The Forest King / Wild Hunter of the Adaca

by Hervey Keyes

Mayall began to shun them as much as convenient. They appeared very different from the Oneidas, and seemed now to be hunting for men and plunder, instead of wild game. They cleared away and made their war-paths more plain along the broad-armed Susquehanna and her tributaries. They came, painted and plumed for the fray, with their scalp-locks waving in the air; and the frightful war-whoop echoed through the valley and died away upon the mountain top, frightening the wild beasts to their lair, as they marched towards the nearest settlements, to kindle the terror-awakening fire, and massacre and plunder the inhabitants. The war-whoop awoke the child from the cradle—the infant was torn from its mother's arms, the aged fell by the tomahawk and scalping-knife, and the earth fattened with their blood. Such was the state of affairs when autumn arrived, and hung out her flag of many colors from the forest trees over hill and vale, as the sun, with fiery crest, gilded every forest tree with the glory of the season, whilst the bold hunter gathered in the ripening fruit to increase his scanty winter store. The furred animals had now put on their winter robes, which nature so wisely prepares for their comfort during the frosts of winter.

Mayall, who styled himself one of that religious sect called Friends, in order to soothe the fears of his enemies, always hailed them, wherever he met them, as friends.

Autumn, with him, was the season for rambling and hunting to lay in his winter store of furs and provisions, and he prepared for a hunting excursion up the Cherry Valley Creek. The next morning, when the first rays of light appeared in the east, he was seen to emerge from his cabin with a knapsack of provisions on his back, a bundle of traps thrown over his shoulder, powder-horn and bullet-pouch by his side, and his trusty gun in his hand. Thus equipped, he took an eastward course for the Cherry Valley Creek. At the head of that creek was the nearest settlement, where he sometimes went to dispose of his furs and purchase stores and ammunition, distant from his home about twenty-seven miles. As soon as he reached the mouth of the stream, which is a tributary of the Susquehanna, he began to reconnoitre the stream, and set his traps wherever signs appeared of beaver, animated with the prospect of a rich harvest of furs and venison. He had not proceeded far before he saw a fine buck, which had come to the creek to drink. He instantly raised his trusty gun to his face. A flash and report, and the noble animal fell dead upon the bank of the stream. The day had now far advanced, and he drew his knife from its sheath and dressed his venison with dispatch. He then hung up three of the quarters upon the trees, cutting off a limb to form a hook on which it would hang safely from the wolves that were nightly prowling along the stream. He then took the remaining quarter and wrapped it up in the skin of the buck, retired into a thick, dark swamp that lay near the stream, until he reached a large, spreading hemlock, that afforded a convenient resting-place at its root. Here, in this dense thicket, he built a small fire, examined his trusty gun, and laid down to rest. He afterward said he used every caution, for he had three enemies upon his track—the panther, the wolf and the red man. The night seemed to pass away quietly, excepting the howling of a wolf occasionally upon a distant hill, which gave him no uneasiness. Rosy morn soon appeared, and he could see the sun send his blush upon the highest hills, from his camping-ground in the swamp. He then prepared his breakfast, and feasted on the loin of the buck that he had killed the day previous. Emerging from the swamp, he intended to examine his traps, and then take the skin of the buck and the choicest part of the venison to his family. In this calculation he was sadly disappointed; for, as he proceeded along a path near the stream, suddenly three Indian warriors appeared in the path before him. He walked directly up to the party and said, "Good morning, brothers." They returned the compliment by saying, "Good morning, brother." One of the party said, "Let me see your gun." He handed it out. The Indian took from his pocket a knife and turned back the screws that held the lock, and then took the lock and put it in his pocket, handing the gun back to Mayall, informing him that he must go with them. Mayall bit his lips in silence, to think a hunter who had faced his enemies in every form could be so easily frustrated in his plans. They then informed him that they were on the war-path and he must consider himself their prisoner, to which he made no reply.

