At War with Pontiac | Page 8

I would be
required to, seeing that she was not a prisoner of war; but with the man

it is different. He is a chief in the tribe who have proved themselves
most inveterate foes of the English, and, from what Flagg tells me, I
should judge a man of extraordinary ability. His death at this time
might prove the future salvation of hundreds of white men, women, and
children. To allow him to escape may involve us in war. The decision
either way will be fraught with far-reaching results, and I am thankful
that it does not rest with me. Whatever Johnson may order in a case of
this kind must be obeyed, without regard to our private views, for he is
the accredited representative, in this section, of the king, God bless him,
whom we are sworn to serve. At any rate, we may rest easy this night,
and for two yet to come; for, even if the Senecas lay this grievance
before the governor, it must still be several days ere I can hear from
him."
"Oh dear!" sighed Mrs. Hester, "I suppose you are right, Graham, of
course, but the contingency is too dreadful to contemplate. I believe I
would even go so far as to help these poor people to escape, and so
defy the governor, rather than allow them to be given up; for I know the
wife will insist on sharing her husband's fate, whatever it may be."
"I don't believe you would, my dear, if you first paused to consider
what effect your action might have upon the future of your own boy,"
replied her husband, gravely.
Before retiring for the night the major and Truman Flagg cautiously
approached the tool-house, and, listening at its single open window,
which was merely a slit cut through the logs at the back to serve as a
loop-hole for musketry, plainly heard the heavy breathing that assured
them of the safety of the prisoners. Then the major bade his companion
good-night, and turned toward his own quarters. He had gone but a few
steps when the hunter overtook him and handed him the key of the
tool-house, saying that he should feel more at ease with it in the
proprietor's possession. As they again separated, he remarked that
being so very weary, he feared he should sleep late the following
morning.
In spite of this, Truman Flagg was up and stirring while it yet wanted
an hour of dawn. Lighting a small dark-lantern and moving with the

utmost caution, he made, from various places, a collection of food,
clothing, and arms.
"It's what the major in his heart wishes done, I'm sartain," he muttered
to himself, "and what the madam would never forgive me ef I left
undone. I could see that in her face."
Having completed his preparations, the hunter stepped lightly across
the parade ground, as the major called the enclosed square, and opened
the tool-house door, which he had softly unlocked, in anticipation of
this time, the moment before handing its key to Major Hester. Carefully
as he entered the building, its inmates were instantly wide awake and
aware of his presence. With a few whispered words he explained the
situation to Songa, adding that while the white chief had no authority to
free a prisoner, he was unwilling that one whose life had been saved by
his child should be restored to those who would surely kill him.
"Therefore," continued the hunter, "he bids you make good your escape
while it is yet dark, taking with you these presents. He would have you
tell no man of the manner of your going, and bids you remember, if
ever English captives are in your power, that you owe both life and
liberty to an English child."
"To you," he added, turning to Songa's heroic wife, "the white squaw
sends the greeting of one brave woman to another. She bids you go in
peace, lead your husband to the lodges of his people, and restore him to
the child who, but for her child, would now be fatherless."
As the young Ottawa, assisted by his loving wife, slowly gained his
feet and painfully straightened his body, whose stiffened wounds
rendered every movement one of torture, he answered simply:--
"The words of my white brother are good. Songa will never forget them.
If all white men were like him, there would be no more fighting, for the
hatchet would be buried forever."
While both the hunter and the squaw rubbed the sufferer's limbs with
bear's grease, and so in a measure restored their suppleness, the latter
said in a low voice, that was yet thrilling in its intensity:--

"Tell my white sister that through her words I can understand the love
of the Great Spirit for his