not attempt to rush the camp as yet.

"I wonder why they're hanging back, Jamie," said his comrade, who lay behind the same log with his rifle at the "ready."

"Perhaps they've had enough scalps already, and are thinking of going back to their wigwams."

"Ah," replied one of the _voyageurs_, who was a regular frontiersman, "that might be true of any other tribe but the Iroquois; they'll not be satisfied until their girdles are full of reeking scalps. We must teach them a lesson they'll not forget. Here goes," and raising his rifle as he spoke he fired quickly at a dark figure that was approaching the camp, leaping quickly from tree to tree.

A yell of pain escaped the Indian as he rolled over in an agony, and paid with his life for his temerity. A wild cry of vengeance came from the dark aisles of the forest, and a dozen Iroquois leapt forward to snatch away the dead body, lest it should fall into the hands of the palefaces.

This was the opportunity that had long been waited for, and the order came sharp and short--

"Fire!"

A dozen flashes of fire burst forth from behind the barricade, and a hail of bullets was poured out upon the Indians, and a confused heap of dead and wounded lay beside their fallen comrade, but ere the smoke had cleared away the piercing scream of an eagle rent the air. It was the signal for a general attack given by the Iroquois chief, and before the palefaces had time to reload their pieces, a hundred braves leapt from the cover of the trees, where they had been hidden on three sides of the camp.

The forest rang with their wild whoops, as, brandishing their hatchets and tomahawks, they leapt over the tree trunks and fell upon the _voyageurs_. A desperate hand-to-hand fight ensued. Frightful blows were given and received. Paleface and redskin fought like demons. Some of the former, seeing the hopelessness of prolonging the fight against such numbers of their fierce and crafty foe, rushed to the river bank, and launching one of the canoes pushed off and threw themselves in, followed by a storm of bullets and arrows.

From that moment the fight was lost, and even those who thus deserted their comrades gained nothing but dishonour and death, for they were quickly overtaken, and killed and scalped.

The rest of the small band still fought on bravely against desperate odds, for they were outnumbered by more than ten to one. Major Ridout seemed to have the strength of ten, for single-handed he encountered four Indians at once, and had stretched two of them on the ground, and wounded a third, when a fierce painted warrior, with a plume of eagle's feathers upon his head, uttered a wild cry and buried his knife in the brave man's heart.

Where were the lads all this time? As soon as the general attack was made, they placed their backs against a pine-tree that stood nearly in the middle of the clearing, and defended themselves against all-comers. They were the last survivors of that little band, and they still fought desperately with their clubbed muskets, which they wielded with a vigour and frenzy that had already sent half-a-dozen Iroquois to the ground.

The end was not far off, however. They had both received several nasty wounds, and Jack was both stunned and bleeding.

"Good-bye, Jamie!" he said, as he sank to the ground.

Jamie felt that he, too, must soon follow him, but when Jack fell he stepped across his body and swung his clubbed musket about so fiercely that the enemy fell back for a minute. An Indian hurled a hatchet, which just missed his head and buried its keen, trembling blade in the tree behind him.

He looked down at Jack's pale, death-like face. He called him by name, but no answer came, and he feared that his comrade was dead. The blood was flowing freely from his own wounds, and he felt himself getting weaker and weaker.

He was reeling now from sheer weakness and loss of blood. He could hardly hold his musket. This, then, was to be the end of it all. Deserted by the French _voyageurs_, to be killed and scalped by the cruel Iroquois.

"Never mind! We will die together," he mumbled to himself, "fighting to the last."

The Indians were returning now from the capture of the canoe. He could see a dozen or more gesticulating forms, dancing in frenzy before him. He could do no more. He was falling--falling--such a long way it seemed to the ground. Then he felt the sharp steel of an Indian knife cutting into his flesh, as it was hurled at him from a distance.

He felt some one clutch his scalp-lock, but he was unable to resist. He had become unconscious and oblivious of all these things. He seemed to be in another land where, instead of the dark forest with its interminable tangle and endless dangers, he roamed with Jamie beside a broken stream, where the red-spotted trout leapt in a sunlit burn, the music of whose waters charmed and soothed his tired and weary spirit.

"Stay! He is the paleface brother of the White Eagle," said a voice that broke his sub-conscious reverie; and at these words Jack opened his eyes for an instant and looked into the face of a mighty warrior whose plumed eagle crest and haughty features seemed strangely familiar.

