The Little Red Foot Part 69

I shouted for him to come back, but when he obeyed he had two Mohawk scalps,[29] and came reluctantly, glancing down at Campbell where he lay still breathing on the muddy road, and darting an uncertain glance at me.

[Footnote 29: In October, 1919, the author talked to a farmer and his son, who, a few days previously, while digging sand to mend the Johnstown road at this point, had disinterred two skeletons which had been buried there. From the shape of the skulls, it is presumed that the remains were Indian.]

But I told him with an oath that it would be an insult to me if he touched a white man's hair in my presence; and he opened the gate and came inside like a great, sullen dog from whom I had s.n.a.t.c.hed a bone of his own digging.

Very cautiously we retreated through the orchard to the house, entered, and climbed again to the roof.

And from there we saw that, in our absence, the boat had been rowed to our landing, and that its occupants were now somewhere on the mainland, doubtless preparing to a.s.sault the place as soon as dusk offered them sufficient cover.

Well, the game was nearly up now. Our people should have arrived by this time at Mayfield with sheep, cattle, and waggon. We had remained here to the limit of safety, and there was no hope of aid in time to save our skins or this house from destruction.

The sun was low over the forest when, at length, we crept out of the house and stole down to our canoe.

We made no sound when we embarked, and our craft glided away under the rushes, driven by cautiously-dipped paddles which left only silent little swirls on the dark and gla.s.sy stream.

Up Mayfield Creek we turned, which, above, is not fair canoe-water save at flood; but now the spring melting filled it brimfull, and a heavy current set into Vlaie Water so that there was labour ahead for us; and we bent to it as dusk fell over the Drowned Lands.

It was not yet full dark when, over my shoulder, I saw a faint rose light in the north. And I knew that Summer House was on fire.

Then, swiftly the rosy light grew to a red glow, and, as we watched, a great conflagration flared in the darkness, mounting higher, burning redder, fiercer, till, around us, vague smouldering shadows moved, and the water was touched with ashy glimmerings.

Summer House was all afire, and the infernal light touched us even here, painting our features and the paddle-blades, and staining the dark water with a prophecy of blood.

It was a long and irksome paddle, what with floating trees we encountered and the stream over its banks and was.h.i.+ng us into sedge and brush and rafts of weed in the darkness. Again and again, checked by some high dam of drifted windfall, we were forced to make a swampy carry, waist high through bog and water.

Often, so, we were forced to rest; and we sat silent, panting, skin-soaked in the chilly night air, gazing at the distant fire, which, though now miles away, seemed so near. And I could even see trees black against the blaze, and smoke rolling turbulently, and a great whirl of sparks mounting skyward.

It was long past midnight when I hailed the picket at the grist-mill and drove our canoe sh.o.r.eward into the light of a lifted lantern.

"Is Nick Stoner in?" I called out.

"All safe!" replied somebody on sh.o.r.e.

A dark figure came down to the water and took hold of our bow to steady us.

"Summer House and Fish House are burned," said I, climbing out stiffly.

"Aye," said the soldier, "and what of Fonda's Bush, Mr. Drogue?"

"What!" I exclaimed, startled.

"Look yonder," said he.

I scarce know how I managed to stumble up the bushy bank. And then, when I came out on level land near the block house, I saw fire to the southeast, and the sky crimson above the forest.

"My G.o.d!" I stammered, "Fonda's Bush is all afire!"

There was a red light toward Frenchman's Creek, too, but where Fonda's Bush should lie a vast sea of fire rose and ebbed and waxed and faded above the forest.

"Were any people left there?" I asked.

"None, sir."

"Thank G.o.d," I said. But my heart was desolate, for now my house of logs that I had builded and loved was gone; my glebe destroyed; all my toil come to naught in the distant mockery of those shaking flames. All I had in the world was gone save for my slender funds in Albany.

"Where are my friends?" said I to a soldier.

"At the Block House, sir, and very anxious concerning you. They have not long been in, but Nick Stoner is all for going back to Summer House to discover your whereabouts, and has been beating up recruits for a flying scout."

Even as he spoke, I saw Nick come up the road with a torch, and called out to him.

"Where have you been, John Drogue?" said he, coming to me and laying a hand on my shoulder.

"Is Penelope safe?" I asked.

"She is as safe as are any here in Mayfield. Is it Summer House that burns in the north, or only the marsh hay?"

"The whole place is afire," said I. "A dozen green-coats, blue-eyed Indians, and two real ones, burnt Fish House and attacked us at Summer House. I saw and knew Jock Campbell, Henry Hare, Billy Newberry, Barney Cane, Eli Beacraft, and George Cuck. My Saguenay mortally wounded Jock.

He's lying on the road. He tomahawked a Canienga, too, and took his scalp and another's."

"Did _you_ mark any of the dirty crew?" demanded Nick.

"I shot Beacraft and one Mohawk. How many are we at the Block House?"

"A full company to hold it safe," said he, gloomily. "Do you know that Fonda's Bush is burning?"

"Yes."

After a silence I said: "Who commands here? I think we ought to move toward Johnstown this night. I don't know how many green-coats have come to the Sacandaga, but it must have been another detachment that is burning Fonda's Bush."

As I spoke a Continental Captain followed by a Lieutenant came up in the torch-light; and I gave him his salute and rendered an account of what had happened on the Drowned Lands.

He seemed deeply disturbed but told me he had orders to defend the Mayfield Fort. He added, however, that if I must report at Johnstown he would give me a squad of musket-men as escort thither.

"Yes, sir," said I, "my report should not be delayed. But I have Nick Stoner and an Indian, and apprehend no danger. So if I may beg a dish of porridge for my little company, and dry my clothing by your block-house fire-place, I shall set out within the hour."

He was very civil,--a tall, haggard, careworn man, whose wife and children lived at Torloch, and their undefended situation caused him deep anxiety.

So I walked to the Fort, Nick and my Indian following; and presently saw Penelope on the rifle-platform of the stockade, among the soldiers.

She was gazing at the fiery sky in the north when I caught sight of her and called her name.

For a moment she bent swiftly down over the pickets as though to pierce the dark where my voice came from; then she turned, and was descending the ladder when I entered by the postern.

As I came up she took my shoulders between both hands, but said nothing, and I saw she had trouble to speak.