Read Ebook: Old Christmas: from the Sketch Book of Washington Irving by Irving Washington Caldecott Randolph Illustrator

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Ebook has 350 lines and 25288 words, and 7 pages

He hurried along and overtook the party before they had penetrated any great distance in the forest. The leaders were disposed to send him back; but he was so earnest in his entreaties to be allowed to go that they finally consented, and he formed one of the party.

When the attack was made, Pompey broke for cover. His prudent resolve was to remain out of sight as long as there was danger, and then to be "in at the death," and claim his share of the glory.

Such being his situation, it was out of his power, as a matter of course, to comprehend at once the disaster that had befallen Colonel Sandford and his command. When he found the whites were scattering and seeking individual safety, and the Indians roaming everywhere in search of victims, he began to suspect that all had not gone as well as he had hoped.

"Gerrynation! I begin to tink it's time dis yer black man was tinking of libing."

At the time he gave expression to this thought, Pompey was crouched beneath some thick undergrowth, and glaring out upon the Indians, who seemed to be passing all around and in every direction. Here he remained until broad daylight. He had wit enough to understand that it was now impossible for him to escape discovery. The place in which he lay was the very one which a frightened fugitive would naturally secrete himself, and was therefore the one which the Shawnees would search. It would be certain death to attempt to escape by fleeing. His huge feet and short legs could not be compared with those of his enemies. He therefore hit upon the brilliant idea of feigning death until nightfall, when he could make off under cover of darkness.

He had barely made this resolution, when a stalwart Indian walked straight to the bushes, and pulling them aside, peered in. Perhaps the glare of the sun, or the utter darkness of Pompey himself, made the negro invisible for a few moments; for it is certain that some considerable time elapsed ere the savage uttered his all-expressive "Ugh!"

Pompey kept his eyes open until he saw the red-skin glaring down upon him, and then he shut his orbs as tightly as if he were expecting to hold a fly beneath each lid. At the same moment he drew in a long breath, stoutly resolved to hold it until the Indian went away. But as second after second passed, his discomfort rapidly became overwhelming. But he held out like a hero, until absolutely human nature could do no more. Suddenly he gave a tremendous puff, somewhat after the fashion of a laboring steam-engine.

"Gosh hang it! dar! no use tryin'! If I'd kept in any longer I'd busted!"

The Shawnee indulged in a huge grin as he discerned the African stretched out upon the ground, his eyes rolling, and his great white teeth chattering with fear.

"Ugh! come out--me kill."

"Oh, good Mr. Injin, I love you 'most to death. Please don't hurt me! Oh, good Mr. Injin, please don't hurt a feller like me!"

"What do here?"

What would have been the ultimate result of all this it is impossible to say, but there can be little doubt but that the negro would have been tomahawked had not a peculiar whoop attracted the attention of the Indian. Without further noticing the supplicant he leaped away in the woods, uttering a reply to the signal, and disappeared almost instantly.

Pompey took advantage of this opportunity. He left that part of the neighborhood as fast as he could travel, and continued walking all night.

The whole distance back to the settlement was made alone, without encountering a single human being. A kind Providence watched over the poor fellow's footsteps. The first man he saw was the sentinel of the town, who discharged his gun at him, excusing himself on the plea that he was so dark he thought it was night itself, and fired his gun into it to clean out the barrel.

The renegade stooped and narrowly examined the marks which his dog had made in searching for the new trail, but as he had been to the spring once or twice, and had gone in many other directions beside the one toward Kingman's retreat, it was impossible to follow up the right one.

It was now getting dark rapidly. Already the shadows of the wood were growing darker each moment, and blending together.

The renegade moved cautiously about, peering at each spot which he judged possible to contain a human being.

"Don't 'pear to find any, though I shouldn't wonder if thar's two, there 'bout. Like to know where Nero is."

He stopped and called again his brute, but, of course, he came not.

"Beats the devil whar that dorg am!" he exclaimed, somewhat nettled. "I'll have to wollop him when he comes home ag'in."

