"I would he had remained ignorant of our whereabouts," Sergeant Corney muttered, and I asked, in surprise:

"Why?"

"Because, in addition to his own sufferin', he must believe that we've been brought to this plight through tryin' to aid him, an' it only serves to make his troubles greater, without lessenin' ours."

Sergeant Corney was rapidly becoming a hero in my eyes, for surely it is a brave man who, when he stands in most imminent danger, can think rather of others than himself.

We spoke but little from this time on, the sergeant and I. The rawhides, which were tied so tightly as to nearly stop the circulation of blood, were eating their way into our flesh, and the pain thus caused became greater than the smarting of the blisters raised by the burning brands.

We knew that those who formed that circle of painted forms but a short distance away were deciding whether we be put to torture immediately, or reserved for some especial time of rejoicing, and there grew upon me such a fascination as is sometimes brought about by keenest peril, until I almost forgot the desperate situation as I watched those who held our fate in their hands, trying to discover from the expression on their hideous faces what might be the result of the conference.

As the moments pa.s.sed I sank into a sort of apathy, until it was as if some other lad's fate trembled in the balance, and I myself was looking down upon the encampment from a secure place of refuge.

The fires burned dim. One by one Thayendanega's heathens stalked away to his lodge, until the council was finally brought to a close; a deep silence came over the encampment, as if all, save that white face which I could see just beneath the flap of the lodge in front of me, and we two who were bound to the tree, were wrapped in slumber.

"We can count on remainin' alive at least until to-morrow night," Sergeant Corney said, as if imparting some cheering information, "for these wretches do not torture a prisoner in the daytime."

"Unless some change is made speedily I will not be in their power, for of a verity I am dyin', Sergeant Corney," I said, and he, thinking, of course, to cheer me, laughed almost merrily as he replied:

"Nonsense, lad, you are a long ways from bein' dead. I allow your body is numbed, but that's all. If these strips of rawhide were slackened a bit, you'd soon find yourself feelin' as well as ever, save, perchance, for the blisters upon your hands."

"If we _could_ stretch them a bit," I cried, trying vainly to change the position of my arms.

"Ay, but you can't, lad, an' by makin' the effort you'll only cause them to bind the tighter."

How that long night pa.s.sed I cannot well say. The agony of mind, together with the bodily pain, benumbed all my senses until I was like one in a trance, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, save the gleam of that white face beneath the flap of the lodge where Peter Sitz kept mournful watch upon us.

The morning came, and like one under the influence of some hideous nightmare I became aware that the savages were loosening the rawhide thongs. Faintly, with but little curiosity regarding the matter, I wondered if we were to be killed at once, regardless of the usual customs of such wretches.

When the bonds had been removed the sergeant and I sank down upon the ground helpless, unable to move hand or foot, and in that condition we were dragged into the lodge where was Jacob's father.

There we were bound quite as securely and cruelly as before, the thongs cutting fresh welts into our wrists and ankles; but the relief caused by the change of position was so great that it seemed as if I had every reason for thankfulness.

Here, when our captors had made certain we could not by any possibility escape, we were left alone with Peter Sitz, and his first question was as to why we had ventured within reach of the enemy.

Sergeant Corney, minded to save our neighbor from the self-reproach which might be his if he knew we were in such plight through desire to aid his son or himself, replied that we had been sent into the vicinity by General Herkimer, and then explained how we came across Jacob, as well was the manner in which we had been taken prisoners.

"Will they torture us to death?" I asked, giving words to that question which had been uppermost in my mind from the moment we saw the painted sneaks approaching the cave, and Master Sitz replied, with a painful effort at cheerfulness:

"It's for you to believe that they won't, lad. Remember how long I've been in their power, an' yet have come to no real harm, so far as life is concerned, although this bein' trussed up like a chicken ready for the roastin' is by no means pleasant or comfortable."

Then it was that Sergeant Corney, minded as I now believe only to change the subject of conversation, asked Master Sitz why it was we had failed to see him during the march from Cherry Valley to the Indian village.

The explanation was simple, and at the same time served to show, to my mind at least, that Jacob's father would not be led to the stake.

It seems that when he was first captured, at the time Lieutenant Wormwood was killed, he came face to face with Thayendanega, and that savage recognized him at once, speaking in such a friendly tone that Master Sitz immediately appealed for mercy.

The sachem declared that if he remained with the war party it might be impossible to save him, and even went so far in his friendliness as to explain that it were better he be sent ahead to the Indian village, for, having once arrived at that place, there was little fear of the warriors demanding his death until on some especial occasion.

Therefore, within half an hour after having been made prisoner, Master Sitz was being hurried forward to Oghkwaga, under charge of two savages, and was well on his journey before we started.

When, immediately after the interview with General Herkimer, Thayendanega hurried his tribe on to join St. Leger's forces, he so far submitted to the demands of his followers as to allow them to take Peter Sitz on the war-path with them.

