CHAPTER LI
Lieutenant Fred Godfrey expected such a reception from Jake Golcher as would give him a suitable excuse for opening fire on the Tory and the Senecas, but the panic of the leader disarmed his enmity, and really forced the arrangement that was now carried out; one that, it may be said, was intensely disagreeable to Dick Durkee and his comrades, who were unwilling to spare such miscreants.
But the lieutenant was the commander, and there was no rebellion against his orders.
"Bring your warriors up here," ordered Fred, and Golcher made a sign for the Senecas to approach.
They moved forward a few paces, but, mistrusting the purposes of the patriots, refused to come further. Golcher berated, and ordered them to advance, telling them – what they already knew – they were covered by the guns of the whites.
But they stood sullenly apart, and began moving in the direction of the river.
At this moment Dick Durkee called out:
"Lieutenant, shall we fire? We've got every wretch of 'em fast."
"Keep them covered, but don't shoot unless they raise their guns," called Fred, who was embarrassed by the unexpected turn.
"May I go with 'em?" asked Jake Golcher, in a cringing voice, beginning to back away from his dreaded master.
"Yes, go; and I pray Heaven none of us may ever look on your face again."
Fred should have been prepared for what followed, inasmuch as no one understood the treacherous nature of Tory and Indian better than he, but, as we have intimated, he was confronted by an unexpected condition of affairs, and was caught off his guard, so to speak.
He saw the warriors withdrawing, and already entering the wood on his left, while he stood in the full light of the camp-fire, calmly watching the movement.
"Fred, move away from there," called out his father; "you are too good a mark for them."
Fortunately, the young man stepped back and to one side, placing himself near Dick Durkee, who stood with cocked rifle, fairly quivering with rage, because he was forced to hold his fire.
Fred himself had his pistol at command, but he was without any rifle, having handed his over to one of his friends, when he went forward with Habakkuk McEwen.
The Indians were in the fringe of the wood, when all the former prisoners, who were sitting on the fallen tree, sprang up, and began moving away.
At this juncture one of Durkee's men shouted:
"Look out! They're going to shoot!"
The words were yet in his mouth, when Jake Golcher, with unparalleled treachery, raised the gun that he had caught from one of the Senecas, and aimed directly at Maggie Brainerd.
His position was such that only her father understood his purpose, and he sprang forward to shield his daughter, throwing himself before her at the very moment the Tory discharged his gun.
With a groan of pain, the brave parent staggered a few steps and fell heavily to the ground.
"Just as I expected," exclaimed Dick Durkee. "Give it to 'em, boys! Don't spare one!"
With incredible celerity the Iroquois fired their guns almost simultaneously with the Tory, and then darted off like so many shadows through the wood, the dim morning light being insufficient to betray them in the thick undergrowth.
But Dick Durkee and his men returned the volley instantly, and sprang after them.
Fred Godfrey had not noticed the fall of his father, but, with his whole soul aflame at the outrage, he dashed toward the wretches, pistol in hand, determined to wreak vengeance on the party, who, he well knew, were inspired to the deed by Golcher himself.
On the edge of the wood, where the Senecas had stood for a single moment when they fired their guns, two of their number were stretched lifeless, proving that the return volley had done some execution.
The settlers charged through the undergrowth without any regard to order and the peril into which they might precipitate themselves.
Had Gray Panther and his warriors appeared on the ground at that crisis, in all probability he would have drawn the entire party into ambush, and cut them off to a man.
But the fleeing force was too small to attempt a stand, or any such tactics, and they devoted themselves entirely to getting away.
They were more expert in this than their pursuers, and scattering – as is the custom of the red men to this day, when closely pressed – each used all his energy and cunning in flight.
Dick Durkee and his men, including Fred Godfrey, went crashing and tearing ahead, glaring in front and to the right and left in quest of a target, but finding none, until, when the blind pursuit had lasted fifteen minutes or more, it dawned on those concerned that it was idle to attempt anything more.
