Chapter XIX. The Safe Return

The Scouts of the Valley

by Joseph A. Altsheler

The surface of the snow had frozen again in the night, and Henry
found good footing for his shoes. For a while he leaned most on the
right ankle, but, as his left developed no signs of soreness, he used
them equally, and sped forward, his spirits rising at every step.
The air was cold, and there was but little breeze, but his own motion
made a wind that whipped his face. The hollows were mostly gone from
his cheeks, and his eyes no longer had the fierce, questing look of
the famishing wild animal in search of prey. A fine red color was
suffused through the brown of his face. He had chosen his course
with due precaution. The broad surface, smooth, white, and
glittering, tempted, but he put the temptation away. He did not wish
to run any chance whatever of another Iroquois pursuit, and he kept
in the forest that ran down close to the water's edge. It was
tougher traveling there, but he persisted.

But all thought of weariness and trouble was lost in his
glorious freedom. With his crippled ankle he had been really like a
prisoner in his cell, with a ball and chain to his foot. Now he flew
along, while the cold wind whipped his blood, and felt what a delight
it was merely to live. He went on thus for hours, skirting down
toward the cliffs that contained "The Alcove." He rested a while in
the afternoon and ate the last of his rabbit, but before twilight he
reached the creek, and stood at the hidden path that led up to their
home.

Henry sat down behind thick bushes and took off his snowshoes.
To one who had never come before, the whole place would have seemed
absolutely desolate, and even to one not a stranger no sign of life
would have been visible had he not possessed uncommonly keen eyes.
But Henry had such eyes. He saw the faintest wisp of smoke stealing
away against the surface of the cliff, and he felt confident that all
four were there. He resolved to surprise them.

Laying the shoes aside, he crept so carefully up the path that
he dislodged no snow and made no noise of any kind. As be gradually
approached "The Alcove" he beard the murmur of voices, and presently,
as he turned an angle in the path, he saw a beam of glorious mellow
light falling on the snow.

But the murmur of the voices sent a great thrill of delight
through him. Low and indistinct as they were, they had a familiar
sound. He knew all those tones. They were the voices of his
faithful comrades, the four who had gone with him through so many
perils and hardships, the little band who with himself were ready to
die at any time, one for another.

He crept a little closer, and then a little closer still. Lying
almost flat on the steep path, and drawing himself forward, he looked
into "The Alcove." A fire of deep, red coals glowed in one corner,
and disposed about it were the four. Paul lay on his elbow on a
deerskin, and was gazing into the coals. Tom Ross was working on a
pair of moccasins, Long Jim was making some kind of kitchen
implement, and Shif'less Sol was talking. Henry could hear the words
distinctly, and they were about himself.

"Henry will turn up all right," he was saying. "Hasn't he
always done it afore? Then ef he's always done it afore he's shorely
not goin' to break his rule now. I tell you, boys, thar ain't enough
Injuns an' Tories between Canady an' New Orleans, an' the Mississippi
an' the Atlantic, to ketch Henry. I bet I could guess what he's
doin' right at this moment."

"What is he doing, Sol?" asked Paul.

"When I shet my eyes ez I'm doin' now I kin see him," said the
shiftless one. "He's away off thar toward the north, skirtin' around
an Injun village, Mohawk most likely, lookin' an' listenin' an'
gatherin' talk about their plans."

"He ain't doin' any sech thing," broke in Long Jim.

"I've sleet my eyes, too, Sol Hyde, jest ez tight ez you've shet
yours, an' I see him, too, but he ain't doin' any uv the things that
you're talkin' about."

"What is he doing, Jim?" asked Paul.

"Henry's away off to the south, not to the north," replied the
long one, "an' he's in the Iroquois village that we burned. One
house has been left standin', an' he's been occupyin' it while the
big snow's on the groun'. A whole deer is hangin' from the wall, an'
he's been settin' thar fur days, eatin' so much an' hevin' such a
good time that the fat's hangin' down over his cheeks, an' his whole
body is threatenin' to bust right out uv his huntin' shirt."

Paul moved a little on his elbow and turned the other side of
his face to the fire. Then he glanced at the silent worker with the
moccasins.

"Sol and Jim don't seem to agree much in their second sight," he
said. "Can you have any vision, too, Tom?"

