Kitabı oku: «At War with Pontiac; Or, The Totem of the Bear: A Tale of Redcoat and Redskin», sayfa 15

CHAPTER XXXV
A NIGHT OF FIGHTING AND TERROR

In Fort Detroit the night after that of Gladwyn's dinner party was one of sleeplessness, busy preparation, and intense, though suppressed excitement. The expedition intended for the surprise and destruction of Pontiac's village, and the rescue of the Hesters, was about to set forth under command of Captain Dalzell. As it was believed that the Indians would be less on their guard just before dawn than at any other hour of the night, the line of march was not to be taken up until two o'clock in the morning. At that hour the great gate of the fort was thrown open and the selected troops, two hundred and fifty in number, filed silently out into the intense darkness of the sultry night.

In close order and without the utterance of a word they marched up the river road, the black waters gleaming dimly on their right. Their left was bounded by the white houses of Canadian settlers, with their barns and orchards and cornfields. From these they were saluted by the clamorous barking of watch-dogs, while many a startled face peered anxiously at them from the unshuttered windows. The frightened inhabitants, roused from sleep by the unusual sound of marching troops, were filled with uneasiness, and gathered in little groups by the roadside to question each other and listen to the measured tramping as it was borne faintly back to them on the damp night air.

Besides these there were other figures flitting behind the houses, through the rustling cornfields and from tree to tree of the orchards, as still and dark as shadows, but ever keeping pace with the marching troops, and ever watching them. These were the scouts of Pontiac, without whose knowledge no man had left the gates of Detroit by day or night for more than a year. Out on the water was heard the muffled sound of oars from the two bateaux, each armed with a swivel gun that kept abreast of the troops close to the river bank.

Nearly two miles from the fort, Parent's creek, ever since that memorable night called "Bloody Run," crossed the road at right angles through a rough ravine, and entered the river a short distance below amid a rank growth of sedge and wild rice. It was spanned by a rude wooden bridge and beyond this the bank rose steeply. On its summit were piled stacks of firewood provided for winter's use by the thrifty Canadians; while from it stretched away another series of orchards and fields, enclosed by stout fences. As the dark column of troops struck the bridge, its hollow echoes rang ominously in their ears and a deadly chill seemed to come into the air.

The advanced guard had crossed the bridge and breasted the steep ascent to its summit. The narrow structure behind them was choked by the passage of the main body. All were pressing eagerly forward, anxious to gain the open ground beyond; when suddenly there arose, clear and shrill from the blackness beside them, the terrible war-cry of Pontiac. It was instantly answered by a burst of yells and a blaze of fire from every wood-pile, fence, and tree, behind which the fierce Ottawa warriors had been concealed for hours in anticipation of this moment.

Before that withering fire the advanced guard, leaving half their number dead behind them, staggered back on the main body, and all recoiled together. The little bridge became clogged beyond its capacity with panic-stricken humanity, those in front striving to fly, those in the rear endeavoring to advance, until dozens of dead, wounded, and even of those untouched by bullet were forced over the unrailed sides into the gloomy depths below. If at this moment an attack had been made from the rear, not a man of Dalzell's force would ever have regained Fort Detroit. This was what Pontiac had planned, and, for want of allies whom he could more fully trust, he had consigned this important duty to Mahng and his Ojibwas. Now, amid the roar of battle, he listened with strained ears for the firing that should denote the Ojibwa attack. But no sound came from that direction, and the heart of the great warrior sank within him as he realized that a vital part of his plan had miscarried.

He had scant time for reflection, however, for the brave Dalzell, forcing his way to the front, raised his cheery voice with encouraging shouts, rallied his bewildered men, and led them on a fierce charge up the heights. One more crashing volley was poured into their ranks, but it no longer came as a surprise, and mad with fury the redcoats swept on to the summit. To their amazement, it was as deserted as though no human being had ever trodden its soil. The place from which, a moment before, Indian guns had flashed in their faces, was as silent as the grave. The enemy had vanished in the blackness as though by magic, and unaccustomed to the tactics of forest warfare, the newly arrived troops became filled with a mysterious fear.

