Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Frontier

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Near noon, and at the very moment that Seth paused to take a survey of the suspicious valley-like depression, and when not more than a furlong in the rear, Haldidge caught sight of three Indians just ahead of him. They were sitting upon the ground, in perfect silence, and seemingly waiting for the approach of some one. The hunter found himself as much perplexed, as was Seth to account for what he saw. Whether it was some stratagem to entrap himself or not he could not tell, but before venturing farther, he made up his mind to gain a further knowledge of their intentions.

Haldidge had one formidable difficulty to contend with: the wood at this particular spot was open, and almost devoid of the protecting undergrowth, so that it was about impossible to approach them closer without discovering himself to them. He noticed lying a short distance behind them a large, heavy log, apparently much decayed. In fact this was so near them, that could he gain it, he could overhear every thing said. He had a slight knowledge of the Mohawk tongue—not enough to converse in it—but still enough to understand the drift of a conversation. Accordingly he determined to reach the spot at all hazards.

Haldidge desired, if possible, to communicate with Haverland and warn him of the proximity of danger. To do this, it was necessary to make a long detour, and upon further consideration he decided not to attempt it. Lying flat upon his face, he worked himself toward the log mentioned, keeping it between himself and the Indians, and approaching as silently and steadily as a snake. So cautiously and carefully was it done, that it required at least twenty minutes to reach it, and all this time, the Indians maintained the same unbroken silence. At length, the concealment was reached, and the hunter noticed with pleasure that it was hollow. He lost no time in entering it, where, coiling himself up in as small a space as possible, he took himself to listening. As if to completely favor him, there was a small rent in the log, through which even the whisper of the savages could be heard, and which also admitted a thin ray of light.

Here Haldidge cramped himself up and listened intently. But not a word was exchanged between the Indians, who remained as motionless as statues. In the course of a few minutes he heard a footfall upon the leaves, and a second after several savages seated themselves upon the very log in which he had concealed himself! He judged that there were at least a half dozen. Those whom he had first seen appeared to have risen, and, meeting the others, they had all seated themselves upon the log together.

They immediately commenced conversing in so low and guttural tones, that their deep base voices communicated their tremor to the log. Haldidge started as he soon learned that they were conversing about himself and the three fugitives. Of Seth they seemed to have no knowledge. He discovered that they had lain in ambush a short distance ahead to entrap Haverland, Graham, and Ina, and they were debating how he should be disposed of. They knew that he was acting in the capacity of scout and sentinel, and were fearful that he might detect the ambush, or at least escape it himself.

At this point, one of the Indians, probably impelled by some whim, stooped and looked into the log. Haldidge knew from the darkness thus occasioned, that one of them was peering in it, and he scarcely breathed for a few seconds. But the face was removed, and the hollow being dark within—the small rent being upon the opposite side of the hunter—the savage felt reassured and resumed the conversation.

But Haldidge was doomed to have a trial of his nerves, of which he little dreamed. When he entered the log, it was head foremost, so that his feet were toward the opening, and his face was in the dim light beyond. He judged the rotten cavity extended several feet further back; but, as there was no necessity for entering farther, he did not attempt to explore it. It was while he lay thus, his whole soul bent to the one act of listening, that he was startled by the deadly warning of a rattlesnake! He comprehended the truth in an instant. There was one of these reptiles in the log beyond him!

It is difficult to imagine a more fearful situation than the hunter’s at this moment. He was literally environed by death; for it was at his head, his feet, and above him, and there was no escape below. He had just learned that his death was one of the objects of the Indians, so that to back out into their clutches would be nothing less than committing suicide. To remain where he was, would be to disregard the second and last warning of the coiled rattlesnake. What was to be done? Manifestly nothing but to die like a man. Haldidge decided to risk the bite of the rattlesnake!

Despite himself, the hunter felt that the reptile was exerting its horrible fascination over him. Its small eyes, gleaming like tiny, yet fiery stars, seemed to emit a magnetic ray—thin, pointed and palpable, that pierced right into his brain. There was a malignant subtlety—an irresistible magnetism. Now the small, glittering point of light seemed to recede, then to approach and expand, and then to wave and undulate all around him. Sometimes that bright, lightning-like ray would shiver and tremble, and then straighten out with metal-like rigidity, and insinuate itself into his very being like the invisible point of a spear.

There was a desire on the part of Haldidge to shake off this influence, which wrapped him like a mantle. There was the desire, we say, and yet there was a languid listlessness—a repugnance to making the effort. The feeling was something similar to that produced by a powerful opiate, when we are first recovering from it. There was that dim consciousness—that indistinct knowledge of the outer world—that certainty, that we can break the bond that holds us, by one vigorous effort, and yet the same sluggish indifference that prevents the attempt.