The two hundred miles from St. John's River to Charleston were navigated in less days than they had hoped to be possible. The breeze held steadily behind them and the weather fine, so that on the whole the voyage was pleasant. Clear of the pirates, they could now talk freely, and the liking which had always existed between the companions ripened into a real friendship. But no familiarity in Syn's conversation could break down the respectful attitude of Mipps, and the parson thanked God for his ally. By the time they sighted Charleston they understood each other well, and each knew that he could depend upon the other in any circumstances. They concocted a ringing-true story which Syn was to carry to the Governor, and during sailing hours he had rehearsed this over and over again, till both were satisfied. Each time some little detail was added, till on one occasion at the end of his recital Syn saw that the little pirate's eyes were filled with tears, and asked him what was wrong.
“It's so pathetic,” blubbered Mipps. “I ain't had a cry for years. No, not since a friend of mine had an aunt what died what was very fond of him. And if our story you keep telling me was true, I think I should never stop crying. It's a most wonderful yarn, I considers, and if the Governor don't cry hisself silly over our misfortunes he's a cold pebble.” But the Governor was no pebble. Indeed, he proved himself a very sympathetic friend. As luck would have it he was walking with a wealthy merchant on the quay when the wayfarers put in, and being curious as to what they were he sent a servant to inquire.
Now, although Mipps had considered it advisable to arrive in port dishevelled, dirty and unshaven, in order to heighten the effect of the imagined hardships they had undergone, Syn had insisted upon making a careful toilet before appearing.
“Elegance and cleanliness will gain more sympathy,” he had argued. “In all tribulations a gentleman possessing fresh linen and a razor should take the pains to use them.” It was obvious, therefore, to the Governor, as he watched Syn's striking figure coming towards him on the quay, that here was a man of parts, a gentleman. The manner in which he swept off his three-cornered hat and the dignity of his bow, confirmed the opinion, so that, without waiting for the stranger to speak, the Governor said heartily:
“Welcome to Charleston, sir, and the Carolinas. I am the Governor of the South State, and shall be honoured to know your name and business.”
“My name is Christopher Syn, sir,” he answered gravely, “and although my sword and pistols seem to give the lie to it, I am yet a Doctor of Divinity from our English Oxford.” And thereupon he recited the story he had rehearsed so often to Mipps.
The Governor showed such commiseration over the fate of the ill-starred Intention, and also at the hardships which the pirates had inflicted upon the young parson and his faithful servant. But his pity was outweighed by joy on learning that Black Satan and his Sulphur Pit had gone to their last account, and he immediately invited Doctor Syn to accompany him to his house so that they could crack a bottle in celebration. Syn thanked him, but begged that he might first accompany his servant to some inn, in order that they might stow away such property as they had left them in the boat. The question of an inn the Governor swept aside, sending a servant to assist Mipps in disposing of the boat and conveying its contents to his own residence, in which he declared they should both stay till they had formed their further plans.
As far as Doctor Syn was concerned, things could not have fallen out better, since the Governor, being the best-informed man in the Colony, was the most likely to give him information concerning Nicholas. But he was sorry for Mipps, and told him so at the first opportunity.
“To think, my good Mipps, that you who have lorded it as a High Sea Adventurer should now be called upon to play the humble valet to an English parson.” To which Mipps replied, “What does it matter, sir, what I does, as long as I does my duty? And my bounden duty is to serve you in all weathers and under all conditions. You bought me body and soul at my own pricing, and all I hopes is that you have not made the worse bargain.”
During their stay at the Governor's Syn learned much about his enemy. At first the fellow had been liked well enough. He had spent money freely: perhaps too freely, for he was soon in money difficulties all over the town. His trading up-river was disappointing, and his name became connected with many scandals, both in trade and private life. The Governor did what he could, for, as he said, he was more than sorry for the beautiful young wife and son.
“For their sakes,” he explained, “I managed to get the rascal out of the State with a whole skin.”
“And have you any notion where they have gone?” asked Syn.
“His wife told me that her husband was attracted by the reports of good trading up the Hudson River, and there is certainly business to be done not only with the Indians, but also with the French. In which case the place to make inquiry would be Albany. I take it that you know the man, and perhaps wish to get in touch with him?”
