The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

"I have no plea to make for myself, Captain. I have come to ask at your hands the lives of the women and children who are under our protection – to ask you not to betray the most sacred trust that can be given to man. You speak of orders. As I understand it, no time was set for the evacuation of the Fort?"

"We have delayed too long already."

"Suppose the British army was at our gates – would those orders hold good?"

"Sir, you are impertinent!"

"Captain, that medal which Black Partridge returned to you to-night was equivalent to a declaration of war. If you are not willing to act upon your own responsibility, send Captain Wells and his Indians to General Hull to ask for reinforcements. If Captain Wells is not willing to go, I am. I know the provisions have been given to the Indians, but we have the cattle and perhaps enough else to last the garrison two weeks or more. With reinforcements we can hold the Fort against any force that may be brought against it. Captain – let me go!"

"Sir, I have my orders."

"Orders be damned!"

"At West Point," asked the Captain, hoarsely, "were you taught to speak to your superior officer in that way?"

"Captain, I speak to you not as my superior officer, but as man to man. Our force is small, some of our boys are too old to fight, and we have women and children to protect. I ask nothing for myself, nor for men like me – we are soldiers. I plead for the helpless ones under our care. I ask you only to wait, not to disobey. I beg you to save the women and children from torture – from cutting their flesh to ribbons while they still live – from things that one man cannot look another in the face and name."

Franklin turned away, his muscles rigid as steel.

"You have a wife, Captain – a tender, loving, helpless woman. Are you willing to give her to the Indians and let them do as they please with her? Suppose you had a child, just old enough to walk – a little daughter, whose flesh was so soft that you almost feared to touch her – a child who loved you, trusted you, and leaned upon you, knowing that you would risk your life to save her from the slightest hurt. Suppose two thousand Indians in their war-paint were pounding at the gates of the Fort, and the knife and the stake were waiting for their victims – would you stand upon the stockade and throw that child to those beasts?

"That is what you are going to do to-morrow. You will sacrifice your own wife, the wife of every man at the post, and every little child, but it touches you only at one point. In the name of the woman who loves you – in the name of the children who might have called you father – Captain – in God's name – stay!"

The Captain's face was ashen, but his voice was clear. "Sir, I am a soldier – I have my orders!"

With a muttered curse, Ronald flung himself out of the room. He staggered to the parade-ground blindly, gasping with every breath. Then the door opened softly and a white figure, barefooted, came quietly into the room.

"What!" cried the Captain; "you, too?"

Her gown was no whiter than her face, but she came to him steadily. "Wallace," she said, "you are a soldier, and I am a soldier's wife. I could not help hearing what they said. Don't think I blame you – I know you will do what is right. Captain Wells and I will stand by you!"

He took her into his arms, and then a hoarse murmur came to their ears. She started away from him in fear. "What is it?" she cried.

"It's only the barracks," he answered, trying to smile. "Come, dear, come!"

When Ronald opened the door, where the men were drinking heavily, the confusion was heard to the farthest limits of the Fort. "Boys," he cried, "it's all over – there's nothing any one of us can do!" Lieutenant Howard, the Doctor, and Captain Wells were standing together near the door, but he did not seem to see them.

Straight to the middle of the room he went, and a soldier filled his glass. "Make merry while you can, my brave boys," he shouted, "for this is the last of life for us! To-night we are men – to-morrow we are food for the vultures! To-night we are soldiers – to-morrow we are clay! To-night we may sleep – to-morrow we wake to the knife, the scourge, and the flames! To-night, for the last time, we stand side by side – to-morrow we fight a merciless foe of ten times our strength!

"If you have neither wife nor child, thank God that you stand alone. If you have, load your muskets and strike them down at sunrise to-morrow, – yes, stain your hands with their innocent blood that you may save them from something worse. Twelve hours of life remains – waste none of it in sleep! Fill your glasses to the brim and drink till the night is past. Pray that your senses may leave you – that your reason may be replaced by the madness of beasts! Pray for strong arms to-morrow – pray for a soldier's fate! Drink while the stakes are being put in place for us – drink to your ashes and the fall of Fort Dearborn – drink, boys – to Death!"

The room had been deadly still while he was speaking, but now the cry rang to the rafters, – "To Death!"

"Again," shouted Ronald, "fill your glasses once more! To the strong arm and the fearless heart – to the torture that waits for us to-morrow – to the red spawn of hell that is grinning at our gates – a toast to Death!"

The door opened and Captain Franklin came into the room. Every man turned accusing eyes upon him save one. "To the Captain!" cried Wells, lifting his glass.

He drank alone, since, for the moment, no one else moved. Then, with one accord, the wine was thrown to the floor and the sharp crash of glass followed it, as the deep-throated bell sounded taps – for the last time.

CHAPTER XXII

THE RED DEATH

"Attention! Forward – march!"

To the music of the Dead March the column swung into line and turned southward from the Fort. At the head rode Captain Wells, who, after an Indian custom, had blackened his face with wet gunpowder in token of approaching death. Half of the Miami escort followed him, then came the regulars, accompanied by the women, all of whom were mounted; then the three waggons, and the remainder of the Miami escort.

Mrs. Mackenzie and her four children were in the bateau, with their clothing and a limited amount of supplies. Chandonnais and a friendly Indian were at the oars. Black Partridge had appeared at the trading station before daylight, to ask Mackenzie and his family to go in the boat. The trader refused, saying he would march with the soldiers; and Robert also declined the opportunity. Both Mackenzie and his wife insisted that Beatrice should take the safer course, but it was useless.