They immediately commenced their march in the following order: the stoutest Indian led the march, next came Mayall, the prisoner, followed by two Indian warriors. In this manner they marched down the creek, and then down the Susquehanna, to a place near where the Schenevus mingles with and loses its name in the waters of the Susquehanna. Here they encamped for the night, and after starting their camp-fire in a thicket of hemlocks, they all four eat their supper from the venison cooked by Mayall in the morning. Then, binding their prisoner's hands behind him, and tying his feet firmly together, they laid down to sleep, with an Indian on each side and the remaining one to keep guard. As soon as the blaze of the fire died away, Mayall tried to disengage his hands, which began to pain him cruelly, but all in vain. If he could once free himself, he could reach his home before the sun could rise again, and once more see his wife and children; but six miles of forest parted them at this time, on a straight line. Oh, the misery of being dragged from home! And who could foretell his fate? Was he to wear the bearskin moccasin, and be tied to the fatal stake and burned for Indians' sport, and his poor family left to starve and perish amid the frosts of a long, dreary winter? He dreamed of the red war-post, the terrific dance of the red man round his burning victim, and all the refined torture of the savage. Morning broke his dreams; the sun again kissed the mountain-top. Mayall was unbound—his mind became calm, his resolution was formed. It was the last night that he was to endure the horrors of being bound. Little did the Indians know the danger of driving to desperation so terrible a foe, who was perfectly acquainted with the forest many leagues around them. The Indian warriors soon resumed their march in the same order of the previous day, but with greater haste. They moved forward rapidly, as if they feared an enemy in the rear. Mayall scanned every movement with the eye of the vulture, for a chance to deal the deadly blow upon his captors. The day seemed to wear away without an opportunity for the deadly combat, until they halted at a ford above where the village of Unadilla now stands. Here they held a parley, as the stream was swollen and rapid. Mayall looked on in sullen silence, as he began to feel the demon rise. He said he soon felt the courage of a lion, and the strength of a Samson before he had trifled with Delilah.

They hesitated for a short time over the danger. The foremost warrior finally ventured into the stream with his rifle and it was with great difficulty he kept his footing. He struggled against the rushing waters, and finally reached the opposite bank; the second one now stepped into the stream and ordered Mayall to follow. Mayall made every appearance of preparing to follow, until the Indian reached the rapid current; then, turning suddenly upon the Indian on the shore, at one blow with the stock of his gun he laid him dead at his feet. As quick as thought, before his body had fairly reached the ground, Mayall seized his rifle and shot the Indian in the stream. Then tearing the Indian's belt from his body (for it was hurrying times), he jumped behind the trunk of the nearest tree that would shelter him, as a ball from the Indian's rifle on the opposite bank whistled by his head, which he had anticipated, and moved as quickly as possible, to avoid his deadly aim. They now stood on opposite banks, each behind the trunk of a tree, with an empty rifle in their hands. The rifles were quickly loaded and prepared for the deadly combat, and the life of one at least must be sacrificed. After Mayall's gun was in readiness he cautiously peered out; but seeing the Indian's rifle aimed directly at him he dodged suddenly back, just in time to save his life; for the very instant Mayall dodged back his head, a ball from the Indian's rifle grazed the bark of the tree, and whistled away among the forest trees. Mayall now thought of taking the advantage of the Indian by aiming his rifle directly at his hiding-place and firing at the first appearance of the Indian's head, but in this he was disappointed; for the Indian, seeing Mayall's rifle aimed at his head, drew it back so quickly that the ball cut a channel in the bark where the Indian's eye appeared. Mayall loaded again as hastily as possible, and stood for a moment, hesitating what course to pursue, satisfied that the Indian warrior was his equal in aim and courage. He cast his eye back into the forest, and readily saw the trees stood thick, and by drawing the Indian's fire he could make a quick and safe retreat. But that would not answer—he would be hunted down and surprised, and his life would never be safe. Mayall quickly resolved that the Indian or himself must fall on that ground, and the only means now left him was stratagem. He drew his ramrod from his rifle, and putting his hat on the end, pushed it out carefully, to prevent the Indian from discovering the deception. It had the desired effect; for scarcely had the hat shown its full size outside the trunk of the tree, before the Indian sent a ball from his rifle through the hat, which Mayall lowered quickly to the ground, and then listened with breathless anxiety the result. In this condition he waited a long time.

