In plain clothes, without letters or despatches but well supplied with funds, Corporal Bond was chosen by Sir George to accompany Latimer and his wife on the first trip of the Bumble Bee. The order was to go no farther than was necessary, but to purchase provisions from the settlers living along the shore of the lake; and to return with the proceeds to the fort with all possible speed. This was outside of the ordinary scene of conflict, and the trip could be accomplished, Latimer declared, with safety.

Mrs. Bond, accustomed to the vicissitudes of military life, took the parting from her husband philosophically. She was proud of his selection for the trust, and hoping for his early return wished him God-speed, almost without a tear.

Perhaps of the two women, Helen was the sorrier. She betrayed more feeling, and with much reluctance parted with her old nurse again. When the women were so few, the absence of one, particularly this one, seemed like a desolation to her.

"I shall soon be back again," said Mrs. Latimer, as Helen wrung her hand. "So do not worry, child." She was thinking of the London days of long ago, when she nursed her and carried her so often on her shoulders.

"I wonder if she'll ever come back or is this the last I'll see of her?" was Helen's thought as she brushed away a tear.

The little brig spread its canvas, and by the darkening was speeding outside the harbor into the open lake.

A day or two later preparations were completed to forward official despatches and letters overland to Little York—the party to consist of Nenimkee, one of his Indians and two men of the regiment; and by arrangement the chief reported himself at Sir George's quarters, the evening previous to their departure, to receive final instructions.

The sun had just set among pillars of sapphire and gold. The day had been hot but the leaves were rustling upon the trees, for a gentle coolness was coming. Still the mosquitoes were too many to be blown away, and a smoke fire helped to nullify their ardor. Around it Sir George and his officers seated themselves to await the arrival of the chief.

Nenimkee was a typical Indian—tall, middle-aged, with high cheek bones and restless black eyes. To do honor to the occasion and his mission he dressed in native costume that night with wampum belt, girdle, tomahawk and knife.

"Glad to see you," said Sir George, extending his hand. "These are my officers, and this is Big Thunder, Chief of the Ojibways—one of his Gracious Majesty's most loyal chiefs."

Gravely and silently the Indian shook hands with the men as they rose. Then he seated himself on a block by Sir George's side, and Lieutenant Manning handed him a pipe well filled with tobacco. The smoking was general and for some moments there was silence.

"Good tobacco," was Nenimkee's first comment.

"Yes," said the Colonel. "We always give the best to our friends."

"Nenimkee take some on his journey?" were his next words.

"Yes, you shall."

"White chief good—always good to Indians."

"Thank you, Nenimkee," said Sir George. "Are you long back from the war path?"

"Seven moons," was the answer. The Indian shrugged his shoulders and for some moments again there was silence.

"Tell us about it," said the Colonel.

"Does Sir George want to know how the English were beaten, and driven back, and the Indian Prince and his men slain?" Big Thunder asked with flashing eyes.

"Yes," said Sir George. "The story must be a sad one. The English soldier does not like to hear of being beaten, but if true it is better for him to know it."

"And tell you about Tecumseh, and how Tecumseh fell?"

"Yes. Tell it all."

For some moments the Indian pulled vigorously at his pipe, and the men around the fire could hear his heavy breathing, as he drew in the fumes of the tobacco, and expelled them with every breath through his distended nostrils.

The last rays of the setting sun had disappeared, the wind had ceased, and the air was silent again, save for the croak of the lake frogs and the twang of a whip-poor-will in a neighboring tree. By-and-bye the Indian laid his pipe to one side, and fixing his eye on a bright star in the west far above the horizon, he commenced his story:

"The Ojibways are of the Algonquin race," he said; "a people that roamed, before the white man came, from the rising to the setting sun. I will not tell you of our wars with the Iroquois and Hurons, and with the people of the Great Father—which made the number of our braves less and less, and our women so few that you could count them like tassels on a little field of corn. But twenty moons ago, war sprang up from a little cloud no bigger than a man's hand; and the people to the south of the lakes dug up the hatchet and hurled it against the white men and the red men of the north. So the Indians in council buried the hatchet among themselves, and chose Tecumseh, the greatest warrior of the six nations, to be their chief, and swore by the Great Spirit, that they would stand side by side with their white brothers. Then it was that Algonquins and Hurons and Iroquois united as they never did before; and with the pale face Britons fought the common foe.

