Robert W. Chambers

“ Brother, the road is dark to Catharines-town. There are no stars there, no moon, no sun—only a bloody mist in the forest. For to that dreadful empire of the Iroquois only blind trails lead. And from them ghosts of the Long House arise and stand. Only a thick darkness is there—an endless gloom to which the Mohican hatchets long, long ago dispatched the severed souls they struck! In every trail they stand, these ghosts of the Kanonsi, Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga—ghosts of the Tuscarora. The Mohawk beasts who wear the guise of men are there. Mayaro spits upon them! ”

“ All the alluring mystery and solitude, all the sorrow of the wilderness were in those long-drawn blasts; all the enchantment of the woodland, too, calling, calling to the sons of the forest, riflemen, hunter, Coureur-de-Bois.
For its elfin monotone was the very voice of the forest itself—the deep, sweet whisper of virgin wilds, sacred, impenetrable, undefiled, tempting forever the sons of men.
And now, across the misty river, there was a great tumult of shouting as the first Otsego batteaux came into view; louder boomed our jolly cohorn, leaping high in its sulphurous powder-cloud ”

“ The ridge was ruddy with the red lightning of exploding shells. Very far away in the forest we could hear entire regiments, as they climbed the slopes, cheering above the continuous racket of musketry; the yelling of the Senecas and Mohawks grew wavering, becoming ragged and thinner.
It was hard for us all, I think, to turn our backs on the first real battle we had seen in months—hard for Boyd, for me, and for our twenty riflemen; harder, perhaps, for our Indians, who could hear the yells of their most deadly enemies, and who knew that they were within striking distance at last. ”

“ Little boy-girl born to do endless mischief in this wide and wind-swept forest world of men! What am I to say to you, who have your will of everyone beneath the sun? Who am I to halt the Starry Dancers, or bar your wayward trail when Tharon himself has hidden you, and the Little People carry to you 'winged moccasins for flying feet as light and swift!' For truly I begin to think it has been long since woven in the silvery and eternal wampum—belt after belt, string twisted around string—that you shall go to Catharines-town unscathed. ”

“ I whispered; and the Mohican said with a derisive laugh:
"Four scalp-tufts from the mangy Cats of Amochol trim my hatchet-sheath. When the young men ask me what this sparse and sickly fur may be, I shall strip it off and cast it at their feet, saying it is but Erie filth to spit upon."
"Liar of a conquered nation!" roared the Erie, "for every priest of Amochol who fell by Otsego under your cowardly butcher's knife, a Siwanois Sagamore shall burn three days, and yet live to die the fourth! The day that August dies, so shall the Sagamore die at the Festival of Dreams in Catharines-town!" ”

“ Vain was the struggle, too, for the faint gleam passed from my mind as it had come; and if the name Yndaia had disturbed me, or seeing the scarlet ensign on his breast, or perhaps both coupled, had seemed to stir some distant memory, I did not know. Only it seemed as though, in mental darkness, I had felt the presence of some living and familiar thing—been conscious of its nearness for an instant ere it had vanished utterly.
The Sagamore's face had become a smooth, blank mask again.
"What has this maid, Lois, to do with Catharines-town?" I asked. "Devils live there in darkness." ”

“ And it made me uneasy to see she meant to play coquette with such a man as Boyd; and I remembered her high spirits and bright daring at the somewhat loose gatherings at Guy Park, where every evening too much wine was drunk, and Sir John and Clarissa made no secret of the flame that burned between them.
Yet, of Lana Helmer never a suspicious word had been breathed that ever I had heard—for it seemed she could dare where others dared not; say and do and be what another woman might not, as though her wit and beauty licensed what had utterly damned another. ”