All was silent as the tomb, excepting now and then the scream of a fish-hawk or the singing of a hermit-thrush that had approached the bank of the river after the firing had ceased, and seemed singing the funeral dirge of the red warriors who had already fallen. All of a sudden the thrush flew past Mayall into the forest, and the practiced ear of Mayall heard a rippling in the stream, like running water dashing against some slight obstruction. Anticipating the approach of the Indian warrior, he stepped suddenly from behind the tree, whilst the Indian was struggling with the current, and sent a ball from his rifle through the warrior's heart. He then floated down the rapid current, and sunk in the deep water below the rift.

Mayall then took his gunlock from the pocket of the Indian on the shore, who had stayed behind to engineer and direct the crossing, placed it upon his own gun, dragged the Indian into the current of the river, and he, too, floated down, and sunk with the first two in the deep, dark waters of the Susquehanna. He then washed out all traces of the bloody strife, and bent his course homeward. He hurried on, avoiding the trodden path of the red man, until he reached the mouth of the Otego Creek, when night's sable curtain began to darken the landscape around him. He then ascended a high peak of the mountain, that not only overlooked the Valley of the Susquehanna, but also overlooked the lovely Valley of the Otego Creek. Here, after finding a suitable spot, and examining his rifle, and seeing that all was right, he laid down, weary and exhausted, to rest, without kindling a fire.

The experience of the last two days had taught him a lesson long to be remembered. As the night grew dark and chilly, he could see the fire from his own cottage window gleam warm and bright from his lofty mountain bed, distant twelve miles. The night seemed long and wild, and still wilder round his lonely bed. The war was now raging between the United States and Canada. The inhabitants of Cherry Valley had been massacred, and he had come near losing his own life and liberty, and time would only tell what would become of himself and family. The Oneidas knew his home and place of rest, but at present they were his friends; but how should he escape these western savage tribes, that delighted in kindling the terror-awakening fire, and causing the midnight to glitter with the blaze of some solitary dwelling, whilst they stood at the door with the scalping-knife and tomahawk, to deal the death-blow to the inmates, and triumph with savage glee over their untimely death? Such were the reflections of Mayall, solitary and alone in his mountain bed, when the wild beasts of the forest were in motion, and no human being within twelve miles of his mountain camp. At length the morning dawned; the sun arose in all his glory, throwing a rosy blush, as it touched one peak and then another along the Catskill mountains, which he could see clothed in all their autumnal glory above the intervening hills. Long lines of clouds lay along the highest peaks of these mountains, painted with all the hues of vermilion and gold, but soon faded to a leaden hue, as they began to veil the sun.

Mayall was now aware of the approaching storm, which he considered a stroke of good luck. He took the Indian's rifle, which he had brought thus far with him, and secreted it in a hollow log, lest it might be a tell-tale of what had happened. He then took a general survey with his practiced eye, to see if there was any smoke rising from the valleys. He could see none but his own in the distance. He then hurried down from the mountain, and took the nearest path to his home with rapid and hurried steps, in order to get as near home as possible, that the rain might wash out all traces behind, and took special care to avoid soft ground, as he well knew the shrewdness of the Indians on the track if they should miss their tribesmen. He reached home before the rain began to descend, and had hardly closed the door before the wind began to blow and the rain fell in torrents.

His family were surprised to see him return, after three days' absence, with nothing but his gun and ammunition, and appearing careworn, weary and hungry. He walked to the door and looked out, and said, "Nature weeps for me!"