With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga

by W. Bert Foster

“Umph! Me hear Long-guns” (the Virginians) “talk fight to Six Nations. No. Yenghese send too many big chiefs over water.”

“Those big chiefs aren’t always good,” returned Enoch, quickly. “Your people remember General Abercrombie. He did not know how to fight in these forests. And there was Braddock; he was no good at all. He wouldn’t have been beaten if he’d taken Colonel Washington’s advice. I’d give a lot more when it comes to a fight for our Major Putnam, Mr. Washington, and Ethan Allen.”

The Indian’s face was gloomy. He had finished eating now and leaned back against a tree while he puffed the tobacco in the little copper pipe which was his constant companion. Not until the pipe was smoked out did he speak. “Harding my friend,” he finally said, in his grave tone, repeating a formula which he had used so many times since the night Nuck had saved him from the wolves. “Harding my friend. Crow Wing know what is in his mind. He thinks to fight the red-coats–to take their great stockades; he is not afraid of their many guns. But he is foolish; he is as a child; he does not understand. Let him open his ears and listen to his friend.”

The young chief had assumed that oracular tone and manner so dear to the red man in his counsels. His earnestness, however, impressed Enoch. “The white youth and his friends are angry with the great King across the water; they would kill his red-coats. But the red-coats are like leaves when the frost comes; they fall to the ground and so cover the earth; and it is thus with the red-coats for numbers. And the Six Nations will be with the red-coats; Crow Wing’s people will be with them. If there is war we will take many scalps; we will come here,” with a gesture, sweeping in the Bennington country, “and then Crow Wing and Harding not be friends. So Crow Wing come now to say to Harding, ‘Good-bye.’”

“But why do not the Indians help us instead of the red-coats?” demanded Enoch, striving to speak calmly.

“The great King give us blankets; he give us powder for scalp; he give us gun. The red-coats let Injin fight his own way. And Crow Wing be great war chief!” he exclaimed, with some emphasis. It was plain that he expected to make his position with his tribe secure by his valor in battle, should the settlers and the British come to a rupture. He refrained from speaking longer, however, rising soon and covering the fire which he had kindled. Then, seizing a bundle of torches and his rifle, he motioned Enoch to follow and they set off through the forest toward the deer-lick.

Although he felt the utmost confidence in the fact that Crow Wing had not come clear from Lake George simply to give him this warning and to bid him good-bye, Enoch still remained silent upon that subject which the Indian’s appearance had brought so forcibly to his mind. Through the darkened forest, in which the owls now hooted mournfully, the white youth followed the red without a word; every step was taking them nearer to that place where his father had been found dead so long ago. Crow Wing had spoken with some confidence the year before of being able to find, even at this late day, some sign which should disprove the generally accepted belief in the manner of Jonas Harding’s death.

The brave soon reached the deeply worn runway which Enoch, on the morning he was introduced to the reader, followed to the creek, and soon the two came upon the little glade where the saline deposits in the earth had attracted the deer and other animals since such creatures inhabited the forest. Dark as it was Enoch could even distinguish the very tree out of which the catamount had sprung at him, and the murmur of the hurrying waters down the rocky bed reached his ear. Here ’Siah Bolderwood and the other neighbors had found the dead body of the elder Harding, apparently trampled and gored to death by the huge buck whose hoofprints marked the ground all about. Enoch had seldom passed the spot without a shudder–especially since he had so nearly lost his own life there.

Still the Indian made no comment, nor mentioned the real reason for which they had come to the lick. He wet his finger and held it up so as to get the direction of the wind. Then circling the lick and getting between it and the creek-bank, he flung down the bundle of torches and motioned Enoch back into the deeper shadow. With his own flint and steel, and using a bit of tinder from the leather pouch he carried, he lit one of the resinous torches. This he stood upright some little distance away, yet not too near the piece of ground where the creatures of the forest were accustomed to obtain their salt. Then, crouching beside his white friend, the Indian remained motionless and speechless for the next three hours. Once Enoch crept out and renewed the torch which had burned low; then he returned to Crow Wing’s side.

All the sounds of the forest at night are not to be distinguished with ease. Even Enoch, bred in the wilderness and possessing much knowledge of wood-ranging, heard only the coarser sounds. Therefore he lay half dreaming for some moments after the Indian raised his head and lent an attentive ear to some noise which came from far away. The night-owl’s hoot was intermittent; a lone wolf howled mournfully on the hillside; in the swamp a catamount screamed as it pounced upon its prey. But it was none of these sounds which had attracted the Indian’s attention. Enoch suddenly roused to see Crow Wing softly reach for his gun and bring the weapon slowly to his shoulder.