all was ready, and we were on the point of quitting the hut, the question arose seriously, whether we were to go by Ravensnest, or by the new route that the Onondago had mentioned. Path there was not, in either direction; but, we had land-marks, springs, and other known signs, on the former; while of the latter we literally knew nothing. Then Anneke and Mary Wallace, with their bright, blooming, sunny faces—bright and happy whenever we appeared, most certainly, of late—were in the former direction, and even Dirck cried out ‘for Ravensnest.’ But, on that route the Onondago refused to stir one foot. He stood, resembling a finger-post, pointing north-westerly with an immovable obstinacy, that threatened to bring the order of our march into some confusion.
“We know nothing of that route, Trackless,” Guert observed, or rather replied, for the Indian’s manner was so expressive as to amount to a remark, “and we would rather travel a road with which we are a little acquainted. Besides, we wish to pay our parting compliments to the ladies.”
“Squaw no good, now—war-path no go to squaw. Huron—French warrior, here.”
“Ay, and they are there, too. We shall be on their heels soon enough, by going to Ravensnest.”
“No soon ‘nough—can’t do him. Path long, time short. Pale-face warrior in great hurry.”
“Pale-face warriors’ friends are in a hurry, too—so you will do well to follow us, as we do not intend to follow you. Come, gentlemen, we will lead the Indian, as the Indian does not seem disposed to lead us. After a mile or two he will think it more honourable to go in advance; and, for that distance, I believe, I can show you the way.”
“That road good for young men who don’t want see enemy!” said Susquesus, with ironical point.
“By St. Nicholas! Indian, what do you mean?” cried Guert, turning short on his heels and moving swiftly towards the Onondago, who did not wait for the menacing blow, but wheeled in his tracks and led off, at a quick pace, directly towards the north-west.
I do believe that Guert pursued, for the first minute, with no other intention than that of laying his powerful arm on the offender’s shoulder; but I dropped in on his footsteps so soon, Dirck following me, and Jaap Dirck, that we were all moving off Indian file, or in the fashion of the woods, at the rate of four miles in the hour, almost before we knew it. An impulse of that angry nature is not over in a minute, and, before either of us had sufficiently cooled to be entirely reasonable, the whole party was fairly out of sight of the hut. After that no one appeared to think of the necessity or of the expediency of reverting to the original intention. It was certainly indiscreet, thus to confide absolutely in the good faith of a savage, or a semi-savage, at least, whom we scarcely knew, and whom we had actually distrusted; but we did it, and precisely in the manner and under the feelings I have described. I know that we all thought of the indiscretion of which we had been guilty, after the first mile; but each was too proud to make the other acquainted with his misgivings. I say all, but Jaap ought to be excepted, for nothing in the shape of danger ever gave that negro any concern, unless it was spooks. He was afraid of ‘spooks,’ but he did not fear man.
Susquesus manifested the same confidence in his knowledge of the woods, while now leading the way, league after league through the dark forest, as he had done when he took us to the oak with the broken top. On this occasion, he guided us more by the sun, and the course generally, than by any acquaintance with objects that we passed; though, three times that day did he point out to us particular things that he had before seen, while traversing the woods in directions that crossed, at angles more or less oblique, the line of our present route. As for us, it was like a sailor’s pointing to a path on the trackless ocean. We had our pocket-compasses, it is true, and understood well enough that a north-west course would bring us out somewhere near the foot of Lake George; but I much doubt if we could have made, by any means, as direct a line, by their aid, as we did by that of the Indian.
On this subject we had a discussion among ourselves, I well remember, when we halted to eat and rest, a little after the turn of the day. For five hours had we walked with great rapidity, much as the bird flies, so far as course was concerned, never turning aside, unless it might be to avoid some impassable obstacle; and our calculation was that we had made quite twenty, of the forty miles we had to go over, according to the Onondago’s account of the probable length of our journey. We had strung our sinews and hardened our muscles in such a way as to place us above the influence of common fatigue; yet, it must be confessed, the Indian was much the freshest of the five, when we reached the spring where we dined.
“An Indian does seem to have a nose much like that of a hound,” said Guert, as our appetites began to be appeased; “that must be admitted. Yet I think, Corny, a compass would carry a man through the woods with more certainty than any signs on the bark of trees, or looks at the sun.”
“A compass cannot err, of course; but it would be a troublesome thing to be stopping every minute or two, to look at your compass, which must have time to become steady, you will remember, or it would become a guide that is worse than none.”
“Every minute or two! Say once in an hour, or once in half an hour, at most. I would engage to travel as straight as the best Indian of them all, by looking at my compass once in half an hour.”
Susquesus was seated near enough to us three to over hear our conversation, and he understood English perfectly, though he spoke it in the usual, clipped manner of an Indian. I thought I could detect a covert gleam of contempt in his dark countenance, at this boast of Guert’s; but he made no remark. We finished our meal, rested our legs; and, when our watches told us it was one o’clock, we rose in a body to resume our march. We were renewing the priming of our rifles, a precaution each man took twice every day, to prevent the effects of the damps of the woods, when the Onondago quietly fell in behind Guert, patiently waiting the leisure of the latter.
“We are all ready, Trackless,” cried the Albanian “give us the lead and the step, as before.”
“No”—answered the Indian. “Compass lead, now Susquesus no see any longer,—blind as young dog.”
“Oh! that is your game, is it! Well, let it be so. Now, Corny, you shall learn the virtue there is in a compass.”
Hereupon Guert drew his compass from a pocket in his hunting-shirt, placed it on a log, in order to get a perfectly accurate start, and waited until the quivering needle had become perfectly stationary. Then he made his observation, and took a large hemlock, which stood at the distance of some twenty rods, a great distance for a sight in the forest, as his land-mark, gave a shout, caught up his compass, and led off. We followed, of course, and soon reached the tree. As Guert now fancied he was well entered on the right course, he disdained to turn to renew his observation, but called out for us to ‘come on;’ as he had a new tree for his guide, and that in the true direction. We may have proceeded in this manner for half a mile, and I began to think that Guert was about to triumph—for, to me, it did really seem that our course was as straight as it had been at any time that day. Guert now began to brag of his success, talking to me, and at the Indian, who was between us over his shoulder.
“You see, Corny,” he said, “I am used to the bush, after all, and have often been up among the Mohawks, and on their hunts. The great point is to begin right; after which you can have no great trouble. Make certain of the first ten rods, and you can be at ease about the ten thousand that are to follow. So it is with life, Corny, boy; begin right, and a young man is pretty certain of coming out right. I made a mistake at the start, and you see the trouble it has given me. But, I was left an orphan, Littlepage, at ten years of age; and the boy that has neither father nor money, must be an uncommon boy not to kick himself out of the traces before he is twenty. Well, Onondago, what do you say to following the compass, now!”
