They went the next day much nearer to the Seneca Castle, and saw sure indications that it was still inhabited, as the Iroquois evidently were not aware of the swift advance of the riflemen.
Henry had learned that this was one of the largest and strongest of all the Iroquois towns, containing between a hundred and two hundred wooden houses, and with a population likely to be swollen greatly by fugitives from the Iroquois towns already destroyed.
The need of caution-great caution-was borne in upon him, and he paid good heed.
The riflemen sought another covert in the deep forest, now about three miles from Little Beard's Town, and lay there, while Henry, according to his plan, went forth at night with Shif'less Sol and Tom Ross.He was resolved to find out more about this important town, and his enterprise was in full accord with his duties, chief among which was to save the vanguard of the army from ambush.
When the complete darkness of night had come, the three left the covert, and, after traveling a short distance through the forest, turned in toward the river.As the town lay on or near the river, Henry thought they might see some signs of Indian life on the stream, and from this they could proceed to discoveries.
But when they first saw the river it was desolate.Not a canoe was moving on its surface, and the three, keeping well in the undergrowth, followed the bank toward the town.But the forest soon ceased, and they came upon a great field, where the Senecas had raised corn, and where stalks, stripped of their ears and browned by the autumn cold, were still standing.But all the work of planting, tending, and reaping this great field, like all the other work in all the Iroquois fields, had been done by the Iroquois women, not by the warriors.
Beyond the field they saw fruit trees, and beyond these, faint lines of smoke, indicating the position of the great Seneca Castle.The dry cornstalks rustled mournfully as the wind blew across the field.
"The stalks will make a little shelter," said Henry, "and we must cross the field.We want to keep near the river.""Lead on," said Shif'less Sol.
They took a diagonal course, walking swiftly among the stalks and bearing back toward the river.They crossed the field without being observed, and came into a thick fringe of trees and undergrowth along the river.They moved cautiously in this shelter for a rod or two, and then the three, without word from any one of them, stopped simultaneously.They heard in the water the unmistakable ripple made by a paddle, and then the sound of several more.They crept to the edge of the bank and crouched down among the bushes.Then they saw a singular procession.
A half-dozen Iroquois canoes were moving slowly up the stream.
They were in single file, and the first canoe was the largest.
But the aspect of the little fleet was wholly different from that of an ordinary group of Iroquois war canoes.It was dark, somber, and funereal, and in every canoe, between the feet of the paddlers, lay a figure, stiff and impassive, the body of a chief slain in battle.It had all the appearance of a funeral procession, but the eyes of the three, as they roved over it, fastened on a figure in the first canoe, and, used as they were to the strange and curious, every one of them gave a start.
The figure was that of a woman, a wild and terrible creature, who half sat, half crouched in the canoe, looking steadily downward.
Her long black hair fell in disordered masses from her uncovered head.She wore a brilliant red dress with savage adornments, but it was stained and torn.The woman's whole attitude expressed grief, anger, and despair.
"Queen Esther!" whispered Henry.The other two nodded.
So horrifying had been the impression made upon him by this woman at Wyoming that he could not feel any pity for her now.The picture of the great war tomahawk cleaving the heads of bound prisoners was still too vivid.She had several sons, one or two of whom were slain in battle with the colonists, and the body that lay in the boat may have been one of them.Henry always believed that it was-but he still felt no pity.
As the file came nearer they heard her chanting a low song, and now she raised her face and tore at her black hair.
"They're goin' to land," whispered Shif'less Sol.
The head of the file was turned toward the shore, and, as it approached, a group of warriors, led by Little Beard, the Seneca chief, appeared among the trees, coming forward to meet them.
The three in their covert crouched closer, interested so intensely that they were prepared to brave the danger in order to remain.But the absorption of the Iroquois in what they were about to do favored the three scouts.
As the canoes touched the bank, Catharine Montour rose from her crouching position and uttered a long, piercing wail, so full of grief, rage, and despair that the three in the bushes shuddered.
It was fiercer than the cry of a wolf, and it came back from the dark forest in terrifying echoes.
"It's not a woman, but a fiend," whispered Henry; and, as before, his comrades nodded in assent.
The woman stood erect, a tall and stalwart figure, but the beauty that had once caused her to be received in colonial capitals was long since gone.Her white half of blood had been submerged years ago in her Indian half, and there was nothing now about her to remind one of civilization or of the French Governor General of Canada who was said to have been her father.
The Iroquois stood respectfully before her.It was evident that she had lost none of her power among the Six Nations, a power proceeding partly from her force and partly from superstition.
As the bodies were brought ashore, one by one, and laid upon the ground, she uttered the long wailing cry again and again, and the others repeated it in a sort of chorus.
When the bodies-and Henry was sure that they must all be those of chiefs-were laid out, she tore her hair, sank down upon the ground, and began a chant, which Tom Ross was afterwards able to interpret roughly to the others.She sang:
