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  A HERO OF TICONDEROGA

  By

  Rowland E. Robinson

  Burlington, VT.Hobart J. Shanley & Co.Publishers1898

  Copyright, 1898, byHOBART J. SHANLEY & CO.

  Contents

  - CHAPTER I--COMING INTO THE WILDERNESS - CHAPTER II--THE NEW HOME - CHAPTER III--A VISIT TO THE FORT - CHAPTER IV--THE NEW HAMPSHIRE GRANTS - CHAPTER V--THE EVERGREEN SPRIG - CHAPTER VI--THE YORKERS - CHAPTER VII--THE "JUDGMENT SEAT" - CHAPTER VIII--A NOVEL BEAR TRAP - CHAPTER IX--A FRONTIER TRAGEDY - CHAPTER X--REBELLION - CHAPTER XI--ESCAPE - CHAPTER XII--A FREE LIFE - CHAPTER XIII--FOREBODINGS OF STORM - CHAPTER XIV--GABRIEL'S GOOD SERVICE - CHAPTER XV--LEADERS AND GUIDE - CHAPTER XVI--TICONDEROGA - CHAPTER XVII--HOME COMING

  CHAPTER I--COMING INTO THE WILDERNESS

  The low sun of a half-spent winter afternoon streaked and splashed thesoft undulations of the forest floor with thin, infrequent lines, andscattered blotches of yellow light among the thickening shadows.

  A solitary hunter, clad in buckskin and gray homespun, thridded his wayamong the gray trunks of the giant trees, now blended with them andtheir shadows, now briefly touched by a glint of sunlight, now castingup the powdery snow from the toes of his snowshoes in a pearly mist, nowin a golden shower, yet moving as silently as the trees stood, orshadows brooded, or sunlight gleamed athwart them.

  Presently he approached a narrow road that tunnelled, rather thanseamed, the forest, for the giant trees which closely pillared its sidesspread their branches across it, leaving the vast forest arch unbroken.

  In the silence of the hour and season, which was but emphasized by theoutcry of a suspicious jay and the gentler notes of a bevy of friendlychickadees, the alert ear of the hunter caught a less familiar sound.Faint and distant as it was, he at once recognized in it the slow treadof oxen and the creak of runners in the dry snow, and, standing a littlealoof from the untrodden road, he awaited the coming of the possiblyunwelcome invaders of the wilderness.

  A yoke of oxen soon appeared, swaying along at a sober pace, the breathjetting from their nostrils in little clouds that arose and dissolved inthe still air with that of their driver, who stood on the front of asled laden with a full cargo of household stuff. Far behind the sledstretched the double furrow of the runners, deep-scored lines of darkerblue than the universal shadow of the forest, a steadfast wake to markthe course of the voyager till the next snow-storm or the spring thawcover it or blot it out. As the oxen came opposite the motionlesshunter, his attendant jay uttered a sudden discordant cry.

  "Whoa, hush! Whoa haw, there! What are you afeard of now? That's nothin'but a jay squallin'." The strong voice of the driver rang through thestillness of the woods, overbearing the monotonous tread of the oxen,the creak of the sled, and the responsive swish and creak of the snowbeneath feet and runners.

  Unmindful of his voice, the oxen still swerved from the unbeaten trackof the forest road and threatened to bring the off runner against one ofthe great trees that bordered it. The driver sprang from his standingplace, and, running forward alongside the cattle, quickly brought themto a halt with a few reassuring words, and a touch of his long,blue-beech gad across their faces.

  Looking into the woods to see what had alarmed them, he became aware ofthe man standing a little way off, as motionless as the great treetrunks around him. Seeing the oxen were now under control, the latteradvanced a little and spoke in a low, pleasant voice:

  "I didn't go to skeer your oxen, stranger, and was standin' still to let'em pass, but thet jay squalled at me, an', lookin' this way, I s'posethey ketched a glimpse of my fur cap an' took it for some varmint.Cattle is always lookin' for some sech, in the woods. Your load's allright, I hope," he said, coming into the road and looking at the sled,which, though tipped on some hidden obstruction, was yet in no danger ofupsetting its freight.

  "Why, you've got women an' childern," and his face lighted up with anexpression of pleased interest. "You're comin' in to make a pitch. Howfar might you be goin', stranger?"

