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

by G. P. R. James

But speedily his knowledge of the Indian character and habits undeceived him. He knew that in such cases they always made sure of some victim, and that the more near and dear he was to the offender the better for their purpose--himself first, a relation next, a friend next; and he cast the self-fraud away from him.

But the love of life had not yet done, though obliged to take another course and suggest modifications. Was there no middle course to be taken? Was it absolutely necessary that he should sacrifice his own life to save that of Walter Prevost? Could the object not be effected without his giving himself up to the savages? Might not someone else fall into their hands? Might not the lad be rescued by some daring effort? This was the most plausible suggestion of all, but it was the one that troubled him the most. He had detected so many attempts in his own heart to cheat himself, that he suspected he might be deceiving himself still; and his mind got puzzled and confused with doubts.

He went to the bed and lay down in his clothes, but he could not sleep without taking some resolution; and rising again, he pressed his hands upon his aching temples, and determined to cast away self from the question altogether--to look upon it as if it affected some other person and Walter Prevost, and judge accordingly.

His plan succeeded. He separated the truth from the falsehood, and came to the conclusion that it would be folly to go and give himself up to certain death as long as there was a chance of saving his young friend by other means; but that it was right to do so if other means failed; and that neither by delay nor even uncertain efforts, must he risk the chance of saving him by the ultimate sacrifice. He made up his mind accordingly, to re-enter the Indian territory in spite of every peril, to conceal himself as best he could, to watch the Indians as he would watch a wild beast, and be ready for any opportunity or for any decision; and when his resolution was finally taken he lay down and slept profoundly.

CHAPTER XIV

And what was Edith's journey? Would the reader have me present it as a picture--as it appeared to her after it was over--massed together in its extraordinary rapidity, and seen but from one point at the end?

Swiftly skimming in a bark canoe upon the glossy bosoms of the lovely lakes, which reflected every hue of herb and tree, and sky and mountain, darting along bright and sparkling streams, sometimes beneath the overhanging canopy of boughs, sometimes under the pure blue eye of heaven. Often struggling with a rapid, often having to pass along the shore to turn a waterfall; at times walking along through the glowing woods, burning with the intense coloring of autumn; at times surrounded by a number of Indians, each rendering quiet, earnest service to the adopted daughter of the great Oneida chief; at times wandering on in the dim forest, with no one but her two dark attendants near; now the fierce howl of the midnight wolf sounding in her ear; now the sharp, garrulous cry of the blue jay; now the shrill scream of the woodhaw. Now the Indian lodge or castle, as the Iroquois sometimes called their dwellings, now the brown canopy of the autumn wood covered her; but still, under the skillful guidance and with the eager help of the two negroes, she went forward with extraordinary rapidity, leaving miles and miles behind her every hour. It seemed almost like a pleasant dream, or at least it would have seemed so had the sad and fearful motives which led her on been ever banished from her mind. Even as it was, the variety of the objects, the constant succession of new matters of interest, the events, small in themselves, but important to her, which occurred to facilitate or impede her progress, were all a relief to her overcharged mind, and she reached the Oneida territory less depressed than when she set out from her home.

One cause, perhaps, of the feeling of renewed strength which she experienced was a renewal of hope from the conduct of the Indians toward her wherever she met them. She found that even amongst the Mohawks she was recognized at once as the adopted daughter of the great Oneida chief; and it was evident that he had spread far and wide, as he returned to his own abode after the conference at Johnson Castle, the fact of his having adopted the daughter of the paleface, Prevost. There is always something, too, in the fact of an enterprise being actually commenced, which gives spirit to pursue it to the end. While we stand and gaze at it from a distance, hesitating whether we shall undertake it or not, the difficulties are magnified, the facilities obscured; the rock and precipice rise up threateningly to our imagination, while the small paths by which they may be surmounted are unseen.

Day had yet an hour of life when Edith approached what we find called in the history of the times, "The Castle of the Oneidas." "Wigwam" it is customary to name all the Indian villages, giving an idea of insignificance and meanness, and completely savage state, which the principal residences of the Five Nations did not at that time merit. Most of them were very like that which Edith now approached. It was built upon a slight elevation near the lake, with a large protruding rock near it; for the Oneidas always affected near their dwelling some symbol significant of their favorite appellation, "The Children of the Stone." Around it were high palisades, enclosing a considerable area, within which the huts of the Indians were constructed. Rising considerably above the rest were two wooden buildings, in the erection of which European workmanship was apparent. The one was a large, oblong building, regularly roofed and shingled, like that of any English settler. It consisted of two stories, and in the upper one regular framed windows were to be seen. In the lower story there were none, light being admitted by the door. That lower story, however, was floored by plain pine boards, and divided by a sort of curtain into two equal compartments. The other building bore the appearance of a church in miniature, with a small cottage or hut attached, which was in reality the residence of the missionary, Mr. Gore.

Even Edith was surprised to see the home of Otaitsa so different from the ideas conveyed to her by the wandering traders, who even while carrying on commercial intercourse with the tribes, were in a state of semi-hostility toward the Indians, representing them as bloody savages, and cheating them whenever they could.