Читать книгу A Pageant of Victory - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 16

Table of Contents

The sun, veering westward, made of this little cave a place of shadow, it was also a very poor thing as caves go, but for these two it was become a hallowed spot, a place they were to remember all their days.

The Sagamore meanwhile having completed his task upon all seven of their foes with his usual dexterity, having stretched these reeking trophies on pliant twigs and set them to dry, glanced up at the declining sun to judge the hour, listened to the happy voices in the cave, and set himself to reclaim as many of his deadly arrows as he might together with such weapons of the dead Mohawks as pleased him. This done, he glanced again at the sun and coming to the cave, spoke softly.

"An--to--nee, oh my brother, it were wise, I think, that we now take counsel together what presently we shall do. Ha, but the eyes of my brother dance now, the heart of him singeth--"

"Ay, by heaven!" exclaimed Anthony. "Gladness such as mine comes but seldom to any man, Mahtocheega!"

"Why, truly," answered the Sagamore, with his slow grave smile, "so thought I upon a time, so think all that truly love."

"See now, Mahtocheega, here is my wife that is to be. ... Lord, to think of it!" he exclaimed, viewing Blodwen radiant-eyed. "Oh surely none ever loved as we, tush it were impossible!"

At this she, conscious only of Anthony, caught his hand to fondle it. "Ah, Blodwen," sighed he, "I did not build my house in vain, soon, pray God, you shall rule there, the log house of yesterday is become a home to-day, and there's a blessed thought, dear heart o' me! We must have servants for you, we must plant flowers ... what, d'you weep, child?"

"A little!" she murmured, leaning pain-racked head against him. "For oh, my Anthony, I that have been so desperately lonely am ... coming home at last ...!"

"Yes, home!" said he, drawing her close. "And soon as may be. And how say you to this, Sagamore old friend?"

"That my brother's happiness is my joy. And may the Great Spirit Manitou make her fruitful to bear such men as yourself, oh my An--to--nee."

"Pray God!" whispered Blodwen, nestling closer.

"But now to our council," quoth the Tuscarora, his keen gaze forever questing gorge and slope, bush and tree. "Is it to-night that we shall follow the trails north that are to us known, or go we by the water?"

"The water," answered Anthony. "Let us follow the river for, though it take us something too westerly, it shall be safer, I guess. Besides after this day's work we are none of us fit for hard travel afoot."

So it was agreed. And thus as evening fell they stole forth of this rocky gorge that had been their defence; first the Sagamore with his great pack and trophies of war, next Blodwen with her rifle, then Anthony, heavy laden but so skilfully that in a moment he might cast off his burdens and be free for action. Like three shadows and as soundless, went they amid a world of shadows ever deepening until they moved in a close darkness where no ray of star might reach them, for above and all around them was the gloom of these mighty forests.

Through this darkness the Sagamore led them never faltering, his soundless feet treading an unseen trail, following it as by instinct until, all at once, he halted and coming beside him they were aware how he stood, head thrown-back and turning this way and that to snuff the spicey air.

"Watchfire! Mohawk!" he whispered and strung his bow; then he flitted on again, and they after him. And, presently upon the darkness to their right was a ruddy, palpitant glow, a red spark that grew to a fire.

But still the Sagamore led them on until they could discern four blanketed shapes outstretched in slumber about this fire while a fifth, seated cross-legged thereby, nodded drowsily.

The Sagamore hissed softly, halted his companions with compelling gesture and was gone, silent as a ghost. Now pressing close within Anthony's sheltering arms, Blodwen shuddered violently and whispered:

"Oh ... what now?"

"Hush!" he breathed, folding her to his breast. "These Mohawks are camped too near where we hid the canoe ... close your eyes, beloved!" The sharp twang of powerful bowstring and the sleepy sentinel started to his knees, clawed the air and sank a shapeless huddle; then into the firelight stole Death; the Tuscarora's war-axe smote four times; a busy knife flashed and flickered; quick feet stamped out the fire. And presently the Sagamore was back again, saying in his deep, soft tones:

"Come, my brother, our enemies sleep and shall not hear us now!"

So they went on again, but quicker now, until the dense gloom thinned and before them was the gleam of water.

Unhesitating, the Sagamore brought them to that place beside the river where they had hidden the canoe and, soundlessly as possible, they launched it; then with Blodwen couched between them on bed of buffalo robes, they pushed out upon this dark river, dim forms in a dim world whose very silence was a menace.

Dip and ripple of stealthy paddles, bubbling murmur at the prow and presently above this, Blodwen's whispering, happy voice:

"Good night, my Anthony!"

"Sleep well, dear love!"

All night long they drave the swift canoe northwards, and all night long Anthony watched the pale glimmer of this loved face so near him, joying now in her sleeping as he would do in her waking, and musing fondly on all that was to be ... until came daybreak at last to show him this same face all rosy with the dawn, and then up rose the glad sun to steal his level beams beneath her curling lashes and wake her; and she, starting to this warm caress, turned and looking up at Anthony happy-eyed, smiled and reached up her arms to him. And so they kissed.

"Another day, thank God!" sighed she. "Another day to live and ... love you better."

"And so much nearer home!" he answered.

