The Syracuse Journal, Volume 20, Number 14, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 2 August 1928 — Page 7

The Red Road

A Romance of Braddock’s Defeat

THE STORY 1 Webster Brond is serving as a scout and spy for the army under General Rraddock preparing for the advance on Fort Duquesne. He has just returned to Alexandria from a visit to the fort, where, posing as a Frenchman, he has secured valuable Information. Braddock, bred to Eu- ' ropean warfare, falls to realize the importance of the news. | Brond Is sent back to Fort DuI quesne, also bearing a message to George Croghan, English emissary among the Indians. Brond joins his friend £nd fellow scout, Round Paw, Indian chief, and they* set out. On the! way they fall in with a typical backwoodsman, Balsar Cromit, who joins them. The party encounters a group of settlers threatening a yoiing girl, Elsie Dinwold, whom they accuse of witchcraft. Brond saves her from them. The girl disappears. Web- ( ster delivers his message to , Croghan. Young Col. George . Washington rescues Brond from bullying English soldiers. He worsts ’a bully in a fight, and finds Elsie Dinwold. Brond is sent on a scouting expedition to 1 Fort Duqesne, and finds a French J scouting party besieging an old , cabin in which Elsie has taken I refuge. In the ensuing fight she ; escapes. Brond takes his way to Duquesne. < CHAPTER V—Continued i —l2— > This sudden attack sent us half a ,miie back from the river. We mdde a wide circuit and I was still dis * £runtled at my poor shooting when ithe Onondaga picked up a poultice of ‘chewed sassafras leaves, such as in dian and white man used for gunshot wounds in an emergency. My spirits rebounded, for we now knew my small £>all had scored. We saw nothing of the fellow, however; nor did we believe he could he badly wounded. We camped early that night above ■Stewart’s crossing, taking great care to hide our trail. The Onondaga killed a turkey with his ax and this we heated, rather than cooked, over a •tiay flre and ate it half raw. Still keeping back from the river we crossed Great Swamp creek the next , J day and suffered much from tiny black flies that were as voracious as wolves iln February. Barely pausing to eat a ’ 'bandful of parched corn and what was •left of the turkey, we left the disagreeable area and pushed on to Salt flick, or Jacobs" creek. As Captain Jacobs’ town was eight jbr nine miles back from the mouth of tthis creek, we ventured to swing in close to the Youghiogeny so as to give the place plenty of clearance. Hardy had said the village was abandoned, but savages have a ,-way of being where you least expect them, and Jacobs never had left his town be ;cause of fear. We covered thirty ■miles (hat day, and were very weary ’when we made camp and broiled some •small game over a sheltered tire. i The Journey to Sewickley creek was mneventfui. No Indians, so far as we (could observe, had passed up dur side ’of the river. This was not as we bad wished, however, for if the scouting party, which had dogged us while we ‘were under Hardy’s protection, should jkeep to the other side of the Youghia it would necessitate its crossing the river at or near Allaquippa’s town. Therefore, we were much relieved, although instantly put on our guard, when we discovered the remains of a irecent camp a short distance below the mouth of the Sewickley. ■The number of fires, built since the (rainstorm, indicated the passing of at least fifty warriors. The trail led (north toward Turtle creek, and as ithere were no signs of scouts being thrown out on the flanks it was plain .the band feared no danger and were 'avoiding Allaquippa’s town, and were making a swift inarch to Duquesne. We followed the trail for two miles. Co make sure no scouts were covering the back track, then cut back to the Sewickley and traveled np-stream as far as Thlcketty run. Changing our course again*, we made due west so as to approach Allaquippa’s town as ts coming from Duquesne. It was late afternoon and growing dark- in the woods when Round Paw Informed me: “They can hear a gun now.” After more walking he announced, “They can hear two whoops now.” But wg did not make our camp until he said: . “They can hear one whoop now.” So we halted in hailing distance of the town Not caring to enter the vil tage until positive none of the scouting party had swung back to pay it a visit, we turned in for the night We were awake tn good season but took our time in breaking camp. Round Paw used his how and arrows to good advantage and we dined excellently on small game. I buried the tire and waited while the Indian scouted to the edge of the woods and reconnoitered the village. After some time he stole hack to me and said no French Indians were there, and but very few of the Delawares. I told hlrrf to announce our arrival, and he threw back his head to give a loud halloo, demanded by Indian etl quette so that residents could come from the village and lead the stranger •In I clapped a hand over bis mouth gnd he lowered his bead and listened It was very faint at fleet, then became more audible —the thudding of swift flying feel coming down the Duquesne path The runner was making no at tempt at secrecy. We moved closer ■to the trail nod waited. Soon the runner came into sight, a tall man with his hair roached like a Huron. He was naked except for his breechclout and carried no arms. But J»e did that which was of poig ©ant Interest to me, a heavy festoon of wampum about his neck. Round I’aw whispered: “A carrier of belts. He comes un armed They say he brings French belts t< V ,'(?uippa.” ■hington’s wurnteg that

