The Shadow of the North: A Story of Old New York and a Lost Campaign by Altsheler (top inspirational books .TXT) 📖

built. He knew the psychological and stimulating effect of heat and light upon the lads of the city, who had passed through such a fearful ordeal in the dark and Indian-haunted forest. He encouraged them to throw on more dead boughs, until the blaze leaped higher and higher and sparkled and roared, sending up myriads of joyous sparks that glowed for their brief lives among the trees and then died. No fear of St. Luc and the Indians now! That fierce fringe of Mohawks was a barrier that they could never pass, even should they choose to return, and no such choice could possibly be theirs! The fire crackled and blazed in increasing volume, and the Philadelphia lads, recovering from the collapse that had followed tremendous exertions and excitement, began to appreciate the extent of their victory and to talk eagerly with one another.

But the period of full rest had not yet come. Captain Colden made them dig with their bayonets shallow graves for their dead, six in number. Fluent of speech, his sensitive mind again fitting into the deep gravity of the situation, Robert said a few words above them, words that he felt, words that moved those who heard. Then the earth was thrown in and stones and heavy boughs were placed over all to keep away the digging wolves or other wild animals.

The wounded were made as comfortable as possible before the fire, and in the light of the brilliant flames the awe created by the dead quickly passed. Food was served and fresh water was drunk, the canteens being refilled from a spring that Tayoga found a quarter of a mile away. Then the soldiers, save six who had been posted as guard, stretched themselves on grass or leaves, and fell asleep, one by one. Tayoga who had made the greatest physical effort followed them to the land of slumber, but Captain Colden sat and talked with Robert and Willet, although it was now far past midnight.

The bushes parted and a dark figure, making no sound as it came, stepped into the circle of light. It was Black Rifle and his eyes still glittered, but he said nothing. Robert thought he saw upon his face a look of intense satisfaction and once more he shuddered a little. The man lay down with his rifle beside him, and fell asleep, his hands still clutching his weapon.

Before dawn Daganoweda and the Mohawks came back also, and Robert in behalf of them all thanked the young chief in the purest Mohawk, and with the fine phrasing and apt allegory so dear to the Indian heart. Daganoweda made a fitting reply, saying that the merit did not belong to him but to Manitou, and then, leaving a half dozen of his warriors to join in the watch, he and the others slept before the fire.

"It was well that you played so strongly upon the feelings of the Mohawks at that test in the vale of Onondaga, Robert," said Willet. "If you had not said over and over again that the Quebec of the French was once the Stadacona of the Mohawks they would not have been here tonight to save us. They say that deeds speak louder than words, but when the same man speaks with both words and deeds people have got to hear."

"You give me too much credit, Dave. The time was ripe for a Mohawk attack upon the French."

"Aye, lad, but one had to see a chance and use it. Now, join all those fellows in sleep. We won't move before noon."

But Robert's brain was too active for sleep just yet. While his imaginative power made him see things before other people saw them, he also continued to see them after they were gone. The wilderness battle passed once more before him, and when he brushed his eyes to thrust it away, he looked at the sleeping Mohawks and thought what splendid savages they were. The other tribes of the Hodenosaunee were still holding to their neutrality—all that was asked of them—but the Mohawks, with the memories of their ancient wrongs burning in their hearts, had openly taken the side of the English, and tonight their valor and skill had undoubtedly saved the American force. Daganoweda was a hero! And so was Tayoga, the Onondaga, always the first of red men to Robert.

His heated brain began to grow cool at last. The vivid pictures that had been passing so fast before his eyes faded. He saw only reality, the blazing fire, the dusky figures lying motionless before it, and the circling wall of dark woods. Then he slept.

Willet was the only white man who remained awake. He saw the great fire die, and the dawn come in its place. He felt then for the first time in all that long encounter the strangeness of his own position. The wilderness, savages and forest battle had become natural to him, and yet his life had once been far different. There was a taste of a distant past in that fierce duel at Quebec when he slew the bravo, Boucher, a deed for which he had never felt a moment's regret, and yet when he balanced the old times against the present, he could not say which had the advantage. He had found true friends in the woods, men who would and did risk their own lives to save his.

The dawn came swiftly, flooding the earth with light. Daganoweda and many of the Mohawk warriors awoke, but the young Philadelphia captain and his men slept on, plunged in the utter stupor of exhaustion. Tayoga, who had made a supreme effort, both physical and mental, also continued to sleep, and Robert, lying with his feet to the coals, never stirred.

Daganoweda shook himself, and, so shaking, shook the last shred of sleep from his eyes. Then he looked with pride at his warriors, those who yet lay upon the ground and those who had arisen. He was a young chief, not yet thirty years of age, and he was the bloom and flower of Mohawk courage and daring. His name, Daganoweda, the Inexhaustible, was fully deserved, as his bravery and resource were unlimited. But unlike Tayoga, he had in him none of the priestly quality. He had not drunk or even sipped at the white man's civilization. The spirituality so often to be found in the Onondagas was unknown to him. He was a warrior first, last and all the time. He was Daganoweda of the Clan of the Turtle, of the Nation Ganeagaono, the Keepers of the Eastern Gate, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee, and he craved no glory save that to be won in battle, which he craved all the time.

