“Dinna speak sae, gudeman,” said his wife, “tho’ the Lord may chastise he will not deliver us to the oppressor, but, as with the Assyrian, will cause him, gin he come doon on us, to hear a rumor that shall make him to return to his own land. We are but a feeble folk here by the river-side, but He winna fail them wha trust Him.”
Maggie here beckoned the young officer to draw to the table, and the bread and milk tasted all the sweeter to him that they had been spread by so winsome a damsel. After supper Morton was glad to fall in with the family’s custom of going early to bed, and accompanying the lads, whom he found to be frank, hearty fellows, to the outbuilding, slept comfortably alongside them on top of the fragrant fodder. At daylight they were astir, when their guest joined them in their labors, until a shout from Maggie told of breakfast being ready. Seen by daylight the favorable impression made upon Morton the previous evening was deepened, and he did not know which most to admire, her tact which never placed her at a disadvantage or the deftness with which she discharged her household duties. Reluctantly he left, accepting readily the invitation to revisit them. In a couple of hours he was in camp and reported himself.
The acquaintance thus accidentally formed was cultivated by Morton, and few evenings passed that his canoe did not end its journey at the foot of the bank whence the settler’s shanty overlooked the Chateaugay. The more he knew of the family the more he was attracted, and before long he was on familiar terms with all its members. The inaction of camp-life in the backwoods ceased to be wearisome and there was a glow and a joyousness in his days which he had never before known. So it came, that when, one afternoon, the orderly-sergeant notified him the officer in command desired to see him, the prospect of being sent away caused him a pang of vexation. His orders were to be ready to start at daylight for the frontier with despatches for the Indian guard and to collect what information he could with regard to the American army encamped at Four Corners. “I trust to your discretion,” said the officer, “as to what means you will use to get it, but we want to know the extent of the force and the prospect of their moving. I will give you an Indian as a guide, and one who speaks English.” Morton withdrew, pleased that the order was not one of recall to his regiment at Montreal, and spent the evening with the Forsyths. The news of his departure, on an errand that involved some danger, even though it would last only a few days, dampened the innocent mirth of the household and the soldier was vain enough to think Maggie gave his hand a warmer pressure than usual when he left. He rose with the first streak of daylight and had finished his breakfast when he was told his guide was waiting. Hastily strapping his cloak on his back and snatching up his musket, he went out and beheld an Indian standing stolidly on the road. Morton noted that he was taller than the average of his race, and, despite his grizzled hair, gave every sign of unabated vigor. He was dressed in native fashion and his face was hideous with war-paint. Without uttering a word, he led the way and they were soon buried in the woods. The Indian’s pace, considering the nature of the ground and the obstacles presented, was marvellously rapid, and induced no fatigue. Morton vigorously exerted himself to keep up with him and, as he did so, admired the deftness with which the Indian passed obstacles which he laboriously overcame. The ease and smoothness with which the red man silently slipped through thickets and fallen trees, he compared to the motion of a fish, and his own awkwardness to that of a blindfolded man, who stumbled at every obstacle. They had travelled thus for over two hours when suddenly the Indian halted, peered carefully forward, and then signed to Morton to stand still. Falling on his knees the guide crept, or rather glided forward. Disregarding his sign, Morton shortly followed until the object of the Indian’s quest came in sight. Three deer were grazing on a natural meadow by the side of a creek. Slowly the hunter raised his gun and its report was the first intimation the timid creatures had that an enemy was near. The youngest and plumpest had fallen; the others bounded into the bush. Standing over the graceful creature, whose sides still palpitated, the Indian said, “Lift.” It was the first word he had uttered. Morton drew the four hoofs together and did so. “Put on your shoulder,” added the guide. Morton laughed and set the animal down; he could lift it but to carry it was out of the question. Without moving a feature, the Indian grasped the deer by its legs, swung it round his neck, and stepped out as if the load were no burden, and which he bore until the swamp was passed and a ridge was reached, when he tied the hoofs together with a withe and swung the carcase from as lofty a branch as he could reach. Half an hour afterwards he pointed to a slight disturbance in the litter of the forest. “Indian passed here this morning.”
“How do you know it was an Indian?”
“By mark of moccasin.”
“But some white men wear moccasins.”
“Yes, but white man steps differently. The wild duck flies no more like the tame duck than the Indian walks like the pale face.”
Following the trail thus struck, they were soon hailed by a scout and in the midst of the camp of the frontier guard they sought. Morton counted seventeen Indians lounging or sleeping about the fire, and was told there were as many more lurking in the bush, watching the enemy, who had, of late, been sending in strong parties to make petty raids upon the few settlers who lived on the Canadian side of the boundary. As the captain was absent and would not be back until the afternoon, Morton could only await his return, and the rest was not unwelcome, for the rapid journey had induced some fatigue, and he was interested in watching the Indians, this being his first experience with them apart from white men. They paid much deference to his guide, whose name he now learned was Hemlock, and the Indian of whom he made enquiry told him the reason was that he was the son of a great sachem in a tribe now destroyed, and was “a big medicine.” Hemlock accepted their tributes to his superiority with unmoved countenance and as a matter of course, until, after a long pow-wow, he stretched himself on the ground, face-downwards, and went to sleep. Associating the Indians with gloomy moroseness, and a stolidity insensible alike to pain or mirth, Morton was surprised to see how, when left to themselves, they chattered like children, laughed, and played boyish tricks upon one another, and regretted he could not understand what they were saying. If he had, he would have found their talk was the shallowest of banter.
Late in the afternoon the captain returned and warmly welcomed Morton. Although dressed like an Indian, his only distinguishing feature being a captain’s scarlet sash, Captain Perrigo was a white man and English in speech, his familiarity with the Indians and their language having been acquired during his residence at Caughnawaga. He was thoroughly conversant with all that was passing in the American camp and expressed his belief that only the timidity of General Hampton prevented a move on Canada. The force was so strong and well-equipped that he believed it could not be checked until the island of Montreal was reached. “How can so large an army move through these woods?” asked Morton; “why, even your handful of Indians could cut up a regiment in half an hour.”