Still their leader urged them forward, and the uncertain march was continued for a short distance until it became apparent that the fence lines had been changed, so as to lead them from the road, and that they were involved in a maze of outbuildings and enclosures. As they blindly groped their way, starting nervously at every contact with each other, and becoming each moment more confused, the shrill war-cry was again raised, in their very ears; the guns of an unseen foe again flashed in their faces, and they were furiously attacked from all sides at once. They could not fight back; for if they sprang at the flash of a gun, it was only to find an empty space. A cry arose that they were being surrounded, and in another minute the whole force was in a panic-stricken retreat, rushing pell-mell down the bank and across the bridge which was still held by the rear guard under Captain Grant.

Here Dalzell managed to restore partial order and give his men a certain degree of confidence by ordering the crews of the bateaux, which had come up the creek, to sweep the opposite bank with grape from their swivel guns. Thus the enemy was held in check while such of the wounded as could be found were got into the boats. The moment this task was accomplished the retreat was resumed, while the Indians sprang in pursuit, pouring in a heavy fire from the rear and both flanks. Every now and then the rear guard faced about and delivered a volley at their yelling pursuers, who promptly returned it with interest. Still the way was open to the fort, and no serious fears were entertained that this would not eventually be reached, until, when half the distance was covered, the main body came opposite to a newly dug cellar. In this were concealed a strong force of Indians under Pontiac himself, who had hurried them to this point with the hope of still cutting off the retreat, and making good the previous failure of his plan. The advance was allowed to pass. Then came again the terrible signal-cry of the Ottawa chieftain. With it his warriors delivered such an unexpected and scathing volley that the bewildered troops again broke ranks, and, not knowing which way to fly, huddled together like sheep in their frenzied efforts to escape the hail of bullets.

Dalzell, already twice wounded, threatened his men, pleaded with them, beat them into line with the flat of his sword, and finally rallied them in a charge that cleared the fatal cellar of its yelling inmates. But the moment the retreat was resumed the attack became as fierce and galling as ever. Pontiac distributed his warriors from house to house, stationing them in such advantageous positions that their fire was well-nigh unsupportable, and every rod of the road to safety must be stubbornly contested.

It was now daylight, and through the morning mist the harassed soldiers could see their agile foes darting forward to cut off stragglers, despatch the wounded, or scalp the dead, leaping back, firing, and running to new positions, all the time yelling like so many demons. A strong party opening fire from behind a range of fences, Captain Gray was ordered to dislodge them. He obeyed, and fell mortally wounded at the head of his charging company. The moment his men turned their backs, the active foe rushed to their old position, and their fire became hotter than before.

The retreat was now resolved into a flight, the dead lay where they fell, and the wounded were abandoned to their fate. A sergeant shot through the hips raised himself on his hands and gazed despairingly after the retiring battalion. Dalzell saw him. They had fought together on many a stubborn field, and the commander could not leave his old comrade to perish. He sprang to the rescue of the wounded man, and was lifting him when struck and instantly killed by an Indian bullet. Few saw him fall, and none dared attempt the recovery of his body.

With the death of their gallant leader, the retreating troops became a panic-stricken mob in which every one looked out for himself. Only Grant's little company and Rogers' handful of rangers stood firm, and by occupying house after house as they slowly fell back, protected somewhat the flight of the main body.

The exhausted fugitives were still at a distance from the fort when they were met by an irregular company of traders and their employees, the sole force that Gladwyn dared spare from his slender garrison, under command of Paymaster Bullen. The little man in buckskin displayed such coolness and good judgment, and was so ably supported by his motley following, that from that moment the disastrous retreat was effectively covered. By eight o'clock, or after six hours of marching and fighting, the disorganized remnant of the little army, that had set forth to wipe Pontiac and his red followers from the face of the earth, found themselves, as by a miracle, once more behind the sheltering palisades of the fort, which for many months thereafter they had no desire to leave.

About this time, the Ottawa chieftain who had won this signal victory, returned to his village with so moody a brow, that even his own followers durst not utter their rejoicings in his presence. He had been so confident of destroying Dalzell's entire force and his plans had been so well laid, that to have them miscarry through treachery, aroused his utmost fury. Thus he now proposed to deal with the traitors in such a manner that there would be no chance of their example becoming contagious among the warriors who still acknowledged his authority.