"Are you not tired, my Anthony? And your arm, does it pain--?"

"Lord, I haven't thought of it!" he laughed. "And as for pain, you are my counter-irritant,--come and kiss me again! Ha, but your head, your poor, lovely, adorable head."

Instead of answering, she reached his rifle whence it lay to look at the deep cleft made in the stock by the Mohawk war-axe.

"Here," said she, laying her slim brown finger in this broad groove, "here, but for you, was my death."

"Yes," he nodded, "thanks to my rifle and the Sagamore's arrows, here you sit beautiful with life, thank God, and more lovely for the love in your eyes. And here am I, Blodwen, worshipping you with my every breath. And so we are quits, dear heart."

"And so, Anthony, having saved each other from death we are more each other's own than ever."

"And for ever!" he added, fervently. "Through life and beyond death." As he uttered this word the Sagamore ceased paddling and with hawk nose aloft began again to snuff the air, his thin, sensitive nostrils a-quiver.

"What now, old friend?" questioned Anthony, reaching for his rifle.

"Smoke, my brother, bad smoke! I think many people they die."

The paddles dipped and went on again, eyes scanning the dense leafage right and left, hands ready to snatch weapons; and presently they reached a place where the waters divided, one channel trending north-westerly, the other curving away almost due east and it was this narrower stream they followed.

And now the fume of smoke was plain and strong, an acrid reek that stung the nostrils, an evil smell that was in itself a warning. The paddles dipped slower, and turning a bend they saw--

A wide clearing in the forest, but this now no more than a fire-blackened waste surrounded by smouldering heaps of what had been cabins and hutments, and, in the midst of this desolation a group of people, men, women and children, clustered about an open grave; at sight of the canoe and the Sagamore's fierce aspect, they snatched musket and firelock and drawing together, fronted the newcomers, like the fearful, desperate creatures they were.

But turning in to the bank Anthony made the peace sign, calling out to them such words of kindly welcome and sympathy as he might, and with Blodwen's hand in his, stepped ashore, whereat these poor folk came thronging to greet them, and foremost of all a small, gaunt, haggard man who grasped a musket in one hand, an open Bible in the other.

"Oh friends ... oh friends," he gasped and choked, "this was our village, we called it Sharon because we had made this wilderness to blossom like the rose ... I am John Billing, a minister of the Gospel and shepherd of this little flock. Thirty-two were we, but now a third of our number lie dead and buried ... indeed we have been burying our loved dead all this day ... yonder is the last, come, sir, and pray with us for the brave soul of him."

Now while Anthony followed mutely whither John Billing led, Blodwen went aside where stood the women and children, a hushed and woeful company, and did what she might to comfort them, kissing the little, pale faces of these very small pioneers, questioning these sad-eyed mothers as to their names and ages, thus rousing them from their brooding, silent grief, while the Sagamore, remote, an impassive and stately figure, leaned on his long rifle and watched all things with his calm, bright eyes.

"This sir," said Mr. Billing, gesturing to the open grave with the Bible he still held, "was our leader, Amos Billing, a bold man yet godly. He was also my brother. But alas, there is no one of us but hath lost brother, father or son."

"Sir," enquired Anthony gently, "when did this evil befall you?"

"Yesterday, sir, at sunset, and we all unprepared. For we loved the Indians and they us. I strove to teach them of the gentle Christ, and now ... this!"

"And the work of a Mohawk war party, I think sir?"

"Mohawks and Senecas ... these that once made me welcome to their lodges."

"And now," questioned Anthony, looking round upon this small and sorrowful community, "what shall you do, what is your purpose?"

"To build our village again, sir, and replant our fields to the glory of God and those our beloved dead. Someday perchance, on this devastation, dedicated by our blood and suffering, here upon our dust shall rise a city where another generation shall praise the ever-living God.... So come now all ye that are His children, come and let us pray His blessing upon this our brother that is risen above all pain and every sorrow--and then upon ourselves yet in life, that we may live worthily, enduring all things steadfastly to the end, for the glory of the Lord and for the sake of those coming after us...." Then lifting his tearful gaze heavenward, "Lord God," he cried, "look down on us and let the memory of these our dead, newrisen to life in Thee, oh let their memory abide and dwell with us to be our inspiration that we may live or die in Thy service humbly yet valiantly as they."

This prayer ended and the grave filled in, the little minister thrust the small, much-worn Bible into his breast and instead of musket, took up an axe.

"And now, friend," said he, pointing to the tomahawk in Anthony's belt, "if you be so minded, I beg you help us cut saplings to make a shelter for our women and children against the night."

"Sir," answered Anthony, drawing Blodwen's hand within his arm, "with all my heart. But first I would have you bless and make us man and wife."

Now looking from one to the other with his gentle, tear-dimmed eyes, the little minister smiled; then down went the axe and out came his thumbed Bible again.

"This will I right joyfully!" said he. "For in such place of death it were well to sow seeds of new life. Come then, kneel ye beside this grave of a worthy man whose soul perchance looks down even now to bless us from the mercy seat of our God."

So thus in the wilderness, beside this new made grave, with these sad folks kneeling humbly amid this desolation to pray a blessing on them, Anthony and Blodwen were wed.