*CHAPTER IX*

*THE WHITE EAGLE OF THE IROQUOIS*

The Indian who had raised his scalping-knife drew back, and a plumed and painted chieftain stepped forward. It was none other than the renowned "White Eagle"--the greatest chief amongst the Six Nations. The same daring and unconquered spirit who had made his escape from the frigate, as she lay anchored in the river below Quebec.

"Stay! Let me see the young palefaces, who do not run like the hares," he commanded.

As he bent over the prostrate youths, he was unable to restrain a slight, involuntary start. A sudden gleam of remembrance flashed across his countenance, and chased away for an instant the ferocity of the savage. He recognised in them the young prisoners who, aboard the _Sapphire_, had dared to offer him a drink of water at the risk of losing their own promised liberty.

Then, in a loud voice which all could hear, he uttered those words, which caused Jack to open his eyes for an instant--

"Stay! He is the paleface brother of the White Eagle."

The braves quickly gathered around him, for they were all astounded at these words; but he continued--

"These are not the children of the Canadas. They are the friends of the red man, and the children of the Yengeese. They come from the land of the sun-rising. They were prisoners with White Eagle, in the big canoe with wings, in the river of Canada, and when the children of the French king treated the Eagle as the squaw of a Delaware, and even offered him the bitter salt water to drink, the hearts of these children of Miquon burned with pity for the red chief, and they offered him sweet water to quench his thirst, but even that was not permitted by these dogs of Canada."

"Ugh! The children of the French Father are snakes and cowards. They are singing-birds which speak a lie," cried one of the warriors.

"The Algonquins are crows, who fly to their rookeries when they hear the scream of the eagle," cried another.

"Listen!" continued the chief. "The French are women, like the Delawares, and should wear petticoats. They offered gold and fire-water for the scalp of an Iroquois chief, but the caged eagle despised their threats, and while his captors slept, his proud spirit burst the bars, and his strong wings bore him aloft, back to the hunting-grounds of his fathers."

Exclamations of pride and assent greeted these words, for the prowess and courage of their leader were recognised by all of them.

"When the White Eagle of his tribe gained his freedom once more, his heart went back to the Yengeese prisoners who had dared to show him a kindness, and he longed to see their faces again, for an Iroquois never forgets a kindness, though he quickly repays an insult, and now the Manitou has sent hither my paleface friends. They are brave, for they do not run even from my warriors. The white blood shall be washed from their veins, and when their wounds are healed they shall be adopted into my tribe, for the Great Spirit has said, that between the children of Miquon and the red man there shall be peace, and the hatchet shall be buried so deeply that none shall ever find it again."

These remarkable words, uttered by the red chief, contained both wisdom and prophecy, though expressed in that flowery and boastful language which has always been a peculiarity of the North American savage.

Quickly, then, medicinal herbs were brought from far and near to heal the boys' wounds, and all the knowledge and skill of the tribe were used to restore them to life and health. Fortunately their wounds were not serious, and soon they were able to sit up and to walk, and then they learnt how fortunate they had been. They thanked God in that moment for all His preserving care, and especially that they were led to do that simple act of kindness to the great chief aboard the frigate.

In accordance with a peculiar Indian custom, water was then brought from the river, and the usual rites of adoption were performed. When the white blood had been washed away from their veins, the chief declared them to be his brothers and members of his tribe.

They were provided with deer-skin shirts and leggings, embroidered with quills and fine bead work. Indian moccasins were placed upon their feet, and belts of wampum around their waists, while the feathers of a newly-killed hawk served as crests or head-gear. Except that their faces were a little paler than those of their companions, they might easily have been taken for young Indian braves, just entering upon their first war-path.

Then it only remained to find Indian names for them, so they called Jamie "Red Feather," for when they found him his head and face were covered with blood, as he lay upon the ground, and so they dyed the hawk-feathers that served as his crest a deep crimson. And Jack they called the "Black Hawk," for they said, though his face was pale, his spirit was as fierce, and his eyes as keen, as the bird of prey whose plumes he bore. So they left his feathers black.

"So now we're both Iroquois braves, Black Hawk!" said Jamie, as soon as they were left together.

"Yes, and the brothers of White Eagle, too!" laughed his companion.