“I was at Oxford with him,” replied Syn. “Even there he had a way of getting into scrapes. But sometimes the cleverest rascal goes too far. Since the lady with him is my legal wife you will own that I have the strongest motive for getting in touch with him. And he will find that my touch will not be gentle.”
“Perhaps I can help you,” went on the Governor, “for my cousin, Colonel Clinton, is in command of the military in Albany. Between you I think this scoundrel could be brought to book.” Three days later Doctor Syn took leave of the Governor, and armed with a letter of introduction to the Colonel, set sail with Mipps for New York, from whence they could proceed to Albany.
The captain of the vessel, who had been told by the Governor of the blowing up of the dreaded Sulphur Pit, never tired of questioning Doctor Syn and Mipps about Black Satan.
On reaching New York, the captain was commissioned to carry a cargo to Albany, so Syn and Mipps remained aboard and travelled with him up the broad Hudson.
On arrival Syn took lodgings at the best inn, and then deposited the bulk of their treasure in the vaults of an English Banking House. He then presented his letter of introduction to Colonel Clinton, from whom he learned that Nicholas had set out by canoe to trade with the Indian tribes. He had taken Imogene and the boy, as well as an Indian interpreter and guide. The Colonel advised Syn to await them in Albany, assuring him that, short of any disaster overtaking them, the party would return to the town on completion of business.
For weeks they waited patiently, during which time Doctor Syn, by preaching from the principal pulpits of the town, gained respect and popularity.
At last a letter came from the Governor of South Carolina which determined their stay at Albany, for the news it brought was disquieting. After the usual courtesies to himself and servant, and inquiries and kind messages to the Colonel, the letter went on to state that besides Syn and Mipps, who had so luckily escaped from the pirate ship in time, there had been one other survivor from the explosion.
I should be glad, my good Doctor, for any information you may have concerning him, for my task is difficult in knowing how to deal with him. From my description, I think you will not fail to remember him. He is a mulatto. As ugly as a looking devil as ever I clapped eyes upon. Thin to emaciation, with skin like cracked parchment. High cheek-bones and the most brilliant black eyes, which seem to shoot out the blackest hatred. His hair is deathly white. He understands no English, but we have been able to gather something of his story through the help of one of my slaves, a West Indies boy, who talks to him in the Cuban dialect. This has been the more difficult because our mulatto is dumb.
He lost the power of speech from the shock of the explosion. He arrived here in the most deplorable condition, half-starved and with bleeding feet, having walked along the coast. I have lodged him in the gaol, where my own surgeon is attending him, in the hope of recovering his speech. Then I could be the better judge of his integrity, for since you and your faithful servant have recounted so many details of the Sulphur Pit, I shall see if he is lying, should his story not agree with yours. In which case my judgment will be the harsher, whereas I now feel inclined to think that he has been punished enough for his piracy.
Both Syn and Mipps remembered the mulatto well, as a mutinous dog who had on many occasions threatened the discipline which they had imposed upon the pirates.
“But even if his tongue does wag again,” said Mipps, “by the old man's letter he won't be believed, sir.”
“We must take no chances of that,” returned Syn. “For if this mulatto becomes too convincing, he may well upset our story, and we must not forget that he knows me as Syn the parson who turned pirate. I am therefore determined that Syn shall disappear. We will let people think that I have died. I shall tell my friends here that I have had a solemn call to preach the Gospel to the Redskins. When I do not return, they will no doubt give me a martyr's crown. Meantime we will go on searching for my enemy, who I believe does not intend returning to Albany. I rather think his instincts tell him that I am already on his track. In three days' time we shall be after him again. Are you willing to risk your scalp amongst the Indians?”
“It's your scalp. You bought it, sir,” said Mipps. “In three days? Then I'd best be purchasing a canoe, a barrel of rum, and eatables.”
“And I'll make inquiry for a reliable guide,” said Syn.
Providing themselves with clothes more suitable for their journey, they packed their sea-chests with such properties as they wished to leave behind them, and deposited them in the same bank that was hoarding their treasure.
Syn then drew up an agreement with the banker that their property should be handed over to one or both of them on personal demand, but if neither of them came back within the year, the banker was to sell jewellery and all, to the best advantage, and to send the value to Solomon Syn, New Romney, England.
Having thus provided against emergency, Doctor Syn took leave of his many friends in Albany, and set a northern course up the Hudson.