By Hugh Pendexter

Uhutrationa bf Irwin Myers & Copyright by Hugh Pendrrtaa WNU Service

1 must intercept any bloody or warbelts was fresh in my mind, and I loosened my ax. The Onondaga grunted a disapproval and grasped my arm to withstrain me, for the office of a belt-carrier was almost sacred, and whether his proffer of war-belts was accepted or rejected he was supposed to have an open road in arriving and departing. d forced myself to think only one thought— the French; men’s desire to win over Allaquippa’s warriors and turn their hatchets against the colonies. “He must not take the belts to. the village,” 1 whispered. “To kill a carrier of belts wiU make your orenda weak and sick,” muttered Round Paw. “If coming to us, yes. But he goes to the woman, Allaquippa.” The runner was now close to out position. He ran rapidly and showed no sign of fatigue although I suspected he had kept up the pace since leaving the French fort. It was akin to murder to drop the fellow, out there was much more than my per sonal feelings at stake. The delivery of bloody belts must be prevented at all costs. Round Paw understood my determination and whispered tn my ear: , “Wait. He will pass this bush. Without his belts he will be laughed at. He shall not see us.” He gently pushed me back and moved to the side of the trail and pulled out bis ax. I let him have his way, glad to avoid the grewsome duty, but kept my rifle ready to stop It Was Akin to Murder to Drop the Fellow. the fellow should my red companion make a mess of it. Along came the runner, and when opposite us and within two feet of us, he leaped high and opened his mouth to sound the guest-call. At the same moment the Onondaga slipped into the trail behind him and clipped him with the flat of his ax over the head before be could utter a sound. The man went down like one dead and before I could offer to give a hand the Onondaga had yanked the wampum free and was pulling me deeper into the forest. The last glimpse I had of the belt-carrier revealed him sprawled out on his face, his head twisted sidewise and his mouth still open. We retreated from the trail and ran north and crossed it and turned back toward the village. While we halted to learn if the scene had been witnessed by some early hunter, or if the man had regained his senses, we took time to examine the wampum The strings consisted of whire

Tardy Tribute Paid to Unknown Teacher

1 sing the praise of the unknown teacher. Great generals win campaigns, but it is the unknown soldier who wins the war. Famous educators plan new systems of pedagogy, but it Is the unknown teacher who delivers and guides the young. For him no trumpets blare, no chariots wait, no golden decorations are decreed. He keeps the watch along the borders of darkness and makfes the attack on the trenches of ignorance and folly. Patient in his daily duty, lie strives to conquer the evil powers which are the enemies of youth. He awakens sleeping spirits. He quickens the indolent, encourages the eager and steadies the unstabje. He communicates bis own Sf. Bernard Mixed Breed If tradition may be accepted as authentic. the St. Bernard dog is a product of the Alpine section ol Switzerland. There, about 600 years ago, the monks of the Hospice of St Bernard are said to have created the original type from the cross of a mastiff dog of the Pyrenees with a Danish bulldog bitch. Later it became necessary to outcross with the Newfoundland and the Pyreneean sheep dog in order to refill the hospice kennels, which had been practically destroyed through the ravages of distemper and accident. Credit is likewise given the English mastiff and the bloodhound, used in bringing the St. Berard to its present stage of development. The outcome of this heterogeneous mixing of the blood of various breeds has been the production of a very extraordinary dog, an animal in which size, strength, Bravery, loyalty and devotion are traditional charaeteristlcß.

