PEABODY’S LEAP
A LEGEND OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN
Many are the places, scattered over the face of our beautiful country, whose wild and picturesque scenery is worthy of the painter’s pencil or the poet’s pen. Some of them, which were once celebrated for their rich stores of “legendary lore,” are now only sought to view their natural scenery, while the traditions which formerly gave them celebrity are buried in oblivion. Such is the scene of the following adventure—a romantic glen, bounded on the north side by a high and rocky hill which stretches itself some distance into Lake Champlain, terminating in a precipice, some thirty feet in height, and once known by the name of “Peabody’s Leap.”
At the time of this adventure, Timothy Peabody was the only white man that lived within fifty miles of the place, and his was the daring spirit that achieved it. In an attack on one of the frontier settlements his family had all been massacred by the merciless savages, and he had sworn that their death should be avenged. The better to accomplish this dread purpose, he had removed to this solitary place and constructed the rude shelter in which he dwelt, till the blasts of winter drove him to the homes of his fellow-men, again to renew the contest when spring had awakened nature into life and beauty. He was a man who possessed much rude cunning, combined with a thorough knowledge of Indian habits, by which he had always been enabled to avoid the snares of his subtle enemies. Often when they had come with a party to take him, he escaped their lures, and after destroying his hut, on their return homeward some of their boldest warriors were picked off by his unerring aim—or, on arriving at their settlement, they learned that one of their swiftest hunters had been ambushed by him, and fallen a victim of his deadly rifle. He had lived in this way for several years, and had so often baffled them, that they had at last become weary of the pursuit, and, for some time, had left him unmolested.
About this time, a party of Indians made a descent on one of the small settlements, and had taken three men prisoners, whom they were carrying home to sacrifice for the same number of their men that had been shot by Peabody. It was towards the close of day when they passed his abode; most of the party in advance of the prisoners, who, with their hands tied, and escorted by five or six Indians, were almost wearied out by their long march, and but just able to crawl along. He had observed this advance guard, and let them pass unmolested, for he suspected there were prisoners in the rear, and intended to try some “Yankee trick” to effect their rescue. He accordingly followed on in the trail of the party, keeping among the thick trees which on either side skirted the path. He had proceeded but a short distance before he heard the sharp report of a rifle apparently very near him, and which he knew must be one of the Indians who had strolled from the main body to procure some game for their evening meal. From his acquaintance with their habits and language, he only needed a disguise to enable him to join with the party if necessary and, aided by the darkness which was fast approaching, with but little danger of detection. The resolution was quickly formed, and as quickly put into operation, to kill this Indian and procure his dress.
He had got but a few paces before he discovered his intended victim, who had just finished loading his rifle. To stand forth and boldly confront him would give the savage an equal chance, and if Tim proved the best shot, the party on hearing the report of two rifles at once would be alarmed and commence a pursuit. The chance was, therefore, two to one against him, and he was obliged to contrive a way to make the Indian fire first. Planting himself, then, behind a large tree, he took off his fox-skin cap, and placing it on the end of his rifle, began to move it to and fro. The Indian quickly discovered it, and was not at a loss to recollect the owner by the cap. Knowing how often the white warrior had eluded them, he determined to despatch him at once, and without giving him notice of his dangerous proximity, he instantly raised his rifle, and its contents went whizzing through the air. The ball just touched the bark of the tree, and pierced the cap, which rose suddenly like the death-spring of the beaver, and then fell amid the bushes. The Indian, like a true sportsman, thinking himself sure of his victim, did not go to pick up his game till he had reloaded his piece, and dropping it to the ground, was calmly proceeding in the operation, when Timothy as calmly stepped from his hiding-place, exclaiming—“Now, you tarnal kritter, say yer prayers as fast as ever you can.”
This was a short notice for the poor Indian. Before him, and scarcely ten paces distant, stood the tall form of Peabody, motionless as a statue—his rifle to his shoulder—his finger on the trigger, and his deadly aim firmly fixed on him. He was about to run, but he had not time to turn around, ere the swift-winged messenger had taken his flight; the ball pierced his side—he sprang in the air, and fell lifeless on the ground.
No time was now to be lost. Peabody immediately proceeded to strip the dead body and to array himself in the accouterments, consisting of a hunting shirt, a pair of moccasins, or leggins, and the wampum belt and knife. A little of the blood besmeared on his sunburnt countenance served for the red paint, and it would have taken a keen eye in the gray twilight and thick gloom of the surrounding forest to have detected the counterfeit Indian. Shouldering his rifle, he again started in pursuit, and followed the band till they arrived in the glen, where their canoes were secreted. Here they stopped, and began to make preparations for their expected supper, previous to their embarkation for the opposite shore. The canoes were launched and their baggage deposited in them. A fire was blazing brightly and the party were walking around, impatiently waiting the return of the hunter.
The body of Timothy was safely deposited behind a fallen tree, where he could see every motion, and hear every word spoken in the circle. Here he had been about half an hour. Night had drawn her sable curtain around the scene or, in other words, it was dark. The moon shone fitfully through the clouds which almost covered the horizon, only serving occasionally to render the darkness visible. The Indians now began to evince manifest signs of impatience for the return of their comrade. They feared that a party of the whites had followed them and taken him prisoner, and at last resolved to go in search of him. The plan, which was fortunately overheard by Timothy, was to put the captives into one of the canoes, under the care of five of their number, who were to secrete themselves in case of an attack, massacre the prisoners, and then go to the assistance of their brethren.
As soon as the main body had started, Peabody cautiously crept from his hiding-place to the water and, sliding in feet foremost, moved along on his back, his face just above the surface, to the canoe which contained the rifles of the guard. The priming was quickly removed from these, and their powder-horns emptied, replaced, and the prisoners given notice of their intended rescue, at the same time warning them not to show themselves above the gunwale till they were in safety. He next, with his Indian knife, separated the thong which held the canoe to the shore, intending to swim off with it till he had got far enough to avoid observation, then get in, and paddle for the nearest place where a landing could be effected. All this was but the work of a moment, and he was slowly moving off from the shore, as yet unobserved by the guard, who little expected an attack from this side. But, unfortunately, his rifle had been left behind, and he was resolved not to part with “Old Plumper,” as he called it, without at least one effort to recover it. He immediately gave the captives notice of his intention, and directed them to paddle slowly and silently out, and in going past the headland, to approach as near as possible, and there await his coming.