The Indian, who went by the high-sounding name of “Mountain Cat", proved himself at once to be efficient, very strong, but also very silent.
Knowing that the pastor's object was to locate Nicholas and his party, he went to work in his own way, seeming unperturbed at what Syn and Mipps considered a gigantic and puzzling task. When Syn suggested they might hail such craft as passed them, and ask if the party they followed had been seen by them, he shook his head. He had his own method, and it was curious. He would frequently head for the bank, and that at places where his companions could see neither camp nor habitation, disappear into the forest, but to return after an interval and point once more with decision up-river. Syn let him go his own way, but Mipps became cynical.
“Funny way of going on, I calls it,” he said when this method had gone on for some days and nights. “Where the devil does old Puss-cat get his information from? I never hears nothing but twitterings of birds and squawks of wild beasts.”
“He's no doubt in touch with Indian tribes,” said Syn. “They're a silent race, and shy at showing themselves.”
“Unsociable, I calls it,” replied Mipps.
On one occasion the method changed, for instead of pointing up-river he unpacked the canoe, hoisted it upon his shoulder, and signing them to carry the provisions set off through the woods. This was the prelude to an incessant toil.
Days and nights were spent in avoiding the worst swamps, threading a way through what seemed impenetrable undergrowth, on some occasions scaling precipitous rocks in order to reach some other river where the canoe could be refloated till its way was barred by thunderous waterfalls.
Through all these trials the Indian insisted not only that silence should be strictly observed, but also the greatest haste. At first they thought he did this in order to finish the contract the sooner, but they had yet to discover that his reason was the more alarming. They had been travelling fast for many miles down a turbulent river, when the Indian suddenly made for the shore. Above them hung a gaunt bare rock, which their guide climbed rapidly as soon as he had seen the canoe made fast. Syn and Mipps watched him, as his half-naked body squirmed its way to the top. He did not look over the crest of the crag, but lay still as though listening, but as Mipps whispered to his master, “What Pussy expects to hear with the noise of this damned trout-stream booming” was beyond their ken. Presently he came down cautiously, now and then stopping to remove the marks of his own feet. It was obvious to the others that this particular sport in the wilderness was known in every detail by “Mountain Cat", for no sooner had he rejoined them than he speedily unpacked the contents of the canoe and deposited them in a hole, which he covered with dried leaves. He then pointed to a large tree whose low branches interlaced with those of its neighbors. To the base of this tree he carried the empty canoe, which he leaned end up against the trunk. Then, grasping the mooring-rope he climbed to the first branches and then up to the second. The thickness of the leaves now hid him completely from night. The rope went tight, and the canoe, swinging clear of the truck, began to ascend after him. Syn and Mipps hastened to ease the weight of it till it was pulled too high for their reach.
“What does he want to go sailing in the tree-tops for?” whispered Mipps.
“No doubt he has sensed unfriendly Indians,” replied Syn.
In a minute or so he had dropped once more to the ground, and indicating with a stick the surest notches on the surface of the trunk for hands and feet, indicated that they should climb it.
Up went Syn and Mipps, to find the canoe safely cradled across three stout branches, which formed the most admirable dry dock. Indeed, so secure was its position that the companions took their customary seats and waited. The Indian meantime busied himself by covering up the tracks which their trampling had caused from the river to the tree. He moved pebbles. He scattered leaves. He combed up crushed grass. Then he climbed the tree once more, and as though it was the most ordinary thing to do, sat himself solemnly in the canoe with the others, where he continued to sit with a warning finger to his mouth, commanding silence.
Syn and Mipps could hear nothing but the tumbling waters of the river, whose music they were forced to listen to for some half-hour. It was characteristic of Syn that even in this extremely odd and obviously dangerous situation he did not waste time. He produced a volume from his pocket which had been given to him by the compiler, a mission parson in Albany, who had done much preaching to the Indians. This book contained a treatise upon the manners of speech employed by the Red tribes, with a dictionary of all the useful words and phrases. Since this worthy cleric had collected his material from amongst the Adirondack Indians, it was likely to be of greater service to Doctor Syn, who was now sitting up a tree in that very territory, as he had learned from “Mountain Cat.”