"Tecumseh led three thousand Indians to the fight, while White Chief Proctor led the British. For a while the enemy was driven back, their warriors fell by hundreds, and many of their scalps hung at the belts of Indian braves.

"Then the foe got mad and gathering more men together drove our people back to Amherstburg, where we fought them to the teeth. But the Great Spirit forgot that we were his people—our day turned into night—our victories into mourning. The Great Father's warships melted like snow beneath the sun, and American cannons mowed down our men like grass."

The Indian was growing excited. He sat erect, with hands gripping the block beneath him, and eyes fixed afar off as if in a vision.

"Did I say the Yankees whipped the English?" he commenced again in hollow tones, forgetful of everything but the graphic outlines of his terrible story. "Yes, but the big white chief was a coward and a squaw, or it would not have happened. Tecumseh said so, and Tecumseh never lied. Nenimkee stood by him when the news came that all the captains and half the men on the lakes were dead, and the ships gone to the bottom. Then the Great Chief's heart shed drops of blood in anguish, but his eyes were dry, for an Indian never drops a tear.

"For a time the war-whoop was over. White men and red men fled back to the woods. Night and day they tramped through the forest back from the lake and on by the river. But the Yankees were after them, and scorning to die like dogs the Indians turned to meet their foe. Although the coward Proctor forsook him, Tecumseh shouted the war-whoop of the nations, and surrounded by his warriors with their tomahawks, met the horsemen from the south. Man after man did Tecumseh slay. Covered with blood and his body full of bullets he sprang at last upon Chief Johnson, the Yankee foe, and dragged him to the ground. Then he drew his knife to strike him to the heart—but it was too late—he had gone to the spirit land and half his warriors went with him."

"This is horrible!" exclaimed Sir George with a strong effort at self-control, for excitement was depicted upon every face. "I knew nothing of it. Not a word has reached me. But it is terrible to lose so brave a chief as Tecumseh."

"There was no one like Tecumseh," continued Nenimkee in tones like the thrilling blast of distant thunder. "No arm so strong, no eye so true, no heart so soft when his little ones and his Laughing Fawn were with him. His bullet went straight to the bull's eye, and his arrow to the heart of the moose. His tomahawk never wavered, but as lightning from the eagle's eyrie strikes the tepee of the Indian, so his axe cleaved the skulls of his enemies, while his knife spilled their life blood at his feet. Now it is all over, and while the red man's blood cries for vengeance, his heart bleeds for his chief."

"How did you escape when so many were slain around you?" asked the Colonel.

"The sun went down as Tecumseh's war-whoop ended and Nenimkee led his warriors deeper into the woods."

"Did you lose many men?"

"Forty braves went—only twenty came back."

"You did not join the troops again?"

"What use? All is quiet in winter. The Ojibways went straight to their wigwams."

"Do you know how the war goes this year?"

"Only that the fight is toward the rising sun."

"You will bring more news when you return?"

"It will not take many days," said the Indian. "But the woods are thick, the rocks many, and part of the way there is no trail."

"Still you will find the nearest road?"

"Does the crow fly crooked, or the nighthawk backward?" Big Thunder asked, sedately resuming his pipe.

"Nor does the Indian forget his cunning, nor the white man to reward his friend," said the Colonel, gravely. "You are going on the business of the Great Father, and he will expect his red brother of the forest to do his best."

"It is well. We will go quickly, and blaze the trees on the road, so that a fool, though blindfold, could find his way back again."

"Could not a bridle path be made through the woods to carry provisions overland from Little York to Penetang?" suggested the Chaplain.

"A good idea," returned Sir George. "We need them badly enough, and it will not do at present to depend upon securing supplies by water."

"A good trail can be made, but it will take two or three suns longer," was Nenimkee's comment.

"We will leave it in your hands, then," said Sir George, rising to close the interview.

"The white chief shall be satisfied." With this, Nenimkee left them, and at sunrise on the following morning he started with his party for Little York.