“ Many who run are stumbling, falling, lying still and crushed and wet with blood. I, Sorceress of the Senecas, see and hear these things; and as I see and hear, so must I speak my warning to you all!"
She whirled on Amochol, flinging back her hair. Her skin was as white us my own!
With a stifled cry Lois sprang to her feet; but I caught her and held her fast.
"Good God!" I whispered to the Sagamore. "Where is Boyd?"
The executioner had risen, and was bending his bow; the Sorceress turned deathly pale but her blue eyes flashed, never swerving from the cruel stare of Amochol. ”

“ Loskiel God knows we expect to see deathly faces in the North, where little children lie scalped in the ashes of our frontier—where they even scalp the family hound that guards the cradle. But here in this sleepy, open countryside, with its gentle hills and fertile valleys, broad fields and neat stone walls, its winding roads and orchards, and every pretty farmhouse standing as though no war were in the land, all seems so peaceful, so secure, that the faces of the people sicken me. ”

“ The Erie laughed horribly:
"Where is your fool of a stripling called Loskiel? Is he there with you? Or did my hatchet fetch him such a clip that he died of fright and a bullet in his belly?"
"He is unharmed," replied the Mohican, tauntingly. "A squaw shoots better than a Cat!"
"A lie! I saw my rifle blow a hole in his body!"
"Hatchet and rifle failed. The Ensign, Loskiel, laughed, asking what forest-flies were buzzing at his ear. Loskiel spits on Cats, and brushes their flying hatchets from his ears as others brush mosquitos!" ”

“ Not to take."
"And yet you know her not, Loskiel."
"But I shall know her yet! She has so promised. If she is friendless, she shall be our friend. For you and I are one, O Sagamore! If she is cold, naked, or hungry, we will build for her a fire, and cover her, and give her meat. Our lodge shall be her lodge; our friends hers, her enemies ours. I know not how this all has come to me, Mayaro, my friend—even as I know not how your friendship came to me, or how now our honour is lodged forever in each other's keeping. But it is true. Our blood has made us of one race and parentage." ”

“ There was no more firing for the moment; we reached the top of the knoll, laid our dead and wounded behind trees, loaded, freshened our priming, and stood awaiting orders.
Then, all around us, completely encircling the foot of our knoll, woods, thickets, scattered bushes, seemed to be literally moving in the vague forest light.
"My God!" exclaimed Elerson to Murphy. "The woods are crawling with savages!"
A dreadful and utter silence fell among us; Boyd, pale as a corpse, motioned his men to take posts, forming a small circle with our dead and wounded in the centre. ”

“ Such an embodiment of devilish fury I had never seen on any human countenance; only could it be matched in the lightning snarl of a surprised lynx or in the deadly stare of a rattlesnake. He uttered no sound; after a moment the thin lips, which had receded, sheathed the teeth again; and he walked to a tree and stood leaning against it as another company of Sir John's Royal Greens marched up from the river bank and continued northwest, passing between the tree where I lay concealed, and the log where Boyd and Parker sat. ”

“ I am tough as an Indian youth, strong and straight and supple—and as tireless. See—I am not wearied with the trail! I am not afraid. I can do what you do. If you fast I can fast, too; when you go thirsty I can endure it also; and you may not even hope to out-travel me, Euan, for I am innured to sleeplessness, to hunger, to fatigue, by two years' vagabondage—hardened of limb and firm of body, self-taught in self-denial, in quiet endurance, in stealth, and patience. Oh, Euan! Make me your comrade, as you would take a younger brother, to school him in the hardy ways of life you know so well! ”

“ For the silvery river-trout lying there carried a forked willow-twig between gill and gill-cover. Nor was this all; the fish was fresh-caught, for the gills had not puffed out, nor the supple body stiffened. Every little wavelet rippled its slim and limber length; and a thread of blood trailed from the throat-latch out over the surface of the water.
Suddenly the young Oneida in mid-stream shrank aside, flattening his yellow painted body against a boulder, and almost at the same instant a rifle spoke.
I heard the bullet smack against the boulder; then the Mohican leaped past me. ”