SHADOWS IN THE NIGHT.
The hours grew as we sat by the fire, and, presently, I noticed that
Simon’s head was fallen forward, and he slept. I had hard work to fight
off the slumber, as I had not closed my eyes for two nights, and was
weary with my journey. I knew I dared not sleep, for, though I did not
fear Simon, nor hardly an attack from the wolves, while the fire burned,
yet there was a feeling of vague uneasiness with me, a dread that some
nameless thing was abroad in the forest, and I could not shake it off.
Simon stirred uneasily, and then I heard a faint, far-off sound, as of
some one walking cautiously through the underbrush. Could it be Indians?
Our fire was not brilliant now, but, fearful that even its faint glow
would betray us, I scooped up a handful of earth, and dashed it on the
embers, extinguishing them.
Nearer and nearer came the sound until it was almost upon us. I reached
over and touched Simon, who awoke with a start. Then he heard the sound
and looked about in alarm. I took up my flint-lock and gave Simon one of
the two pistols I had, at the same time motioning him to make no noise.
“Indians,” he whispered, and I nodded.
The next moment we saw through an opening between the trees not fifty
feet away dim shadows in the night; a line of figures which we made out
to be the red men of the woods. One behind the other they marched,
silent, almost, as spirits, save for a little rustle of the leaves as
they brushed by them.
Each warrior had a gun, and they wore their war feathers. I counted six
score ere the last one passed and I knew there would be no peace in the
land for a time.
It was the beginning of the Indian uprising of which I had heard when
near New York, and, with that savage band abroad our lives were scarce
worth a flint.
Simon and I cowered in silence until we saw no more shadows, and then we
breathed, it seemed for the first time since the Indians had come into
view. The sailor spoke no word, but he handed the pistol back to me,
like a man who was glad he had had no use for it.
With the savages on the war path it was little chance that Elizabeth
would escape an attack.
Should we then push on there? I tried to think of a better plan, but
there seemed none. We would be as much exposed to attack in retracing
our steps, as in going on. If we could reach the town the block house
might afford us protection until help came. Once in Elizabeth, too,
Simon and I could aid the settlers in defending the place from the
Indian attack. There was nothing to do but go on as soon as it was
light.
That it might be a race for life toward the end, seemed certain, as we
could not travel without leaving a trail that even an Indian boy might
follow.
I waited impatiently for the daylight, and it came so slowly that I was
minded to wake Lucille, and start ere the dawn. But I feared to get on
the wrong path, and so I waited, counting the minutes until the first
flush in the east.
No sooner had it tinged the sky than I roused Simon, who had fallen
asleep again, and bade him get Kit in readiness. I entered the bower and
kissed Lucille, whereat she awoke with a start.
“Are we home, Edward?” she asked.
“Almost,” I said, cheerfully.
I dared light no fire, for fear of the tale the smoke would tell, so we
ate the remainder of our bacon cold, with the dry biscuit, washing the
poor meal down with water from a near-by brook. Then observing all the
caution we could we took up our journey again.
There seemed to be a better path now, though it was far from easy
traveling. When we had occasion to speak it was in whispers. I watched
with jealous eyes every bush and tree, starting at each sound, while
Lucille on Kit’s back was pale with fear.
The morning had turned to noon. Our only meal was water, drunk from oak
leaves, that I fashioned to form a cup. The spirits I saved, for there
was no telling when I could get more. Most anxiously did we strain our
eyes for the sight of a house. Yet we went fully two miles after our
halt at noon, ere we found one. It was Simon who first saw it. He
pointed between the trees and said:
“Look.”
“What is it?” asked Lucille.
“A place where some one lives, I hope,” was my reply. We increased our
pace. As we came nearer the house I thought that it was strangely still
and quiet about the spot. Kit, too, pricked up her ears, and sniffed as
if she did not like the air. It was a time to be cautious and so I led
the mare with Lucille behind a clump of trees. Bidding Simon take one of
the pistols, and stay there on guard, I went forward. I looked on every
side of me.
Though it was a farm house there seemed to be no evidence of life. There
were no cows in the meadow that stretched out in back, and not even a
dog ran out to bark. The chickens and ducks appeared to have flown away.
I saw that the barn door was open.
