THE LADY TENNYS RESERVES
The night passed. One, two, three o'clock went by on the trip to
sunrise. Hugh dozed at times despite the strain on his nerves. When at
last he arose to stretch himself, he saw the faint gray meeting and
mingling with the black in the skies, and knew that the crisis was
almost at hand.
Swiftly, silently through the darkness came six forms, hurrying from the
distant end of the pass with the alarm. They sped into the presence of
the king and Hugh just as the first gleam of light began to make itself
visible in the east. The messengers had seen the enemy, by that time
entering the pass from the north. In an instant Hugh's little army was
in a state of wild perturbation. One could have heard the gnashing of
teeth had he walked among the groups receiving final orders from King
Pootoo. Silence reigned again--the silence of death.
Something that sounded like the heavy breathing of a man came to the
ears of the waiters. It was the sweep of naked feet over the pebbly,
sandy bottom of the pass, the cautious movement of bodies through the
air, sounds growing plainer until they resembled the rustling of grass
through which a snake is gliding. To Hugh the intense moments seemed
like hours. Would they never come to view? Would the ambush succeed? Why
were they so slow? He could have gone ten miles while they were covering
the scant mile, he swore in his fever of anxiety.
At last the king pointed excitedly down the dark gulch, and, for the
first time, Ridgeway realized that he was facing an enemy in battle. His
eyes did not blink, so intently were they glued upon the dim, uncertain
objects that moved in the distance. The sword at his side was gripped in
a fierce but unconscious grasp. He placed his hand over his throbbing
heart; a damp chill seemed to break through every pore in his body.
"In five minutes this place will be hell!" he muttered, and the king
looked at him inquiringly.
Slowly the moving mass resolved itself into a thousand entities,
swarming towards the opening at the end of the pass. It required all of
his coolness and self-possession to control the wild impulse to begin
the fight long before the proper moment. To his surprise, not one of his
men moved from his position.
In advance of the main body of invaders was a small detachment of
scouts. Hugh saw that they would reach the trenches ahead of the army
and that the trap would be revealed. His heart almost failed him as he
looked down upon that now distinguishable mass crowding up through the
gorge. There seemed to be thousands of them, strapping, fierce,
well-armed savages. Their spears looked not unlike a field of dancing
cornstalks.
It was necessary to check the little advance guard before the plans
could go amiss. Ridgeway, suddenly calm and deliberate, despatched the
king with instructions to have his men spear the scouts as they came up,
driving them back. Pootoo wriggled stealthily to the breastworks below,
reaching the position a few moments ahead of the Oolooz squad. Perhaps
one hundred yards behind this detail came the swarm of battle men. There
was something in the advance that suggested a cat stealing upon an
unsuspecting bird.
By this time it was quite light, although sunrise was half an hour away.
In the gray, phantom-producing gloom Hugh could see his own men behind
the boulders, awaiting his command. A sudden shriek broke on the
stillness, causing him to leap as if some one had struck him violently.
Then there was a succession of yells and the rushing of feet. He glanced
nervously toward the trenches. A dozen Oolooz men were flying back
toward the main body, while not a sign of Pootoo or his men was visible.
They had delivered a few spears and had dropped back into the trench.
The main body in the pass swayed and jammed in the effort to halt, but
the rear pushed forward so clamorously that the whole mass rolled up the
ravine fairly into the death trap before it began to understand the
meaning of the yells and the sudden retreat of the scouts.
"Now is the time," thought the American. His tall form sprang from
behind the tree at the edge of the little cliff. His white face was
whiter than ever, his eyes flashed, his long frame quivered. Up went
his sword arm and loud came the cry from his lips:
"Fire!"
As if by magic two long rows of immutable boulders wabbled for a second
and then thundered down the hillside, while ten score of wild, naked
human beings sent up yells of horrid glee to the unveiling dome above.
No pen can describe the flight of those death-dealing rocks as they
bounded over the sharp declivities, gaining speed with each revolution,
scattering earth, gravel and underbrush with the force of a cyclone,
leaping at last with a crushing roar into the very midst of the
stupefied army. There was a sickening, grinding crash, an instant of
silence, then the piteous wails and groans and the spectacle of a
writhing, rolling, leaping, struggling mixture of human forms. Almost as
the first volley of rocks left its position to roll upon the vanguard of
the ambushed horde, the howling devils on the hill tops were scurrying
toward the second row, farther to the right. Down poured this second
storm of rocks, increasing the panic below, literally slaughtering the
helpless wretches by the score.
