Littlepage Manuscripts: Satanstoe, The Chainbearer & The Redskins (Complete Edition)
“Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.”
—Shakspeare
Curiosity induced me to follow the Indian, in order to watch his movements. Susquesus proceeded a short distance from the hut, quitting the knoll entirely, until he reached lower land, where a foot-print would be most likely to be visible, when he commenced a slow circuit of the place, with eyes fastened on the earth, as the nose of the hound follows the scent. I was so much interested in the Onondago’s manner, as to join him, falling-in in his rear, in order not to interfere with his object.
Of foot-marks there were plenty, more particularly on the low, moist ground, where we were; but they all appeared, to me, to have no interest with the Indian. Most of our party wore moccasins; and it was not easy to see how, under such circumstances, and amid such a maze of impressions, it could be possible for any one to distinguish a hostile from a friendly trail. That Susquesus thought the thing might be done, however, was very evident by his perseverance, and his earnestness.
At first, my companion met with no success, or with nothing that he fancied success; but, after making half the circuit of the hut, keeping always a hundred yards distant from it, he suddenly stopped; stooped quite to the earth; then arose, and, sticking a broken knot into the ground, as a mark, he signed to me to keep a little on one side, while he turned at right angles to his former course, and moved inwards towards our dwelling. I followed slowly, watching his movements, step by step.
In this manner we reached the hut, deviating from a direct line, in order to do so. At the hut, itself, Susquesus made a long and minute examination; but even I could see, that the marks here were so numerous, as to baffle even him. After finishing his search at this point, the Indian turned, and went back to the place where he had stuck the knot in the ground. In doing this, however, he followed his own trail, returning by precisely the same deviating course as that by which he had come. This, alone, would have satisfied me that he saw more than I did; for, to own the truth, I could not have done the same thing.
When we reached the knot, Susquesus followed that (to me invisible) trail outside of the circle, leading off into the forest in a direct line from the hut and spring. I continued near him, although neither had spoken during the whole of this examination, which had now lasted quite half an hour. As it was getting dark, however, and Jaap showed the signal that our supper was ready, I thought it might be well, at length, to break the silence.
“What do you make of all this, Trackless?” I inquired. “Do you find any signs of a trail?”
“Good trail”—Susquesus answered; “new trail, too Look like Huron!”
This was startling intelligence, certainly; yet, much as I was disposed to defer to my companion’s intelligence in such matters, in general, I thought he must be mistaken in his fact. In the first place, though I had seen many foot-prints near the hut, and along the low land on which the Indian made his circuit, I could see none where we then were. I mentioned this to the Indian, and desired him to show me, particularly, one of the signs which had led him to his conclusion.
“See,” said Susquesus, stooping so low as to place a finger on the dead leaves that ever make a sort of carpet to the forest, “here been moccasin—that heel; this toe.”
Aided, in this manner, I could discover a faint foot-print, which might, by aid of the imagination, be thus read; though the very slight impression that was to be traced, might almost as well be supposed anything else, as it seemed to me.
“I see what you mean, Susquesus; and, I allow, it may be a foot-print,” I answered; “but then it may also have been left by anything else, which has touched the ground just at that spot. It may have been made by a falling branch of a tree.”
“Where branch?” asked the Indian, quick as lightning.
“Sure enough; that is more than I can tell you. But I cannot suppose that a Huron foot-print, without more evidence than you now give.”
“What you call that?—this—that—t’other?” added the Indian, stepping quickly back, and pointing to four other similar, but very faint impressions on the leaves; “no see him, eh?—Just leg apart, too!”
This was true enough; and now my attention was thus directed, and my senses were thus aided, I confess I did discover certain proofs of footsteps, that would, otherwise, have baffled my most serious search.
“I can see what you mean, Susquesus,” I said, “and will allow that this line of impressions, or marks, does make them look more like footsteps. At any rate, most of our party wear moccasins as well as the red-men, and how do you know that some of the surveyors have not passed this way?”
“Surveyor no make such mark. Toe turn in.”
This was true, too. But it did not follow that a foot-print was a Huron’s, merely because it was Indian. Then, where were the enemy’s warriors to come from, in so short a time as had intervened between the late battle and the present moment? There was little question all the forces of the French, pale-face and red-man, had been collected at Ticonderoga to meet the English; and the distance was so great as almost to render it impossible for a party to reach this spot so soon, coming from the vicinity of the fortress after the occurrence of the late events. Did not the lake interpose an obstacle, I might have inferred that parties of skirmishers would be thrown on the flanks of the advancing army, thus bringing foes within a lessened distance of us; but, there was the lake, affording a safe approach for more than thirty miles, and rendering the employment of any such skirmishers useless. All this occurred to me at the moment, and I mentioned it to my companion as an argument against his own supposition.
“No true,” answered Susquesus, shaking his head. “That trail—he Huron trail, too. Don’t know red-man to say so.”
“But red-men are human as well as pale-faces. It must be seventy miles from this spot to the foot of Lake George, and your conjecture would make it necessary that a party should have travelled that distance in less than twenty-four hours, and be here some time before us.”
“We no travel him, eh?”
“I grant you that, Trackless; but we came a long bit of the road in a canoe, each and all of us sleeping, and resting ourselves, in turns. These Hurons must have come the whole distance by land.”
“No so. Huron paddle canoe well as Onondago. Lake there—canoe plenty. Why not come?”
“Do you suppose, Trackless, that any of the French Indians would venture on the lake while it was covered with our boats, as was the case last night?”
“What ‘our boat’ good for, eh? Carry wounded warrior—carry runaway warrior—what he care? T’ink Huron ‘fraid of boat? Boat got eye, eh? Boat see; boat hear, boat shoot, eh?”
“Perhaps not; but those who were in the boats can do all this, and would be apt, at least, to speak to a strange canoe.”
“Boat speak my canoe, eh? Onondago canoe, strange canoe, too.”
All this was clear enough, when I began to reflect on it. It was certainly possible for a canoe with two or three paddles, to go the whole length of the lake in much less time than we had employed in going two-thirds of the distance; and a party landing in the vicinity of William-Henry, could certainly have reached the spot where we then were, several hours sooner than we had reached it ourselves. Still, there existed all the other improbabilities on my side of the question. It was improbable that a party should have proceeded in precisely this manner; it was still more improbable that such a party, coming on a war-path, from a distant part of the country, should know exactly where to find our hut. After a moment’s pause, and while we both slowly proceeded to join our companion, I suggested these objections to the Onondago.
“Don’t know Injin,” answered the other, betraying more earnestness