Chapter XX. A Gloomy Council

The Scouts of the Valley

by Joseph A. Altsheler

The next night after Henry Ware and his comrades lay in the
brushwood and saw Braxton Wyatt and his band pass, a number of men,
famous or infamous in their day, were gathered around a low camp fire
on the crest of a small hill. The most distinguished of them all in
looks was a young Indian chief of great height and magnificent build,
with a noble and impressive countenance. He wore nothing of
civilized attire, the nearest approach to it being the rich dark-blue
blanket that was flung gracefully over his right shoulder. It was
none other than the great Wyandot chief, Timmendiquas, saying little,
and listening without expression to the words of the others.

Near Timmendiquas sat Thayendanegea, dressed as usual in his
mixture of savage and civilized costume, and about him were other
famous Indian chiefs, The Corn Planter, Red jacket, Hiokatoo,
Sangerachte, Little Beard, a young Seneca renowned for ferocity, and
others.

On the other side of the fire sat the white men: the young Sir
John Johnson, who, a prisoner to the Colonials, had broken his oath
of neutrality, the condition of his release, and then, fleeing to
Canada, had returned to wage bloody war on the settlements; his
brother-in-law, Colonel Guy Johnson; the swart and squat John Butler
of Wyoming infamy; his son, Walter Butler, of the pallid face, thin
lips, and cruel heart; the Canadian Captain MacDonald; Braxton Wyatt;
his lieutenant, the dark Tory, Coleman; and some others who had
helped to ravage their former land.

Sir John Johnson, a tall man with blue eyes set close together,
wore the handsome uniform of his Royal Greens; he had committed many
dark deeds or permitted them to be done by men under his command, and
he had secured the opportunity only through his broken oath, but he
had lost greatly. The vast estates of his father, Sir William
Johnson, were being torn from him, and perhaps he saw, even then,
that in return for what he had done he would lose all and become an
exile from the country in which he was born.

It was not a cheerful council. There was no exultation as after
Wyoming and Cherry Valley and the Minisink and other places. Sir
John bit his lip uneasily, and his brother-in-law, resting his hand
on his knee, stared gloomily at the fire. The two Butlers were
silent, and the dark face of Thayendanegea was overcast.

A little distance before these men was a breastwork about half a
mile long, connecting with a bend of the river in such a manner that
an enemy could attack only in front and on one flank, that flank
itself being approached only by the ascent of a steep ridge which ran
parallel to the river. The ground about the camp was covered with
pine and scrub oaks. Many others had been cut down and added to the
breastwork. A deep brook ran at the foot of the hill on which the
leaders sat. About the slopes of this hill and another, a little
distance away, sat hundreds of Indian warriors, all in their war
paint, and other hundreds of their white allies, conspicuous among
them Johnson's Royal Greens and Butler's Rangers. These men made but
little noise now. They were resting and waiting.

Thayendanegea was the first to break the silence in the group at
the fire. He turned his dark face to Sir John Johnson and said in
his excellent English: "The king promised us that if we would take up
arms for him against the Yankees, he would send a great army, many
thousands, to help us. We believed him, and we took up the hatchet
for him. We fought in the dark and the storm with Herkimer at the
Oriskany, and many of our warriors fell. But we did not sulk in our
lodges. We have ravaged and driven in the whole American border
along a line of hundreds of miles. Now the Congress sends an army to
attack us, to avenge what we have done, and the great forces of the
king are not here. I have been across the sea; I have seen the
mighty city of London and its people as numerous as the blades of
grass. Why has not the king kept his promise and sent men enough to
save the Iroquois ?"

Sir John Johnson and Thayendanegea were good friends, but the
soul of the great Mohawk chief was deeply stirred. His penetrating
mind saw the uplifted hand about to strike-and the target was his own
people. His tone became bitterly sarcastic as he spoke, and when he
ceased he looked directly at the baronet in a manner that showed a
reply must be given. Sir John moved uneasily, but he spoke at
last.

"Much that you say is true, Thayendanegea," he admitted, "but
the king has many things to do. The war is spread over a vast area,
and he must keep his largest armies in the East. But the Royal
Greens, the Rangers, and all others whom we can raise, even in
Canada, are here to help you. In the coming battle your fortunes are
our fortunes."

Thayendanegea nodded, but he was not yet appeased. His glance
fell upon the two Butlers, father and son, and he frowned.

"There are many in England itself," he said, "who wish us harm,
and who perhaps have kept us from receiving some of the help that we
ought to have. They speak of Wyoming and Cherry Valley, of the
torture and of the slaughter of women and children, and they say that
war must not be carried on in such a way. But there are some among
us who are more savage than the savages themselves, as they call us.
It was you, John Butler, who led at Wyoming, and it was you, Walter
Butler, who allowed the women and children to be killed at Cherry
Valley, and more would have been slain there had I not, come up in
time."

The dark face of "Indian" Butler grew darker, and the pallid
face of his son grew more pallid. Both were angry, and at the same
time a little afraid.

"We won at Wyoming in fair battle," said the elder Butler.

"But afterwards?" said Thayendanegea.

The man was silent.