"Well, I suppose it's a great honour they've conferred upon us, so we must not grumble."

"The greatest honour that an Indian can confer. And for a time I shouldn't mind it, at any rate, until we can make our escape to the settlements of Pennsylvania or Virginia, if it were not for those horrible, reeking trophies that our comrades carry at their girdles."

"Ah! the scalps, you mean----"

"Yes. Do you know that I've counted no less than fifteen fresh scalps amongst them, every one of which was this morning rooted where God had placed it."

"Horrible! What can we do?"

"Nothing!"

"Are we the only survivors?"

"Some of the Algonquins escaped, I think, and a few of the Frenchmen, who made for the forest, but none of those who entered the canoe, for there she is. She was captured and brought back again."

"And Major Ridout?" asked Jamie. "What has become of him? Is he dead, too?"

"I fear so, but all the bodies have been dragged into the forest and hidden. I suppose the chief did that to save us a little pain, for he probably knows that we are unaccustomed to such a sight."

"I'm glad to hear that, for it shows that he possesses a sense of decency and good feeling, although he's such a mighty redskin chief."

"And 'tis certain that he remembers a kindness, too, however small," said Jack. "And it's my opinion that he's not at all a bad fellow, but as generous as he is brave. He remembered us at once, and we owe him our lives, and I intend to thank him when I get the chance."

"We owe our lives also to the fact that we stood our ground, when the others ran away, for if we had taken either to the canoes or the forest the chief would probably not have come our way, and we should have been scalped by his braves."

"So once more the path of duty has been the path of safety, as old Dr. Birch was so fond of saying."

"The only pleasant feature, apart from our marvellous escape, that I can see, is that the Iroquois as a part of the Six Nations are allied with the English against the French in this war, and they speak of the English king as their Great Father across the water."

During this time the Indians, who had not followed the fugitives into the forest, had been overhauling the three big canoes which belonged to the fur-traders, and examining their contents.

They had made a great capture, for the canoes were deeply laden with provisions, arms, ammunition and trading goods. The first thing that White Eagle did was to pour out all the fire-water into the river, lest his men should drink it, for he knew what dire consequences would ensue to the whole band if that "devil in solution" were only permitted to pass their lips.

That night they camped on the same clearing where the battle had been fought, but next morning at sunrise they took the captured canoes along with their own, and paddled rapidly up-stream towards Lake Ontario. The youths were both invited into the chief's canoe, and as their wounds were still painful, they took no part in the paddling, but remained sitting in the bottom of the canoe, or lying upon the skins which had belonged to Major Ridout.

The chief and several of his men spoke a little broken English, and one spoke the Canadian patois, for he had been a prisoner amongst the Algonquin tribes for some time, so that they were able to converse a little during the day.

Towards evening they reached the "Thousand Islands," where the St. Lawrence broadens out into a lake studded with a multitude of islets, just before it leaves Lake Ontario. Here the hand of the great Landscape Painter seems to have made the "beauty spot" of the world, and our heroes were charmed and even roused to a pitch of enthusiasm, as they passed one green, verdant, or pine-wooded island after another, while the setting sun, flinging its last ruddy beams upon the trees and the water, completed the enchanting picture.

"'Tis well to be a red man when the Great Manitou gives His children such hunting and fishing grounds as these," said Jamie to the chief, for he had been deeply stirred by the beauty that surrounded him.

"The Great Spirit loves His red children," said the chief solemnly. "He made for them the fish in the stream, and the deer in the forest; but He has forgotten them for a while, for they have displeased Him, and the children of the sun-rising have chased them from their hunting-grounds."

Jamie made no reply, for he saw that the chief's heart was not a little sad, for they were approaching Fort Frontenac at the entrance of the lake, where the presence of the French behind their wooden palisades was a constant reminder to the Indians that even the graves and the hunting-grounds of their fathers were defiled by the presence of the paleface children of the Canadas.

That night they camped on one of the islands, but long before daybreak they departed and stole swiftly but silently past the fort, and entered the broad waters of Lake Ontario. There was just a chance that some of the survivors had reached the fort and alarmed the soldiers, but all was quiet as they paddled quickly by. Count Frontenac, who established the fort, was a clever soldier, but even to this day his name is remembered with hatred by the Iroquois for his severity and cruelty.

