Defending the Island: A story of Bar Harbor in 1758

"I shall walk by your side," the girl said, stoutly. "We will share the danger equally, as you promised."

"You are a good girl, Sue; just the kind that will do a full half of the work of defending the island," and Mark kissed her on the cheek more tenderly than he had ever done before, as one would who was whispering a final good-bye.

"Close in, Luke; we must get back to the house; there's no show of our being able to do anything here," Mark cried to his brother, as he set the example by leading Susan in the direction of the stockade.[6 - This paragraph is accurate to the book: "…there's no show of our being able to do anything here…"]

The canoe came forward more swiftly as the little party of children retreated; but it could be seen that its occupants did not count on approaching within range, and Mark hastened his brother's movements by shouting:

"Run for it, lad! We must be in position behind the fence when the brutes first come within view!"

Then the three went toward the place of refuge at full speed, and behind the gate, having been warned by the report of her cousin's musket, Mary Pemberton stood ready to let down the heavy bar when the little party was near at hand.

The retreat had been begun none too soon, as was seen when the children came within the enclosure, for while Mark was replacing the bar which locked the gate, his mother, standing on one of the improvised platforms, discharged a musket.

"What have you seen?" the lad cried, as, the gate having been fastened, he ran toward that portion of the stockade where was his mother.

"An Indian came out just beyond the dead tree, over there."

"Did you hit him?"

"I'm afraid not, Mark; I never could send a bullet straight, and am now blaming myself for not having practiced more often after your father insisted that the time might come when I would need to handle a musket deftly."

By this time Mark stood by his mother's side, peering cautiously out over the top of the palisade, which was not a simple matter, since he took the risk of presenting the enemy with a target.

He could see nothing suspicious, and was yet peering eagerly around, when the report of a musket rang out on the other side of the stockade.

It was Susan who fired the shot. At the same moment Mark clambered up beside his mother, the girl had taken her station on one of the casks at a point overlooking the thicket, and the result showed that she had arrived there none too soon.

"Did you see an Indian?" Luke asked, as he mounted one of the wash-benches near the gate.

"Ay, and hit him, too!" Susan replied, grimly, as she turned to recharge her weapon; but Mistress Harding took the empty musket from her hands, as she said:

"Your aunt and I cannot shoot as well as you children; but we may, at least, be of service in loading the guns."

From this moment there was little delay in making the assault. Contrary to their custom, the Abenakis pressed forward immediately after the first shot was fired, doubtless hoping to gain an advantage while the defenders were reloading the weapons, and each of the three children fired two shots as rapidly as the muskets could be handed to them.

Three times had a piercing scream followed the report of the weapon, thus telling that an equal number of bullets had hit the targets, and then the savages became more cautious.

Until this moment the Indians had not fired a shot; but now the bullets began to whistle over the heads of those who were exposed to view, as the Abenakis, themselves screened by the bushes, began the real attack.

"Be careful of yourselves!" Mark cried, forgetting to set his companions an example. "Keep down behind the posts as much as possible; we can count on their staying under cover while doing so much shooting!" Then, turning to his mother, he added, "There is no reason why all the children should be out-of-doors, where a stray bullet may find them. Why not order them into the house?"

This Mistress Pemberton did, and when the younger members of the company were in comparative safety, Mark looked anxiously around at his army of two.

Luke was crouching behind the palisade, where a wide crevice between two of the posts afforded him a view of the outside without his being obliged to expose himself, and Susan was leaning against the timbers, only partially sheltered, as she appeared to be tying something around her arm.

"What are you doing, Sue?" Mark cried, in alarm.

"Standing guard here; but just now I can't see anything that looks like an Indian."

"What is the matter with your arm?"

"It's only a scratch," the girl replied, in a matter-of-fact tone. "It bleeds a little, and I've wrapped a piece of my gown around it."

"You're wounded!" Mark cried, and he made as if to jump down from the platform, when Susan said, sharply:

"Stay where you are! Even though I was hurt badly, which I'm not, you have no right to leave the fence unguarded."

