French and English: A Story of the Struggle in America. Everett-Green Evelyn. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Everett-Green Evelyn
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sweet happiness, although the cloud of coming parting lay heavy upon her soul.

      A few days later, Humphrey and Julian, fully equipped with instructions, introductions, money and other necessaries, left the city, ready for their homeward voyage; and in another week the small but hardy band of Rangers, with their plain and meagre outfit, but with stout hearts and brave resolves, said adieu to those they left behind, and started westward for that debatable ground upon which a bloody warfare had to be fought to the bitter end.

      Book 2: Roger's Rangers

      Chapter 1: A Day Of Vengeance

      To the west! to the west! to the west!

      Such was the watchword of the band of sturdy Rangers who set forth from Pennsylvania to the defence of the hapless settlers.

      They were but a handful of bold spirits. It was little they could hope to accomplish in attempting to stem the tide of war; but their presence brought comfort to many an aching heart, and nerved many a lonely settler to intrench and defend his house and family, instead of giving way to utter despair.

      There was work for the little band to do amongst these scattered holdings. John Stark urged upon such settlers as had the courage to remain to build themselves block houses, to establish some sort of communication with one another, to collect arms and ammunition, and be ready to retire behind their defences and repel an attack. For the moment the Indians seemed glutted with spoil and with blood, and were more quiet, although this tranquillity was not to be reckoned upon for a day. Still, whilst it lasted it gave a breathing space to many harassed and desperate settlers; and Fritz could give them many valuable hints as to the best method of intrenching themselves in block houses. He had seen so many of these upon his long journey, and understood their construction well.

      Everywhere they found the people in a state of either deep despondency or intense exasperation. It seemed to them that they had been basely deserted and betrayed by their countrymen, who should have been prompt to send to their defence; and although the arrival of the Rangers, and the news they brought of future help, did something to cheer and encourage them, it was easy to see that they were deeply hurt at the manner in which their appeals had been met, and were ready to curse the Quakers and the Assembly who had calmly let them be slaughtered like brute beasts, whilst they wrangled in peaceful security over some disputed point with the Governor.

      "Are you Rogers' men?" was a question which the Rangers met again and again as they pursued their way.

      "No," they would answer; "we know of no Rogers. Who is he, and why is his name in all men's mouths?"

      This question was not always easy to get answered. Some said one thing and some another; but as they pursued their western way, they reached a settlement where more precise information was to be had.

      "Have you not heard of Robert Rogers, the New Hampshire Ranger? Well, you will hear his name many times before this war is closed. He has gathered about him a band of bold and daring spirits. He has lived in the forest from boyhood. He has been used to dealings with both English and French settlers. He speaks the language of both. But he is stanch to the heart's core. He is vowed to the service of his country. He moves through the forests, over the lakes, across the rivers. None can say where he will next appear. He seems everywhere-he spies upon the foe. He appears beneath the walls of their forts, snatches a sleepy sentry away from his post, and carries him to the English camp, where information is thus gleaned of the doings of the enemy. He and his band are here, there, and everywhere. We had hoped to have seen them here by this. Colonel Armstrong sent a message praying him to come and help him to attack a pestilent nest of savages which is the curse of his life. We had hoped you were the forerunners of his band when you appeared. But in these troublous times who can tell whether the messenger ever reached his destination?"

      "But if we are not Rogers' men, we are Rangers of the forest," cried Stark, who was leader of the party. "We can fight; we are trained to the exercise of arms. We will push on to this Colonel Armstrong, and what aid so small a band can give him that we will give."

      "He will welcome any help from bold men willing to fight," was the answer they got. "Pray Heaven you be successful; for we all go in terror of our lives from the cruelty of Captain Jacobs. If he were slain, we might have rest awhile."

      "Captain Jacobs?"

      "So they call him. He is a notable Indian chieftain. Most likely the French baptized him by that name. They like to be called by some name and title which sounds like that of a white man. He lives at the Indian town of Kittanning, on the banks of the Allegheny, and he is upheld by the French from Fort Duquesne and Venango. They supply him with the munitions of war, and he makes of our lives a terror. Colonel Armstrong has been sent by the Governor to try to fall upon him unawares, and oust him from his vantage ground. If the town were but destroyed and he slain, we might know a little ease of mind."

      The eyes of the Rangers lighted with anticipation. This was the first they had heard of real warfare. If they could lend a hand to such an expedition as this, they would feel rewarded for all their pains and toil.

      "Captain Jacobs, Captain Jacobs!" repeated Charles, with a gleam in his sombre eyes; "tell me what manner of man this Captain Jacobs is."

      "I have seen him once-a giant in height, painted in vermilion, and carrying always in his hand a mighty spear, which they say none but he can wield. His eyes roll terribly, and upon his brow is a strange scar shaped like a crescent-"

      "Ay, ay, ay; and in his hair is one white tuft, which he has braided with scarlet thread," interposed Charles, panting and twitching in his excitement.

      "That is the man-the most bloodthirsty fire eater of all the Indian chiefs. Could the country but be rid of him, we might sleep in our beds in peace once more, instead of lying shivering and shaking at every breath which passes over the forest at night."

      "Let us be gone!" cried Charles, shaking his knife in a meaning and menacing fashion; "I thirst to be there when that man's record is closed. Let me see his end; let me plunge my knife into his black heart! There is another yet whom my vengeance must overtake; but let me fall upon this one first."

      "Was he one of the attacking party that desolated your homestead?" asked Stark, as they moved along in the given direction, after a brief pause for rest and refreshment.

      "Ay, he was," answered Charles grimly. "I could not forget that gigantic form, that mighty spear, that scar and the white tuft! He stood by, and laughed at my frantic struggles, at the screams of the children, at the agony of my gentle wife. A fiend from the pit could not have been more cruel. But the hour is at hand when it shall be done to him as he has done. His hand lighted the wood pile they had set against the door of the house. Let him suffer a like fate at our hands in the day of vengeance!"

      Spurred on by the hope of striking some well-planted blow at the heart of the enemy, the hardy band of Rangers pushed their way through the forest tracks, scarcely pausing for rest or sleep, till the lights of a little camp and settlement twinkled before them in the dusk, and they were hailed by the voice of a watchful sentinel.

      "Friends," cried Stark, in clear tones-"Rangers of the forest-come to the aid of Colonel Armstrong, hoping to be in time for the attack on Kittanning."

      "Now welcome, welcome!" cried the man, running joyfully forward; and the next minute the little band was borne into the camp by a joyful company of raw soldiers, who seemed to feel a great sense of support even from the arrival of a mere handful.

      "Rogers' Rangers are come! the Rangers are come!" was the word eagerly passed from mouth to mouth; and before the newcomers could make any explanation, they found themselves pushed into a fair-sized building, some thing in the form of a temporary blockhouse, and confronted with the Colonel himself, who received them with great goodwill.

      "You are from Captain Rogers?" he said; "is one of you that notable man himself?"

      Stark stepped forward to act as spokesman, and was shaken warmly by the hand.

      "Rangers we are, but not of Rogers' company," he said. "Indeed, when we started forth from Philadelphia to the succour of the distressed districts, we had not even heard the name of Rogers, though it is now familiar enough.

      "We