It was a strange house with no one on guard at such a time. I proceeded
more slowly until I reached the kitchen door, which was unlatched. A
woman’s dress on the floor caught my eye. Thinking now that all was
right, and that I would find the family within I crossed the threshold,
giving a knock to announce my coming.
Then such a sight of horror as met my gaze!
On the floor were the dead bodies of a man, a woman and two little
girls. Their heads were away from me, but when my eyes had become
accustomed to the dimness of the room, I saw that each one had been
scalped. It needed no writing on the wall to tell that Indians had been
there, and recently. With fear-blanched face I ran back to where I had
left Lucille and Simon. The latter saw the cause of my return in my
manner, but Lucille asked:
“Were the people there, Edward?”
“No,” I said, “they had gone out.”
I knew now that our only hope lay in pushing on with all speed, and
without stopping to explain further I led Kit out into the road, which
was fairly good.
“We must hasten, Simon,” I said, and under my breath I told him what I
had seen.
Kit trotted off, and Simon and I had to run to keep up with her. Lucille
inquired, with fright showing in her eyes, why we had so suddenly left
the vicinity of the farm. I told her I had learned at the house that by
hastening on we could reach Elizabeth ere dark, and I was anxious to do
so.
Already it was getting dusk. We passed by farm houses at short distances
apart now, so I knew the town must be near. There was no sign of life in
any of the dwellings, however, and in fancy I saw within them such a
scene as I had first come upon. At other places there were household
articles scattered about, which showed how the families must have fled
at the first alarm of the Indians.
Copper kettles, warming-pans, a spinning wheel, now and then a chest of
linen, strewn along the road, told how the colonists had packed whatever
of their possessions they could in a cart and hurried off to the block
house, to be safe from attack. What they did not take with them the
Indians carried off or burned.
I glanced on all sides of us. It was so dark that I could scarce see,
though I made out the village a short distance ahead. The log block
house stood on top of a little hill, and a fire burned on one corner of
the roof, a signal to refugees.
My eye had no sooner caught sight of this, and I turned to tell Lucille
that our journey was at an end, than Simon gave a cry. He pointed behind
us, terror in his face.
I looked, and there, on the brow of the hill we had just descended were
the figures of a score of Indians!
They were a quarter of a mile behind us, and we were half a mile from
the fort.
I gave Kit a blow across the flank with my sword scabbard. She sprang
forward. At the same time Simon and I broke into a run. A yell from the
savages told us we had been observed, and that they were in hot pursuit.
They were afoot, and I knew that Lucille was safe from them, for Kit
would carry her to the block.
“Ride on ahead,” I called to her. “Simon and I will hold them in play
until you are safe, Lucille. Ride on for your life!”
“I will not leave you, Edward,” she called back, and she tried to pull
the mare up.
“On, Kit, on!” I shouted.
The mare heard and started at a sharp gallop.
Lucille clung to her seat, and waved her hand back at me.
Though Simon and I had made good speed the Indians were now within
range. They shot a flight of arrows, and several, who had muskets,
discharged them. They did not hit either of us, and Lucille was now out
of danger. Not so, however, Simon and I. On came the savages, running
with great speed, and uttering their war cries.
There were three fleeter of foot than the others, and they were in the
lead. I saw if we were to gain the block house we must dispose of these
or halt them for a time. Bidding Simon halt we drew up short in the
road. I told him to fire at the one on the left with his pistol, while I
took the one on the right with the flint lock.
Two quick shots rang out in the darkness. Simon only wounded his man,
but I had better luck, and the ball went through his body, so that he
fell doubled up in a heap, and then was still.
The enraged yells of his companions told us he was dead. The whole party
stopped short and that gave us the chance we wanted. At top speed we
resumed the race to the fort. Lucille was almost there now, and we could
see the gate cautiously opened to let her in.
“Quick, Simon,” I called, for the Indians were after us again, and we
could not hope with but a single charge in a pistol to halt them.
Poor Simon was almost done for with the run. His breath came in gasps. I
caught him by the arm, and was helping him along. The nearest Indian was
not a rod away. With head down, panting from the exertion and almost
ready to give up I half led, half dragged Simon on.
Then, and it was a welcome sight, the heavy log gate of the block house
swung open. A score of armed men in close formation emerged. I could see
the matches of some of the muskets burning. The Indians saw them, too.