And now they were entering their own country, for the Iroquois claimed as their homeland all that great tract of country that lies south of Lake Ontario, from the Hudson River and Lake Champlain on the east, away to the ridges of the Blue Mountains behind Virginia and westward some little way beyond the Falls of Niagara, and the eastern shores of Lake Erie; but by right of conquest they claimed much more, for they had conquered all the surrounding tribes, from the river of Canada on the east, to the southern shores of Lake Michigan on the west, far away southwards to the Ohio Valley.

At the present time, however, the wigwams and lodges of the White Eagle were pitched on the banks of a small stream that flowed through the forest to the south of the Great Falls.

Though they still thought much of their late comrades, the youths had now become more cheerful, and their wounds had nearly healed, thanks to the kind attention of the Indians. They had even begun to admire these fierce Iroquois who had adopted them. They were not nearly so bad as they were described by the French. They were lords of nature, these children of the forest, and had desired nothing more than to be left alone in their happy hunting-grounds. It was the paleface who had been the intruder and the plunderer. At first the red men had welcomed the palefaces, and received them as brothers, but the baser types of the settlers, the outcasts and pariahs of the settlements, and especially the hated "Rum-carriers," had taken advantage of, and had traded upon, the childishness, the ignorance and the simplicity of the Indians, with the result that outrage, vengeance and border wars had been the result. The insults of Champlain were never forgotten by the Iroquois. On the other hand the compact made between Miquon (William Penn) and the Indians was never broken by the Delawares, till the white men broke it themselves.

Several times during their progress along the shores of the lake smoke had been perceived, rising above the tree-tops in the forest. The keen eyes of the chief, who was in the first canoe, never relaxed their vigilance for a moment, for though they were almost in their own country, yet at any hour they might be set upon by a marauding band of French Indians, who were out for scalps.

Each evening they would draw in to the bank, set a watch, by posting scouts some little way into the forest, then, lighting a fire, they would cook their evening meal. Oftentimes this would consist of a fine buck that had been killed during the day, as they coasted along by the edge of the forest-lined bank, or sometimes of the sturgeon and salmon taken from the lake.

The lads noticed that several times, when smoke had been observed, that the chief ordered the boats to make a wide detour, as though to avoid a possible enemy. At other times the boats would pass close in as though there were no danger. Jamie was determined to find out the reason of this, so the next time that he saw a faint column of blue smoke he remarked to the chief--

"Look, White Eagle! There's more smoke ahead!"

But the chief, who had seen it long before, merely remarked--

"Iroquois smoke!"

How he could tell the difference between one smoke and another the lads could never make out, for he seemed unable to explain it to them; but that he did know, and could often tell something of the people who fed the fire by the tell-tale column of smoke, they never doubted.

Once, as the White Eagle looked long and keenly at a very faint column of blue smoke, about half-a-mile inland, Jamie thought that for an instant he could trace a somewhat puzzled and anxious look clouding the face of the chief; but it passed as quickly as it came, and the faintest promise of a smile spread over his countenance, as though the smoke recalled pleasant memories.

"Is that Iroquois smoke, too, chief?" he asked.

"No Iroquois smoke this time," he replied

"Can it be an enemy, then?"

"No enemy."

"Then who can he be who has lit that fire?"

"Paleface!" ejaculated the chief.

*CHAPTER X*

*A LONELY FRONTIERSMAN*

"Paleface?" exclaimed the lads, standing up in the canoe, and straining their eyes as if to catch a glimpse of that mysterious stranger who was hidden in the depth of the forest.

"Aren't you afraid that we may be attacked?"

"Ugh!" replied the warrior, without moving a muscle of his dark face, or showing the slightest trace of alarm. "Him--great paleface hunter. Friend of the Iroquois. Smoke peace-pipe with the White Eagle."

As they paddled quickly past the spot Jamie turned again and again to look at that faint column of receding smoke, now growing fainter and fainter.

"Who can this paleface hunter be, so far away from his home and friends, dwelling alone in these dark forests? Perhaps he is an exile from his country!" murmured the lad to himself. Then a strange yearning came over him. He longed to go ashore, that he might join this lonely frontiersman, and share his hardships and his perils, but he hesitated to suggest it to the chief, whose face now bore such a stolid, mask-like look. And soon the long, swift strokes of the paddles bore them past the spot.