Then they stopped for breath, and, turning about, began straggling back toward camp.
Fred Godfrey would have been the last to rejoin his friends had he not been seized with a dread that something might go wrong with those who were left defenseless.
He therefore hastened, and in the gray light of the morning came upon a scene of sadness.
Richard Brainerd, his step-father, lay on his back, with his head in the lap of Maggie, while Eva was weeping over him, and Aunt Peggy was standing beside them, her face streaming with tears.
Gravity Gimp was rolling on the ground in an agony of sorrow, for he saw what was apparent to the young man – the loved father and master was dying.
Fred knelt by his side, and taking a whisky flask from the rough but kind-hearted Dick Durkee, pressed it to the white lips of the sufferer.
"It's no use, Fred," said he, with a sad smile; "I'm done for. Jake Golcher fired that shot, but he meant it for Maggie, and not for me. I'm close to death."
"I hope it isn't as bad as that," said Fred, through his tears, his manner showing he could not believe his own words.
"It's as well that I should go," said the old man, rallying slightly; "and I'm thankful that the rest of you escaped. Good-bye, Fred."
The youth took the hand that was already growing clammy and limp, and, returning the pressure, could only murmur:
"Good-bye, good bye; would that it had been I, rather than such a noble father as you have always been to me."
Gravity Gimp, rousing to a sense of the situation, rushed forward with irrestrainable grief, and shook the hand of his master, bending over and kissing his forehead.
Aunt Peggy did the same, and then came the last, sad parting scene between the father and his loved daughters.
The murmured words were heard only by Maggie and Eva, who treasured them up in after-years as the most precious mementos of their lives.
When the mild, loving eyes of the parent gradually grew dim, they rested upon the tearful faces of the two girls; and, as he entered the land of shadows, his last memory of the world he left behind was illumined by those two yearning countenances, whose kisses were pressed upon his lips. And the dark angel, reaching out his hand, took that of the patriot, and led him through the shadowy valley into the bright realms beyond.
CHAPTER LII
Among the most eager pursuers of the treacherous Tory and his Seneca allies, was Habakkuk McEwen, who had withdrawn to the rear of the settlers that held the Indians at their mercy during the interview between Jake Golcher and Fred Godfrey.
The natural timidity of the new Englander led him to do this, but he was so infuriated by the act of the party, that he lost all thought of personal danger, and charged through the wood at the very head of the avengers.
McEwen had no rifle, but he quickly supplied himself with one. Catching sight of a Seneca who had fallen before the volley of Dick Durkee and his comrades, he snatched the weapon from his rigid grasp and sped along like a deer.
He had ammunition, and a hasty examination showed that the gun was unloaded. With a coolness hardly to be expected, McEwen stopped in his pursuit and deliberately recharged the rifle, which seemed to be a fine weapon.
"I don't want to be catched without anything to help myself with," he said to himself, resuming the chase.
This was conducted in such a blind, headlong fashion, that Habakkuk speedily found himself not only out of sight of the Indians, but of his comrades, who were threshing in different directions, some of them shouting like madmen.
"I think they'll make for the river," concluded the New Englander, after a moment's pause, "and I'll keep on till I reach the water myself."
As the flush of the first excitement wore off, Habakkuk began to doubt whether he was doing a prudent thing, in chasing a whole war party in this single-handed style.
"I'll take a little pains that they don't get after me," he thought, beginning to use more caution in his movements.
It was a considerable distance to the Susquehanna, but he pushed on, and just as the gray light of the morning was penetrating the wilderness and spreading over the water, he caught the familiar gleam of the beautiful stream.
Looking across, he paused in silent contemplation of the familiar scene. Naturally, he first noticed that landmark so well remembered by old settlers, which was known as the "umbrella tree," on account of its peculiar shape, and which was visible a long distance, standing as it did on the mountains of the western shore.