With a final yell of rage and defiance they abandoned the chase, turned
back, and were soon lost to sight in the darkness, which had now fallen.
Simon and I reached the gate, the men opening to let us pass inside.
One, who wore a sword, and who seemed to be in command, said:
“You were only just in time, sir. Had the maid not ridden up when she
did and warned us of your approach we might not have made the sally, for
we were deep in council, planning how best this uprising of the savages
can be met.”
“I give you thanks,” I said, noting that Lucille had dismounted, and was
with some of the women.
“Few are needed,” rejoined the man who had first spoken, “seeing that
you are two men, one with a goodly weapon; for we have need of fighters
now. As for your companion I note that he carries a pistol with the
powder pan empty. We will give him a musket that he may do his share in
the defense. The smaller weapons carry only a little way. I am in
command here,” he went on. “Perhaps you may have heard of me?”
“I have not the honor,” I said, “having but just arrived from a
distance, and indeed coming here by a mere chance.”
“Well, then,” went on the commander of the little fort, “I am Captain
Philip Carteret, brother to His Excellency, Sir George Carteret,
Governor of the Jersey Province.
“My brother sailed for London a month ago,” went on the Captain,
“leaving me in charge of the Colony. Much have I found to do, settling
the disputes among the people, and now with this uprising of the
savages, there is like to be more work. But you have a soldierly bearing
and, I doubt not, will be glad of a chance to fire a gun at the red
men.”
“That I will,” was my answer. “You guessed right when you spoke of my
bearing. I am Captain Edward Amherst, late of Salem town, in
Massachusetts, whence I led a company against St. Johns. This is Simon
Rogers, a sailor who has business of his own here, and is only a fellow
traveler with me, though we have fought together. The maid who rode up
on the mare is my promised wife, whom I have brought here that we may
wed.”
The introductions being over Captain Carteret led the way into the
block, and the door was carefully secured. Pine torches gave a ruddy,
smoky light to the scene, which was of great confusion.
Men were here and there, some looking to see that their weapons were
loaded, others mending a broken stock or whetting up rusty sword blades.
Women were huddled in corners, some weeping, some gazing on with
frightened eyes, and some trying to comfort crying children. All about
were scattered household goods, through the piles of which soldiers made
their way to the various parts of the block house. I had hardly time to
take this all in and see that Lucille was being cared for by some of the
calmer women, when a messenger bade me to supper with Captain Carteret.
Right glad I was of the invitation, too.
The Captain’s voice told me to enter when I had knocked at the door the
messenger indicated. On the rough table was a smoking hot meal. Of all
the confused assemblage the cook, it seemed, had kept his head. I did
full justice to the roast deer’s flesh, and the fish with the yellow
corn bread that went with it. When the edge had gone from my appetite
the Captain told me of the situation. A friendly savage had brought word
of the Indian uprising two days ago. Messengers were sent to as many of
the outlying farm houses as possible, and the people made all haste to
the fort.
“Can you stand a siege?” I asked, wishing to know for Lucille’s sake,
how matters stood.
“The place is stout enough,” said the Captain, “and we have men in
sufficient numbers, with a goodly supply of powder and ball. But the
provisions are a point of worry to me. There was not time enough to lay
in a full larder, and, with all the women and children to feed beside
the men at arms, I fear it will go hard if we are cooped up here for any
time. But we will do the best we can.”
“How many men have you?”
“There are four score fit for fighting,” was the Captain’s answer.
At the close of the meal I made my excuses and went to find Lucille. She
met me at the entrance of the women’s apartment, having come out to
learn where I was. I told her how strong the fort was, how we had plenty
of men to defend it with, and enough of ammunition for all the Indians
in Jersey. She had recovered somewhat from her recent fatigue, and
looked more beautiful than ever, with her hair tossed about, and the
roses in her cheeks.
The women, she said, had been most kind to her.
“It is a comfort to speak to some one in petticoats again,” she said.
“Just think, I have been over a month, and could not even learn if my
skirt hung properly.”
“A most woeful lack,” I said mockingly. For there was no immediate
danger now, and we could afford to jest.
“Truly a great deprivation,” said Lucille, laughing.
I left her after a time, kissing her good-night, and bidding her be of
cheer. Then I went back to Captain Carteret, to consult with him about
the defense of the block.