Mipps spent his time in watching first his master and then the Indian, who sat with eyes closed in meditation, but still holding his finger to his lips. After a while the comicality of thus sitting in a boat up a tree overcame the control of his sense of humour. Attracting his master's attention he traced out invisible capital letters upon the floor of the canoe, while tears of suppressed laughter ran down his cheeks. Syn smiled too, for the little pirate had written, after jerking his head towards the Indian, “Hush-a-by, Baby, on the tree-top.” Sensing a movement of the canoe which Mipps caused at his writing and shaking through silent giggles, the Indian, without opening his eyes, pointed first towards the rock, and then straight down beneath them. Through tiny peepholes in the thick foliage they looked. Upon the highest crag of the rock, and silhouetted magnificently against the sky, stood a feathered and warpainted Brave, shading his eyes against the sun, and signalling with his murderous tomahawk to those beneath him. These were in two files, one skirting the base of the rock and trotting one behind the other, while the second file were passing close by the very tree which concealed the canoe. This lot halted for some minutes as though awaiting an order from the scouting Brave, and the three men in the tree trembled lest one of them should discover their property beneath the heap of leaves. Fortunately they were too intent upon watching their leader, and presently they moved out of sight as silently and as quickly as they had appeared.
Their guide explained that these warriors were from beyond the mountains, and were no doubt out after scalps from an enemy village in the next valley.
Till the battle was over it would not be safe to leave their retreat, he said, so he climbed down and collected food and drink from their covered hole.
Presently above the voice of the river they heard the war-cries and a mighty whooping and screaming, which continued persistently throughout the day. The Indian said it must have been a hard-fought fight, but could not judge which side had been the victors. At last the sun went down behind the mountains. The twilight was short, and dusk quickly gave place to a black night. “Mountain Cat” then decided to spy out the situation and to see whether or no it would be safe to continue on the trail. He would be back, he said, within the hour, and enjoined the Englishmen on no account to leave their hiding-place. So they waited with what patience they could, listening to the loud screamings of a wardance.
When the moon arose, Doctor Syn calculated that their guide had been absent some three hours, and feared that he had been either captured or cut off.
They then discussed whether or no they could go in search of him.
When they had waited a considerable time, and still no sign of the Indians, they climbed down from the tree, and set off.
Now, although the village was less than a mile away, they encountered the greatest difficulties in reaching it. In most places the undergrowth was breast high, and when overcome, led to one of the many impetuous mountain streams that had to be crossed upon slippery boulders, and it was actually dawn before they crawled over a hillock in the forest and looked down upon a clearing. It was evident that here had been the site of the village, but all that remained was charred wrecks of smouldering habitations. Beneath a number of blackened stakes erected in a rude circle lay many bodies that had been fired, while in the centre of this grim arena was a naked Indian tied to the trunk of a tree. He was still alive, for his limbs kept moving as he attempted to relieve the tight agony of the biting ropes that bound him. Around the clearing were ranked more than a hundred warriors, the very men who had passed the canoe the day before, because the Englishman recognized their leader who had stood upon the rock.
He was going from man to man, as though inspecting them. From every score or so he chose one, who stepped forward from the line. When the five had been selected, the Brave signalled to the rest, who turned and walked off silently into the woods. Syn and Mipps noted that the five were not so gaily decorated either with feathers or war-paint as their fellows who were marching. The Brave then advanced to the bound man, and with his knife severed the cords. The exhausted victim collapsed for a moment on the hard, beaten earth, but after rubbing his chafed limbs he stood up proudly and faced the Chief.
Having his back to the hillock where Syn and Mipps crouched, they could not see his face, but there was something in the bearing of his tall, gaunt frame which made them certain that this was indeed their missing guide.
“Those five rascals are to be his executioners,” whispered Syn. “Compared to the others they are but youngsters and are no doubt about to prove their worth with blood-letting. Had the rest not gone, we should have been hard put to it to rescue our 'Mountain Cat', but this lot we can tackle. I think the Chief will follow his men and leave the dirty work to these cadets. If so we shall be rid of him the easier.”
It was then that they saw the Chief advance to the victim and, with what seemed a gesture of courtesy, had him his own tomahawk. This looked a heavy weapon with a bright steel blade.