"What?" she asked, "and leave Queen? Not I! We're going with the soldiers!"

The other children at the post, eleven or twelve in all, were in the first waggon, which was driven by a soldier. The second waggon contained the supplies for the march; and in the third, where the ammunition was stored, sat Mad Margaret. She had come very early in the morning, with a small bundle, ready for departure.

The day was intensely hot, and the lake was like a sea of glass. The line of march was along the water's edge, where sand hills intervened between the beach and the prairie. The Pottawattomies, more than six hundred strong, kept behind the sand hills and were seldom visible.

As the little company proceeded toward Fort Wayne, heavy hearts grew lighter and anxious faces became peaceful. No Indians were in sight save the Miami escort at front and rear. The music of the Dead March ceased, and then upon the silence came Mad Margaret's voice, as she croaked dismally, "I see blood – much blood, then fire, and afterward peace."

Beatrice was riding with Robert, a little way behind Ronald. That morning she had seen Mad Margaret for the first time. "Listen," she said, as she leaned forward to stroke Queen's glossy neck, "doesn't that sound like a raven in the woods? She's a bird of evil omen, but, just as we were starting, she told me I should find my heart's desire to-day."

"I trust you may," said Robert, gravely. Then he called to Ronald, but the Ensign did not hear. He had begun the day in the dull stupor of yesterday.

At the mouth of the river a Pottawattomie chief crept up behind the column and signalled to the Indian in the bateau to stop rowing. He did so, and the company went on a little way without missing the boat.

They were about a mile and a half from the Fort when Captain Wells came riding back furiously. "They are about to attack us," he shouted. "Turn and charge!"

Captain Franklin and his company dashed up a sand hill, – a veteran of seventy falling by the way, – and were greeted with a volley at the top. In an instant the massacre was on. Under cover of the sand hills a part of the Pottawattomies had reached the front, and now surrounded them at every point. The Miamis fled to a safe place when the first shot was fired.

Captain Franklin endeavoured to mass the waggons upon the shore, but it was useless, for dire confusion was in the ranks and each man fought for himself as best he could. Behind them lay the lake – at the right and left and in front of them were six hundred savages, armed with arrows, muskets, and tomahawks. The plain rang with the war-whoop and the cries of the victims, while shrill and clear above the clamour came Mad Margaret's voice, shrieking, "The time of the blood is at hand!"

At the first alarm, Chandonnais leaped out of the bateau, swam ashore and ran to join the troops, leaving Mrs. Mackenzie and the children alone with the Indian. He made his way through the left line of the savages with incredible quickness, fighting as he went with the ferocity of a beast. A painted warrior raised his weapon to strike, but the half-breed, cursing, snatched it away from him and laid him low with his own tomahawk.

Now and then Captain Franklin's voice could be heard giving orders. His plan was to break through the line, turn, and close in, but the attempt failed and was fraught with heavy loss.

Beatrice was a little way off, partially sheltered by a sand hill. Her eyes were wide and staring, and the blood was frozen in her veins. Even in dreams she had not thought it could be like this. Queen snorted and pawed the ground impatiently, but the hands on the bridle were numb, and there was no chance to escape.

The exultant cries of the Indians beat upon her ears with physical pain. The early goldenrod, in full flower on the prairie, was broken down as by some terrible storm. She saw Mackenzie repeatedly fire his musket, and always effectively, in spite of warning shouts from the enemy. Lieutenant Howard was wounded in the shoulder, but was still fighting gallantly; and Ronald, in the front rank, seemed possessed of the strength of a madman.

Robert was nowhere to be seen, and even then Beatrice's lip curled contemptuously. Mrs. Franklin, separated from her husband, turned blindly back toward the Fort, but two warriors overtook her, pulled her down from her horse, and carried her away screaming.

Katherine dashed by, toward the thickest of the fight, for her horse was maddened and utterly beyond control. Doctor Norton was beside her, his face streaming with blood, and he was making desperate efforts to reach the dangling bridle rein.

Beatrice laughed hysterically. After they were out of sight, a deadened auditory nerve resumed its functions, and she heard Katherine's voice saying, hoarsely, "You were right – I am glad I have lost my boy!" The power of thought came back to the girl by slow degrees. She must get away – but how?

Far out on the lake and a little to the rear was the bateau, where Mrs. Mackenzie sat as if she were made of stone, with the children huddled about her. Beatrice dismounted, and climbed, gasping, part way up the sand hill that sheltered her, then looked to see if the trail were clear, but the battle seemed to be thickest there. Isolated upon a low mound, far across the plain, she saw Captain Franklin and half a dozen men. Fifty or more Indians, with yells of fiendish glee, were running toward them, and Beatrice slipped back, down the incline of burning sand, afraid to look a moment longer.

She thought if she could attract Mrs. Mackenzie's attention, the boat might be brought near enough to shore for Queen to reach it safely, but the flutter of her handkerchief was not even seen, much less understood. If she could not get to the boat there was only one other way – to watch for an opening and ride like mad to Fort Wayne, trusting to Queen's speed for her safety. It seemed hardly possible that she could hide among the sand hills till dark, or even until there was an opportunity to try the last desperate plan.

Then out upon that plain of death danced Mad Margaret, with her white hair hanging loosely about her. "I see blood!" she shrieked. "The time of the blood is at hand!"