  "A little beyond Fort Ti, on this side," the driver of the oxenanswered. "I made a pitch there last year. My name's Seth Beeman, and Icome from Salisbury, Connecticut, and them on the sled are my wife andchildren." Seth Beeman knew that, according to the custom of the countryand the times, this information would presently be required of him, andthe hunter, for such the stranger's dress, long gun and snowshoesproclaimed him to be, had such an honest face he did not hesitate toforestall the inevitable questions.

  "I want to know! A Beeman from ol' Salisbury," cried the other. "An' nowI wonder if you be akin to my ol' comrade in the Rangers, 'ZekielBeeman?"

  "My father's name was Ezekiel, and he served in Roger's Rangers."

  "Give me your hand, friend," cried the hunter, drawing off his mittenwith his teeth, and extending his hand as he came near to the other."Well, I never thought to meet an ol' friend here in these lonesomewoods, to-day. Yes, an ol' friend, for that's what a son of 'ZekielBeeman's is to me, though I never sot eyes on him afore. You've maybehearn him speak of Job Carpenter? That's my name."

  "Carpenter? Yes, the name sounds familiar, but you know father wa'n't aman of many words and never told us much of his sojerin' days."

  "You're right, he wa'n't. We all larnt to keep our heads shut when wewas a-scoutin' an' a loud word might cost a man his'n an' many anotherlife."

  Seth wondered how long since the hunter had forgotten the lesson, yet henoticed the voice of the other was never high pitched and he never madea sudden, abrupt movement.

  "An' so these is your wife an' childern, be they?" said Job, passingtoward the sled, whose occupants were so muffled in bed-quilts andblankets that nothing of their forms, and but little of their features,were visible.

  "How dedo, marm. How dedo, little uns. Tol'able comf'table, I hope?"

  Ruth Beeman answered his kind salutation as audibly as she could out ofher mufflings, and the children, a boy of twelve and a girl of threeyears younger, stared at him with round, wondering eyes.

  "It's a hard life that lies afore women an' children in thiswilderness," he said to himself, and then, in a louder tone: "Wal, I'mglad you're goin' to be nigh the Fort. There's always a doctor there,an' it's sort o' protection, if the garrison be reg'lars. Now, Seth,start up your team, an' I'll boost on the sled till it's square on theroad again."

  So saying, he set his shoulder to one of the sled stakes, while Sethcarefully started the oxen forward. With a heaving lurch and prolongedcreak, the sled settled upon evener ground without disturbance of itspassengers or its burden of house gear and provisions, which, till now,had hidden from view of the hunter a gentle little cow in lead closebehind it.

  "How far be we from the Fort?" Seth asked.

  "Nigh onto five mile," the hunter answered, after considering theirwhereabouts a moment. "After a spell you'll come to a better road on theice of the crik, if you take the first blazed path beyend here, to yourleft. It'll fetch you to my cabin, where you'd better stop till morning,for you can't no ways git to your pitch till long arter nightfall. Iknow where it is, for I come across it, last fall, when I was trappin'mushrat up the crik. My shanty's the first thing in the shape of adwelling that you'll come to, an' can't miss it if you foller the backtrack of my snowshoes. It hain't so great, but it's better'n no shelter,an' you're more'n welcome to it. Rake open the fire an' build you arouster, an' make yourselves to home. I've got some traps to tend to,but I'll be back afore dark," and, almost before they could thank him,he disappeared among the trees.

  Seth took his place
upon the sled, and, as it moved forward, the forestagain resumed its solemnity of silence, that was rather made moreapparent than at all disturbed by the slight sounds of the party'sprogress. It was a silence that their lonely journey had long sinceaccustomed them to, but had not made less depressing, for, in everywaking moment, it reminded Seth and his wife how every foot of itwithdrew them further from old friends and old associations, and howlong and wearisome the days of its endurance stretched before them.

  The remainder of the day was made pleasanter by the chance finding of afriend in a strange land, and with a prospect of spending a night undera roof, for, however it might be, it could but be better than the almostshelterless bivouac that had many times been their night lodging sincethey entered the great Northern Wilderness, that, within a few years,had become known as the New Hampshire Grants.