"It is these two places that have so aroused the Bostonians
against us," continued Thayendanegea. "It is because of them that
the commander of the Bostonians has sent a great army, and the Long
House is threatened with destruction."

"My son and I have fought for our common cause," said "Indian"
Butler, the blood flushing through his swarthy face.

Sir John Johnson interfered.

"We have admitted, Joseph, the danger to the Iroquois," he said,
calling the chieftain familiarly by his first Christian name, "but I
and my brother-in-law and Colonel Butler and Captain Butler have
already lost though we may regain. And with this strong position and
the aid of ambush it is likely that we can defeat the rebels."

The eyes of Thayendanegea brightened as he looked at the long
embankment, the trees, and the dark forms of the warriors scattered
numerously here and there.

"You may be right, Sir John," he said; "yes, I think you are
right, and by all the gods, red and white, we shall see. I wish to
fight here, because this is the best place in which to meet the
Bostonians. What say you, Timmendiquas, sworn brother of mine, great
warrior and great chief of the Wyandots, the bravest of all the
western nations?"

The eye of Timmendiquas expressed little, but his voice was
sonorous, and his words were such as Thayendanegea wished to hear.

"If we fight-and we must fight-this is the place in which to
meet the, white army," he said. "The Wyandots are here to help the
Iroquois, as the Iroquois would go to help them. The Manitou of the
Wyandots, the Aieroski of the Iroquois, alone knows the end."

He spoke with the utmost gravity, and after his brief reply he
said no more. All regarded him with respect and admiration. Even
Braxton Wyatt felt that it was a noble deed to remain and face
destruction for the sake of tribes not his own.

Sir John Johnson turned to Braxton Wyatt, who had sat all the
while in silence.

"You have examined the evening's advance, Wyatt," he said.
"What further information can you give us?"

"We shall certainly be attacked to-morrow," replied Wyatt, "and
the American army is advancing cautiously. It has out strong
flanking parties, and it is preceded by the scouts, those Kentuckians
whom I know and have met often, Murphy, Elerson, Heemskerk, and the
others."

"If we could only lead them into an ambush," said Sir John.
"Any kind of troops, even the best of regulars, will give way before
an unseen foe pouring a deadly fire upon them from the deep woods.
Then they magnify the enemy tenfold."

"It is so," said the fierce old Seneca chief, Hiokatoo. "When
we killed Braddock and all his men, they thought that ten warriors
stood in the moccasins of only one."

Sir John frowned. He did not like this allusion to the time
when the Iroquois fought against the English, and inflicted on them a
great defeat. But he feared to rebuke the old chief. Hiokatoo and
the Senecas were too important.

"There ought to be a chance yet for an ambuscade," he said.
"The foliage is still thick and heavy, and Sullivan, their general,
is not used to forest warfare. What say you to this, Wyatt?"

Wyatt shook his head. He knew the caliber of the five from
Kentucky, and he had little hope of such good fortune.

"They have learned from many lessons," he replied, and their
scouts are the best. Moreover, they will attempt anything."

They relapsed into silence again, and the sharp eyes of the
renegade roved about the dark circle of trees and warriors that
inclosed them. Presently he saw something that caused him to rise
and walk a little distance from the fire. Although his eye suspected
and his mind confirmed, Braxton Wyatt could not believe that it was
true. It was incredible. No one, be he ever so daring, would dare
such a thing. But the figure down there among the trees, passing
about among the warriors, many of whom did not know one another,
certainly looked familiar, despite the Indian paint and garb. Only
that of Timmendiquas could rival it in height and nobility. These
were facts that could not be hidden by any disguise.

"What is it, Wyatt?" asked Sir John. "What do you see? Why do
you look so startled?"

Wyatt sought to reply calmly.

"There is a warrior among those trees over there whom I have not
seen here before," he replied. "he is as tall and as powerful as
Timmendiquas, and there is only one such. There is a spy among us,
and it is Henry Ware."

He snatched a pistol from his belt, ran forward, and fired at
the flitting figure, which was gone in an instant among the trees and
the warriors.

"What do you say?" exclaimed Thayendanegea, as he ran forward,
"a spy, and you know him to be such!"

"Yes, he is the worst of them all," replied Wyatt. "I know him.
I could not mistake him. But he has dared too much. He cannot get
away."

The great camp was now in an uproar. The tall figure was seen
here and there, always to vanish quickly. Twenty shots were fired at
it. None hit. Many more would have been fired, but the camp was too
much crowded to take such a risk. Every moment the tumult and
confusion increased, but Thayendanegea quickly posted warriors on the
embankment and the flanks, to prevent the escape of the fugitive in
any of those directions.

But the tall figure did not appear at either embankment or
flank. It was next seen near the river, when a young warrior,
striving to strike with a tomahawk, was dashed to the earth with
great force. The next instant the figure leaped far out into the
stream. The moonlight glimmered an instant on the bare head, while
bullets the next moment pattered on the water where it had been.
Then, with a few powerful strokes, the stranger reclaimed the land,
sprang upon the shore, and darted into the woods with more vain
bullets flying about him. But he sent back a shout of irony and
triumph that made the chiefs and Tories standing on the bank bite
their lips in anger.