"Yes," replied Tom Ross, "I kin. I shet my eyes, but I don't
see like either Sol or Jim, 'cause both uv 'em see wrong. I see
Henry, an' I see him plain. He's had a pow'ful tough time. He ain't
threatenin' to bust with fat out uv no huntin' shirt, his cheeks
ain't so full that they are fallin' down over his jaws. It's t'other
way roun'; them cheeks are sunk a mite, he don't fill out his
clothes, an' when he crawls along he drags his left leg a leetle,
though he hides it from hisself. He ain't spyin' on no Injun
village, an' he ain't in no snug camp with a dressed deer hangin' by
the side uv him. It's t'other way 'roan'. He's layin' almost flat
on his face not twenty feet from us, lookin' right in at us, an' I
wuz the first to see him."

All the others sprang to their feet in astonishment, and Henry
likewise sprang to his feet. Three leaps, and he was in the mellow
glow.

"And so you saw me, Tom," he exclaimed, as he joyously grasped
one hand after another. "I might have known that, while I could
stalk some of you, I could not stalk all of you."

"I caught the glimpse uv you," said Silent Tom, while Sol an'
Jim wuz talkin' the foolish talk that they most always talk, an' when
Paul called on me, I thought I would give 'em a dream that 'wuz true,
an' worth tellin'."

"You're right," said Henry. "I've not been having any easy
time, and for a while, boys, it looked as if I never would come back.
Sit down, and I will tell you all about it."

They gave him the warmest place by the fire, brought him the
tenderest food, and he told the long and thrilling tale.

"I don't believe anybody else but you would have tried it,
Henry," said Paul, when they heard of the fearful slide.

"Any one of you would have done it," said Henry, modestly.

"I'm pow'ful glad that you done it for two reasons," said
Shif'less Sol. "One, 'cause it helped you to git away, an' the
other, 'cause that scoundrel, Braxton Wyatt, didn't take you. 'Twould
hurt my pride tre-men-jeous for any uv us to be took by Braxton
Wyatt."

"You speak for us all there, Sol," said Paul.

"What have all of you been doing?" asked Henry.

"Not much of anything," replied Shif'less Sol. We've been
scoutin' several times, lookin' fur you, though we knowed you'd come
in some time or other, but mostly we've been workin' 'roun' the place
here, fixin' it up warmer an' storin' away food."

"We'll have to continue at that for some time, I'm afraid," said
Henry, "unless this snow breaks up. Have any of you heard if any
movement is yet on foot against the Iroquois?"

"Tom ran across some scouts from the militia," replied Paul,
"and they said nothing could be done until warm weather came. Then a
real army would march."

"I hope so," said Henry earnestly.

But for the present the five could achieve little. The snow
lasted a long time, but it was finally swept away by big rains. It
poured for two days and nights, and even when the rain ceased the
snow continued to melt under the warmer air. The water rushed in
great torrents down the cliffs, and would have entered "The Alcove"
had not the five made provision to turn it away. As it was, they sat
snug and dry, listening to the gush of the water, the sign of falling
snow, and the talk of one another. Yet the time dragged.

"Man wuz never made to be a caged animile," said Shif'less Sol.
"The longer I stay shet up in one place, the weaker I become. My
temper don't improve, neither, an' I ain't happy."

"Guess it's the same with all uv us," said Tom Ross.

But when the earth came from beneath the snow, although it was
still cold weather, they began again to range the forest far in every
direction, and they found that the Indians, and the Tories also, were
becoming active. There were more burnings, more slaughters, and more
scalpings. The whole border was still appalled at the massacres of
Wyoming and Cherry Valley, and the savages were continually spreading
over a wider area. Braxton Wyatt at the head of his band, and with
the aid of his Tory lieutenant, Levi Coleman, had made for himself a
name equal to that of Walter Butler. As for "Indian" Butler and his
men, no men were hated more thoroughly than they.

The five continued to do the best they could, which was much,
carrying many a warning, and saving some who would otherwise have
been victims. While they devoted themselves to their strenuous task,
great events in which they were to take a part were preparing. The
rear guard of the Revolution was about to become for the time the
main guard. A great eye had been turned upon the ravaged and
bleeding border, and a great mind, which could bear misfortune-even
disaster-without complaint, was preparing to send help to those
farther away. So mighty a cry of distress had risen, that the power
of the Iroquois must be destroyed. As the warm weather came, the
soldiers began to march.

Rumors that a formidable foe was about to advance reached the
Iroquois and their allies, the Tories, the English, and the
Canadians. There was a great stirring among the leaders,
Thayendanegea, Hiokatoo, Sangerachte, the Johnsons, the Butlers,
Claus, and the rest. Haldimand, the king's representative in Canada,
sent forth an urgent call to all the Iroquois to meet the enemy. The
Tories were' extremely active. Promises were made to the tribes that
they should have other victories even greater than those of Wyoming
and Cherry Valley, and again the terrible Queen Esther went among
them, swinging her great war tomahawk over her head and chanting her
song of death. She, more than any other, inflamed the Iroquois, and
they were eager for the coming contest.

