# Seth Jones/Chapter 4
### CHAPTER IV. THE LOST HOME AND A FOUND FRIEND.

It was on the morning of the day which we have just seen close. As will be remembered the air was clear and the day one of the most beautiful and pleasant of the year. The air was perfectly still, and had that peculiar, bracing sharpness, which is only felt when it is in a perfect state of rest. It was such a morning as would make every healthy person feel that to merely live was pleasure.
That part of the State of New York in which the first scenes of this life drama are laid, was a country at this time cut up and diversified by numerous streams—the greater number of comparatively small size, but a few of considerable magnitude. Skirting and between these were thousands of acres of thick luxuriant forest, while in some places were plains of great extent entirely devoid of timber.
It was about the middle of the day referred to, that a single horseman was slowly skirting one of these open patches of country, a few miles distant from Haverland's home. A mere glance would have shown that he had come a great distance, and both he and the animal he bestrode were jaded and well-nigh worn out. He was a young man, some twenty or twenty-five years of age, attired in the costume of a hunter; and, although fatigued with his long ride, the watchfulness of his motions would have shown any one that he was no stranger to frontier life. He was rather prepossessing in appearance—had fine dark eyes, curly hair and whiskers, an expressive Roman nose, and small and finely formed mouth. In front, a long polished rifle rested across the saddle ready for use at a second's warning. His horse's sides were steaming and foamy, and the animal made his way along with painfully evident weariness.
As the day waned, the traveler looked about him with more interest and eagerness. He carefully examined the streams he ​crossed, and the pieces of woods, as though searching for some landmark or habitation. At length he manifested a pleasure in what he saw, as though the signs were as he wished, and hurried the lagging steps of his animal.
"Yes," said he to himself, "the woodman's house can not be far from this. I remember this stream, and that wood yonder. I shall then be able to reach it by night. Come, my good horse, go ahead with better spirits, for you are near your journey's end."
A short time after, he crossed a small stream that dashed and foamed over its rocky bed, and entered the broad tract which led to the clearing in front of Haverland's door. But although he had a tolerably correct idea of his situation, he had sadly miscalculated the distance. It was already dusk when he struck the stream several miles above where we have seen the fugitives take it. This river, or creek, he knew led directly by the cabin he was seeking, and he determined to keep it until he had reached his destination. His progress was now quite tardy, from being often obliged to pass around the thick undergrowth which lined the river; and, when he reached a point that he knew was a mile distant from Haverland's cabin, it was far in the night.
"Come, my good horse, we have had a longer tramp than expected, but we are now very near the termination of our journey. Heigh! what does that mean?"
The last exclamation, or question, was caused by seeing directly ahead of him, a bright lurid glare shot high into the heavens.
"Can it be that the woodman's house is fired? Impossible! and yet that is the precise spot. Heavens! something is wrong!"
Agitated by strong and painful emotions, Everard Graham (such was his name) now hurried his horse toward the spot from which the light emanated. In a short time he had proceeded as far as he dared with his horse, then dismounting, he tied him, and made his way cautiously forward on foot. The light was so strong that he found it necessary to pick his way with the greatest care.
A few moments sufficed to show him all.
He saw the house of Haverland, the one in which he ​expected to pass the night, but one mass of flame. And around it were a score of dark forms, leaping and dancing, and appearing in the ghastly light, like fiends in a ghostly revel.
Graham stood a moment spell-bound with horror and amazement. He expected to see the reeking bodies of Haverland and his family, or hear their groans of agony; but, as he continued gazing, he became convinced that they were either slain or had escaped, as there were no signs of their presence. He could not think they had escaped, and was compelled to believe they had been tomahawked, and had perished in the flames.
It was a ghastly and almost unearthly sight—the small cabin, crackling and roaring in one mass of living flame, throwing strange shadows across the clearing, and lighting up the edges of the forest with a brightness almost as great as the sun at noonday—the score of dusky beings, leaping and shouting in wild exultation, and the vast wilderness, shutting down like an ocean of darkness around.
Gradually the flames lessened, and the woods seemed to retreat into the gloom; the shouts of the savages ceased, and they too, disappeared; and the building, which hitherto was a mass of crackling fire, was now a heap of slumbering coals and embers, which glowed with a hot redness in the darkness.
An hour or two afterward, a shadowy form could have been seen gliding stealthily and silently around the glowing ruins. He appeared like a specter as seen by the reflected light of the slumbering coals, or might have been taken for the shadow of some ruin of the building. At intervals, he paused and listened, as though he half expected to hear the footfall of some one, and then again continued his ghostly march around the ruins. Several times he stopped and peered into the embers, as though he supposed the whitened bones of some human being would greet his vision, and then he recoiled and stood as if in deep and painful thought. It was Everard Graham, searching for the remains of Haverland and his family.
"I see nothing," he said musingly, "and it may be that they have escaped, or perhaps their bodies are now cooking in that heap of coals, and yet something tells me that they are not. And if it is not thus, what can have become of them? ​How could they have eluded the malignant vengeance of their savage foes? Who could have warned them? Ah, me! in spite of the unaccountable hope which I feel, my own sense tells me, that there are no grounds for it. Sad is the fate of the unprotected at this time."
"Fact, by gracious!"
