THE FIELD OF THE DEAD
The fierce plunging of my horse in his death agony, and his final
pitching forward across my prostrate body, were doubtless all that saved
my life. Yielding to their mad desire for plunder, the savages scattered
when I fell, and left me lying there for dead. I do not think I quite
lost consciousness in those first moments, although everything became
blurred to my sight, and I was imprisoned by the weight above me so that
the slightest effort to move proved painful; indeed, I breathed only with
the greatest difficulty.
But I both heard and saw, and my mind was intensely occupied with the
rush of thought, the horror of all that was going on about me. How I
wish I might blot it out,--forget forever the hellish deeds of those
dancing devils who made mock of human agony and laughed at tears and
prayers! It was plain, as the wild cries of rejoicing rose on every
side, that the Indians had swept the field. The distant sound of firing
ceased, and I could hear the pitiful cries of women, the frightened
shrieks of children, the shrill note of intense agony wrung from tortured
lips. Close beside me lay a dead warrior, his hideously painted face,
with its wide, glaring, dead eyes, so fronting me that I had left only a
narrow space through which to peer. Within that small opening I saw
murder done until I closed my eyes in shuddering horror, crazed by my own
sense of helplessness, and feeling the awful fate that must already have
befallen her I loved. God knows I had then no faintest wish to live; nor
did I dream that I should see the sun go down that day. Death was upon
every side of me, in its most dreadful forms; and every cry that reached
my ears, every sight that met my eyes, only added to the frightful
reality of my own helplessness. The inert weight of the horse stifled me
so that I drew my short breath almost in sobs; nor did I dare venture
upon the slightest attempt at release, hemmed about as I was by merciless
fiends now hideously drunk with slaughter. Once I heard a man plead for
mercy, shrieking the words forth as if his intensity of agony had robbed
him of all manliness; I saw a young woman fall headlong, the haft of a
tomahawk cleaving open her head, as a brawny red arm gripped her by the
throat; a child, with long yellow hair, and face distorted by terror, ran
past my narrow outlook, a naked savage grasping after her scarcely a foot
behind. I heard her wild scream of despair and his shout of triumph as
he struck her down. Then I lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the
multiplying horrors of that field of blood.
It is hard to tell how long I lay there, or by what miracle of God's
great mercy I had escaped death and mutilation. It was still day, the
sun was high in the heaven, and the heat almost intolerable, beating down
upon the dry and glittering sand. I could distinguish no sound near at
hand, not even a moan of any kind. The human forms about me were
stiffening in death; nor did any skulking Indian figures appear in sight.
From away to the northward I could hear the echo of distant yelling; and
as I lay there, every faculty alert, I became more and more convinced
that the savages who had attacked us had withdrawn, and that I alone of
all that fated company was preserved, through some strange dispensation
of Providence, for what might prove a more terrible fate than any on that
stricken field. With this thought there was suddenly born within me a
fresh desire for life, a mad thirsting after revenge on those red demons
whose merciless work I had been compelled to see. Yet if I hoped to
preserve my life, I must have water and air; a single hour longer in my
present situation could only result in death. Fortunately, such relief,
now that I felt free to exert myself and seek it, was not so difficult as
it had seemed. The heavy horse rested upon other bodies as well as my
own, so that, little by little, I succeeded in dragging myself out from
beneath his weight, until I was finally able to lift my head and glance
cautiously about me.
I pause now as I sit writing, my face buried in my hands, at the memory
of that dreadful field of death. I cannot picture it, nor have I wish to
try. I took one swift glimpse at the riven skulls, the mangled limbs,
the mutilated bodies, the upturned pleading faces white and ghastly in
the sunlight, the women and children huddled in heaps of slain, the
seemingly endless line of disfigured, half-stripped bodies stretching far
down the white beach; then I fell upon my face in the sand, sobbing like
a baby. O God, how could such deeds be done? How could creatures shaped
like men prove themselves such fiends, such hideous devils of malignity?
It sickened me with horror, and I shrank from those dead bodies as if
each had been a grim and threatening ghost.
Necessity presently overcame the dread possessing me; and slowly, seeking
to see no more than I must of the awful scenes about me, I struggled to
my knees, and peered around cautiously for signs of skulking Indians.
Not a living creature was near enough to observe me. To the northward
the savages were swarming about the Fort, and it was evident that they
had left everything to search for plunder. My uncovered head throbbed
under the hot sun, and my hair was thick with clotted blood; scarce a
hundred feet away was the blue lake, and on my hands and knees I crawled
across the beach to it, forgetful of everything else in my desire to roll
in the cool sweet water.
I realized that it would be far safer for me to remain there until
darkness shrouded my movements; but I felt so revived by the touch of the
water that the old desire for action overcame considerations of personal
safety. Before night came I must somehow gain possession of a rifle,
with powder and ball; and I must discover, if possible, the fate of
Mademoiselle. I cannot describe how, like a frightened child, I shrank
from going again amid those mutilated corpses. I started twice, only to
crawl back into the water, nerveless and shaking like the leaf of a
cottonwood. I knew it must be done, and that the sooner I attempted it
the safer would be the trial; so at last, with set teeth and almost
superhuman effort, I crept up the beach among the silent, disfigured dead
once more.