“He is allowing him the right to defend himself,” whispered Syn, as he fingered the butts of his pistols. “And I was right in my guess. I believe he is about to follow the tribe.” Indeed, the Chieftain had turned his back upon the prisoner and with majestic strides walked to the five young warriors, who at the same time began to execute fantastic steps, working themselves up into a frenzy for killing. The Chief halted some five paces in front of them, and raising both arms to the dawning sky appeared to be blessing their prowess. He was then some twenty paces from the armed prisoner, and still with his back to him.
It was then that they saw the man they took to be “Mountain Cat" take two steps forward, swinging the tomahawk, and with a mighty effort hurl it through the air. It struck the Chieftain with terrific force between the shoulder-blades, the steel of the axe actually severing the long tail of feathers from his headdress. The hands, uplifted as they had been in benediction, clawed the air convulsively, and then down he fell full length upon his face. Bereft of his weapon, the prisoner folded his arms and stoically awaited his death at the hands of the five. The sudden killing of their Chief, whom they took to be dead without examination, caused them to dance with the greater fury, and with each step they capered nearer to his slayer.
“Now, Mipps,” said Syn. “You to his right side, I to his left. Pistols first, and then steel.”
“No quarter, eh?” asked Mipps as they ran.
The whirling frenzy of the five did much to help the surprise attack of the Englishmen, who were on them before they could realize that their unarmed victim was now supported. Then they rushed altogether. Syn brought down his two flank men by firing his pistols simultaneously and practically at point-black range. Mipps fired his right pistol, and hit, but did not kill, so, quickly changing over by dropping the discharged weapon and grabbing the other with his right hand from his left, he used the second charge upon the same attacker killing him then outright, and hurling his pistol in the face of the next attacker, which checked him for a second and enabled Mipps to draw his cutlass, a weapon with which he had made himself acquainted aboard the pirate ship.
With it he met the murderous blow of the tomahawk, and ran his second man through the stomach with the point. The middle man rushed not at Syn but at the Indian, and had not Syn's long blade darted in between his ribs the Chieftain's death must have been avenged. As it was, the rescued Indian by refusing to leap back in the face of his enemies, received a bad flesh cut in the leg as his attacker fell dead. From body to body went Syn passing his sword through the heart of each, and crying out to Mipps that they must get to cover quickly, lest the noise from their pistols should bring the tribe back.
Mipps made a strange reply: “Well, I'll be damned!” he said.
“And why?” demanded Syn, as he cleaned his blade with a handful of dust.
Mipps scratched his head and pointed to the Indian. “Why, sir, this 'ere ain't Mister Pussy at all.” Syn looked and said, “By gad you're right! It's not 'Mountain Cat'.”
“'Mountain Cat' scalped and burned,” said the Indian in English. “Me knew him. Good guide same as me. Speak English both. Me Shuhshuhgah. Mean Blue Heron. Son of Chief two mile there.” He pointed in the direction taken by the warriors. “Them bad men may return. We hide a time. This way. Quick.” He took a step forward, but fell because of the wound in his right leg. Syn saw that the muscle of the calf had been severed, so telling him to put his arms around their shoulders, they dragged him to the cover of the woods. At the foot of the hillock over which they had crawled to the attack, Shuhshuhgah pointed to a curtain of thick overhanging creeper, behind which was a cunningly hidden cave. Into this they crept, while Syn, tearing a strip from his shirt arm, bound up the Indian's leg.
As it happened, they had only just got to cover in time, for the noise of the pistols had caused a party of the warrior tribe to return to see what was amiss.
When the fugitives peeped through the creeper they saw them, three men standing over the body of their Chieftain. They removed the tomahawk and turned him over on to his back. Then they examined the bodies of the five dead cadets, and seemed bewildered at not finding the body of Shuhshuhgah. Then, taking the tomahawk with them and picking up the feathered tail that had been cut from their Chieftain, they trotted off with wild cries into the wood, following the direction of their fellows.
After waiting for some little time for the scouts to get clear, during which time Syn and Mipps re-charged and re-primed their pistols, Shuhshuhgah proposed that they should set out for his father's village, which no doubt the war-trail party was now attacking.
“But you should not walk, even with our help,” said Syn. “Besides, we shall find ourselves at a disadvantage coming up behind them with our way to your village cut off.”
“Under them we shall walk,” explained the Indian. “There is a secret way into my father's camp.” They selected two wigwam poles that had escaped the burning, and with the long sheath-knife belonging to Mipps had soon cut and bound some strong tendrils of the climbing creeper that abounded in the woods. Placing the Indian upon it, this was easy to carry stretcher-wise.
