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A CAMP of volunteers presents many queer
scenes, and they have been worthily described
by various pens.* There is a bouyancy of
spirits that exhibits itself when the
restraints of society are first taken off,
that runs out into pranks and humors of all
sorts. No where is the gift of a jester so
well appreciated as in a camp. No where do
broad jokes meet such immediate and ample
reward. Although in the process of time this
becomes sufficiently wearisome, and camp life
tedious and even disgusting, yet it must be
confessed that at the outset there is a
sparkle in the cup enchanting to the novice.
A few days brought together the four scouting
parties that had gone out from Catesby,
together with many other companies of
volunteers, and a regular officer to command
them in the person of Colonel Allings. A
skirmish or two had occurred in which the
savages had been defeated, and so completely
were they interrupted on their return route,
as to lose all their plunder and turn them
near a hundred miles down the river in their
endeavors to cross.
The plan of campaign announced by Col.
Allings was a bold one and like that of
Jephthah, Judge of Israel, against the
Ephramites, contemplated the extermination of
the marauding party. Boats had been procured
in abundance which he had loaded with the
best of his men, and sent down to guard the
more usual crossing places (as the fords on
the river Jordan were guarded by Jephthah's
picked men,) and one party of the most
experienced volunteers was now to be
stationed on the opposite side in the enemy's
country. In this latter enterprise, by far
the most dangerous, our five friends were
placed. Col. Allings had been a staunch
friend of Mr. Carnarson, the father of
Robert, and being rejoiced to see his
promising son in the campaign, at once made
him commander of this detachment. Being
authorized to select his own men, out of the
whole body of volunteers, now increased to a
thousand, Robert invited all the members of
his own mess, and such others of his
acquaintance as he thought best qualified for
the duty. It must be acknowledged, however,
that such a man as Socrates Ely, A. M., who
had never fired a gun in his life, was not
the most judicious selection for Indian
fighting, and so Col. Allings observed when
introduced to him; But Robert felt unwilling
to leave him among strangers, especially as
he had deserted his books and volunteered at
the first, purely for old friendship's sake.
So he took him along, Homer, Euclid and all.
A safe and speedy run down the current
brought the detachment to the place
designated. Here they carefully scrutinized
the banks on their own side of the river,
searching for any trails that would indicate
that the savages had already crossed, but
they found none. In a little creek, a few
hundred yards from the main stream, they
discovered a large number of Indian canoes,
carefully concealed, to be ready no doubt
against the arrival of the marauders. These
Capt. Carnarson ordered to be left untouched,
and then his party crossed to the enemy's
side, hid their own boats and awaited the
coming of the foe.
The solitude around them was perfect, save
when broken by the wing of some stray bird,
or by an occasional step from a deer that,
stealing out of the adjacent thickets, would
walk timidly to the water's edge to drink.
The position occupied by the rangers was on a
group of small hills that overlooked the
river for several miles in either direction.
Down one of the slopes to the river ran a war-
trail well marked, that struck out towards
the body of Indian settlements and gave
evidences of active use in the present
campaign. Opposite, on the southern side of
the river, was a peninsula around which the
river curved in one of those graceful figures
which might have given rise to the first
Masonic idea of the Arch: it was on the upper
side of this peninsula that the small creek
emptied, amidst whose long flags were
concealed the canoes for the war party.
For several hours the eyes of the most
experienced borderers failed to detect any
signals that would imply the presence of man;
but a few minutes before sunset a smoke was
observed on an eminence nearly opposite,
(Jeremiah 4,,) and one of the party, old Mike
Havers, instantly declared, "they'se comin'
boys,- we'll have'em here afore midnight!" As
there was doubtless some communication by
means of the signal between the warriors
opposite, and their friends at home, prudence
dictated that the rear of the volunteers
should be guarded lest an attack from that
quarter should confuse all their own plans
and the spider be caught in his own toils.
This duty was committed to old Mike, who with
some ten others, was ordered to station
himself at such points on the hills around,
that no savage could possibly approach the
main body without being discovered. We shall
presently see how this important duty was
performed.