"More than once have the red devils insisted on torturin' me; but each time Joseph Brant has prevented them, although I question if he could have done so but for the unfortunate men who were captured in the battle with General Herkimer's troops."

Peter Sitz ceased speaking very suddenly, and I had not the courage to ask him how those prisoners suffered; I could imagine that they came to a most horrible end, and knew that my worst picturing of it would fall far short of the reality.

Then Jacob's father spoke of the possibility that we might escape with our lives; but it was evident he did so with an effort, and I had it in mind that he only tried to cheer me, while he was convinced that his end, as well as ours, would come at the stake before the siege was finished.

And now I do not propose to make any effort at giving in detail all that occurred while we lay cruelly bound, during a greater portion of the time, in this lodge, situate almost in the centre of the Indian camp.

For eight days we were kept thus close prisoners, without a ray of hope, and then came the unexpected.

At least once in every twenty-four hours, and sometimes twice, the bonds were taken from our arms that we might feed ourselves on such food as savages cast to their dogs. Perhaps thrice in that long term of captivity were we permitted to walk around the lodge, and, save for that short respite from our suffering, I believe of a verity we would have lost the use of our limbs.

Half-starved, suffering oftentimes the keenest pangs of thirst, and believing that all this torture was the preface to something yet worse, it can well be imagined that we were indeed a sorry party. Even Sergeant Corney ceased trying to animate us, for despair had seized upon him.

When we did hold converse among ourselves, it was usually regarding Jacob.

We had neither seen nor heard anything of the lad since the hour he left us in the cave to get speech with his father, and it was to me wondrous strange that he who had been so eager when there was but one prisoner, had apparently lost all desire to render aid after two more had been captured.

During the first two or three days we believed he was skulking around somewhere near at hand, with the vain hope that he might be able to effect our escape; but as the time pa.s.sed on it became certain that such could not be the case, otherwise he would have succeeded in making his way to the lodge, as he had done when his father was the only occupant of it.

So far as I could make out, there was no more vigilant guard kept after we were taken than before, and the lad must have succeeded in getting speech with us had he made the effort during those times when the savages gave themselves up to dancing or feasting, as occurred at least once in every eight and forty hours.

Then we decided he had gone in search of General Herkimer's men, thinking to enlist a sufficient number of them in our behalf; but if such had been the case we should have heard something from him, at least when eight days were pa.s.sed, and after that time we made no mention of the lad, believing he had been discovered near the encampment and killed outright.

And now it must be understood that during all this time St. Leger's army was laying close siege to Fort Schuyler, and, strange as it may seem, we, closely confined in that lodge of skins, had a fairly good idea of what was happening.

More than one of the Indians spoke English, and, not unfrequently, the Tories or British officers came to visit Thayendanega in his own lodge, when we could overhear a goodly portion of the conversation.

Thus it was we knew that Colonel Billinger and Major Frey, officers from General Herkimer's force, who had been taken prisoners by some of the British during the battle of Oriskany, had been compelled, under threats of torture, to write a letter to Colonel Gansevoort, misrepresenting St.

Leger's strength, and advising him to surrender.

We also knew that this letter, written under pressure, was delivered by Colonel Butler, who went to the fort with a flag of truce, and, when the commandant flatly refused to surrender, the Tory officer threatened that, in case it became necessary to take the fortification by force, the women and children inside would be delivered over to the mercies of the Indians.

Fortunately Colonel Gansevoort was too brave a man to be frightened by such threats, and when Colonel Butler told him that Burgoyne had already taken possession of Albany, he became thoroughly well convinced that the officer was deliberately lying to him.

At all events, he refused to surrender, and two days later General St.

Leger sent a written demand, the reply to which contained the emphatic statement that it was Colonel Gansevoort's determined resolution with the force under his command, to defend the fort to the last extremity.

We learned also, through different friendly visits which were paid to Joseph Brant by the officers, that General St. Leger was continuing the siege in true military fashion, advancing by parallels slowly but surely, and it was the belief of all our enemies that they must of a necessity soon succeed in their purpose.

The information which we thus obtained did not tend to make us feel any more comfortable in mind. In case the fort was taken, the utmost we could hope for would be to escape death, but at the cost of remaining, no one knows how long, as slaves to the savages.

If, however, the garrison made such a resistance as we believed they would, and then were finally overcome, the Indians being allowed to wreak vengeance until their thirst for blood was satisfied, then was it probable we would go to the stake with a goodly company and little chance of escape.

However, I am not minded to set down here all our fears. One can readily understand how many and great they were, and how we twisted and turned each additional bit of information which we gathered by eavesdropping, until it seemed as if matters which had no bearing whatsoever on our condition were a direct and deadly menace.

I have said that we were eight days closely confined in this one lodge, and then came the night when we were lifted from out the mire of despair into which we had fallen, so suddenly as to make us literally dizzy with hope.