“Can you help us to get away, Susquesus?” was my answer. “Do you know of any means of crossing the lake?”
“Got canoe. That good. Canoe go, though Yengeese run.”
“That in which we came off to the army, do you mean?”
The Indian nodded his head, and made a sign for us to follow. Little persuasion was necessary, and we proceeded at his heels, in a body, in the direction he led. I will confess, that when I saw our guide proceeding eastward, along the lake-shore, I had some misgivings on the subject of his good faith. That was the direction which took us towards, instead of from the enemy; and there was something so mysterious in the conduct of this man, that it gave me uneasiness. Here he was, in the midst of the English army in the height of its confusion, though he had declined joining it previously to the battle. Nothing was easier than to enter the throng, in its present confused state, and move about undetected for hours, if one had the nerve necessary for the service; and, in that property, I felt certain the Onondago was not deficient. There was a coolness in the manner of the man, a quiet observation, both blended with the seeming apathy of a red-skin, that gave every assurance of his fitness for the duty.
Nevertheless, there was no remedy but to follow, or to break with our guide on the spot. We did not like to do the last, although we conferred together on the subject, but followed, keeping our hands on the locks of our rifles, in readiness for a brush, should we be led into danger. Susquesus had no such treacherous intentions, however, while he had disposed of his canoe in a place that denoted his judgment. We had to walk quite a mile ere we reached the little bush-fringed creek in which he had concealed it. I have always thought we ran a grave risk, in advancing so far in that direction, since the enemy's Indians would certainly be hanging around the skirts of our army, in quest of scalps; but I afterwards learned the secret of the Onondago's confidence, who first spoke on the subject after we had left the shore, and then only in an answer to a remark of Guert's.
“No danger,” he said; “red-man gettin' Yengeese scalps, on the war-path. Too much kill, now, to want more.”
As both governments pursued the culpable policy of paying for human scalps, this suggestion probably contained the whole truth.
Previously to quitting the creek, however, there was a difficulty to dispose of. Jaap had brought his Huron prisoner with him; and the Onondago declared that the canoe could not carry six. This we knew from experience, indeed, though five went in it very comfortably.
“No room,” said Susquesus, “for red-man. Five good—six bad.”
“What shall we do with the fellow, Corny?” asked Guert, with a little interest. “Jaap says he is a proper devil, by daylight, and that he had a world of trouble in taking him, and in bringing him in. For five minutes, it was heads or tails which was to give in; and the nigger only got the best of it, by his own account of the battle, because the red-skin had the unaccountable folly to try to beat in Jaap's brains. He might as well have battered the Rock of Gibraltar, you know, as to attempt to break a nigger's skull, and so your fellow got the best of it. What shall we do with the rascal?”