CHAPTER XXXVI
BRAVE DEATH OF THE OLD MAJOR

The evening preceding that night of death and terror was spent quietly and pleasantly, as was their wont, by Edith and Ah-mo in Major Hester's room. It was an unusually happy time, for Ah-mo, having received her father's permission to do so, told them of Donald, his bravery, his wounds, his captivity, the strange manner in which he had been identified by the mark of a totem on his arm, his recovery from illness in the secluded quiet of Pontiac's island, and the glad tidings that, on the morrow, he would be allowed to visit them.

To both Major Hester and Edith the first knowledge that Donald was a prisoner came as a shock, but when they reflected upon the kindness with which they had been treated, and realized, from Ah-mo's account, that the young ensign was regarded with equal favor by Pontiac, they became reconciled to the idea of his captivity, and only anxious to note for themselves his reported recovery from the illness caused by wounds. So they impatiently watched the passing of the hours that brought him nearer to them, and beguiled the time by talking of him. Major Hester told the story of Songa and Mahng, and how the life of the former had been saved by the baby Donald. With infinite zest he recalled the kick with which he had repelled Mahng's attack on the young Ottawa chief, who was now known to all men as Pontiac.

Ah-mo had never before heard of this, and she anxiously wondered if that Mahng could be the same who was now the leader of one of the Ojibwa bands.

But the major was still reminiscing, and describing the brave deed of Songa's beautiful squaw.

"My mother," murmured Ah-mo.

"And more worthy of honor than a queen!" exclaimed the major.

Then he told of their escape from Tawtry House, of Donald's subsequent disappearance, and of the strange mark found on his arm when he was restored to them.

"I soon learned," said the old soldier, "that it was the symbol of a totem, though I never knew why it was tattooed on the child's arm, nor by whom. Perhaps you can tell us of it, Ah-mo. It was something after this fashion."

Here the major drew a sketch of the design on a bit of paper.

"Yes," replied the Indian girl, regarding the sketch, "from this alone could I tell the clan of the warrior wearing it, his standing in the tribe, and who had tattooed the symbol. Even without the sketch I could have told you these things, for I have looked upon the original."

"When?" asked Edith, wonderingly.

"At the time when my father recognized his own handiwork on the arm of a captive."

"You then have seen our Donald and never told us of the meeting, nor what he said, nor anything!" exclaimed the white girl, in a grieved tone.

"I have seen him twice," replied Ah-mo, "but we have never exchanged words, nor do I think he knows who I am. The first time I saw him was shortly after my coming from Montreal, when I was on the river in a canoe with one of my girl friends. He was also in a canoe, but helplessly drifting, having broken his only paddle. I laughed at his predicament and would have let him drift, had not my companion mentioned his name. It was one esteemed by all of Indian blood, and though I knew not whether the young man bore any relation to my father's friend, I determined, for the sake of his name, to help him. We approached him so quietly that he did not hear us, tossed a paddle into his canoe, and were off almost before he knew of our presence. That was one time. The other was but a few weeks since, when I stood with my father and a captive was laid unconscious at our feet. My father knew him not, and but for the totem would never have recognized him."

"What is this totem?" inquired Edith.

"It is that of the Bear, the same to which my father belongs."

"And you, too, and your brothers?"

"No, we belong to our mother's totem, which is that of the Beaver, for no one may belong to the totem of his father."

"And what means the circle of serpents?" asked Major Hester.

"It signifies the magic circle of the Metai, to which none but a brave warrior, who has won the honor by some notable deed, may belong."

"But Donald was a child."

"Was he not by birth a warrior who could be naught but brave? and had he not already, as you have just told, saved the life of a chief of the Metai?" queried Ah-mo.

"True, so he had," asserted the major. "But what is this Metai of which you speak?"

"Being a woman, I know but little of it," answered the Indian girl. "It is a powerful order of much mystery extending over many tribes. It is greatly feared by those who do not belong to it, while those who do will aid each other in any extremity and to the full extent of their powers. In it are many degrees of merit, and he who is its chief must be obeyed by all who acknowledge its authority."