Daganoweda, as he looked at his men, felt intense satisfaction, because the achievement of his Mohawks the night before had been brilliant and successful, but he concealed it from all save himself. It was not for a chief who wished to win not one victory, but a hundred to show undue elation. But he turned and for a few moments gazed directly into the sun with unwinking eyes, and when he shifted his gaze away, a great tide of life leaped in his veins.

Then he gave silent thanks. Like all the other Indians in North America the Mohawks personified and worshipped the sun, which to them was the mighty Dweller in Heaven, almost the same as Manitou, a great spirit to whom sacrifices and thanksgivings were to be made. The sun, an immortal being, had risen that morning and from his seat in the highest of the high heavens he had looked down with his invincible eye which no man could face more than a few seconds, upon his favorite children, the Mohawks, to whom he had given the victory. Daganoweda bowed a head naturally haughty and under his breath murmured thanks for the triumph given and prayers for others to come.

The warriors built the fire anew and cooked their breakfasts. They had venison and hominy of three kinds according to the corn of which it was made, Onaogaant or the white corn, Ticne or the red corn, and Hagowa or the white flint corn. They also had bear meat and dried beans. So their breakfast was abundant, and they ate with the appetite of warriors who had done mighty deeds.

Daganoweda and Willet, as became great men, sat together on a log and were served by a warrior who took honor from the task. Black Rifle sat alone a little distance away. He would have been welcome in the company of the Mohawk chief and the hunter, but, brooding and solitary in mind, he wished to be alone and they knew and respected his wish. Daganoweda glanced at him more than once as he remained in silence, and always there was pity in his looks. And there was admiration too, because Black Rifle was a great warrior. The woods held none greater.

When Robert awoke it was well on toward noon and he sprang up, refreshed and strong.

"You've had quite a nap, Robert," said Willet, who had not slept at all, "but some of the soldiers are still sleeping, and Tayoga has just gone down to the spring to bathe his face."

"Which I also will do," said Robert.

"And when you come back food will be ready for you."

Robert found Tayoga at the spring, flexing his muscles, and taking short steps back and forth. "It was a great run you made," said the white youth, "and it saved us. There's no stiffness, I hope?"

"There was a little, Dagaeoga, but I have worked it out of my body. Now all my muscles are as they were. I am ready to make another and equal run."

"It's not needed, and for that I'm thankful. St. Luc will not come back, nor will Tandakora, I think, linger in the woods, hoping for a shot. He knows that the Mohawk skirmishers will be too vigilant."

As they went back to the fire for their food they heard a droning song and the regular beat of feet. Some of the Mohawks were dancing the Buffalo Dance, a dance named after an animal never found in their country, but which they knew well. It was a tribute to the vast energy and daring of the nations of the Hodenosaunee that they should range in such remote regions as Kentucky and Tennessee and hunt the buffalo with the Cherokees, who came up from the south.

They called the dance Dageyagooanno, and it was always danced by men only. One warrior beat upon the drum, ganojoo, and another used gusdawasa or the rattle made of the shell of a squash. A dozen warriors danced, and players and dancers alike sang. It was a most singular dance and Robert, as he ate and drank, watched it with curious interest.

The warriors capered back and forth, and often they bent themselves far over, until their hands touched the ground. Then they would arch their backs, until they formed a kind of hump, and they leaped to and fro, bellowing all the time. The imitation was that of a buffalo, recognizable at once, and, while it was rude and monotonous, both dancing and singing preserved a rhythm, and as one listened continuously it soon crept into the blood. Robert, with that singular temperament of his, so receptive to all impressions, began to feel it. Their chant was of war and victory and he stirred to both. He was on the warpath with them, and he passed with them through the thick of battle.

They danced for a long time, quitting only when exhaustion compelled. By that time all the soldiers were awake and Captain Colden talked with the other leaders, red and white. His instructions took him farther west, where he was to build a fort for the defense of the border, and, staunch and true, he did not mean to turn back because he had been in desperate battle with the French and their Indian allies.

"I was sent to protect a section of the frontier," he said to Willet, "and while I've found it hard to protect my men and myself, yet I must go on. I could never return to Philadelphia and face our people there."

"It's a just view you take, Captain Colden," said Willet.

"I feel, though, that my men and I are but children in the woods. Yesterday and last night proved it. If you and your friends continue with us our march may not be in vain."

Willet glanced at Robert, and then at Tayoga.

"Ours for the present, at least, is a roving commission," said young
Lennox. "It seems to me that the best we can do is to go with Captain
Colden."

"I