Ridgeway looked upon this scene of destruction as if fascinated. He was
powerless to move. He had not dreamed that his trap could produce such a
havoc. The bottom of the pass was strewn with grovelling, shrieking
bodies, trampled beneath the feet of their uninjured but insane
companions. Dead and wounded, crushed and maimed, made up the surging
humanity in the fatal pass. The rocks had mowed them down. Devastation
had come like lightning from the skies. It was horrible!
Closing his eyes, he turned away, utterly sick. A moment later he
glanced about, hearing the victorious, eager savages on the heights
screeching like madmen. From all sides they were swarming toward him,
concentrating for the swoop down the hillside at his command. He was
awakened to action, his mind grasped the importance of immediate
decision and he was entirely recovered from his momentary palsy. One
particular feature of the horrid scene lingered in his memory till his
dying day. The surprised Oolooz men, not knowing whence came the foe or
the nature of the charge down the hills, had quietly turned their spears
to receive the onslaught, expecting men instead of rocks. He never
forgot the brief stand they made.
At first he believed that all had been killed--that the battle was over
before it began. But even as he turned for another pitying glance below,
the recovered foemen started up the hillside, shouting and screaming
with rage. The ground was covered with prostrate or crawling forms, yet,
to his amazement, there still seemed to be thousands of vigorous,
uninjured warriors.
"Good Lord! There are a million!" he shouted. Leaping forward, he swung
his sword on high and with every nerve aquiver he cried:
"Fire!"
It was the only command he had taught them. It meant fight, pure and
simple. Across the gulch the command could not be heard, but the men
over there were only too glad to follow the example set by their
comrades, and from both sides a perfect storm of spears hissed
through the air.
Up from the rear rushed scores of Oolooz warriors. Despite the vicious
attack they crowded steadily up the hillside toward the crest on which
stood Hugh and his practically unbroken front. Through some sort of
natural generalship they confined their charge to the hills on one side
of the pass. Ridgeway saw this with alarm. He knew that they would
eventually force their way to the top. Yet the spears from above mowed
down the climbing savages like tenpins, while their weapons did little
or no damage. With each distinct volley from above the advancing foe
fell back, but rallied like heroes. By this time hundreds of them were
down; broad daylight made the pass look like a slaughter pen.
Ridgeway ran among his men, urging them to stand firm, to beat back the
foe, and they responded with an ardor that was nothing less than
fiendishness itself. Their spears were unerringly thrown, but the supply
was diminishing; it was the question of a very few minutes before they
would be without ammunition. Hugh's hope lay in the possibility that the
foe would soon retreat, believing itself unable to cope with an
adversary whose numbers were unknown and who held such an
advantageous position.
He soon saw that he would have to quickly withdraw his men from the
hill after one of the temporary repulses, taking them to the trench at
the mouth of the pass. Almost as he was forming this plan, he realized
that it would be necessary to carry it out at once.
Far down the pass, beyond his line, the enemy came swarming up the
undefended slope, steep as it was, and some of the foremost were already
scrambling over the last few feet intervening. He yelled to the men,
pointing to the danger spot and then toward the trenches, making a sign
immediately thereafter to deliver a telling volley into the
struggling ranks.
The savages seemed to understand, and he devoutly thanked God, for they
sent a shower of spears into the horde and then dashed helter-skelter in
the direction of the trenches where lay the king and two hundred men.
Wild yells of triumph came from behind, and long before the descent to
the valley was reached by the fleeing white man and his dusky army, the
Ooloozers were pouring into the tree-covered summit like so many sheep.
Down the hill sped Hugh and his men. Pootoo saw them coming and waved
his spear frantically. As the retreating army rolled headlong into the
trenches and behind the breastworks, the enemy arrived at the crest of
the hill. Breathlessly Hugh motioned for Pootoo to call the men from the
opposite hill into action at once.
A volley of spears shot into and over the trenches, followed by a
whirlwind of the long, slender messengers of death, several of them
taking effect. Pootoo's men returned the volley from behind the
breastworks, but the rampant chargers were not to be checked. Up to the
very edge of the trench they rushed, and from that moment it does not
lie within the power of the writer to depict the horrors of the conflict
in detail. Hugh's men, well protected and well armed, hurled death into
the ranks, of the fearless enemy as it crowded to the high breastworks.
And out from the mouth of the pass poured the mass of Ooloozers who had
not ascended the hill.
Ridgeway, cutting viciously away at the black bodies as they plunged
against the wall behind which they stood, felt the spears crash against
his shield, heard them hiss past, saw them penetrate the earthworks all
about him. At another time he would have wondered how he and his men
could hope to withstand such an onslaught. One thing he did have time to
observe, and that was the surprise, consternation, even fear that came
into the enraged faces of the assaulting savages when they saw him
plainly. They were looking for the first time on the face of a white
man--the new god of their enemies.