beads, alternated with red. The belt was a more pretentious affair, being composed of black and red beads wltn a hatchet worked with white beads in the middle —a French war belt and handsomely fashioned, and one a neutral tribe would feel honored in having presented even though It could not be accepted. ’ As no alarm was sounded, we advanced to the clearing surrounding the cabins, and the Onondaga hid the wampum at the foot of a basswood tree. Then lifting his voice be sounded the call and when he finished I shouted tn French. After a few minutes two men of middle age slowly came to meet us, and one of them greeted: “If yon are tired from long walking your mats are waiting for you. There is meat in the kettle.” “Our legs were tired but now they feel strong after we have looked at the face of our brother.” 1 answered in the Lent Lenape tongue. They made no response to this but turned and led the way to the village. I counted txyenty cabins made of small trees, low and roofed with bark. Had I been a Frenchman, I would have felt discouraged over our reception. The absence of warriors was partly explained by those we saw through cabin doors sleeping off the effects of a debauch. What was disturbing was .the glimpse I caught of a white man, dressed as an Indian and wearing a tiny silver hatchet on a neck chain. 1 had met him before* and his presence in the village made it impossible for me to claim a recent departure from Duquesne. He was earnestly talking to an aged Delaware. The Indian clutched a bottle of brandy in his hand while he listened. After passing this cabin, our conductors halted before an empty hut and informed us it would be our quarters while in the fillage. They seemed to be in haste to leave us, but when outside the door, one halted and said: “Allaquippa, the woman sachem, will ask where you came from.” “Tell her a Frenchman and a Caughnawauga Iroquois have come from a scout to Castleman’s river and would rest before going on to Duquesne.” “The path between Allaquippa’s village and Duquesne ia beaten down very hard by French feet. The LeniLenape’s moccasins slip in traveling over it. Our sachem says the path is old and worn out,” he replied.' “1 see a French brother is here ahead of us,” I said, ignoring his veiled hint that too many Frenchmen were coming to the village to suit Allaquippa. He sullenly replied: “He brings much brandy, which is bad. He brings a belt, which is very bad.” So our coup on the red carrier of belts had not stopped the war talk of the enemy from reaching the village. However, the Delaware’s open disapproval of us spoke well for the loyalty of the woman to the English. Requesting Round Paw to remain near the hut 1 departed to look up the owner of the silver ax, and by a bold course disarm suspicion. When I halted in the doorway of his cabin he glanced up with an ugly scowl, then was slightly perplexed for a moment. Before I could announce myself, he was coming forward to greet me, and exclaiming: “Monsieur Beland, who was at our fort in the spring! My heart sings to behold you again. 1 have been in this cursed place two days, trying to get an audience with that old demon Allaquippa. Welcome a thousand times. And let us drink if 1 can find a bottle these filthy ones have not mouthed.” “Name of Joyl 1 am rejoiced to see Monsieur Falest once more,” I genially cried. We embraced, and he waved me to a keg and requested that 1 take my ease. His Indian companion rose, still clutching the half-emptied bottle, and staggered outdoors. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

joy in learning and shares with*boys and girls the best treasures of his mind. He lights many candles which, in later years, will shine back to cheer him. This is his reward. Knowledge may be gained from books; but the love of knowledge is transmitted only by personal contact No one has deserved better of the republic than the unknown teacher.—Henry Van Dyke. Her Past They were very much in love with each other, and the young girl bad but - recently accepted an engagement ring from her sweetheart. Although everything was perfectly planned for their future, the young man was inquisitive to the point of folly. “Tell me, dear,” he pleaded, “have you ever been kissed before?” The girl blushed. She did not know what to say for the best. “Well, ye—es; only twice,” she canfessed reluctantly. “What?" he shrieked. “Who by?” “Don’t be ridiculous, dear,” returned the girl. “It was only the church choir and the baseball club.” What's the Use? The American book canvasser tackled a solemn-looking negro elevator man. After listening imperturbably while the canvasser enlarged on the vast stores of knowledge to be derived from the work he was offering on the installment plan, the negro remarked quietly: “’T’aln’t no use to me, boss; 1 knows heaps more now than I gets paid for.”—Exchange.

THE SYRACUSE JOURNAL

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