  More than once, when they had fallen asleep with only the mesh of nettedbranches between them and the serene stars, they had been awakened bythe long howl of the wolves answering one another, or by the appallingscream of a panther. Then, with frequent replenishment of the fire, theyhad watched out the weary hours till morning, alarmed by every fallingbrand or sough of the breeze, or resonant crack of frost-strained trees.

  Seth looked eagerly for the promised trail and was glad to discover theblazed trees and the netted imprint of snowshoes, that, if but briefly,as certainly, identified the path. He turned his oxen into the divergingroad, which, though narrow, gave ample room for the sled. After a littleit led to the winding channel of a creek crawling through a marsh, whoselooped and matted sedges were in turn bordered by the primeval forestand its bristling abatis of great trees, prostrate and bent in everydegree of incline.

  At last, as the long shadows began to thicken into the pallid gloom ofwinter twilight, a little cabin was discovered in a notch of clearing,as gray and silent as the gray woods around it. A thin wisp of smokeclimbed from the low chimney against the wall of forest, and a waft ofits pungent odor came to the travellers. Even as they drew near, itsowner also arrived, and gave them hospitable welcome to his hearth, andpresently the little room was aglow with light and warmth.

  Here Ruth and little Martha thawed away their cramps and chilliness bythe big fireplace, while Seth and his son Nathan, with the hunter'shelp, unhitched the oxen from the sled. From this they brought therations of hay and corn, and made the oxen and their comrade, the cow,contented with their roofless lodging behind the cabin.

  Then the pork and Indian meal were taken inside. Ruth mixed ajohnny-cake with hot water and salt, and set it to bake on its board,tilted before the fire. The frying-pan was filled with pork, and slicesof moose meat contributed from Job's larder.

  The little party, ranged on rude seats about the fireplace, so great asto be out of all proportion to the room, chatted of things near andafar, while they grew hungry with every sniff of appetizing cookery.

  Nathan was all agog at the peltry that hung from innumerable pegs on therough log walls. There were skins of many animals that had long beenrare, if not extinct, in the old colony where he was born.

  There were the broad, round shields of beaver skins, the slenderer andlighter-hued skins of otters, besides the similarly shaped but smallerand darker-colored fisher, with a bundle of the lesser martins, that Jobcalled "saple," and no end of muskrats and minks. There were, also, halfa dozen wolf skins, and, conspicuous in size and glossy blackness, werethree bear skins, and beside them hung a tawny panther hide, the hugehinder paws and long tail trailing on the puncheon floor, while thecat-like head seemed to prowl, as stealthily as in life, among the uppershadows and flickerings of the firelight.

  Quickly noting the boy's interest in these trophies, Job made the roundof them all, explaining the habits of each animal, the method of itscapture, and giving brief narrations of encounters with the larger ones.He exhibited, with the most pride, a beautiful silver-gray foxskin, andan odd-looking spotted and coarse-haired skin, stuffed with moss intosome semblance of its form in the flesh. This he brought to thefireside, and set on its fin-like hinder feet, for the inspection of hisguests.

  "What on airth is it?" Seth Beeman asked.

  "'Tain't of the airth, but of the water," Job answered, with a chuckle."I killed it on the ice of the lake airly in the winter. One of thesojers at the Fort see it, an' he says it's a seal fish belongin' to thesea, where he's seen no end on 'em. But them sojers to the Fort is anign'ant set like all the reg'lars, that we rangers always despised asbad as they did us, an' it don't look no ways reasonable that sech acreatur' could come all the way up the St. Lawrence, an' the IriquoisRiver, an' most the len'th o' this lake. My idee is, it's a fresh-watermaremaid, an' nat'ral to this lake."

  If Seth had any doubt of this theory, he gave it no expression, and thehunter went on:

  "An ol' Injin told me that there's always ben one o' these cretur's seenin this lake a spell afore every war that's ever ben. But I hope thesign'll fail this time. I've seen enough o' war an' I don't see nochance of another, all Canady bein' took an' the Injins in these partsbein' quilled."

  The johnny-cake, having been baking for some time in its last turn onthe board, was now pronounced done. The mixed contents of the frying-panwere turned out on a wooden trencher, and conversation was suspended forthe more important matter of supper. Not long after this was disposedof, the host and his guests betook themselves to sleep in quilts andblankets on the puncheon floor, with their feet to the blazing backlogand glowing bed of coals.