Graham started as though he had been shot, and gazed around. A few yards off he could just discover the outlines of a man, standing as if he were contemplating himself.
"And who are you?" he asked, "that appears upon this spot at such a time?"
"I am Seth Jones, from New Hampshire. Who mought be you that happens down in these parts at this pertickler time?"
"Who am I? I am Everard Graham, a friend of the man whose house is in ruins, and who, I fear, has been slaughtered with his family."
"Exactly so; but don't speak so loud. There mought be others about, you know. Jist let's step back here where 'taint likely we'll be obsarved."
The speaker retreated into the darkness, while Graham followed him. At first he had had some slight misgivings, but the tones and voice of the stranger reassured him, and he followed him without distrust or hesitation.
"You say you're a friend of Haverland's, eh?" asked Seth in a whisper.
"I am, sir; I was acquainted with him before he moved out in these parts. He was an intimate friend of my father's, and I promised to pay him a visit as soon as I could possibly do so, and I am here for that purpose."
"Jest so, but you took a rayther ticklish time for it, I reckon."
"So it seems; but, if I wished to wait till it would be perfectly safe, I am afraid my visit would never be made."
"Fact, by gracious!"
"But allow me to ask whether you know any thing of the family?"
"I reckon that, perhaps, it mought be possible I do, seeing as how I've been around these times."
"Are they slain, or captives?"
​"Neyther."
"Is it possible they have escaped?"
"Jest so, I helped 'em off myself."
"Thank heaven ! Where are they?"
"Down the river at one of the settlements."
"How far distant is it?"
"A dozen miles, p'raps, though it mought be more, and then agin it mightn't."
"Well, let us then hasten to them, or, let me at least, as I have nothing to detain me here."
"I'm willing," said Seth, moving forward, "but I forgot to tell you the darter's 'mong the Indians, I didn't think of that."
Graham started, for, perhaps, the shrewd reader has already suspected he had more than a passing interest in the fate of Ina. Visions of a fair childish face had haunted him, and his perilous journey was owing much to their enchantment. He had played with her in childhood, and while they were yet children, they had separated; but they had pledged their hearts to each other, and looked hopefully forward to a reunion in later years. Graham had dreamed of this meeting a long time; and, now that it was so cruelly thwarted, he felt agonized indeed. Years before, when still a boy, although quite a large one, he had visited this section, and the memory of that visit had ever been a bright dream in the past. He mastered his emotion in a moment, with a strong effort, and asked his companion calmly—
"What tribe has captured Ina?"
"Them infarnal Mohawks, I believe."
"How long ago did it occur?"
"Only a few hours, as you can see by them coals there."
"Will you be kind enough to give me the particulars?"
"Sartinly."
And thereupon, Seth proceeded to narrate the incidents given in the preceding chapter, adding, however, that the parents and sister were safe. He had accompanied them himself down to the settlement mentioned, where, leaving them he had made all haste back again, and had arrived just in time to meet Graham. At first he said he mistook him for a savage, and as he was alone, he came very near shooting him; ​but, as he heard him communing with himself, he discovered at once that he was a white man.
"And what has brought you back here?" asked Graham, when he had finished.
"That's a pooty question to ax me, I swow! What has brought me back here? Why, the same thing, I cac'late as has brought you—to find out what is to be found out 'bout Ina, that purty darter."
"Ah—pardon me, friend, I am glad to hear it, and I am free to confess that that inducement has had more in bringing me here than any thing else. From your starting alone to rescue her, I presume you entertained hopes of recovering her, and, as you, alone, entertained such hopes, I judge there is greater room for them, when another one joins you."
"Did I say, stranger, I 'spected to git that gal again?" asked Seth in a low tone.
"You did not say so in words, it is true; but from what you said, I judged such was your intention. Was I mistaken?"
"No, sir; that's what I meant."
"I see no reason why we should not be friends, as we are both actuated by a desire to rescue an unfortunate one from the horrors of Indian captivity, and I trust, without that fact, we would find nothing distasteful in each other."
"Them's my sentiments, 'zactly. Give us your hand."
The two closed hands with a true friendly grip, and could each have seen the other's face in the darkness, he would have beheld a radiant expression of friendship. They then retired further into the wood and continued the conversation.
We may remark in this place, that the Indians who had captured Ina, were, as Seth had remarked, members of the Mohawk tribe. This tribe itself, was a member of the "Five Nations," including with them, the Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, and Oneida tribes, which have become quite famous in history. They are known among the French as the Iroquois, and among the Dutch as Maquas, while at home they are called the Mingoes, or Agamuschim, signifying the United People. The Mohawks, or Wabingi, first existed separately and alone. The Oneidas then joined them, and these in turn, were followed by the Onondagas, Senecas, and Cayugas. In the beginning of the last century, the Tuscaroras of the South, ​joined them, after which time they took the name of the Six Nations, although to this day, they are also known as the Five Nations. Of course, they were all united, and war made up on one tribe, was made upon all. They were truly a formidable confederation, and the Revolution testifies to what deeds they were sufficient when instigated by our enemies. During the predatory warfare which long existed upon the Old Frontier, the white settlers relied mainly upon stratagem to outwit their foes, and it was by this means alone, that Seth Jones hoped to rescue Ina from their hands.