before jack again approached fort malden six months had passed away—six months of winter, of budding spring, of golden summer. when general winchester’s army perished winter was nearing its end; when at last the tide of war changed and began to flow northward summer had died on a bed of scarlet and gold and autumn winds were driving the rustling leaves through the whispering woods.
during those six months even jack, desperate as he was, had not dared to run the cordon of foes that lay between him and his desires. not till perry had swept the british from lake erie and harrison sailed with five thousand men for canada could he once more set about his quest.
first of all americans jack sprang upon the canadian shore at almost the very spot where he had landed from the ice so many months before. but he was too late. fort malden was in ruins; british and savages had together fled; and alagwa had gone. half-mad with anxiety, he sought and gained permission to scout in front of the army, which was advancing swiftly, driving the foe before it. now or never he must find his bride.
his chance came when, advancing up the thames[289] river with some of perry’s sailors, he captured a bateau manned by a captain and half a dozen canadian dragoons. half an hour later, clad in the captain’s uniform, he went forward into the darkening night, determined to ascertain the position and defenses of the enemy, to learn whether they meant to fight or fly, and to find alagwa.
he went alone; rogers was lying wounded at the encampment at the mouth of the portage river, where he was being nursed by fantine. cato he refused to take.
the night was made for scouting. close to the ground a light breeze whispered, and high overhead a wrack of clouds drove furiously across the sky. through the gaps in the flying scud huge stars blazed down, casting an intermittent light that enabled jack to keep his course without revealing his movements to possible enemies. hour after hour he went on, slowly, not knowing where he would chance upon the foe. he did not intend to try to creep upon them unseen. he intended to walk in upon them boldly, as one who had a right to be present, trusting for safety to his disguise and to the inevitable confusion of the retreat that would make it good. but he wished to choose his own time for appearing and not to blunder on the enemy’s camp unawares.
the path that he was following was broad and[290] soggy. it had been driven straight through crushed bushes that were slowly straightening themselves and over broken and torn brambles. spruce and hemlock overhung the path, brushing his face with long spicy needles. beyond, on either side, rattled the bare canes of the underbrush, rubbing together their thousand branches, bark against bark. far away an owl called, and once, high overhead, jack heard the honk, honk of wild geese speeding southward through the upper reaches of the air.
well he knew that his errand was desperate, more desperate than had been his venture into amherstburg six months before. if detected he could expect no mercy. from time immemorial even civilized foes had punished spies with death. what doom then could he expect from savages who had been beaten and broken, whose ranks had been depleted, whose villages had been burned, whose allies (on whom they had relied to protect them from the consequences of their rebellion) were in full retreat? jack knew well the fiery death he faced. but he knew, too, that if he did not find alagwa that night he would probably never find her.
abruptly the underbrush ended and he came out into a park-like open space that stretched far into the distance. on the right the gleam of water showed where the thames wandered sluggishly to lake st. clair. cautiously he followed it till his road forked. one branch, broad and deep, trampled[291] and showing marks of heavy wheels, ran on up the river; the other, marked only by trampled grass, turned off to the left. jack took the second, for he was looking for the indians rather than for the british. he followed it through a belt of swamp, in which he sank nearly to the knees, then came out upon a second clearing, across which, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, he saw a light flashing close to the ground.
with tightening pulses he advanced. soon he saw leaping flames, crisscrossed by the black branches of the trees. then they vanished, but their glow on the overreaching trees persisted, showing that they had been merely obscured and not extinguished. a few yards farther, and the screen that had cut off the light resolved itself into men thickly ranked. jack knew that indians, most of all indians upon the warpath, build only tiny fires for cooking, for warmth, or for company; for council alone did they build great fires like this. half by luck and half by effort he had found his way to the spot he most desired—to the council fire of the savages.
now or never. boldly he strode forward, like one who expects no challenge. the clearing ended, giving way to undergrowth, beyond which rose thicker forest. the ground underfoot again grew spongy and he knew he was entering a second swamp. a guard of indians, squatting at the edge[292] of what was evidently the camp, stared at him as he passed but made no move to stay him. further on, here and there, a warrior glanced at him carelessly. jack did not heed them; he well knew that to hesitate would be fatal; deliberately he advanced to the ring of savages and pushed his way through them.
within, a ring of sitting men—redcoats and red men—were ranged in an ellipse in whose center burned the fire that he had seen from afar off. at one end, a little in advance of the line, sat an indian clad in the red coat and shoulder straps of a british officer. jack recognized him instantly as the chief who had visited him upon the far-away tallapoosa and realized that he must be tecumseh himself—tecumseh, who had been made a major-general by the british king. at the other end of the ellipse, also in advance of the line, sat a british officer, evidently of high rank. jack guessed that he was general proctor. round the circuit of the ellipse were ranged officers wearing the uniforms of the british and of the canadian militia, interspersed with indians, sachems of many tribes—pottawatomies, shawnees, miamis, and others—representatives of the nations that the british had roused to murder and massacre. only the wyandottes were absent; foreseeing the vengeance that was about to fall, they had that morning fled and offered their services to general harrison, only to be sent to the rear with the curt announcement[293] that americans did not enlist savages in warfare against white men.
