Sept. 20, 1913. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
359 
they passed him within a few rods. In all, 
though his black hair was streaked with white, 
and age had partially withered his brow, he was 
untiring, agile as a deer, and stealthy as a ser¬ 
pent. He stopped not for food and rarely for 
drink, and one seeing him through the whole 
would not have guessed his errand, unless he 
had met the eye of the savage as he paused for 
a moment in some thicket to mark with greater 
certainty his victim as he passed. 
As said before, considerable alarm was felt 
at this time in Canada in anticipation of an at¬ 
tack from the neighboring American forces. 
Kingston, however, was considered most in 
danger, and to that place every eye was directed 
when on the morning following the arrival of 
De Forest and his companions at York, the 
American fleet was discovered driving against 
the wind but a short distance off the harbor of 
that town. The British commander, General 
Sheaffe, in person took vigorous measures to 
oppose the landing, and De Forest, full of loyalty 
and thirsting for adventure, volunteered his ser¬ 
vices in the field. 
Some hours passed after the squadron was 
first seen. Before, owing to the adverse wind, 
it was able to near the shore, and then only at 
a point some distance below the town. As the 
boats approached the shore, bearing Forsyth’s 
gallant corps of riflemen, the British and In¬ 
dians drew up under cover of a deep wood, were 
silent and motionless as though they were statues, 
and as immoveable as the trees with which they 
were mingled. But as the first prow grated the 
sand, the signal was given. There was a slight 
movement, light streaks of blue flame glanced 
among the boughs, a rattling volley mingled with 
shouts broke the mortal stillness which usually 
precedes the tumult of a battle, and several sul¬ 
len plunges from the boats into the lake showed 
that the shot had told. Forsyth leaped upon the 
shore, followed by his men, and the glancing 
of his sword as it waved above him and of his 
eye as he cheered his followers equally vouched 
for the strength and fearlessness of his heart. 
His lines were instantly formed and the quick, 
sharp crack of the rifle, which followed, an¬ 
swered well to British hearts the discharge 
which had preceded. 
The eye of an American rifleman is trained 
to its duty equally with his hands, and as volley 
followed volley, the British fared hard, until the 
smoke, rolling from the other side met, and mov¬ 
ing sluggishly and in detached and varying 
masses, partially hid the combatants from each 
other’s view. 
Then it was that an Indian, decked out and 
painted after the strange and fearful manner 
of the warriors of his race, suddenly made his 
appearance in the American ranks, seized the 
rifle of a fallen soldier and rushed into the heart 
of the engagement. 
Meanwhile General Pike landed a second de¬ 
tachment from the ships. The Britons faltered, 
rallied again, gave a last volley, and fled to their 
rallied again, gave a last volley, and fled. 
De Forest, chafing with these feelings, had 
nearly cleared the woods, when he was sud¬ 
denly brought to a stand by a powerful sav¬ 
age, who sprang in before him and brought a 
rifle at half rest within two yards of his breast. 
Those who were near occupied with their own 
safety passed on. The Indian bent his eye upon 
De Forest, and it was enough, though his ex¬ 
terior was so much changed, the young man 
knew him for the native he had wronged. 
"Dog of a pale face,” said the Indian, when 
he saw he was recognized, "is thy heart black 
as thy skin is white that thou shouldst strike a 
warrior and a chief, that then shouldst mock 
the daughter of a chief ? The blow is here,” 
continued he, pointing to his breast, "and the 
warrior of a hundred battles must hang his head 
like a pale face when his squaw is wroth. The 
white skin must die, and the eagle will fly over 
his carcass and leave it to the vulture and the 
crow.” 
De Forest stood mute from the imminence 
of his danger. He broke away from the basilisk 
eye of his foe for a breath, and half cast his 
own on either side in search of succor. The 
savage understood the movement, and with a 
look of contempt threw his rifle from him and 
exclaimed, "Coward! the red skin gives thee a 
chance; use it for thy life!” 
De Forest did not hesitate. He raised his 
sword, but his agile foe evaded his headlong 
thrust, and with a bound sprung within his 
guard. "Even so for my folly I must die,” bitterly 
thought the Englishman, and with a desperate 
effort he succeeded in parrying the murderous 
tomahawk from his hand, and threw his arms 
around the body of his adversary. Both were 
powerful of frame, and with clenched teeth and 
distorted countenances they interlocked their 
limbs as for a death struggle, when suddenly a 
tumult of voices broke in upon them, and agai 1 
De Forest was rescued from the vengeance 
which awaited him. His enemy was disarmed 
and made prisoner. 