There must be something in nature--though perfectly inexplicable to us, who know so little of the unseen verities--that transmits through the ether that surrounds us, feelings of sympathy and love to kindred souls, just as in these later days of our civilisation the wireless message is flung from ship to ship and coast to coast. For the fact remains, that just at this moment the sturdy paleface hunter, as he stooped to place more pine-wood on his blazing fire, felt at his very heart a twinge of pain, so that for an instant his eyes were blurred, and he saw no longer the blazing fire, the dark forest, or the pile of beaver skins that his skilful hands had taken, for another vision rose before his face.

'Twas the vision of an old-world village, in a sweet little island that rose out of the main, far-off; and to him 'twas "Home, sweet home" still, though his feet must never tread that land again, for he was an exile, a victim to the cruel game-laws, that had banished him from his country. Here, 'twas true, the whole forest was his, with all it contained. The beaver, the otter, the fish in the streams, and even the red-spotted deer were his for the taking; but still his heart stole back again to that forbidden land.

"Oh, that I might drop a tear and plant a flower on thy grave, Lisbeth! Thou wert all the world to me--a true wife and a friend. And the bairn? Oh, my God! the bairn! Where is he?"

And here this strong man, hardened by nature to all the toils and dangers of the forest, the rapids, the wild beasts, and the scalping parties of red foes, broke down in an agony of tears and wept, for he thought of his little blue-eyed laddie of two years; the poor motherless bairn, as he had last seen him, with his flaxen curls nestling in his arms.

How often he had longed to go home and find his boy, to find even if he were yet alive; but the thought came to him each time--

"How have they taught the lad to regard his father? Perhaps they have told him that I am dead! Well, maybe 'tis better so! Or perhaps they have said, 'He is an exile in a far-off land, and he will return no more, for in the eyes of the law he is a criminal.' Then so it must remain, lest the father's curse should blight the lad; but what would I not give to see my child again after all these years."

Then he flung himself down upon a pile of skins and wept again. That night sleep fled from his eyelids, as it had often done before when these longings for the homeland had come over him, but never, never before had his agony been so great. He prayed his God for something he had never dared to ask before. It was that he might be permitted, before he died, to look upon the face of his child again, even though the lad should not know him. And his prayer was answered, for an angel from the stars above came down and kissed him, as he lay beneath the silent pines, and whispered--

"It shall be!"

And he slept, for his cares had fled, and a deep peace had filled his soul.

Such were thy sons, oh, England! Their bold, proud spirits chafed and were cramped within thy narrow limits, and narrower laws, made by and for the selfish few, in days, happily, long past. And yet they loved their native land, though exiled from hearth and home; and when duty called, they lined thy distant frontiers; they held thy far-flung borders, and were content to leave their bones to bleach beside some lonely outpost of the Empire they helped to build. But let us for a while leave this lonely frontiersman, and return to our friends and their Iroquois companions.

Four days had been spent in navigating Lake Ontario, and they were now approaching Niagara, below whose thunderous rapids stood the French fort that guarded both the river and the lakes.

Towards evening on the fourth day a distant speck was seen approaching from the westward, and the White Eagle, standing in the bow of the foremost canoe, as he gazed into the face of the setting sun, permitted a sudden cry of surprise to escape from his lips--

"Algonquins!"

'Twas only too true, for there, rapidly approaching and hugging the southern shore of the lake, was a large party of their hated foes, in their big canoes of elm-bark.

The discovery appeared to be mutual, for both parties rent the air with their respective war-cries, and hastened ashore to make ready for the coming battle. Darkness soon settled over forest and lake, but all through the night the woods resounded with the dreadful war-whoops of the Indians, as they chanted their war-songs, and worked themselves into a frenzy of fury.

What a night that was for the two young paleface warriors! The war fever of the Iroquois had in a measure entered into their blood, for they saw in the Algonquins the allies of France and the enemies of England, so they prepared to defend themselves in the morning.

Day dawned at last, and White Eagle and his braves pressed forward to battle; not shoulder to shoulder, nor in unresisting phalanx, as the soldiers of the palefaces fought, but in true Indian fashion the dark-skinned warriors leapt from tree to tree, and cover to cover. Showers of arrows and bullets rattled amongst the trees and rocks, and the wild yells became every moment fiercer and fiercer. Several warriors had fallen on each side, and a dozen scalps had been taken, as the frequent yells of triumph announced.