Provisions were now paraded, which the party
ate cold and hastily. The boats that had
brought the whites down the river, while they
were now still more carefully concealed, were
likewise placed under vigilant guard.
As soon as it was dusk, the whole company,
save the two detached parties already
mentioned, came down to the bank and
stationing themselves, some behind trees,
some flat upon the ground, they awaited the
coming of the foe.
They were not long held in suspense. About
nine at night a plashing of paddles was heard
from the middle of the river, and then as if
by enchantment, the whole fleet of canoes,
some ten in number, came out into the soft
starlight about fifty yards from shore. The
plan of surprise developed by Capt. Carnarson
was simple, yet promised success. The whole
party of savages was to be permitted to land
and to draw up their canoes on the shore,
before a movement was to be made on the part
of the whites. Then a general volley,
announced by the firing of his own pistol,
was to be the signal for a chosen party of
twenty to rush upon their canoes and secure
them.
Another party would likewise be in readiness
to spring down at the same moment, and attack
the Indians with tomahawks, in the use of
which they were equally expert with the
savages themselves, while the remainder
continued on the bank to prevent the enemy
from passing into the interior. All this was
to prove the shibboleth of their destruction.
The fleet, laden heavily with the Indians,
had got within a short distance of the shore,
so near that the forms of the men who wielded
the paddles could be distinguished, when
suddenly a pause was made, and at one impulse
every canoe shot back into the darkness.
It appeared that some alarm was suddenly
conceived by the savages and they halted in
the river and consulted together in low tones
as to the cause. As this moment one of
Carnarson's party, without any orders from
his superior, made a loud noise imitating the
snort of a buck when suddenly disturbed. The
Indians were re-assured by this expedient and
a general laugh went through the canoes,
excited as much at the comicality of their
fright as at the near prospect of a return to
home and safety. Nothing further occurred to
alarm them, for they landed, drew their
canoes upon the bank as had been anticipated,
and began to mount the acclivity. But now the
deadly signal was given by Capt. Carnarson,
and answered with a roar of firearms. More
than fifty guns were discharged as a single
piece.
In the height of this consternation the poor
savages found a score of white men amongst
them, hacking them down on every side without
mercy, while others jumped into their canoes
and paddled them off, thus destroying every
chance of escape. Vainly they endeavored to
defend themselves. Too greatly outmatched by
numbers even had they not been worn down by
the fatigues of the campaign, and their
nerves unstrung by surprise, they melted away
as snow. Vainly they endeavored to ascend the
bank and escape. Showers of balls were rained
upon them from above, swords and hatchets
clove asunder the skulls of those who
succeeded in mounting up the first bank,
while loud cries of scorn and hatred from the
whites showed them that their enemies were
numerous and unrelenting. The party which at
the landing consisted of seventy or more, was
fast falling, and yet no serious loss had
occurred to the whites, when suddenly the
tables were turned and a new feature added to
the bloody picture. Old Mike Havers, who, as
the reader has already learned, had been
ordered to guard against an attack from the
rear, had posted his men most judiciously,
and for several hours had remained, according
to orders, silently listening for tokens of
the Indians' approach. Becoming weary of such
dull work at last, he had borrowed a canteen
from one of his detachment and, the old man
having a confirmed appetite for strong drink,
and having never learned the speculative use
of the compasses (although he was a carpenter
by trade,) had indulged quite too freely in
the ardent draught.
The effect of this had been to put him first
into a drowsy fit which caused a shameful
intermission of his vigilance, then into
profound sleep. The party seeing nothing of
their commander, who had lain down under a
thick bush, supposed he was gone in towards
the river, and when the firing commenced,
having no person to restrain them, each left
his post and hurried to the scene of action.
This disobedience of orders proved highly
disastrous.
A large party of Indians answering the signal
of smoke from the other side, had left their
village to meet their returning comrades and
welcome them home. They had discovered the
scouts under charge of Mike Havers, and as it
were intuitively comprehended the whole plan
of ambuscade. It was too late for them to
remedy it, for just as the chiefs were
consulting how they should warn their
comrades of the impending danger, the noises
at the river side announced that the attack
had been made. But now the faithless scouts
ran in to share the battle, and the whole
Indian party followed close behind. So it
happened in the very height of the confusion
while the attention of the whites was turned
towards the river, more than two hundred
Indians charged upon them in the rear.