Timmendiquas had gone back to the Ohio country in the winter,
but, faithful to his promise to give Thayendanegea help to the last,
he returned in the spring with a hundred chosen warriors of the
Wyandot nation, a reenforcement the value of which could not be
estimated too highly.

Henry and his comrades felt the stir as they roamed through the
forest, and they thrilled at the thought that the crisis was
approaching. Then they set out for Lake Otsego, where the army was
gathering for the great campaign. They were equipped thoroughly, and
they were now so well known in the region that they knew they would
be welcome.

They traveled several days, and were preparing to encamp for the
last night within about fifteen miles of the lake when Henry,
scouting as usual to see if an enemy were near, heard a footstep in
the forest. He wheeled instantly to cover behind the body of a great
beech tree, and the stranger sought to do likewise, only he had no
convenient tree that was so large. It was about the twelfth hour,
but Henry could see a portion of a body protruding beyond a slim oak,
and he believed that he recognized it. As he held the advantage he
would, at any rate, hail the stranger.

"Ho, Cornelius Heemskerk, Dutchman, fat man, great scout and
woodsman, what are you doing in my wilderness? Stand forth at once
and give an account of yourself, or I will shoot off the part of your
body that sticks beyond that oak tree!"

The answer was instantaneous. A round, plump body revolved from
the partial shelter of the tree and stood upright in the open, rifle
in hand and cap thrown back from a broad ruddy brow.

"Ho, Mynheer Henry Ware," replied Cornelius Heemskerk in a loud,
clear tone, "I am in your woods on perhaps the same errand that you
are. Come from behind that beech and let us see which has the
stronger grip."

Henry stood forth, and the two clasped hands in a grip so
powerful that both winced. Then they released hands simultaneously,
and Heemskerk asked:

"And the other four mynheers? Am I wrong to say that they are
near, somewhere ?"

"You are not wrong," replied Henry. "They are alive, well and
hungry, not a mile from here. There is one man whom they would be
very glad to see, and his name is Cornelius Heemskerk, who is roaming
in our woods without a permit."

The round, ruddy face of the Dutchman glowed. It was obvious
that he felt as much delight in seeing Henry as Henry felt in seeing
him.

"My heart swells," he said. "I feared that you might have been
killed or scalped, or, at the best, have gone back to that far land
of Kentucky."

"We have wintered well," said Henry, "in a place of which I
shall not tell you now, and we are here to see the campaign
through."

"I come, too, for the same purpose," said Heemskerk. "We shall
be together. It is goot." "Meanwhile," said Henry, "our camp fire
is lighted. Jim Hart, whom you have known of old, is cooking strips
of meat over the coals, and, although it is a mile away, the odor of
them is very pleasant in my nostrils. I wish to go back there, and
it will be all the more delightful to me, and to those who wait, if I
can bring with me such a welcome guest."

"Lead on, mynheer," said Cornelius Heemskerk sententiously.

He received an equally emphatic welcome from the others, and
then they ate and talked. Heemskerk was sanguine.

"Something will be done this time," he said. "Word has come
from the great commander that the Iroquois must be crushed. The
thousands who have fallen must be avenged, and this great fire along
our border must be stopped. If it cannot be done, then we perish.
We have old tales in my own country of the cruel deeds that the
Spaniards did long, long ago, but they were not worse than have been
done here."

The five made no response, but the mind of every one of them
traveled back to Wyoming and all that they had seen there, and the
scars and traces of many more tragedies.

They reached the camp on Lake Otsego the next day, and Henry saw
that all they had heard was true. The most formidable force that
they had ever seen was gathering. There were many companies in the
Continental buff and blue, epauletted officers, bayonets and cannon.
The camp was full of life, energy, and hope, and the five at once
felt the influence of it. They found here old friends whom they had
known in the march on Oghwaga, William Gray, young Taylor, and
others, and they were made very welcome. They were presented to
General James Clinton, then in charge, received roving commissions as
scouts and hunters, and with Heemskerk and the two celebrated
borderers, Timothy Murphy and David Elerson, they roamed the forest
in a great circle about the lake, bringing much valuable information
about the movements of the enemy, who in their turn were gathering in
force, while the royal authorities were dispatching both Indians and
white men from Canada to help them.