But he was withdrawn from viewing the general features of the landscape, by the sight of the heavy smoke that rested like a pall on the other bank. It partly shut out from sight the straggling houses, most of which were smoldering ashes, and suggested the awful desolation that had been wrought in Wyoming Valley during the few hours that had passed since the memorable battle was fought near Forty Fort.
"I've no doubt pandemonium was let loose there last night," muttered Habakkuk, "and it was a good thing for us that we got across when we did, and a much better thing that Dick Durkee and his men j'ined us – Hello!"
He was standing where his body was pretty well screened, and was wondering that he saw no one moving, when he was alarmed by a splash in the water a short distance above him.
Fearful of being discovered, Habakkuk crouched down, and cocked his gun.
"It must be some of the scoundrels, who are everywhere; I hadn't orter been quite so rash – "
At that moment some one sprang into the river, and, wading out a short distance, began swimming for the other shore.
The timid patriot did not dare look out at him until he had gotten some distance away, when he peeped through the undergrowth, and scrutinized the head and shoulders that were moving rapidly across the stream.
Then, to his amazement, he recognized the man as Jake Golcher, the Tory, who had wrought all this ruin and sorrow; though Habakkuk was far from suspecting the whole result of the shot of the renegade.
"By the great Cæsar! it's him," gasped Habakkuk, trembling with excitement; "and that gives me a chance to win some laurels with the other folks, especially with pretty Maggie."
Assuming a kneeling position, he took the most careful aim of his life at the unsuspecting ingrate, and when certain there could be no miss, pulled the trigger.
There was no flash in the pan nor miss of aim. The career of Jake Golcher ended then and there, with a suddenness and freedom from suffering that were mercy compared to what he deserved.
Habakkuk McEwen lingered long enough to make certain that there was no mistake, and then he stealthily reloaded his rifle before stirring from the spot. He was apprehensive when several Indians appeared on the other shore and showed some signs of an intention to cross the stream.
This was enough for McEwen, who scrambled out of his hiding-place, and scarcely paused until he reached the camp, where he came upon the sorrowful scene to which we have already referred.
Mr. Brainerd was no more, and the mourning friends, having rallied from their first shock of grief, were preparing to leave the spot, which for a while to come must be one of exceeding great danger to them.
After some consultation, Fred Godfrey, Dick Durkee, and Gravity Gimp tenderly lifted the body and carried it to a mass of rocks but a short distance away.
Had they possessed a shovel they would have given it burial until they could return, but that was impossible.
Accordingly, it was laid away in a natural sepulchre, and the boulders were so piled around it as to prevent disturbance from animals; then all bade it a tearful adieu, and the faces of the little party were turned toward the far-off settlements of the upper Delaware.
Already the sounds of firing and the shouts of Indians were heard from the other side of the Susquehanna, while terrified fugitives were continually encountered.
Some of these were in such sore extremity that they were taken charge of by Fred Godfrey and Dick Durkee. Maggie and Eva Brainerd were so melted by their own sufferings that they found it impossible to pass by any of the poor beings without doing their utmost to relieve their distress.
And among all the fugitives that hastened in such horror from the Wyoming settlements that day, there were many who had been smitten in a more cruel manner than the loving daughters, but there was not one whose woe was deeper than theirs.
Eva and Maggie bore it like the heroines they were, and but for their pale faces and swollen eyes no one would have suspected the depth of their anguish. They said nothing to show it, but were as busy and thoughtful for the others as though all were their brothers and sisters.
Aunt Peggy was silent most of the time, but now and then her hard features quivered with emotion, and she uttered anathemas against those who had wrought all this mischief and sorrow.
Gravity Gimp was the most demonstrative of the company, his sobbing and lamentations more than once bringing tears to the eyes of the others.
When Habakkuk McEwen made known that he had ended the career of Jake Golcher there was not one who would believe him; but, fortunately for the New Englander's reputation, his declaration was confirmed in an unexpected manner.