An attack of this sort is doubly dangerous to
the attacked party. None are so
overwhelmingly surprised as those who are
engaged in surprising others. Therefore when
the savages, with yells infernal as those of
fiends, and with all the desperation of
vengeance hurled themselves into the strife,
the first impulse of the rangers was to rush
to the boats, regardless of honor or
commands. The company sent to secure the
Indian canoes behaved manfully enough. They
had not shared the consternation of their
friends upon the shore, and they busied
themselves in picking up those who had jumped
into the river and saved many from drowning.
But of the larger number, who ran like
cowards to the boats, many were overtaken and
killed; the rest pushed off from shore nor
stopped to enquire as to the issue of the
battle until they reached the opposite side.
Capt. Carnarson who had exerted himself to
stay the dastards, remained with three or
four others, bravely contending against a
hundred of the foe. But the strife was too
unequal. Their weapons were dashed from their
hands and all of them made prisoners. Within
twenty minutes after this catastrophe, all
was over. The wounded whites had been killed
and scalped, and their corpses thrown into
the river. The bodies of the Indians both
living and dead, were placed upon litters
made of the sapling trees and carried inland.
A faint sound from the other side met the
ears of the despairing captives as they were
driven along that warpath with their arms
bound painfully behind them, to meet a
certain death.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The various scenes connected with Indian life
have been too frequently described in history
and fiction to call for the aid of our pen.
It is known that only one door of escape was
ever opened to a prisoner, that was the
possibility of his being selected by some
parent who had lost a son in battle and who
claimed to adopt him in the place of the
dead. But no such door was opened to any one
of the four who stood bound to stakes at
sunrise the next morning, awaiting the signal
to die.
In the center stood Robert Carnarson. The
loss of blood from severe cuts, the loss of
sleep, and the inexpressible horrors of his
condition had made deep marks upon his
youthful countenance through the lingering
hours of the past night; but his heart was
yet strong and he felt that he could even die
as became a man who professed fortitude to be
one of his cardinal virtues.
His thoughts were not there in that Indian
village though hundreds yelled around him,
and burned to feast their eyes with his dying
agonies. They were with her whose soft hand
had thrilled in his; whose pure kiss of
betrothal had blessed his lip; who was even
then anticipating his speedy return. Then
they comprehended her, the aged mother - for
he was the only son of his mother and she a
widow, - and he felt as he recollected her
motherly trust that her pillar of strength
was about to be broken, and that her gray
hairs would soon go down with sorrow to the
grave.
On his right hand stood the unwearied,
faithful, ingenious Tim. He had lost his good
right arm, skilled in all the mechanism of
man's hand, by the stroke of the tomahawk,
and the great flow of blood therefrom had
enfeebled him and left his countenance pale
as the lambskin. But his spirits were
buoyant, his voice was steady and he made his
remarks upon the scenes and circumstances
around him with as much unconcern as though
he was but a visiter to the awful drama about
to be acted. The manner in which the Indians
kindled their fire by rubbing pieces of wood
together; the complicated knots tied in the
hickory bark that fastened him to the stake;
the symbolic representations made by paint
streaks on their naked bodies; the songs,-
these and many other things aroused his
curiosity and afforded him a fund of
improvement.
The other two captives were strong men, and
had been engaged in many a dangerous combat,
but they were totally unmanned now. They
could have met death at the rifle's mouth
unflinchingly; nay even the disgraceful cord
would not have presented overwhelming terrors
to them, but the burning, the burning alive,
and the untold tortues that were to precede
even the first application of fire-these were
the things that shook them, and big tears
fell upon the ground at their feet as they
shudderingly contemplated their fate.
The large number of scalps gained in the
campaign and those won on the preceding
night, were now brought forward suspended
upon cedar boughs, and were shaken
triumphantly in the faces of the prisoners.
They were of all sizes, of both sexes of all
hues, from the scanty golden hairs of the
precious one torn from its mother's breast,
to the frosty locks that had flowed honorably
over the brows of age. This cruel act
elicited fresh groans from the two mourners,
a severe look from Robert, and a remark from
Tim that "the bloody things were villainously
mangled in the scalping."