Mark stepped back with a certain sense of shame that it had been necessary for Susan to remind him of his duty, and then Mistress Harding went to her daughter's side.

"It is a slight wound on the left arm," the good woman said, after insisting on an examination of the injury. "I will take her to the house while I tie it up properly, and Ellen may stand here in her place."

"But Ellen can't use a musket as well as I, and we're needed here," Susan cried, more concerned lest she be forced to leave her station at the palisade than on account of the wound.

Mistress Harding might have insisted on her daughter's going into the building if at that moment the assault had not been renewed, and during the next ten minutes the defenders were actively employed.

The Indians, profiting by the teachings and example of the Frenchmen, whose allies they were, had divided the force, a portion remaining hidden in the thicket to fire at the children, while the remainder made a rush for the gate, as if believing it might be forced open.

Now it was that the defenders were obliged to move quickly, and it was impossible for them to remain under cover all the while.

"Pour all the fire into those fellows who are coming up with the log!" Mark cried, as half a dozen Abenakis, carrying a heavy tree-trunk, to be used as a battering-ram, made ready to advance at full speed.

This command was obeyed with such good effect that three of the savages fell, and their fellows, dropping the timber, ran to cover with the greatest possible haste.

At the same moment the children fired, the Indians in hiding discharged their weapons, detonations being echoed and reëchoed from mountain to mountain, until it sounded as if a severe engagement was in progress.[7 - The second "e" in the word "reechoed" is a small letter "e" with diaeresis.]

"Any one hurt?" Mark cried, and Susan and Luke replied cheerily in the negative.[8 - The words "any one" appear to be time period usage.]

One of the three Indians wounded while advancing with the tree-trunk succeeded in crawling off to the shelter of the underbrush; but the other two remained where they had fallen.

When, two or three minutes later, an Abenakis darted out from his place of concealment, Mark raised his weapon quickly; but Susan cried, warningly:

"Don't fire! It can do us no harm if they take away the wounded, and it's possible they'll go back to the harbor island, if the injured can be carried off!"

"I'm beginning to think it is you who should be in command here," Mark said, half to himself, as he lowered his weapon. "You've got more sound sense than Luke and I together." Then, raising his voice, he cried, loudly, "Listen, ye Abenakis, whom our fathers have fed when you were hungry, and sheltered when you were cold, but who would murder us now! Take away your wounded, if you are minded to go back to the harbor island, and no one shall harm you while so doing. The white men of Mount Desert have never broken faith with you, nor will we, their children."

Then was done that which proves how much stranger than fiction is truth. The Abenakis, although they had come there to kill or make prisoners the wives and children of those men who had ever been their friends, did not question the faith of the lad when he announced that they might bear off the wounded in safety, but boldly advanced within short range to the aid of their fellows.

"Why do you seek to kill us, who have never done you harm?" Mark cried, when four of the band stood in full view while lifting the wounded from the ground. "Do Indians kill their friends? Do they speak soft words only while the men of the family are at home, being too cowardly to make an attack until the fathers have gone away?"

There was no reply to this speech until the Indians were hidden once more by the bushes, and then a voice cried:

"Give us the cow and two boys. Then we will go away, telling the Frenchmen that all have been killed."

"You shall not have the smallest chicken inside this stockade!" Mark cried, angrily. "And I promise that there shall be few left to report to the cowardly Frenchmen, if you remain here very long. You shall be shot down like dogs, and from this out our squaws will not interfere to let you carry off those who have been crippled!"

While speaking, Mark had unconsciously raised himself to his full height, instead of being partially sheltered by remaining in a crouching position, as during the short fight, and the reply to his words came in the form of bullets, one of which grazed his cheek, raising a red ridge, as if he had been scored by a whip-lash.

Susan and Luke both fired in the direction from which had been seen the flash of the muskets, but no one could say if the missiles thus sent at random took effect.