CHAPTER IX.
Maggie was busy with household duties when Hemlock entered and sat down near the table at which she stood.
“All away?” he asked.
“All except mother, who is having her afternoon nap.”
Casting a suspicious glance round, the Indian drew something out of his pouch. “Do you know that?”
It was a ring. Maggie examined it and as she recognized whose it was, blushed.
“Is he alive?” she asked, in a low earnest tone, as if fearful that it was a memorial gift.
“Yes; I was with him and spoke to him night before last.”
“Where?”
“At Four Corners.”
“Tell me all?” entreated Maggie, and Hemlock recounted his visit, closing with the remark, “If he had come with me, he would have been here now.”
“But he would have broken his word to the Yankees,” urged Maggie in his defence.
“And perhaps they will break his neck,” answered Hemlock with a grunt. “Major Stovin told me that Hampton’s answer to his letter was that he could allow no interference from outside in his disposal of spies.”
“Morton is not a spy,” exclaimed Maggie indignantly.
“They will punish him all the same unless I give myself up,” said Hemlock, “and I mean to.”
“Oh, Hemlock, they would kill you.”
“Maybe, but Indian would save his friend.”
“He may get off when our men beat them.”
The Indian’s lip curled. “The owls are telling the eagles what to do. When the order came to the Indian bands not to fight but just watch, I left. We would have hung to their sides like wasps on a deer, and marked every mile they marched with deeds that would have caused widows to raise the funeral song from Champlain to the Ohio, but our arms are held fast.”
“You did not tell me how you came by this ring?” faltered Maggie, as she shyly tried it on her fingers.
“I asked him for a token, and he gave me that.”
“A token for whom, Hemlock?”
“For you.”
“For me!” gasped Maggie, with beaming eyes, while her color came and went.
Hemlock nodded and said no more. Turning her head away from him, Maggie pressed the token to her lips. On the Indian’s rising to go, she entreated him to stay. Her brothers were at the camp, but her father was only at the rear end of the lot stooking corn, and he might go and see him. Hemlock, who had the dislike of his race to manual labor, said he would wait, and catching up the fishing-rod of her younger brother, prepared it to beguile the denizens of the river that flowed past the shanty, and continued fishing until the old man returned, who sat down beside Hemlock and got into an engrossing conversation, which was ended by Maggie’s calling them to supper. When the meal was fairly under way, the father said:
“Hemlock wants us to leave. He says the Americans will be here in a day or two. He offers to bring Indians with enough of canoes to take you and Maggie to Montreal.”
“Leave my hame for thae Yankees!” exclaimed Mrs Forsyth; “no a step will I gang oot o’ my way for the deils.”
“Hemlock says they may burn down the house and insult you, an’ ye wad be better oot o’ their way.”
“I wad like to see the Yankee loon that wad try to set a low to oor bit biggin; I wad ding some dacency into his heid.”
“Think o’ Maggie, guid wife.”
Before her mother could speak, Maggie declared “she wasna fear’t an’ wad bide wi’ her mither, thankin’ Hemlock a’ the same.”
“You see, Hemlock, hoo wi’ Scotch bodies stick by our hames. Down to the women and bairns, we will fecht to the last gasp to haud them.”
Hemlock said nothing and helped himself to another piece of johnny-cake. The subject, however, had excited Mrs Forsyth, who mingled denunciations of the invaders with regrets at leaving Scotland.
“Toots, woman, Canada is a better country for the puir man than Scotlan.”
“I am no denyin’ that, but eh, there was a couthie security there that’s no here, an’ for a sicht o’ its bonnie howes an’ glens I’d gie onything. The first an’ the last sicht each day frae my faither’s door was the Pentlands, an’ no trees, trees, wi’ snaw an’ ice hauf the year.”
“Ye wadna gae back, mither, for a’ that.”
“Deed would I, gin we a’ went the gither.”
“But ye have aften tell’t me ye wad never cross the sea again, ye were so sick in coming.”
“Na, neither I wad; nae boatie for me.”
“Then, ye canna gang.”
“Hoot, lass, what are ye sayin’; is that a’ ye ken? We could walk roun’.”
“Providence, dear wife, has cast oor lot here an’ it’s oor duty to be content. Please God, we will help to mak o’ Canada a country oor children will be proud o’, an as for thae Yankees, wha come to rob us o’ oor liberty, I am sure their conceit will lead to their fa’ an’ that their designs upon us will come to naething.”
Hemlock rose and prepared to leave. “I will go with you,” said Forsyth, “and hear what is the news in the camp.”
Getting into the canoe they arrived at the forks in due time, and found great activity in erecting buildings, while carts were arriving every few minutes from the Basin with supplies or leaving empty to reload. In every direction were soldiers encamped, and the evening being cold their fires crackled and blazed along the lines. The soldiers were of all kinds, from habitants in homespun blouses and blue tuques to regulars of the line. The noisiest were the volunteer regiments, composed of young men, lumbermen and city tradesmen, whose exuberant animal spirits the discomforts and privations of camp failed to tame, and where they were, screams, laughter, and singing resounded. Hemlock led the way to a large, white house, the home of an American settler, named Baker, but taken possession of for headquarters, and passing the guard as a privileged character, told the orderly he wanted to see the General. On enquiry, the two visitors were admitted into a good-sized room, in the centre of which was a large table, at which sat a thick-set officer of foreign aspect, Gen. deWatteville, his secretary, and Major Henry, who had succeeded Stovin as local commander. They were evidently engaged in examining regimental reports.