One of Dick Durkee's men was late in joining the party that started away that morning, but when he came he said that he, too, was stealing along the river bank, though a considerable distance above where Golcher entered it. As soon as he identified the Tory he raised his gun to shoot, but when he pulled the trigger he discovered that there was no charge in the weapon.
With an expression of impatience he proceeded to correct his mistake, and was in the act of pouring powder in the pan when the crack of some one's else gun sounded just below him.
The woodman could not see who fired it, but he saw the Tory throw up his arms and disappear, so that a second shot was unnecessary. He tarried, however, some time longer, and observed three Indians who swam out into the river in search of the body, showing that they, too, knew who it was.
This settled the question; and henceforth Habakkuk McEwen became a sort of hero among his comrades, who shook him by the hand and congratulated him on the service done his friends.
The vanity of the fellow was flattered, and when he attempted to explain his previous conduct it was accepted good-naturedly; so that, before the day was over, he came to the conclusion that he was in point of fact the bravest and most dashing member of the company, and the one who ought to be the leader.
The mountains were passed in safety, and it was not without some misgivings that the party entered that desolate stretch of wilderness several times referred to as the "Shades of Death."
What was dreaded more than anything else was the want of provisions, which was sure to cause suffering.
Habakkuk McEwen was the only one in the company who had a particle of food, and when that came to be distributed among eight or ten women that had been gathered about them, it was scarcely more than an aggravation of hunger.
Our own friends, it will be remembered, had eaten a substantial meal of young pig the previous evening, and were in much better form than many who had fled from Wyoming, and had partaken of no food during the previous twenty-four hours.
The sufferings of the fugitives from Wyoming in passing through the "Shades of Death" were dreadful, as is always the case where such large bodies flee in a panic.
Many children were born, and perished in the wilderness. Strong men lay down and died, and the bones of the victims marked every mile of the way.
But there were many who survived, and one bright summer morning all our friends reached the hamlet of Stroudsburg, so far removed from the scene of massacre that every cause for alarm had passed.
There were fugitives before them, and the hospitality of the villagers was taxed to the utmost, but they gladly met every demand.
The weather was so mild that much suffering had been saved the settlers, whose trouble rose mainly from the lack of food.
In Stroudsburg were old friends and relatives of the Brainerds, who did everything in their power for them. It was arranged that Maggie, Eva, and Aunt Peggy should stay with them indefinitely until there could be no risk in going back.
The anxiety of the brother and sisters was that the body of their father should be laid away in proper form, and Fred Godfrey and Gravity Gimp went back to Wyoming for that purpose.
When the sad duty was finished they once more made their way to Stroudsburg, where the young patriot bade his friends a tender adieu, after which he started to join the Continental army under Washington.
Habakkuk McEwen went with him, and, despite a manifestation of his natural timidity now and then, made a good record. Both he and Fred, who had become a captain, were present at the surrender of Yorktown, which ended the struggle of the colonies, and established the independence of the United States of America.
When they returned to Wyoming the settlements had recovered, to a great extent, from the visitation of the Tories and Indians three years before.
The Brainerd homestead, which was partly burned, was restored to a substantial condition, and Gravity Gimp was as big and strong and devoted as ever.
The rich soil needed but to be "tickled with a plow" to "laugh a harvest," and it yielded bountifully. There had been several incursions by Indians, during one of which the little girl, Frances Slocum, was taken off by a party of Delawares. Her wonderful history is part of that of Wyoming.
But the Brainerd family suffered nothing further. Eva had grown into a blooming girl when Captain Fred Godfrey came back and joined them at the old homestead. All in due time, he took for his bride one of the blue-eyed lassies of Wyoming, and Maggie and Eva were equally fortunate in securing the best of partners for life.
Peace folded her gentle wings over the scene of the stirring events that took place more than a century ago, and the thunders of war have never awakened the echoes along that part of the Susquehanna since.
May it ever be thus throughout our fair land, to the end of time.