Ticonderoga: A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley

by G. P. R. James

"But," said Bab, with more foresight than the Indian, "perhaps they will not keep her there till to-morrow. They may send her into the fort--most likely will."

"Bid her stay! bid her stay!" said the chief. "If they force her away, I have no arm to hold her. Go on! I have said!"

The negress shook her head, as if much doubting the expediency of the plan proposed, but she obeyed without further remonstrance, and walking on upon the little narrow path which the Indians pointed out, she reached, in about a quarter of an hour, the broader trail, along which Edith had been taken on the preceding night. Turning to the right, as directed, she followed it with slow and somewhat hesitating steps, till suddenly a sharp turn brought her in sight of two sentinels pacing backward and forward, and a group of Indians seated on the ground round a fire, cooking their food. There she halted suddenly, but she was already seen, and receiving no answer to his challenge, one of the sentinels presented his musket as if to fire. At the same moment a voice exclaimed: "What's that? What's that?" in French, and a man in the garb of a soldier, but unarmed, came forward and spoke to her.

She could make no reply, for she did not understand a word he said, and taking her by the wrist, the man led her into the redoubt, saying to the sentinel with a laugh: "It's only a black woman; did you take her for a bear?"

The next instant poor Bab beheld her young mistress quietly seated on the ground, with a fine white tablecloth spread before her, and all the appurtenances of a breakfast table, though not the table itself, while the officer she had seen in the redoubt the night before was applying himself assiduously to supply her with all she wanted. In a moment the good woman had shaken her wrist from the man who held it, and darting forward, she caught Edith's hand and smothered it with kisses.

Great was Edith's joy and satisfaction to see poor Bab still in life, and it was soon explained to the French officer who she was and how she came thither. But the object of her coming had nearly been frustrated before she had time to explain to her young mistress the promised rescue; for ere she had been half an hour within the works a non-commissioned officer from Ticonderoga appeared with a despatch for the commander of the party, who at once proposed to send the young lady and her dark attendant under his charge to the fortress, expressing gallantly his regret to lose the honor and pleasure of her society; but adding that it would be for her convenience and safety.

The suggestion was made before he opened the despatch, and Edith eagerly caught at a proposal which seemed to offer relief from a very unpleasant situation; but as soon as the officer had seen the contents of his letter his views were changed, and he explained to his young prisoner that for particular reasons the commander-in-chief thought it best that there should be as little passing to and fro, during the period of daylight, between the fortress and the redoubt as possible. He would, therefore, he said, be obliged to inform his superior officer, in the first place, of her being there, and of the circumstances in which she had fallen under his protection, as he termed it, adding that probably after nightfall, when the same objection could not exist, he would receive instructions as to what was to be done, both with herself and her companions, and with the Indians in whose power he had found her.

He then sat down to write a reply to the despatch he had received, and occupied fully half an hour in its composition, during which time all that Sister Bab had to say was spoken. The very name of the Oneidas, however, awakened painful memories in Edith's breast, and notwithstanding all the assurances she had received from Otaitsa, her heart sank at the thought of poor Walter's probable fate. She turned her eyes toward Woodchuck, who had refused to take any breakfast, and sat apart under a tree not far from the spot where Apukwa and his companions, kept in sight constantly by a sentinel, were gathered round their cooking fire. His attitude was the most melancholy that can be conceived; his eyes were fixed upon the ground, his head drooping, his brow heavy and contracted, and his hands clasped together on his knee. Edith moved quietly toward him and seated herself near, saying: "What is the matter, my good friend?" and then added, in a low voice: "I have some pleasant news for you."

Woodchuck shook his head sadly, but made no answer; and Edith continued, seeking to cheer him: "The poor negro woman who was with me when we were attacked escaped the savages, it seems, and has brought an intimation that before to-morrow's sunset we shall be set free by a large party of the Oneidas."

"It is too late, my dear! It is too late!" replied Woodchuck, pressing his hands tightly together. "Too late to do anything for your poor brother! It was him I was thinking of!"