The Sagamore of Saco

by Elizabeth Oakes Prince Smith

Generally speaking, it would have been quite safe for the Indian warrior to have approached the camp of the Shawnees at that advanced hour of the night without many precautions, the Indians not being in the habit of sitting up much after dark. But, on the present occasion, something out of the common doubtless made them more than usually excited, and Custaloga at once made up his mind that it was, as he had expected, to this village Amy had been brought, and that the warriors were telling the stories and narratives of their adventures while smoking their pipes over the camp-fires.

Having gone so far and learned so much, the Wyandot was not a man to retreat without making sure of the fact he was so deeply anxious to know, and by which he intended guiding his future proceedings. Instead, therefore, of retreating when he discovered that the Indians had not retired to the shelter of their wigwams, he merely determined to act with extreme caution and circumspection, clearly, however, showing, that he did not intend to retreat. He now kept nothing on him but the small breech-cloth of the Shawnee warrior on the war-path, fastened his hunting-knife in his belt, tightened the thongs of his moccasins, and began quietly descending the slope toward the village. It was a position and an hour which would have sorely tried the nerves of any, save a borderman or an Indian.

He had advanced a hundred yards before the voices, which had been so plain above when he lay on the ground, became again audible. He now seemed a vision of the night, so solemnly did he stalk on toward the edge of the clearing. In a few minutes he stood as near as was consistent with safety to the Indian village of Wya-na-mah, a kind of outpost of Chillicothe.

A large, natural opening in the forest, where an arid soil or some accident had prevented the thick growth of trees, or which in days gone by had been cleared, had been selected by the Shawnees for their town. About thirty wigwams had been arranged in a semi-circle round an open grass-plot, much worn, however, and stubbly; and behind these a rude stockade was visible, which also extended round in front, leaving only two entrances to the village, which were guarded by hungry dogs.

There were two fires on the open plot in the center, round one of which about twenty warriors were collected, while as many women and girls were congregated near the other.

It was a wild and singular scene. Around, the dark and gloomy forest; above, the sky, now illumined by the rising moon; and there, the conical huts of the terrible red-skins lying still and yet marked in the moonlight; and their owners, those grim and ghastly warriors who during that day had wrought so much evil and done so much mischief—mischief never to be forgotten—sitting there like peaceful citizens in their pleasant homesteads, talking, laughing, chattering, thus at eventide, without any of that gravity and solemnity assumed at times for a purpose. It was truly a subject for the pencil of a Murillo or a Claude. And the merry group of girls, and the sedate and sad women, were, with the children, the dogs, and the other little addenda of the scene, singularly picturesque.

Custaloga stood in the deep shadow of the trees, about thirty yards from the fire around which the women were congregated. It was evident, from the stockade being, in some instances, built close to the trees, which thus could easily have afforded dangerous cover to the lurking foe, that the Indians considered themselves tolerably secure up in Wya-na-mah or that they trusted chiefly to their scouts outlying in the forest.

And Custaloga looked in vain, amid that group of tawny girls and bowed and chastened women; for the form of Amy. His quick and piercing eyes wandered everywhere around the camp, but not a sign of her existence could be seen in any direction, nor of any thing else which that day had been stolen from the Crow’s Nest, the property of the Silent Hunter.

Still, from a few words he was able to distinguish, he was satisfied that Amy was concealed in one of the huts; but his determination was so great to be certain of this fact, that, utterly disregarding all ideas of danger, he determined to enter the camp itself before he departed, and satisfy himself upon this point. The manner of Custaloga was not at this instant that of an Indian warrior. He seemed rather one of the children of the pale-faces, so impatient did he appear.

But with a shake of the head he kept down the rising feeling of boyish impatience which had moved him, and stood close to the tree which afforded him shelter—so closely, indeed, that he seemed part and parcel of it. He appeared a statue, not a man; so motionless, so upright, and yet so graceful was his mien.