With little trouble I found the wagon against which I had seen
Mademoiselle draw back her horse in that last desperate defence. It was
overturned, scorched with flame, its contents widely scattered; while
about it lay the bodies of men, women, and children. A single hasty
glance at most of these was sufficient; but a few were so huddled and
hidden that I was compelled to move them before I thoroughly convinced
myself that Mademoiselle was not there. I finally found her horse,
several rods away, lying against the sand-ridge; but she whose body I
sought with such fond persistency was not among those mangled forms.
Faint and sick from the awful scene, with head throbbing painfully, I
sank down upon a slope of sand where I was able to command a clear view
in either direction, and thought rapidly. I was alone with the dead. Of
all those lying silent before me, none would stir again. Not a savage
roamed the stricken field,--though doubtless they would again swarm down
upon it as soon as the sacking of the Fort had been completed. I must
plan, and plan quickly, if I would preserve my own life and be of service
to others. And life was worth preserving now, for there was a
possibility,--faint, to be sure, yet a possibility,--that Toinette still
lived. How the mere hope thrilled and animated me! how like a
trumpet-sound it called to action! She had told me once of friendships
between her and these blood-stained warriors; of weeks passed in Indian
camps on the great plains, both with her father and alone; of being
called the White Queen in the lodges of Sacs, Wyandots, and
Pottawattomies. Perchance some such friendship may have intervened to
save her, even in that fierce mêlée, that carnival of lust and murder.
Some chief, with sufficient power to dare the deed, may have snatched her
from out the jaws of death, actuated by motives of mercy,--or, more
likely still, have saved her from the stroke of the tomahawk for a far
more terrible fate.
This was the thought that brought me again to my feet with burning face
and tightly clinched teeth. If she lived, a helpless prisoner in those
black lodges yonder, there was work to be done,--stern, desperate work,
that would require all my courage and resourcefulness. Firm in manly
resolve, and rendered reckless now of contact with the dead, I crept back
among the bodies in eager search for gun and ammunition. For a long time
I sought vainly; the field had been stripped by many a vandal hand. At
last, however, I turned over a painted giant of a savage whose head had
been crushed with a blow, and beneath him discovered a long rifle with
powder-horn half filled. As I drew it forth, uttering a cry of delight
at my precious find, my eyes fell upon a pair of bronze boots, with long
narrow toes, protruding from beneath a tangled mass of the slain. It was
no doubt the tomb of De Croix; and without so much as a thought that he
could be alive, I drew the bodies off him and dragged his form forth into
the sunlight.
Merciful Heaven! his heart still beat,--so faintly, indeed, that I could
barely note it with my ear at his chest. But life was surely there, and
with a hasty glance about to assure me that I was unobserved, I ran to
the lake shore. I returned with hat full of water, with which I
thoroughly drenched him, rubbing his numbed hands fiercely, and thumping
his chest until at last the closed eyes partially opened, and he looked
up into my anxious face, gasping painfully for breath. His lips moved as
I lifted his head in my arms; and I bent lower, not certain but he was
dying and had some last message he would whisper in my ear.
"Wayland," he faltered feebly, "is this you? Lord, how my head aches!
Send Sam to me with the hand-mirror and the perfumed soap."
"Hush!" I answered, almost angry at his flippant utterance. "Sam is no
doubt dead, and you and I alone are spared of all the company. Do you
suffer greatly? Think you it would be possible to walk?"
"I have much pain here in the side," he said slowly, "and am yet weak
from loss of blood. All dead, you say? Is Toinette dead?"
"I know not, but I have not found her body among the others, and believe
her to be a prisoner to the savages. But, come, De Croix," I urged,
anxiously, "we run great risk loitering here; there is but one safe spot
for us until after dark,--yonder, crouched in the waters of the lake.
The Indians may return at any moment to complete their foul work; and for
us to be found alive means torture,--most likely the stake,--and will
remove the last hope for Mademoiselle. Think you it can be made if you
lean hard on me?"
"_Sacre_! 't will not be because I do not try, Master Wayland," he
answered, his voice stronger now that he could breathe more freely, and
with much of his old audacity returned. "Help me to make the start,
friend, for every joint in my body seems rusty."
His face was white and drawn from agony, and he pressed one hand upon his
side, while perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead. But no moan
came from his set lips; and when he rested a moment on his knees, looking
about him upon the dead, a look of grim approval swept into his eyes.
"Saint Guise, Wayland," he said soberly, "'t was a master fight, and the
savages had it not all their own way!"
It made me sick to hear such boasting amidst the horror that yet
overwhelmed me, and I drew the fellow up to his feet with but little
tenderness.
"God knows 't is sad enough!" I answered, shortly. "Come, there are
parties of Indians already straying this way from the Fort yonder, and it
behooves us to get in hiding."
He made the distance between us and the water with far less difficulty
than I had expected, and with a better use of his limbs at each step. In
spite of vigorous protest on his part, I forced him out from the shore
until the water entirely covered us, save only our faces; and there we
waited for the merciful coming of the night.