These great scouting expeditions saved the five from much
impatience. It takes a long time for an army to gather and then to
equip itself for the march, and they were so used to swift motion
that it was now a part of their nature. At last the army was ready,
and it left the lake. Then it proceeded in boats down the Tioga
flooded to a sufficient depth by an artificial dam built with immense
labor, to its confluence with the larger river. Here were more men,
and the five saw a new commander, General James Sullivan, take charge
of the united force. Then the army, late in August, began its march
upon the Iroquois.

The five were now in the van, miles ahead of the main guard.
They knew that no important movement of so large a force could escape
the notice of the enemy, but they, with other scouts, made it their
duty to see that the Americans marched into no trap.

It was now the waning summer. The leaves were lightly touched
with brown, and the grass had begun to wither. Berries were ripening
on the vines, and the quantity of game had increased, the wild
animals returning to the land from which civilized man had
disappeared. The desolation seemed even more complete than in the
autumn before. In the winter and spring the Iroquois and Tories had
destroyed the few remnants of houses that were left. Braxton Wyatt
and his band had been particularly active in this work, and many
tales had come of his cruelty and that of his swart Tory lieutenant,
Coleman. Henry was sure, too, that Wyatt's band, which numbered
perhaps fifty Indians and Tories, was now in front of them.

He, his comrades, Heemskerk, Elerson, Murphy, and four others,
twelve brave forest runners all told, went into camp one night about
ten miles ahead of the army. They lighted no fire, and, even had it
been cold, they would not have done so, as the region was far too
dangerous for any light. Yet the little band felt no fear. They
were only twelve, it is true, but such a twelve! No chance would
either Indians or Tories have to surprise them.

They merely lay down in the thick brushwood, three intending to
keep watch while the others slept. Henry, Shif'less Sol, and
Heemskerk were the sentinels. It was very late, nearly midnight; the
sky was clear, and presently they saw smoke rings ascending from high
hills to their right, to be answered soon by other rings of smoke to
their left. The three watched them with but little comment, and read
every signal in turn. They said: "The enemy is still advancing," "He
is too strong for us...... We must retreat and await our
brethren."

"It means that there will be no battle to-morrow, at least,"
whispered Heemskerk. " Brant is probably ahead of us in command, and
he will avoid us until he receives the fresh forces from Canada."

"I take it that you're right," Henry whispered back.
"Timmendiquas also is with him, and the two great chiefs are too
cunning to fight until they can bring their last man into action."

"An' then," said the shiftless one, "we'll see what happens."

"Yes," said Henry very gravely, "we'll see what happens. The
Iroquois are a powerful confederacy. They've ruled in these woods
for hundreds of years. They're led by great chiefs, and they're
helped by our white enemies. You can't tell what would happen even
to an army like ours in an ambush."

Shif'less Sol nodded, and they said no more until an hour later,
when they heard footsteps. They awakened the others, and the twelve,
crawling to the edge of the brushwood, lay almost flat upon their
faces, with their hands upon the triggers of their rifles.

Braxton Wyatt and his band of nearly threescore, Indians and
Tories in about equal numbers, were passing. Wyatt walked at the
head. Despite his youth, he had acquired an air of command, and he
seemed a fit leader for such a crew. He wore a faded royal uniform,
and, while a small sword hung at his side, he also carried a rifle on
his shoulder. Close behind him was the swart and squat Tory,
Coleman, and then came Indians and Tories together.

The watchful eyes of Henry saw three fresh scalps hanging from
as many belts, and the finger that lay upon the trigger of his rifle
fairly ached to press it. What an opportunity this would be if the
twelve were only forty, or even thirty! With the advantage of
surprise they might hope to annihilate this band which had won such
hate for itself on the border. But twelve were not enough and twelve
such lives could not be spared at a time when the army needed them
most.

Henry pressed his teeth firmly together in order to keep down
his disappointment by a mere physical act if possible. He happened
to look at Shif'less Sol, and saw that his teeth were pressed
together in the same manner. It is probable that like feelings
swayed every one of the twelve, but they were so still in the
brushwood that no Iroquois heard grass or leaf rustle. Thus the
twelve watched the sixty pass, and after they were gone, Henry,
Shif'less Sol, and Tim Murphy followed for several miles. They saw
Wyatt proceed toward the Chemung River, and as they approached the
stream they beheld signs of fortifications. It was now nearly
daylight, and, as Indians were everywhere, they turned back. But
they were convinced that the enemy meant to fight on the Chemung.