A sudden change in the tide of battle, though brief, transferred the
brunt of conflict to another quarter. A withering rain of spears struck
the enemy on the flank and rear, and down from the opposite hilltop
rushed the mob that had formed the other boulder squad at the beginning
of the fight, but who had done nothing after the first charge of the
Oolooz men up the hill. They threw themselves upon the enemy and were
soon lost in the boiling mass. Gaining fresh courage and a renewed
viciousness, the men in the trenches forsook the shelter and poured into
the open, Hugh being powerless to check them.
"It is all over," groaned he, when he saw his crazy forces jump into the
very centre of the seething mass. With a white man's shrewdness he
remained behind the friendly breastworks, a dozen of his warriors
fighting by his side. Repeated rushes against his position were broken
by the desperate resistance of this small company. Hugh's heavy sword
was dripping with blood; it had beaten in the skull of many a foe, had
been driven beneath the shields and through the bodies of others. To him
it seemed hours instead of minutes since the battle began; his arm was
growing tired, his brain was whirling, his body was dripping with
perspiration. Still his blood boiled and surged with savage enjoyment;
he was now yelling with the same frenzy that filled the wild men; pure
delight grew out of the fall of every opponent that went down under
his sword.
At last the Oolooz leader, a blood-covered savage as large as Pootoo,
led his men up to the breastworks, driving the defenders into the
trenches and down the gentle slope. Triumph was theirs apparently, and
their yelling was full of it. But inch by inch Pootoo fought them back.
Once the king looked helplessly at Hugh, as if praying for him as a god
to exert his influence in the unequal struggle. That glance was one of
entreaty, surprise, but Hugh could also see disgust in it. It stung him
strangely.
Although he had fought and killed more men than any one on either side,
perhaps, he had not gone forth from behind the breastworks; he was not
out in the thick of it. With a yell of encouragement to the men, he
flung himself over the little wall, alighting on the soft body of a
corpse. With his supporters at his heels he dashed to the king's side.
Inside of two minutes he was struck in the leg by a spear, his hand was
cut by a glancing blow from a club and his shield arm was battered so
fearfully that it required an effort to hold it in front of his body.
Blood streamed into his eyes and down his breast, his arms grew weak,
his blows were feeble, his knees trembled, and he was ready to drop.
Twice he went to his knees only to stagger to his feet again. Three
times Pootoo's mighty club beat down warriors who were about to
brain him.
His mind was chaotic, filled with the now certain defeat and the
heart-breaking thought that Lady Tennys would be left to the mercies of
the victors. Tears were mingling with the blood; his very soul was
crying for strength, for hope, for salvation. In his din-stricken ears
ran that wail: "What will become of me if you are killed?" Her face
seemed to float in front of his eyes, her voice came trembling and
lulling and soft through the hellish sounds, piercing the savagery with
gentle trustfulness, urging him to be brave, strong and true. Then Grace
Vernon's dear face, dim and indistinct, lured him forward into the
strife, her clear voice, mingling with the plaintive tones of the
other, commanding him to come to her. He must win! He must win!
But the great horde of Oolooz warriors were at last breaking down the
smaller force and all seemed lost.
Suddenly new life sprang up among the battered defenders. Joyous yells
bespoke a favorable turn of the tide. The enemy fell slowly back,
relinquishing the vantage gained. Far behind Ridgeway's fainting form
there arose the shouts of fresh factors in the fight.
He fell against the embankment and slowly turned his eyes toward the
river. Once more Pootoo's gigantic weapon saved his defenceless head
from the blow of an eager antagonist, but the white man knew naught of
his escape. His dazed eyes saw only the band of warriors flying over the
plain toward the field of battle. Far in their rear came a fluttering
white form.
Hardly was he able to realize that help was at hand before the released,
ferocious young fellows who had been left behind to guard her Ladyship
were plunging over the breastworks all about him.
The Reserves to the rescue!
Exaltation, glorious and strength-giving, flushed through him and he
leaped again into the fray. The new hope had come. He was once more
battling with a mighty vigor. Fury reigned for a moment and then came
the stampede. Down the little valley fled the foe, the conquerors in
mad pursuit.
[Illustration: "'THEY HAVE KILLED YOU! LET THEM KILL ME!'"]
He was unable to follow, but his heart glowed with joy as he
staggered blindly toward the earthworks. As he fell, half fainting,
against the bloody bank, the agonized figure in white flew up to the
opposite side.
"Hugh, Hugh," she wailed, burying her face in her hands. "They have
killed you! Let them kill me!"
"Oh, it's--nothing--" he gasped, trying to smile. "I'm all right,
little woman, but--you--got--here--just--in--time! Didn't I
say--get--home--for--lunch--or something--like--that?"
And he knew no more.