Chapter Seventeen

The Escape

When Jonathan returned to Shawnee Town from the hunt, the village was in an uproar. As he was unpacking the horses, Scar came to him and pulled him aside. “Your white father, brother run away. Braves find father in woods and kill.”

Jonathan stared at the brave. “Your braves killed my father?”

Scar nodded.

“What about Joshua?

“Braves could not find. He ran away, hid his trail.”

Jonathan turned away so Scar would not see the hate in his eyes. He stalked silently into the woods. The fact that his father and brother had left without him was not surprising.  What was surprising to Jonathan was that it was so hurtful. And now Papa was dead. The old familiar hate for Scar rose up in his heart like an awful black tide, but above it all was deep sorrow that he had been left behind, and his Papa was gone forever.

He thought of his father, and tears began to run down his face. Memories of the good days in the Northkill settlement flooded his mind. He sat on a log and wept long and bitterly—for his father, his mother, and his lost brothers and sisters. It was there that White Deer found him. He did not hear her approach until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned with tear-streaked face to look into the eyes of the lovely princess.

“I am sorry for your loss, Black Eagle. I know you are sad. If I can help you…”

Jonathan pulled roughly away from her. “You’re an Indian. You are a savage. You know nothing of what I am feeling so there is nothing you can do. I don’t need you or your help. My father was a weakling who let my mother and my brother and sisters die at the hands of Scar and his men. I hated him for it, but I hate Scar more for killing him. If my father had listened to me then, Scar and his band of murderers would be sleeping the long sleep somewhere in the woods by our farm. Some day I will…” He turned away before he could give away his intentions.

White Deer sighed. “I know you hate all Indians. You fool Scar. He thinks you are his white son but you follow the way of death. I see it in your eyes. One day you will kill Scar. Your brother told me of your desire, and he told me of the God you have forsaken.”

Jonathan whirled around. “Me! Me! I have forsaken God? Where was God when Scar was cutting the scalp from my mother’s head? Where was he when my sisters were being violated and tortured in the woods? No, Princess, I have not forsaken God; God has forsaken me.” Jonathan stepped closer and grabbed the girl roughly by the arm. “If you know that I am going to kill Scar, why have you not told him?”

White Deer’s face went pale and then turned red. She could not look Jonathan in the eye. She tried to pull away, but Jonathan held her in his powerful grip. He stared at her and then a realization dawned on him and he pulled her closer. “So that’s it. You like white men. You like me.” He laughed. “Well, well, Princess, maybe you’ll like this, too.” He dragged her to him and tried to kiss her. She turned away, but his lips found her mouth, and then he was kissing her, his mouth brutal against hers.

Suddenly, White Deer was fighting him with all her strength. She got her arm free and struck him across the mouth. The blow was so powerful that it knocked Jonathan back a step. White Deer reached to her side and then there was a knife in her hand. Her eyes were burning with rage. “I am White Deer, princess of my people. No man has ever touched me like that. I will kill you.” She sprang at him like a mountain lioness, but he was too quick for her. He avoided the strike of the blade and then grabbed her arm and twisted it brutally. The girl cried out and the knife dropped from her hand. Jonathan pulled her close. His arms were so powerful that she could not break his grip. Their faces were inches apart. Then Jonathan kissed her again. White Deer struggled at first. But then Jonathan felt her soften and go limp, and then she was kissing him back with all the fire of a woman in love. He pulled away and pushed her down. She fell heavily and did not try to rise, but hid her face in shame. He looked at her with scorn in his eyes. “No white woman would behave like that. You are just a savage.” Then Jonathan turned and walked away. White deer’s face flushed with rage and humiliation, but she could not push away the memory of his burning kisses. Her heart was still pounding with the love she felt for Jonathan. She lay weeping for a long time and then rose and slowly made her way back to her lodge.

Jonathan’s anger against those who had murdered his father burned deep within his heart. He began to lay his plans carefully. Once the furor over his brother’s escape died down, he fell back into his familiar ways with the braves. He joined the hunting parties, shooting contests and the Indian games. He made himself invaluable in the part he played provisioning the village for the winter. He seemed happy and content because he wished to win the regard of the Indians, but in his secret hours, he cursed the Indians as he formulated his plan of escape. Finally, when fall’s colors were painting the leaves with crimson and gold and the hunting parties were being sent out, Jonathan knew that the time was right. He had laid aside enough supplies for five days journey, and when he joined several braves on a hunt, he was prepared.

The group set out on a bright fall morning. Jonathan carried his long rifle and tomahawk and his bag of supplies. The other Indians were laughing and waving to the maidens as they left the village for they knew that with Jonathan along they would bring back plenty of game and gain great respect among the villagers. They struck out in a westerly direction, heading deep into the wilderness. They were headed for the part of the forest frequented by bears, for bear meat and skins were especially prized among the people.

Bear hunting was dangerous work. When they were preparing to hibernate, the bears crawled into a hole in a tree or a cave in the rocks. It took a skillful tracker to find their signs, but on the second day, the party located a dead, broken-off tree with the scratches of large claws on it and a hole large enough to admit the body of a bear. Gathering around excitedly, the hunters sent the youngest Indian up the tree with a long pole to poke the sleeping bear out of his den. They waited expectantly until they heard the growls of the awakened bear, but the animal refused to come out, so the hunters resorted to fire.