"Why, girl, you are describing free-masonry!" cried the major, who was himself a master-mason. "Have the members of this Metai signs and passwords by which they may recognize each other?"

"They have, but I know them not," replied Ah-mo.

"Of course not, seeing that you are a girl; but Pontiac is certain to know something of this thing, and, if the mighty brotherhood that encircles the world has indeed penetrated the American wilderness, then will we settle this useless war in short order. By the way, Ah-mo, who is the present chief of this magic circle? or is it not known to the uninitiated?"

"It is known to all who care to know," replied the girl, proudly, "for his name is Pontiac, and it is his own mark, which no other may use, that encloses the all-seeing eye of the Metai on your son's arm."

"Whew-w-w," whistled the major, reflectingly. "So that is the secret of Pontiac's wide-spread influence? Well, I must see and question him about it to-morrow. Now, girls, leave me, for it is late, and Ah-mo's revelations have given me much food for thought."

As he kissed his daughter good-night and blessed her, so he also, for the first time, kissed Ah-mo and gave her his blessing, saying that she was becoming as dear to him as an own daughter.

As the two girls crossed the space intervening between Major Hester's quarters and the house in which they slept, Edith wondered that they did not meet any of the guards who were generally so quick to note every movement in that vicinity, especially at night. She was also impressed with Ah-mo's unusual silence and her frequent starts at the little noises made by birds or insects. When they reached their room, the Indian girl sat by the open window, saying that she did not feel like going to bed just yet, and after a while Edith fell asleep leaving her sitting gazing out into the night.

It seemed many hours later when she awoke to find her companion still sitting in the same position. On rising and going to her, she found the Indian girl to be trembling as though with a chill.

"What is it, Ah-mo?" she asked in alarm. "Are you ill, dear?"

As though in answer there came a roar of musketry from a point not far distant, and yells, and shrill cries, and the sharp crack of rifles.

At the sounds Pontiac's daughter sprang up, crying: "It has begun! Oh, my father! my father!"

"What does it mean? Tell me, Ah-mo!" gasped Edith, her voice sunk to a whisper with terror.

"It is a battle," replied the Indian girl, sternly, "between thy people and my people. It is time to dress and be prepared for what may happen."

In a few minutes Edith, fully dressed, declared that she must go to her father, that they might share together whatever danger threatened.

"Whither you go," replied the other, "there must I go also," and so they left the house in company. They heard the old Canadian couple who owned it moving about as they went out, but did not stop to speak to them. As they gained the road, the firing, which had been momentarily silenced, broke out afresh apparently nearer than before. In Major Hester's quarters they saw a dim light, and with clasped hands they started to run toward it.

At that moment a score of dark figures appeared, coming swiftly from the direction of the light. The next instant the girls were surrounded, seized in brawny arms, and borne away, their gasping cries of terror being smothered ere they were fully uttered.

An hour later, in the gray of dawn, two young men came hurrying down the road. "Is that the place, Atoka?" asked one, pointing to the house occupied by Major Hester, in front of which a little group of frightened Canadian peasants were gathered.

His companion nodded assent, whereupon the other exclaimed, "Thank God, there has been no fighting here!" Then he sprang forward, scattering the Canadians, who recoiled in terror at his sudden appearance, and entered the house. In another minute a bitter cry rang from the open windows, and the hearers crossed themselves at the sound.

Donald Hester had discovered his father lying in a pool of blood, from which none had dared lift him, and pierced by a dozen wounds, but still breathing.

"Father! Dear father! Speak to me. It is your own boy, Donald!" cried the youth in pitiful accents, as he raised the prostrate form in his arms. "Tell me, father, who has done this thing."

The dying man opened his eyes, and fixed them full on the face of his son. For a few seconds he gazed on the loved features, and his lips moved as in a blessing, though no sound came from them. Then, with a smile of ineffable sweetness, and a sigh of perfect content, the light faded from the dear eyes, and the spirit of the brave old soldier passed gently from the war-worn body into the fadeless dawn of eternity.

Very tenderly did Donald lift the lifeless body of his father to the humble pallet that had been the soldier's bed for many weeks. Then he sat beside it, keeping motionless watch over his dead, while Atoka stood silently in the doorway guarding the grief of his friend from curious intrusion.