The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

Like a lightning flash came sudden breadth of view. What if a thousand had died instead of fifty; how could it change the meaning? Broad and beautiful, from the Atlantic to the unknown shore unmeasured leagues away, stretched a new country, vast beyond the dreams of empire, which belonged to his race for the asking.

Something stirred in his pulses, uncertain but vital; so strangely elemental that it seemed one with the reaches of water that lay just beyond him. Here, at the head of Lake Michigan, some day there must be – what?

There was a rustle beside him, but it was only a leaf. In the stillness it seemed as if it must wake Beatrice. Another near it fluttered idly, and a white birch trembled. A sudden coolness came into the air, then out of the lake rose the blessed north-east wind, with life and healing upon its grey wings.

He went into the cabin to put a blanket over Beatrice. Her face was turned toward the door, that her wounded arm might be uppermost, and something in her attitude of childish helplessness brought the mist to his eyes. The white, soft arm, with the bandage upon it, had its own irresistible appeal. Half fearing to wake her, he stooped to kiss it softly, thrilled with a tenderness so great that his love was almost pain.

He went back to the cabin door, where the wind was rioting amid the saplings, and sat down again. Already there was a hushed murmur upon the shore, and when the late moon rose, full and golden, from the mysterious vault beyond the horizon, the lake was white with tossing plumes – the manes of the plunging steeds that lead the legions of the sea.

Far out upon the water was a path of beaten gold – that fairy path which the little Beatrice had thought to take when she went to visit the moon people. The memory of that night came back with rapturous pain – when he had found the words to tell her what she was and what she meant to him, as far as words could express the sacred emotion that was kindled upon the altars of his inmost soul.

The moonlight shone into the cabin and full upon the girl's face. The childish sweetness, the womanly softness of her as she lay there came to him like the breath of a rose. A thread of light went higher and touched the silver cross to lambent flame. Beyond it, over the cabin, was —

He sprang to his feet and ran up the little incline to the bluff. In spite of the thick woods he could see the ominous glare upon the clouds in the south-west, and knew only too well what it portended. "Cowards! Dogs!" he muttered. "They are burning the Fort!"

His hands shut and opened nervously, and the nails cut deep into the flesh. A savage impulse to wrest every foot of soil from the Indians shook him from head to foot. Here, at the head of Lake Michigan – then the dream came upon him with the claim of mastery. "The baseless fabric of this vision… The cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces…" His thought swiftly framed the words, then he laughed shortly, and turned away.

But, all at once, he knew what he must do. He saw himself clearly in the van of that humble army, which has no trappings of soldiery or state, but only the weapons of peace, by which, from the beginning, all men have ultimately conquered. The plough and the harrow, the spade and the pruning knife, the steady toil with hand and brain – here and now.

Step by step he saw the savages forced backward, their arrows met with muskets and the ring of steel – back to the farthest limits of the civilisation which at last should sweep them from the face of the earth. It was the dominant race beating back the opposition; the conquest of the wilderness by those fitted to rule.

Fired with purpose and ambition, he stood there until the lurid light in the south-west began to fade. Not one life, but the many – not the reaping, but the planting – he did not know it, but strong upon him had come the spirit of the pioneer.

The moon rose high in the heavens and from the zenith sent stray lines of light to touch the cross, where the figure of the Christ, wondrously moulded, was eloquent with voiceless appeal. The stars faded, as if blown out by the wind, and then there was a soft voice at his side: "Have I been asleep, dear?"

"You sweet girl," he laughed, taking her into his arms; "you've slept all night – it's nearly time for sunrise, now."

"I didn't know. You'll go to sleep now, won't you?"

"No, dearest – I'm not sleepy."

"Neither am I, so I'm going to stay with you."

In the doorway of the cabin, with their arms around each other, they sat while the darkness waned. The wind lifted her magnificent hair in long, slender strands, and now and then, when a heavy tress touched his face caressingly, Beatrice laughed and pulled it away.

"Don't!" he said.

"You dear, silly boy, you don't want my hair in your face."

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, from the crown of your head to your dimpled foot, with all the strength of my soul."

There was a long silence, then the girl sighed contentedly. "I never thought love was anything like this, did you?"

"No, dear – I didn't know what it was."

"I didn't, either, but, of course, I wondered. From all I had heard and read I was afraid of it, and I thought it would make me unhappy, but it doesn't. I can't tell you how it makes me feel. It seems as if God made us for each other in the beginning, but kept us apart, and even after we met it wasn't much better until all at once there was a light, and then we knew. It seems as if I never could be miserable or out of sorts again; as if everything was right and always would be; that whatever came to me you'd help me bear it, and always you'd be my shield."