They followed the Indian trail through the woods, which made it easier and quicker travelling. When they had gone about a mile they once more heard the war-cries of the warriors. These cries growing louder and louder as they advanced, Shuhshuhgah at last pointed to a thick clump of bushes that fringed the trail.
“Put me down,” he whispered. “We crawl through them. Then pick up secret trail.” They set down the stretcher, and upon his stomach the Indian began to crawl through, followed by Syn and Mipps, dragging the stretcher after them. After some twenty-five yards of this difficult passage they came out upon another trail, when the Indian was once more put upon the stretcher and carried on.
Presently they heard the lowing of cattle mingled with the war-cries, and at the same time the trail, which had been rising steadily, reached a summit heavily overshadowed by trees. Up this the Indian crawled from the stretcher, and, after peering over cautiously, motioned the others to leave the litter below and join him. From this vantage they looked down upon a grassy plateau where some two hundred head of cattle were grazing, guarded by three or four mounted Indians, who trotted their shaggy ponies backwards and forwards along the slope to prevent the cattle roaming into the range of arrow fire from the stockaded village. From the height where they crouched, the three fugitives could see the main body of the attacking force awaiting the order to advance against the pallisades in the shelter of a dried-up river-bed. Shuhshuhgah whispered that his father would await attack, and then spare some half of his braves to run through the tunnelled secret path which came out into a cave at the base of the very hillock upon which they now waited. The enemy were dancing safely in the river-bed, working themselves up into the required frenzy for attack.
It was then that Mipps made what seemed to Syn an entirely irrelevant remark, but which was destined not only to spell disaster to the attackers, but to coin a name which was to become fearful enough to terrorize the trade routes of the high seas.
Mipps pointed to Shuhshuhgah's blood-stained bandage and whispered, “'Ere, look at that big beast. Enjoying a good meal off your blood, Shushy mate.” The Indian looked at his leg, and saw what to the others was a large gad- or horse-fly. He took the fearful insect very carefully between his finger and thumb, and with a smile of triumph said, “It is the Clegg. Terrible fellow too.
You shall see what he can do. Look.” He flung it into the air over the lip of the hillock in the direction of the cattle. They saw it flying and heard its waspish note. The cattle sensed its coming. Panic seized them. This fly was their worst enemy, for it was too small to trample or toss, and yet large enough to suck their blood and cause the most maddening irritation. A mediaeval knight in full armour might have felt the same toward a flea. Bellowing in panic, they stampeded for the riverbed in full gallop, sliding down the bank in terror right amongst the dancing Indians, who feel and scattered before the giant impact. The by now invisible Clegg fly kept the cattle on the run, and, like a sheep-dog, kept them well herded, so that as they were driven down the river-bed they presented a solid wedge of hoof and horn. The defending Indians, seeing what had happened, gave the attackers no time to rally, but attacked in their turn, swarming over the pallisades and hurling themselves upon their trampled enemy, who had no chief to encourage them. It was then that Shuhshuhgah pointed beneath them, and round the base of the hill there came trotting a long line of fresh warriors.
“They came by the tunnel,” he said. “I thought my father would use it.”
Taken now on both sides of the river, the deep bed became a human shambles. The carnage was ghastly.
“Your Mountain Cat is avenged,” said the Indian.
“Poor old Pussy!” replied Mipps.
In a few minutes the victory was complete, and Shuhshuhgah's village was safe. It was then that he raised himself upon his elbow and gave the cry of the heron three times. Those who saw him waving ran to the hillock.
To these Shuhshuhgah explained how his life had been saved by the two pale-faces, telling them to bring him the litter and carry him by way of the tunnel to his father.
This tunnel, as Syn and Mipps discovered, was entered through a cave on the side of the hill, and with torch-bearers to light the way they descended a flight of rock steps into a long, wide passage. The Englishmen walked each side of the litter, for the Indian had given a hand to each in order to show good faith.