A dance was now performed, such as might
fitly have accompanied the vile orgies of
Baal Peor, during which every sentiment of
native ferocity, obscenity, and hatred that
the heart of man can express by words and
gestures, was introduced.
And now the tortures commenced. We will not
harrow up sensitive feelings by relating
them. When a mere boy we expressed our
opinion that such details are only calculated
to harden readers' hearts, and the
observation of maturer years but confirms us
in the belief. Let it suffice to say that the
two strong men whose tears and terrors
pointed them out to the delighted savages as
proper objects for an ingenuity of torture,
died at last. They died, after every imagined
means of inflicting pain had been exhausted;
after the sensitiveness of human nerves had
been so blunted by knife, pincers, and fire,
that the victim could stand up and look
calmly on and see his own frame dissected
limb by limb as a piece of machinery in which
he felt no longer an interest. They died; and
now the unwearied savages turned to the other
two.
"Sure enough, Bob, it's our turn now and no
mistake," observed Tim, to his companion. "
Now's the time to brace up, for the storm's
coming. This fire is like to be as bad on us
as the Great Limekiln ** was to the Jews. You
see a man can bear anything when he has got
to. Them fellows who took it so hard at first
found they could stand it. Let's take it,
Bob, just like a dose of medicine. Death has
been grappled with before, and you and I know
that we must all die some time."
"Yes, my dear brother," responded his friend,
this is no new lesson to us, but don't
forget, Tim, the assurances we also have,
that these bodies shall live again. The
savages may torture us and they may dismember
us as they have done these poor fellows, and
our ashes may be scattered to the four winds,
but the All-Seeing Eye shall behold them, the
power of God shall collect them together
again, and the Lion of the tribe of Judah
shall prevail to raise them from the dead in
a more perfect pattern than now."
"Bob," enquired Tim with an anxious look,
"do
you really think those painted devils have
the same expectations of a future state that
we have? Can it be that the great Architect
of the Universe, whose workmanship is here
displaying such miserable evidences of an
immortal soul within them, can it be that he
will admit them into the grand lodge above.
Where and when are they to be prepared in
heart? Fact is, Bob, I am getting dismal. My
arm pains me so that I can hardly stand. I
shall turn coward if I don't do something to
strengthen my nerves. Let's sing a funeral
song such as we last chimed around poor Aleck
Baldridge. These Indians will give us some
credit for it at all events. Join me, Bob,"
and then the brave fellow led off in a bold
manly voice the funeral hymn so often sung by
the Masons at Catesby, and Robert Carnarson
added a cheerful voice to the words.
MASONIC FUNERAL SONG.***
Wreath the mourning badge around -
Brothers pause! a funeral sound!
Where the parted had his home,
Meet and bear him to the tomb.
While they journey, weeping, slow,
Silent, thoughtful let us go:
Silent - life to him is sealed:
Thoughtful - death to him's revealed.
How his life-path has been trod,
Brothers, leave we unto God!
Friendship's mantle, love and faith,
Lend sweet fragrance e'en to death
Here amidst the things that sleep,
Let him rest, - his grave is deep;
Death has triumphed; loving hands,
Cannot raise him from his bands.
But the emblems that we shower,
Tell us there's a mightier power,
O'er the strength of death and hell,
Judah's Lion shall prevail.
Dust to dust, the dark decree -
Soul to God, the soul is free:
Leave him with the lowly slain -
Brothers, we shall meet again!
While these notes of mortality were ringing
through the forests and comforting the death-
doomed by their symbolic cheer, the Indians
stood by in profound silence, neither
interrupting or seemingly impatient for the
end. On the contrary their ferocious looks
assumed an expression of delighted
astonishment, and when the song was finished
a murmur of approval went through the crowd.
The white man's deathsong, albeit the words
were not understood, was supposed by the
savages to contain a synopsis of the events
of his life and the hopes connected with his
future state. Such are the leading sentiments
in the death-song of an Indian warrior.