They fastened a dry piece of wood onto the pole, set it on fire, and shoved it down into the den. The maddened beast came out so quickly that one of the braves was unable to get out of the way and fell beneath the sudden onslaught. But before the bear could maul him, the report of a rifle split the air, and the animal fell dead on top of the brave. The Indians looked around in surprise. Jonathan stood calmly reloading his rifle. The Indians whooped and surrounded him, slapping him on the back with approval. Jonathan’s shot had gone right into the eye, killing the bear instantly.

The lad under the bear wriggled out and approached Jonathan with respect. “Black Eagle save life. Owe you debt.”

Jonathan acted nonchalant and slapped the boy on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it Abhay, you would have done the same. Sometime you save me, eh?” The group began skinning the bear. Once they were done, they decided to camp there and continue the hunt in the morning. The next day, Jonathan got up early and told the hunting party he was going to find some elk. Two of the braves wanted to go with him so he was forced to let them come. They headed off into the woods. Jonathan waited until they were far from the camp and then he suddenly turned and with one powerful blow, knocked one of the braves out. He pulled his tomahawk from his belt and advanced on the other brave. The Indian was so startled that he backed away from Jonathan and tripped over a log behind him. As he fell, his rifle discharged. Jonathan felt the impact and then a hot burning in his flesh and blood began to pour from a wound in his shoulder. Jumping over the log, he looked down into the face of one of the braves who had been with Scar the day his mother was murdered. He raised his weapon. “This is for my mother and sisters, you dog.” The tomahawk blade flashed in the sun, the Indian quivered once and then lay still. Then Jonathan turned to the other brave and did the same.

After he scalped the two Indians, Jonathan looked at the wound in his shoulder. The ball had gone clear through him. The place it struck him was high enough on his body that it had not broken any bones or pierced his lung, but it was bleeding heavily. He grabbed up some moss and stuffed it into the hole to staunch the bleeding. Then he tore a piece off the shirt of one of the dead Indians and tied it around his shoulder. When he was bandaged up, he took his bearings from the sun. He was west of the village, a long way from the white settlements and seriously injured.

He pondered his situation for a moment. Then he set off toward the rising sun, heading east.

By the end of the day, Jonathan was weak from loss of blood. He crawled into a thicket and fell fast asleep. All too soon, the rays of the rising sun penetrated his hiding place and woke him. He pulled himself erect and headed east again. For an hour he traveled east, but in his weakened condition, he was not covering as much ground as he had hoped. Around mid-morning, Jonathan heard a noise behind him. Looking back, he saw the rest of the hunting party not more than a quarter of a mile away through the trees. They were on his trail! His heart leaped and then he steeled himself and began to run. Suddenly, he heard a whoop. They had seen him. Jonathan was a swift runner, but he knew that with his wound it would not be long before they would catch him. Looking around, he recognized the part of the forest he was in. Shawnee Town was not far away. He realized he had only one hope. He made his decision and turned toward the village. He ran swiftly but soon he heard the braves close behind. There was a crack from one of the rifles, and he heard a ball whistle past his head.

That has to be Abhay. He’s the only one who can shoot on the run, and he’s a dead shot. He’s deliberately missing!

Then Jonathan saw the main trail that led back to the camp. He ran onto it and headed straight for the heart of the village. He knew right where he was going. Then he saw it—White Deer’s lodge. It was his only hope. With the last strength left in him, he burst through the door of the lodge and fainted, falling face first on the floor at White Deer’s feet. Startled, she jumped up, her face turning pale. She saw the blood stain on Jonathan’s shirt, and her hand flew to her mouth. She grabbed up a gourd of water and splashed some in his face.  Jonathan started to come around. White Deer knelt beside him. “What has happened?”

Just then, the braves who were following Jonathan burst into the lodge, followed by Wingenund and Scar. The leader of the hunting party pointed to Jonathan. “He kill Payat and Shotek, take scalps. He must die.”

Wingenund stepped forward. He pointed to Jonathan. “Let Scar paint his white son’s face black.” Jonathan saw White Deer’s face go pale when she heard her father’s words. Black paint meant torture and death. As Jonathan lay before her, he saw her try to turn her eyes from his face, but she could not. When he had rejected her, he had seen the hatred in her eyes, but from the way she looked at him now, he knew that her love was more powerful. Jonathan looked up at her, his eyes searching hers, his fate in her hands. She made her choice. Her eyes were clear and steadfast as she raised them to her father. She knelt beside Jonathan and took his hand. When she kissed his hand, she expressed a tender humility. Jonathan knew he was saved. White Deer had claimed the unquestionable right of the princess of her people; what no Indian dared refuse a chief’s daughter. She had taken Jonathan for her husband.

Her action was followed by an impressive silence. She remained kneeling. Wingenund shrugged his shoulders and grunted. Scar turned and left the lodge with a gloomy face. The other braves nodded and bowed their heads knowing White Deer’s decree was irrevocable. Wingenund stepped to the door and gave a command. The old sachem, Glickhican, entered the lodge. He stood over the couple and mumbled words in the Lenape language. Then he departed, chanting a long song. White Deer arose and pointed to the door. Her father gave her one long, questioning look and then turned without a word and led the others from the lodge. Jonathan and White Deer were married.