"Sweetheart," he answered, deeply touched, "I trust I may be. It would be my greatest happiness to bear your pain for you."

Far in the east there was a faint colour upon the clouds. "See," she said, "it is day." He drew her closer, and she went on, – "Think what it means to go away forever from all this horror – to go back to the hills!"

Robert swallowed hard, then said thickly, "Heart of Mine, I would die to shield you, but Destiny calls us here."

With a cry the girl started to her feet. "Here!" she gasped. "Robert, what do you mean!"

In an instant he was beside her, with her cold hand in his. "What do you mean!" she cried.

"Listen, dear; I am asking nothing of you – it is for you to say. To-morrow we will be taken to Detroit as British prisoners – for how long we do not know. The Indians have burned the Fort, but some day, when the war is over, we must come here to live, for to go back is to acknowledge defeat."

The word stung her pride. "Defeat!" she said; "and why? Why are we defeated if we choose to live in a safe place instead of in danger – in peace rather than in the fear of massacre? Yesterday, did you not see? Only by the merest chance I am not among them – and yet you ask me to go back!"

Her voice vibrated with feeling, and her breast heaved. Even in the dim, purple light of early morning he could see the suffering in her face, and it struck him like a blow.

"My darling, listen – let me tell you what I mean. We will go wherever you say. If it pleases you to live in France or England, we will go there – it is for you to decide, not for me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she answered dully. "Go on."

Robert's dream was dim and the fire of his ambition had dwindled, but he went on bravely. "We are at the very edge of civilisation, dear, and it must go on beyond us. The tide is moving westward, and we must either go with it or against it. We must go forward or retreat, there is no standing still. Yesterday a battle was fought, which, in its essence, was for the possession of the frontier. We have surrendered, but we have not given up. If we retreat, it must be fought again. From shore to shore of this great country there must be one flag and one law. Here, where the ashes of the Fort now lie, some day a city must stand."

"So," said the girl, with a harsh laugh, "and you would build a city from dreams?"

The tone hurt him to the quick. "Yes," he answered steadfastly, "I would. Nothing in the world was ever built without a dream at the beginning."

"Well," she said, after a silence – "what then?"

"Sweetheart," he cried, "you make it hard!"

Upon the purple light in the east came gold and crimson, touched here and there with deep sapphire blue. Little by little a glorious fabric was woven upon the vast looms of dawn. Beatrice saw his face, strained and anxious, and knew in her heart that she would yield. What Katherine had said came back to her – "When you find your mate, you have to go – there is no other way."

"To-morrow we go," he was saying, "back to the hills, but that is not the end – it is only the reprieve. We must come back here to fight it out, to finish the task we have begun, to hold our place in the face of all odds. We must stand in the front rank of civilisation, make our footing steady and sure, carry the flag westward into the stronghold of the wilderness – make a city, if you will, from dreams.

"Beatrice, this is the last time – I shall never ask you again. We will do as you will – this is my only plea. I ask you now, with the horrors of yesterday still alive in your heart, with your wound still open and sore, to come back here with me, when the Fort is rebuilt, and fight it out by my side.

"It must be done – by others if not by us, and if we retreat we are shamed. God knows I love you, or I would not ask you this. God knows I would shield you, and yet I would not have you shamed. Wherever there is human life, there is also danger, but we must make a place where our children and our children's children may live without fear. Heart of Mine, so strong and brave, you are not the one to falter – my Life, my Queen," he cried, in a voice that rang, "are you not a mate for a man?"

Prismatic colours lay on the water and the sunrise stained her face. Far across the pearly reaches a new day was dawning, and she looked at him steadily, as if her eyes would search his inmost soul.

"Once more," he said huskily, "will you come and do your part? Will you fight it out with me?"

Love and pain were in his voice – his body was tense and eager, like one who pleads for his utmost joy. Beatrice felt his courage, his passionate uplifting, and it stirred her pulses sharply, like a bugle call. Caught on that wave of absolute surrender, seeking only for the ultimate good, the girl's soul rose superbly to meet his own.

The first ray of sun leaped across the water, to touch her face with transfiguring light, and there was a gleam from the cross above her, where the splendour of the morning was turned back toward the altars from whence it came. Her fear fell from her like a garment, the horrors of the past were forgotten, and she saw herself one with him, on whatever height he might choose to stand.

Her burnished hair was like an aureole about her, and in her eyes was the fire of victory. Mate for a man she was in that exalted moment, when she leaned toward him with her lips parted and her soul aflame with high resolve. The eastern heavens illumined with a flood of white light that seemed like a challenge.