One of the tormentors, the burly savage who
had been the most active in torturing the two
prisoners just deceased, now stepped up to
Tim, laid his tomahawk on the top of his
head, shook him warmly by his remaining hand,
uttered some words that seemed to express
approbation of his heroism, and then brained
him at single blow. The act, though
unexpected and horrible in itself, was
nevertheless done in kindness as a mark of
the popular sentiment in his favor.
A short time was spent in mangling the
remains of the poor fellow, and then the
whole group closed around Robert Carnarson,
the last of the doomed.
One silent prayer for strength; one sigh for
the absent, a pledge of love and duty; one
hopeful thought of sins forgiven and a better
world soon to be opened to him by faith in
the Redeemer, and Robert resigned himself to
death.
It had been resolved upon by his tormentors
that he should suffer only by fire. Large
piles of brushwood, both green and dry, were
therefore collected and heaped around him.
The ends of dry stakes were sharpened and
thrust among the coals to be used as brands
for the burning.
The clothing was torn off from his lower
limbs, that his flesh might be exposed to
every degree of heat, and the last act of the
drama commenced.
Already the flames were scorching his feet;
his breath was already drawing fast and hard
in the rarified atmosphere; a roaring sound
produced by a flow of blood to the head was
in his ears, and like the Saviour amidst the
fever of the Cross, the poor captive moaned,
I thirst. Death impended, and the soul was
pluming itself to wing its flight amidst
savage yells and crackling flames, when a
loud shout from the whole body of Indians and
the removal of the burning brushwood,
announced some change of plan on the part of
the foe.
The rush of cooler air revived Robert; he
breathed more freely and opened his eyes.
Before him stood an Indian chief. He was
dressed in all the gaudy tinselry of
barbarian taste, while streaks of paint
inelegantly arranged, made his countenance
both hideous and ludicrous. Upon his broad
chest was suspended by a leather thong, a
massive gold medal, from which gazed out the
gross unmeaning features of one of the
Georges, King of England.
There was an expression in his eye and a
dignity in his bearing and royal voice that
spoke of a man born to rule. The chief gazed
into the eye of Robert Carnarson, and as the
pinioned white man returned him
unflinchingly, glance for glance, he nodded
kindly to him, and called out in broken
English, "Good, good, white man brave-white
man burn!" Then turning off, he signed to the
tormentors to proceed with their task. But
ere he had withdrawn, the light of the
blazing furze which had been brought up to
rekindle the pile, glanced full upon the
breastpin before spoken of, which Robert had
worn in his bosom.
The jewel had been hidden in the arrangement
of his garments until that instant, so that
the savages had altogether overlooked it. But
as soon as the chief beheld it he turned back
with an air of curiosity and laid his hand on
it. What was the surprise of Robert to see
him as he beheld the symbolic square and
compass, suddenly change his proud fierce
look to that of a gentle smile; and then,
strangest of all, to make a sign known only
to those who have received the intellectual
treasures of Freemasonry. **** Fettered as he
was by his bonds, Robert could only respond
to his fraternal salutation by words, -by
words well understood however to him who
heard them. Ordering the other savages to a
respectful distance, the chief then proceeded
to unclasp the breastpin and examine it more
closely. New hopes of life now filled the
heart of the doomed man, and reaching out his
hand as well as his condition permitted him,
he took the jewel from the savage, pressed
the concealed spring and exhibited the double
triangle, emblem of the Royal Arch degree.
That also was understood and a new tie was
established between the parties.
It was but the work of a moment now to cut
the green withes that had bound Robert to the
stake, and then right through the center of
the tribe passed the chieftain with his
brother Mason, while a low murmur of broder,
broder, was heard from the crowd. This
release, however it might have disappointed
the savages, was received with perfect
deference to the will of their chief, and so
the life of Robert Carnarson was preserved.
In a retired wigwam the two Masons sat,
unable to speak the language of each other,
but each expert in that universal language
which clearly conveys the sentiments of
Brotherly Love, Relief, and Truth, and
teaches the primary virtues of Temperance,
Fortitude, Prudence, and Justice; and there
they remained together without intrusion
until the sun went down. But what was said,
and what was promised, and what was done, is
it not recorded on the pages of Masons'
hearts!
