From the seclusion of her own tent, Catharine Montour watched the hasty preparations for departure, and her heart sank at the sight of those rigid faces, as the old queen and her son went out, for she understood only too well what their calmness portended.
She dared utter no word of remonstrance; the bravest heart would have shrunk from offering consolation to that grim woman. It was still dark as midnight, and the smouldering fires cast a lurid glare around, lighting up the stern visages flitting like shadows among the tents, while the waning moon trembled like a crescent of blood on the verge of the western horizon, a sign of approaching carnage and warfare.
At length a detachment of warriors, armed with rifles and tomahawks, and hideous with war-paint, broke out from the great mass, and mounting their horses, remained stationary on the outskirts of the camp. Queen Esther’s horse was led out, flowing with gems torn from the persons of former victims; her tomahawk glittered at the saddle-bow, and the head of her steed was decorated with raven’s plumes, that waved slowly to and fro with every motion of his proud neck. Catharine saw the old Queen come forth again from her tent, grasping in her hand the weapon which her son had wielded in his last battle. Passing with stern composure through the group of Indians, she planted one hand upon the saddle, and with a single effort of her sinewy arm lifted herself to the seat. With no sound but the muffled tread of their horses on the short turf, the band swept on, with that silent woman leading them on, and were lost in the darkness beyond.
The great body of Indians and the army of whites encamped at a little distance still kept their position, though preparations for departure were evident among them—carried on by the Indians in sullen quiet, far more terrible than the shouts and oaths which came up from the Tory tents.
Catharine Montour watched all, heard all, but still she did not move. The chief did not at once approach her tent, and though a sickness like that of death was on her, she knew that the slightest remonstrance would only increase the Shawnee’s thirst for vengeance. She did not stir from the spot until everything was ready for their departure and her horse was led up to the entrance of her tent.
Swiftly the detachment, with Queen Esther for their leader, swept down the rocky path which led towards the Susquehanna. After a ride of about twenty miles, they came out upon the river, opposite the foot of Campbell’s Ledge, and, crossing the stream there, continued their course into the valley, only pausing while Esther dispatched a scout in advance, to see that their way to the fort would be unobstructed.
She had halted just where the Falling Spring came leaping down the steep precipice, white and spectral in the gathering day. Beyond loomed up the giant masses of the Ledge, and at her feet the river flowed in its pleasant quietness, bearing no warning of ill to the doomed inhabitants of the valley.
During the absence of their scout the silence was unbroken; the warriors were banded together in portentous impassibility; and Queen Esther, with her horse drawn a little distance apart, the reins falling loosely upon his neck, sat with her eyes fixed upon the tomahawk still grasped in her hand. The Indian returned, and at his signal the party swept down the war-trail, which ran in nearly the same course that the roadway of the present day takes, following the river in its sinuous windings.
Just above Pittston the Susquehanna and Lackawanna meet, and at their point of union a little island, picturesque even now, rests on the bosom of the waters. The band paused on the shore of the Susquehanna, in sight of this island. A scow, used by the inhabitants of the region as a common means of transportation across the stream, was unmoored, and the whole band were rowed over to the opposite shore. Again they paused, and waited until the main force of Tories and savages came up, with Gi-en-gwa-tah at their head, and Catharine Montour in their midst.
At the chief’s command, the body of Indians swam their horses over to the little island, their leader guiding the steed on which Catharine rode, and commenced immediate preparations for the rearing of her tent.