Presently they reached another flight of steps and, climbing this, reached a rough doorway, which by the light of the torches they saw was hung with a curtain of skins. Parting this, the torch-bearers called out:
“Shuhshuhgah lives.” They found themselves in a vast cavern, into which their wounded were brought and attended to by the women. Amongst these there walked an elderly man of great height and fine presence. It did not need the Indian to tell them that this was his father, and the Chieftain. The venerable warrior turned to the torchbearers, and watched the stretcher carried in. Then, approaching, he said:
“Shuhshuhgah.” Syn and Mipps were standing aside to allow the father to embrace his son, whom he must have thought dead, but the son would not allow this. Instead he placed the Englishmen's hands upon those of the Chief, and in the Indian tongue told how they had risked their lives and saved his. The old man replied with fitting thanks, which Syn not only understood, but answered, much to their astonishment, in the same language.
Mipps said, “'Ere, sir, I'm missing all this. Wish you'd talk English.” After Shuhshuhgah's leg had been re-dressed, the Chieftain conducted them to his own hut, and gave them rum and light flour-cakes. Mipps, who was a good trencherman at any time, swallowed his portion in two mouthfuls and looked around for more.
At this Shuhshuhgah smiled and said, “Do not spoil your stomach for the victory feast, my little brave. There will be eating and dancing to the fill by sunset. Do you not smell the cattle roasting?” Mipps sniffed and nodded, and stayed his gnawing stomach with that reflection. He was glad, however, to find that there was no such restriction put upon the rum, in that it was as powerful as fire.
All this while the warriors were returning with scalps. The cattle had been rounded up, and the oxen upon the spit poles were roasted. With great ceremony the Chief sat, with his son, Syn and Mipps around him. Before the feast started, the singing poet of the tribe sang of the killing, thanking God for the bravery of the pale-faces who had saved their beloved Shuhshuhgah, whose own ingenuity with the Clegg fly came in for many stanzas of praise. There followed a dance, in which the scene was re-enacted, and with great effect, since Syn and Mipps, falling into their humour, loaned not only their jackets and three-cornered hats to those representing them, but sword and cutlass as well. Mipps having no stature, a little boy was picked to dance his part, and Mipps applauded this urchin's caperings more than any. This and the rum so excited his admiration that upon the conclusion of the dance Mipps leapt to his feet and, shouting a nautical tune, executed a very spirited hornpipe, to the wonder of the Indians.
The feast itself went on for hours, during which, with much strange ceremony, Syn and Mipps were made blood-brothers of the tribe, and given many a pipe of peace. Indian trophies of value were presented to them, Mipps being specially delighted with a barrel of rum for his own consumption.
“This is the life for me, sir,” he told his master. “Better than being pirate.
When I hornpiped aboard the Sulphur Pit—the devil rot its timbers—an extra allowance was all we could expect. But a barrel. This must be that there place in the Psalms we used to sing about in Dymchurch choir, 'Land flowin' with milk and honey', but better, since I always had more taste for rum than milk.” A spacious hut had been placed at their disposal, and just before dawn Syn and Mipps retired to it for a much-needed rest. For some time Syn lay on his back upon a comfortable couch of grass and skins and with his eyes to the thatched roof he thought. At last, seeing that Mipps had opened one eye from his bed at the other end of the hut in order to pat his barrel of rum, and to take from it a further night-cap, Syn said:
“I have found my new name, Mipps. When Syn disappears into the death which I have invented for him I shall live on as one Clegg. I shall drive that Nicholas into a panic, just as that fly drove the cattle before him. I think now we shall have no difficulty in finding the rascal. These tribesmen of ours will scent him out for me. How do you fancy serving Captain Clegg?”
“It's a good enough name, sir,” replied Mipps, “so long as Doctor Syn ain't really turned his parson's toes up. I'll serve him. But don't go altering my name. I'd forget all about it in my next drunk.”
“Very well, then Captain Clegg and Mister Mipps let it be,” said Syn.
“Harking back, Mipps, to that morning upon Lympne Hill when we first met, I don't think we imagined that we should be sleeping like this by the light of Red Indians' fires.”
“If they worries you, sir,” said Mipps, “I'll blow 'em out.”
“No, let them bide. I like red fire,” chuckled Syn. “I carry so much in my heart. Red hate, Mister Mipps. Red hate.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Mipps. “But when we spits this Nicholas through his gizzard, what then? Are you for home and pulpits again, or for more of these jovial adventures?”
“I will tell you that answer when our enemy is dead. Till then we follow.