Deeds of desperate valour were recklessly performed. Homeric contests, ending in frightful wounds or instant death were frequently engaged in, when suddenly, from behind the cover of a huge elm-tree, the Algonquin chief, his plume of black raven feathers nodding with his frenzied action, rushed into the open and challenged the Iroquois leader to single combat.

With a yell of delight White Eagle bounded into the clearing, and accepted the offer. Then, instantly, as if by instinct, every weapon was lowered, and the non-combatants ranged themselves on either side, in a rude semicircle, with a rising back-ground of tall pines and elms, to watch this gladiatorial contest, which threatened to be both brief and sanguinary.

Then followed a pause, during which the two chiefs addressed each other in the figurative but boastful braggadocia, in the use of which the red men excelled all the other nations of the world. The Algonquin chief, whose name was "Black Raven," began as follows--

"Mingo dog! where are the scalps of the Iroquois warriors who came to the Canada River? Ten of them have not returned to their tribe, since the snows melted. My children went to the lodges of the Maquas and the Oneidas, but they found only squaws and children. The scalps of the Iroquois are in the wigwams of the Canadas, and the Canada Father has rewarded his children with many hatchets, and powder to burn in the face of their enemies, because they have cleared the snakes from the woods! The moccasins of the Iroquois cannot be found in the forest. They have been driven from the hunting-grounds of their fathers, never, never to return----!"

"Skunk of the Algonquins!" retorted the Iroquois, "your tongue is forked, like the serpent that hides its head in the grass, and your arm is feeble as the squaw of the Delaware. The singing-birds have called your young men from their Canada lodges, so that my warriors may take their scalps, for before the sun is amongst the pines, your warriors will have followed him into the hunting-grounds of the Great Spirit."

"Iroquois muskrat! Your tongue is sharper than your knife!"

"Hark! What is that sound that I hear? 'Tis the wailing of the squaws in your Canada lodges, because their young men return no more."

"Iroquois snake! Skulking fox!" retorted the Algonquin. "'Tis to you that the singing-birds have spoken, but they have spoken falsely. Slaves of the Yengeese! Never more will your war-whoop be heard in the woods; never more will you fish the streams and hunt the deer, for before the sun shall rise the girdles of my young men will be heavy with your scalps. 'Tis the Mingoes who are women, like the Delawares. They killed my young men when the face of the Manitou was turned away from His children in anger, but now the Great Spirit has delivered you into our hands, and nevermore shall your squaws behold you."

"Dogs of the Canadas! The Iroquois are free and strong as the eagle that soars to the clouds, but the Algonquins are skunks and muskrats. They are slaves to the Canada palefaces. Go hunt the deer and the moose for your French Father, and when, for your portion, he throws you the offals--be grateful."

The tomahawk of the French Indian whirled in the air, as, stung by this biting insult to his tribe, he hurled it at his enemy, and so true was the aim that it only missed the scalp of the Iroquois by an inch, for it carried away half his plume of eagle feathers.

A loud cry of vengeance arose from his warriors as this deadly missile whizzed past their leader.

The next instant the wild scream of an eagle, which was the peculiar war-cry of this renowned chief, rang through the glades and across the lake as the leaders closed in deadly combat. Like the leap of the panther, when robbed of its young, was the fierce onset of the Iroquois chief. Fifty gleaming knives were snatched from their sheaths, and held aloft; but before the warriors on either side could reach the spot, the tomahawk of the White Eagle had stretched his opponent upon the ground, and with keen knife he had already snatched away the trophy that honour demanded.

Then, amid war-whoops and wild yells of savage fury, the fierce passions of the warriors became undammed, and a short but sanguinary conflict occurred. The Algonquins, despite the loss of their leader, fought bravely for a while, but were at length overwhelmed by the relentless fury of the Iroquois. Then they quickly broke and scattered through the forest, pursued by their enemy.

Thus ended another of those fierce fights, so common amongst the Indians tribes in the middle of the eighteenth century, while all the time the armies of the two paleface nations from towards the sun-rising were preparing for that final death grapple, which was to settle for ever the destiny of the northern half of that mighty continent; and to drive the scattered tribes of the children of the Manitou ever westward towards the setting sun.