close to jack a gap showed in the circuit of the ellipse. he stepped forward deliberately and seated himself in it.
no one said him nay. all who noticed him seemed to take him at his own appraisal. his uniform was a passport, and doubtless none dreamed that an enemy would dare to so beard death in his very lair. none challenged him, and when he looked about him no suspicious eyes burned into his.
in the middle of the cleared space blazed the fire, its dancing flames flickering on the bare overhanging boughs and on the ghastly painted faces of the savages. at one side of it rose a cross, from whose arms hung the creamy-white bodies of two dogs bound in ribbons of white and scarlet. they bore no scar; so deftly had they been strangled that not a single hair had been disturbed. at the other side of the fire a warrior painted like death, beat a drum monotonously, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump.
into the ellipse a stately figure abruptly advanced. he faced the fire and the cross and raised his hands. at the sign two young warriors slipped out of the circle of braves and lifted down the dogs from the cross and held them out. the priest received them with reverence and laid them on the fire.
for an instant the smell of burning hair filled the glades; then it was swallowed up in the stronger[294] odor of the dried herbs which the priest sprinkled upon the flames.
then he began to chant, and the encircling braves took up the refrain, rolling it skyward till the bare branches overhead quivered and the water quaked among the mosskegs of the swamp.
our forefathers made the rule,
and they said: here shall we kindle a council fire;
here at the forest’s edge, here we will unite with each other,
here we will grow strong.
we are losing our great men. into the earth
they are borne; also our warriors;
also our women, and our grandchildren as well;
so that in the midst of blood
we are sitting. now therefore, we say,
unite, wash the blood stains from our seat,
so that we may be for a time strong and overruling.
the chant died away. the priest disappeared. the chieftain whom jack had guessed was tecumseh arose and strode forward till he stood close above the embers of the dying fire. round about the circle his fierce eyes swept; for an instant they rested on jack’s face, lighting up, perhaps with recognition; then they swept on till they met those of the british general.
“we meet here between the camps of the redcoats and the red men,” he said. “we meet to talk[295] of what has been and of what is to be. many moons ago the great white king across the sea sent word to us to lift the hatchet and to strike the americans. he sent us word that he would never desert us; that he would give us back our ancient lands; that he would not make peace and abandon us to the vengeance of the seventeen fires. we dug up the hatchet. we fought long and hard. again and again we won for the great king victories that without us would have been defeats. in every struggle we bore the sweat of the fight. when the long knives came to fort malden we wished to strike them and send them howling back. but the white chief said no, and we obeyed. again and again he forced us to retreat, always against our will. now he wishes to retreat once more. i ask him if this is not true.”
general proctor did not rise. he looked sullen and careworn. “we must retreat,” he declared, irritably. “the americans outnumber us. we can not stand against them here.”
“and what of the red men?” tecumseh’s tones grew chill. “our villages have gone up in smoke. our women and children hide in the forests. winter is coming on quickly. we can not take to the waters like fish, nor live in the forests like wolves, nor hide in the mud of the swamps like snakes. either we must meet the long knives and drive them back or make peace with them and save what[296] is left to us. the white chief shall not retreat.”
general proctor shrugged his shoulders. “the white chief must retreat. later——”
“there will be no later. the white chief shall not live to retreat. either he must fight the americans or he must fight tecumseh and his men. the scalps of the white chief and his soldiers are still upon their heads. let him look to it that tomorrow they are not carried as an offering to the chief of the seventeen fires.”
proctor sprang to his feet. he was shaking from head to foot, but whether from anger or from fear jack could not tell. several times he tried to speak and each time his voice failed. at last the words came. “does not my red brother know why we retreated?” he cried. “does he not know that it was because our red allies melted away from us, leaving us outnumbered by the men of the seventeen fires. even while i speak other warriors are slipping away in the night to make peace with the americans. the servants of the great king are brave and strong. but they are too few to fight alone. if my red brother can hold his men, we need not retreat farther. we will meet the americans and drive them back as we have driven them so often before. let my brother speak.”
tecumseh bowed. “my brother is wrong,” he declared. “the red men have not deserted. nearly all of them are here, ready to fight. it is the[297] white men who would retreat. if my brother will fight, the red men will do their part. i offer him my hand upon it.” he stepped forward and held out his hand.
general proctor took it. “it is well,” he said. “tomorrow we will fight. now break up the council.”
tecumseh waved his hand. the warrior at the witch-drum began to beat, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump. from the crowding braves rose a chant, low at first, but swiftly gaining volume.
look down, oh! gods, look upon us! we gaze afar on your dwelling.
look down while here we are standing, look down upon us, ye mighty!
ye thunder gods, now behold us!
ye lightning gods, now behold us!
ye that bring life, now behold us!
ye that bring death, now behold us!
aid us and help us. for we fight for thee.
loud and wild swelled the chant, the ritual of the tribesmen. then it slowly died away. the ranks of standing warriors dissolved and vanished. the white men marched away, general proctor at their head. jack rose to follow, but as he did so his arms were grasped on either side and he was held powerless. “white man stop,” muttered a gutteral voice in his ear. “tecumseh speak with him.”