The day passed off. The heroic and chival¬ 
rous Pike had fallen a sacrifice at the shrine of 
liberty, and died as he would have wished— 
victorious and reclining upon the banners of the 
conquered. There was a sublimity in his death 
which can only be felt. 
De Forest with the party which had rescued 
him occupied a farm house some miles from 
York. In an outhouse adjoining, alone and 
guarded, was the sullen savage who had sought 
his life. This night was not given to revelry. 
The tired soldiers were stretched out through 
the rooms with the exception of the sentinels, 
who were stationed within and around the house, 
and every precaution was taken against surprise. 
Twelve o’clock came and all was quiet. One 
was near at hand when the Indian slowly and 
noiselessly protruded his body from an aperture 
in the wall of his prison, where he had suc¬ 
ceeded in loosening a board. When fairly in 
the open air, he paused and cast a quick glance 
around, and then sank down completely in the 
shadow of the building. The moon was full, 
yet shining but little. She was struggling on 
her solitary course through immense piles of 
white and half transparent clouds, and occas¬ 
ionally the fleecy masses would gather around, 
and combining for a minute or two succeeded 
in completely overpowering her sickly and un¬ 
certain light. 
It was at such a moment that the savage, 
drawing himself at length upon the ground, 
noiselessly and serpent-like, gained the wall of the 
farmhouse. Quickly, and in the same position, 
hugging the base of the building, he passed a 
sentinel, and before the lazy moon could open 
her eye, he gained the shaded side. Here he 
pursued his plan with less danger of detection, 
and found little difficulty in avoiding another 
sentinel, watchful for naught but sleep, and ad¬ 
mitted himself by a small door into the rear of 
the dwelling. Then, as though by instinct, he 
sought out a flight of steps leading to the second 
story, and a moment after stood by the side of 
a bed in a small chamber where two lay sleep¬ 
ing. They were De Forest and the command¬ 
ing officer of the party. 
The eye of the savage lit up with even more 
than its accustomed fire as he surveyed his vic¬ 
tim once more so completely within his power. 
He extended his right arm over him, with the 
bared blade in his hand, and yet paused as 
though in anticipation to glut the ferocity of his 
nature. De Forest slept not calmly; his mind 
was evidently wandering, and as the pale moon 
for an instant shone in brighter than was her 
want, there was a fearful expression in his feat¬ 
ures. He muttered in his sleep: "The savage 
is on me! Save me! Save me!" Then he awoke. 
The Indian still stood unmoved and watched 
him as he opened his eyes, and gradually became 
conscious of the danger which was upon him. 
De Forest shuddered and shrunk deeper within 
the bed. He rubbed his eyes and again looked, 
as though he doubted if he were not still dream¬ 
ing, but over him stood the savage. That 
basilisk gaze he knew even in the night, for in 
the darkness that eye had more than the power 
of the wildcat’s, and the naked knife was above 
him. The Indian spoke. His tone was that of 
a whisper, but deep and guttural and distinct 
upon the ear of his listener as the peals of a bell. 
De Forest started and his lips were opening, 
but a motion of the savage intimidated him, as 
he slowly said : "The glory of a chief is lost 
by the blow of a white. He must die.” De 
Forest by this time had collected his scattered 
faculties. He full well saw his danger, and con¬ 
centrated every energy of mind and body, he 
made a sudden spring to avert it. But the sav¬ 
age had not delayed so long were his prey in¬ 
secure. With his left hand he brought him 
back at his length upon the bed. and with the 
speed of light his right descended, and the glit¬ 
tering blade sunk to the haft in the heart of the 
victim. A shuddering shriek announced the '"act, 
which was followed by long and repeated shouts 
from the deep chest of the savage which rung 
afar through the valley. 
A moment sufficed to burst the window from 
its frame, and before the companion of De Foiest 
could throw any impediment in the way, the In¬ 
dian leaped to the ground. There was the report 
of firearms from the startled sentinels, but their 
shots were ineffectual, and all rushed into the 
house in wonder and alarm to inquire into the 
circumstances. 
All surmises ranged far from the truth until 
a veteran soldier, who stood apart, apparently 
stupefied through the whole of the inquiry, re¬ 
covered in a measure and addressed them. 
"I am the oldest among you. fellow soldiers,” 
said he, "but in all my campaigns—and they are 
not few—have I never met with anything so 
passing strange before. I can tell you, I believe 
who it is that has done this deed—the cause I 
know not. The cry we have just heard, so wild 
and more than human, you will all say, can never 
by any of you be forgotten. I have heard it 
once before, thirty and odd years ago. It is the 
war cry of Abram Antone, the Oneida chief.” 
[to be continued.] 