It was now so dark that his form was quite indistinct to Kingman. The latter saw him stand a moment and then soliloquize:

"Now, s'pose there war some feller hid under them bushes, he'd have a fine chance to bring me down, wouldn't he? Thunder! I didn't think of that all the time I've been standin' here."

This sudden discovery appeared considerably to affect him, for he turned on his heel and disappeared in the darkness. Pete Johnson, the renegade, was perhaps as incarnate a monster as Simon Girty; but, added to his crimes, he had a failing which the other great renegade had not. He was cowardly and fearful of his personal safety in battle. Girty, no one will deny, was a brave and daring fighter, and was often perfectly reckless of danger, while Johnson invariably showed the white feather when in peril.

Darkness had now settled over the forest, and Kingman, having greatly recovered, stealthily emerged from his hiding-place.

"Yes," he muttered, looking toward the spot where he had last seen his enemy; "yes, there was a fellow under a bush, and nothing in the world would have given him a greater pleasure than to have sent a bullet through that black heart of yours. Never mind; your reward will come some day."

And he turned and plunged in the forest.

The spot where the battle recorded had taken place, was in Sciota Valley, but a short distance from the river of that name, and toward this Kingman bent his steps. He could hear the shouts of the savages, and see their lights flitting through the trees, as they moved about in the village. Some, he knew, were still absent in the forest, searching for prey, and he was yet by no means out of danger, as the river bank would probably be watched the whole night. His wound pained him now more than usual, and he was fearful of a fever renewing itself before morning.

He took the river bank, for by following this he would avoid that singular mistake which persons lost in the wilderness so often make--that of coming, after a long time, back to the precise spot from which they started. The Sciota emptied into the Ohio, and by following its banks he would in time reach the settlement, as Wetzel and the hunters had done some time before.

As he approached the river, the moon was shining upon it, and he could plainly discover the dark line of the opposite shore. He hurried along the bank in the hope of finding some Indian canoe, but was disappointed. As every moment was of value to him, he commenced his homeward march at once. For a mile or so he kept within the wood, until, judging that he had gone far enough to be beyond danger, he took the shore and hastened onward. For a mile or so the beach was composed of a hard, gravelly sand, which made the walking easy and pleasant on such a warm moonlight night. Kingman could not help congratulating himself upon his own pleasant lot, when he reflected upon the fate of so many others, despite the severe and troublesome wound he had received.

The latter exclamation had good reason for its utterance. In coming around a sharp bend in the river, he had encountered a Shawnee Indian, and the two stood face to face! They were not fifty feet apart, and each appeared equally astonished. As Kingman stood, the moon shone upon his back, so that his features were concealed from his enemy, while the face of the latter was as distinctly visible as at noonday. Kingman saw his large, dark eyes glowing, and his whole countenance working with passion; but suddenly it changed, and losing the hold upon his knife, a grim smile came over his swarthy features as he said in a low tone,

"You scare Long Tom, Pete. He tink you oder man."

Kingman saw in a moment that he had been mistaken for the renegade. His dress was similar, and his stature about the same, so that it could not be wondered at.

Without losing a moment he availed himself of the mistake.

"Wal, I reckon I did scarce you, Tom! Wagh! wagh!" he laughed, imitating as nearly as he remembered the renegade's tones and actions.

"What scarce me for?"

"'Cause you was fool enough to git scart, wagh! But ain't there no more of Injins with you?"

"Long Tom all alone."

"Wal, he won't be long."

"Why tink so?"

"'Cause here's as'll send him whar thar are more. Wal, I will."

"Send Long Tom where?"

"You'll see in a minute. But what made ye come down this way alone, Tom? Ye mought ov met some o' the white men."

"Damme! wish me had."

"What would you do?"

"Me do so," and the savage made a motion with his hands as though he were scalping a person.

"You've come a good ways lookin' fur him, wagh!"

"Me go furder."

"Thar won't be need of that."

"Why, white dog round here?" eagerly asked the Indian, approaching nearer.

This conversation, as will probably be seen, was purposely carried on by Kingman in order to throw the savage off his guard. An encounter he saw was unavoidable between them, and Kingman, in his wounded state, was fearful of the consequences to himself unless he employed some such stratagem as this.

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