The frontiersmen

by Gustave Aimard

"Well, Eagle's-Wing, what news from the Senecas?" asked Ralph.

"Ask Panther," answered the Tuscarora. "He yonder."

"Such is the fortune of war," said Ichabod: "now a victor—now a prisoner. But I am glad to see, Eagle's-Wing, that you're ra'ally improving under my instructions. It's a great step towards civilization, that you didn't take the fellow's scalp at once."

Wild and fiendish was the glance that shot from the dark eye of the Indian; but no words were given to its terrible significance. Turning leisurely about, he moved slowly towards the grove.

In the meantime, Barton and Ruth, together with Singing-Bird, took possession of the temporary dwelling that had been fitted up for them. Sambo, who had gone up through the clearing, towards the forest, soon was seen returning with the horses, which he was leading with the most frantic exclamations of joy. He had discovered the marks of their hoofs upon the ground, and had followed on their track, until he found them on the edge of the forest. It was with scarcely less joy than that which Sambo displayed, that Barton beheld them—the only remains of his little property. They had been abandoned by the Senecas in their sudden surprise, and thus the most serious difficulty in the removal of Barton and his family to the settlements, was obviated.

But we will follow Eagle's-Wing to the grove where the Indians were now collected. Panther had been securely confined to a tree, and the change which had come over him, under his reverse of fortune, was most wonderful and striking. When in command of his party, he had preserved a quiet dignity of demeanor—the natural consequence, to a manly mind, of the power of command. His face had worn an expression of solemn gravity, and there was, in all he said and did, an air of courtesy and sincerity, which had struck his prisoners as inconsistent with his reputation for cunning and cruelty. But now, deprived of his freedom, and in the power of his enemies, his whole manner was changed. With head erect—with flashing eyes, and nostrils that quivered with untameable ferocity, he glared upon the Indians by whom he was surrounded. As Eagle's-Wing approached, his glance fell upon him with a look of savage malice. The Tuscarora came up directly before him, and with folded arms, gazed into the eyes of his prisoner.

"Seneca," said he, "you are a lying chief of a lying nation. You must die. I have been told that the Senecas have the hearts of girls. I wish to see the tears in your eyes."

"The Tuscaroras are women," began the Seneca, in a quiet voice, and with a look of contempt. "They once dwelt in the land of the sun, where the snows of the winter never come, and their hearts became soft, and the pale-faces made them slaves. That was all they were fit for. They did not know how to fight their enemies, and the pale-faces took the hatchets and the bows from their hands, and made them work in the fields. Then the Iroquois took pity on them, and wrapped them in their blankets, as the squaws do the pappooses; and they brought them up into the land of braves, and gave them villages and hunting-grounds; but they could do nothing but sit shivering by the fire. They were afraid of the rifles of the Colony men, and they deserted the Iroquois. They are worse than women—they are dogs! They are little dogs, that run barking at our heels, and dare not bite! It is a shame for a warrior to fall into their hands. The death of the brave warrior, in the midst of his enemies, is the triumph of his glory. The Great Spirit smiles, as the warrior endures the torture, and lifts him up to the happy hunting-grounds with the hand of a father; while his name goes down in the traditions of his enemies, as a brave who died without fear! But I am ashamed. The Tuscaroras have no traditions! They are dogs! and however so brave I may be, my name will be forgotten, as though I died in the midst of dogs!

"The Oneidas are liars! They have forgotten how to be brave. They live with the dogs of the Tuscaroras, and think they are men. They smile in the faces of the red-men, and throw their hatchets at their backs. They sit down and listen to the medicine-men, (missionaries,) of the pale-faces, and learn new traditions. They forget that they are Indians, and try to worship the Great Spirit of the pale-faces. They are liars; and I am ashamed to die in the midst of liars and dogs!"

These contemptuous words excited the anger of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras to the highest degree; and with a shout of rage, tomahawks were brandished, and knives drawn from their belts, while three or four of them darted forward with the determination of at once terminating the life of the insulting Seneca; but at a gesture from Eagle's-Wing, they retired.