The last rays of the setting luminary
glittered on that Masonic breastpin, as
Robert clasped it in the chieftain's mantle,
and left it there as a pledge to be redeemed
some future day.
About dusk a tremendous shout was heard in
the camp, a rush was made by old and young to
the torturing post, and another prisoner was
announced. This was no other than Soc rates
Ely, A. M., who had escaped the night before
by creeping into a hollow log, where he might
easily have remained undiscovered, but for
want of discretion in concealing his legs,
and in controlling a remarkably loud snore
which he indulged in while asleep. Around his
neck the savages had tied his beloved Homer,
companion in all his misfortunes.
Ely was bound hurriedly to the stake, and the
pincers, and the sharp instruments, and the
blistering flames were all made ready for his
torture, when a communication between those
Mason-brothers led to his release. Then the
rude wigwam witnessed a reunion between
friends and an acknowledgment of favors
received that angels might have beheld with
delight.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
We will not weary our readers with further
accounts of brotherly kindness; their speedy
restoration to their friends may be
conjectured. Then followed the happiness of
many parties at the unexpected return; weeds
of mourning were thrown off, and the fatted
calf was killed. The union between Robert and
Josephine was not long delayed, and thus the
second degree of Love's mysteries was happily
consummated amidst the heartiest good wishes
of all who knew them. In due time the third
was announced in the birth of a lovely child,
and when last we visited Catesby we heard
General Carnarson, now an old gentleman of
sixty-five years, declaring to his wife
Josephine, a silver-haired lady only six
years younger than himself, that Tim, the
rogue, their grandchild, had been putting
snuff in Mr. Ely's coffee, and he was afraid
he should be compelled to give the darling a
gentle castigation.
In the graveyard amongst old dilapidated
monuments and neglected tombs is one, always
in good repair, a path deeply marked around
it by visitors' feet, in the pattern of a
broken column on the shaft of which lies an
open book. Poor Tim! your body may be
scattered amongst the unnamed ashes of that
sacrificial spot, your spirit may have soared
aloft on the sentiments of that hopeful hymn,
but your virtues and your genius are
indelibly written upon our memories. Peace to
your ashes! May this feeble effort to
delineate your character not fail of its
reward.
One incident further we will add. About five
years after the rescue we have recorded, a
strong and noble-looking Indian entered the
settlements, now at peace, enquiring for
Robert Carnarson. It was the Mason-chief who
had come to restore to his brother the
breastpin, the pledge of that fearful day.
Much fraternal attention was paid him both
within and out of the Lodge, and when he
retraced his path to Canada, a large gold
medal was presented him on behalf of the
Masonic body, inscribed with befitting
symbols, and with these appropriate words:
BROTHERLY LOVE, RELIEF, AND TRUTH.
* By none more worthily than by Bro. Geo. C.
Furber, late of Germantown, Tenn., now of
California, in his excellent work, "The
Twelve Months' Voluteer."
** The great limekila refers to the
conflagration of King Solomon's Temple which
was composed in part of marble or limestone.
*** AIR, "Pleyd's Hymn.
**** It is well known that many of the Indian
chiefs in the pay of Great Britain were made
Masons in the military lodges connected with
the English regiments.
POTS
Masonry is one of the most sublime and perfect
institutions that ever
was formed for the advancement of happiness and general
good of mankind;
creating, in all its varieties, universal benevolence and
brotherly love.
It holds out allurements so captivating as to inspire the
Brotherhood with emulation to
deeds of glory, such as must command, throughout the
world, veneration and
applause, and such as must entitle those who perform them
to dignity and
respect. It teaches us those useful, wise and instructive
doctrines upon which
alone true happiness is founded; and at the same time
affords those easy paths
by which we attain the rewards of virtue; it teaches us
the duties which we
owe to our neighbor, never to injure him in any one
situation, but to conduct
ourselves with justice and impartiality; it bids us not to
divulge the mystery to the
public, and it orders us to be true to our trust, and
above all meanness and
dissimulation, and in all our vocations to perform
religiously that which we ought to do
- DUKE OF SUSSEX.
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