“Hemlock, so you have got back? What news from the lines?” asked the Major.
“Yankees will break camp tomorrow.”
“How do you know? Have you any despatches from our spies?”
“No, but I saw a waggon loaded with axes arrive at Fort Hickory.”
“Well, what about that?”
“The advance camp, nearest to here, is called Fort Hickory: the axes are to chop a road from there to our outposts on the Chateaugay.”
DeWatteville became all attention. “How long would the road be?”
“Three leagues,” answered Hemlock.
“Pooh,” remarked the General, relapsing into indifference, “they cannot cut a road that long through the woods.”
“You don’t know Yankee axemen,” said Hemlock, “they will do it in a day and turn your flank.”
The General simply waved his hand contemptuously. Major Henry, knowing from past acquaintance, Hemlock’s worth and intelligence, asked in a respectful tone, “What do you advise?”
“Send me with all the Indians and we will cut them off.”
DeWatteville could not withhold a gesture of horror. “You would fall upon these axemen, you say are coming, butcher them with your hatchets and scalp them. Eh?”
“Every one of them,” answered Hemlock in an exultant voice.
“Faugh, that is not war; that is murder,” said the General, “we will fight the Americans in no such way.”
“It is how they would deal with you,” said Hemlock, “but if you do not want the Indian to fight in the way of his fathers, he will leave you.”
Henry here leant over and whispered into the General’s ear; who answered aloud, “No, I will not hear of it: I will fight as a soldier and will have no savagery.” The Major was evidently disconcerted, and changed the subject by asking Hemlock what led him so far from the lines as to visit Fort Hickory.
“I followed Morton.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the General, “poor fellow, what of him?”
“They were going to hang him, when Colonel Vanderberg took him from Four Corners.”
“You see, General,” said Major Henry with a smile, “the savagery of the invader against whom you would not use the services of Hemlock and his braves in self-defence.”
The General twirled his heavy grey mustache and bit it nervously. “If they hang him, I will let every redskin in the country loose upon them.”
“It would serve Morton better to do so before the rope does its work,” suggested the Major. “Our remonstrances addressed to General Hampton have been met with combined equivocation and insolence. ‘Give up,’ he says, ‘the murderer of Major Slocum and I will set Morton at liberty.’ As much as to say we screen the murderer—a man I know nothing of and for whose deed His Majesty’s service is not accountable.”
Hemlock said, “Read that again?”
Taking up General Hampton’s despatch in answer to that regarding Morton’s treatment, the Major read it in full. The Indian listened intently and made no comment, but Forsyth said quietly, he was sure Mr Morton had no hand in murdering anybody.
“We all know that,” answered Major Henry, “a more humane and yet a more gallant officer the King has not got. And now, Forsyth, what are you and the settlers going to do when the Americans cross the frontier?”
“Ye’ll excuse me for saying so, but that is a silly question to ask o’ men wha hae gien their sons to serve as sogers and placed their horses, and a’ their barns and cellars contain at your service.”
“You don’t understand me. I mean do you intend staying in your houses should the enemy come, or will you seek safety in Montreal?”
“It wad be hard to gie up to the destroyer all we hae and that we hae gaithered wi’ sic pains in years gane by. My ain mind is, and my neebors agree, that we will stand by our property an’ tak chances.”
“It is the resolve of brave men,” remarked the General, “but it may be in the interest of the campaign to waste the country and leave neither supplies nor shelter for the enemy.”
“Gin sic should prove the case,” answered the farmer, “there’s no an Auld Countryman on the river that wadna pit the fire to his biggin wi’ his ain hand. Gear is guid, but independence is sweet.”
“I hope you will not be asked to make such a sacrifice,” said the Major, “we have reports here of reinforcements on the way that, if they arrive in time, will enable us to meet the enemy.”
The General here intimated to them to retire. Hemlock started as if from a reverie. Going close to the General, he stretched out his right hand after the manner of Indian orators. “You meet the Yankees as soldier meets soldier. The red man meets them as the robbers of his lands, the destroyers of his villages, the slayers of his race. The land was ours, and they have driven us to the setting sun and left us not even standing-room for our lodges. You have called us savages. Who made us savages? The Indian forgets no kindness and forgives no wrong. The hand that has despoiled and struck at us, we will seek late and early, in light and dark, to smite. Our enemy for generations, the enemy we are always at war with, is your enemy today. You may make peace with him tomorrow. We never will. When the Indian dies, he gives his hatchet to his sons. We offer you our help. Tell me to go and do what I will, and the Americans will not drink of the St Lawrence. Ten score Iroquois will keep up the war-whoop along the frontier until they turn.”
The General seemed annoyed and said sharply, “We take you as scouts, not as comrades-in-arms. I will have no barbarian warfare.”
Hemlock drew himself up with dignity as he said: “We are your allies, not your hirelings. Our tribes declared war against the Americans before you did, and if you will not accept our aid we withdraw this night from your camp and shall fight on our own hand.”
Major Henry perceived the mistake made by the General and hastened to undo it. “King George,” he said, “is true to the treaty made with his Indian allies and I am sure you will stand by it too. The General is preparing his plans for receiving the Americans and the Indians will have their place in it.”
Without apparently heeding these words, Hemlock approached close to the General. “I warn you,” he said, “if you reject our aid, great soldier as you may be across the sea, in the warfare of these woods your light will go out like this,” and with a wave of his hand he put out the light of one of the two candles on the table. Turning on his heel, he walked with stately stride out of the room. That night he and his band left the camp and ceased to receive orders from headquarters.