HOT WORK.
I was standing so near that the three daring redskins all but fell upon
me. As I dodged quickly back, one let fly a tomahawk. I felt it graze my
head, and the next instant I had smashed the skull of the howling wretch
with the butt end of my musket. Already three more were over the
stockade, and the five fell upon our men with desperate fury. The
yelling and whooping, the cries of the wounded, made an infernal din. A
comrade on my left was shot in the mouth, and dropped writhing to the
ground; a half-breed at my very side clapped a hand to his arm and spun
round.
But by this time the scrimmage had been seen at a distance, and there
was a rally to the spot. Two savages were clubbed to death, and a third
fell by Captain Rudstone's musket. I shot a fourth through the chest,
but in spite of the wound, he made at me, and I had to settle him with a
blow above the ear.
For one Indian that was slain, however, two fresh ones scrambled into
the inclosure. There were as agile as cats, and as daring as panthers.
With bullet and tomahawk they assailed us, and we were soon hard-pressed
all along the line. There was fierce fighting on the north as well, and
so no help could be spared from that quarter. Indeed, I began to fear
that the fort would be taken by sheer numbers; and even while I was
engaged hand to hand with the painted fiends, I was meditating what
steps to take to save Flora.
But when the situation was most critical, several things befell to turn
the tide. At great risk a couple of plucky fellows loaded the
howitzer--it had been discharged once--and thrusting the muzzle out of
one of the boles provided for that purpose, they fired it point-blank
into the mass of savages who were coming on to the assault. At the same
moment a swivel gun roared a few yards to the left, and the two
tremendous reports were followed by shrill yells of agony and
consternation.
This appeared to check the rush from without, and of a sudden the top of
the stockade showed empty against the skyline. Seeing this, we took
heart, and attacked the savages who were inside more furiously than
ever. Just then we were joined by half a dozen men from the
watch-tower and by four others led by Griffith Hawke. The redskins
wavered, fell back, and bolted in panic for their lives. Ten of them we
shot down or clubbed, and as many succeeded in scrambling over the
stockade. It had been a close shave, but the fort was saved for the
present.
"Blaze away, or they'll be in again!" cried the factor. "Give them a
steady volley!"
With ringing cheers we sprang to the loopholes, and fired as fast as we
could load and empty. A vigorous fusillade was returned at first, but it
soon slackened and straggled, and the whooping of the savages ceased
entirely.
It was the same on the north side of the fort. The Indians had not
retreated, but they were repulsed and disheartened, and were in no mood
for further sacrifice. They lay hidden behind drifted snow and stumps,
taking wary shots whenever they fancied they saw an opportunity.
Now we had time to breathe--time to take a welcome spell of rest after
our hard struggle. We were all parched and powder grimed, and some of us
were bandaging slight wounds. And the victory had cost us dear. Three
sorely-hurt men had been carried off to the hospital, and among the
dozen or more slain savages who lay in ghastly attitudes on the
trampled, blood-soaked snow were four of our plucky defenders, who would
never lift musket again. It was a hideous, revolting sight, and the
raging storm, the murky gray of the night, lent an added horror to it.
The semi-lull continued, and little attention was paid to the straggling
fire of the Indians, though sharp eyes were watching from the tower.
Griffith Hawke came up to where I was leaning, breathing hard, on the
barrel of my musket.
"Thank God you are all right, my boy!" he said hoarsely. "I never
expected those devils would get over the stockade. It was Heaven's mercy
that enabled us to drive them off; but we have lost heavily."
"Severely, indeed," I assented. "And so have the Indians. I doubt if
they will try that game again. And what was the result at the north
side, sir? I believe you had desperate fighting there at the same time."
"Not so bad as here," the factor replied; "but pretty nearly. The
Indians broke in, but our fellows were getting the best of it when I
left to help you. Menzies was in charge, and--ah! here he comes now."
The big Scotchman was loading his musket as he approached. He limped
badly--a gunstock had struck him on the thigh--and he had a flesh wound
in his left arm. He anxiously inquired how many we had lost, and when I
told him, he shook his head gravely.
"I have three dead over yonder," he replied, "and twice as many
disabled. The garrison is reduced by nearly a third, and the savages are
fighting recklessly! I greatly fear, Hawke, that if they rush the
stockade again--"
"We'll beat them off twice, thrice, four times if need be," the factor
interrupted. "At the worst, we are likely to have a long siege of it."
He spoke cheerfully and confidently, but none the less I saw a haggard,
strained look in his face, as he glanced toward the flickering light in
Flora's window.
By this time the firing was taking a brisker turn, and the three of us
separated, Hawke and Menzies striding across to the north side of the
inclosure. I went to my old place, and there I remained for a trying
half-hour.
Trying is a poor word for the sort of warfare the Indians carried on
during that interval. They were scattered about thickly to north and
east of the fort, and within close range, but each warrior was cunningly
concealed behind a stump or a snow hillock.
How they could see so well is a mystery, but certain it is that they
brought their muskets to bear on every loophole of the stockade and the
tower. The storm was raging bitterly, but in their furred garments their
hide moccasins and leggings, they defied the exposure.
At the first we lost a man killed, and had three wounded. Then we grew
more careful, and reconnoitered from what little crevices we could find
before we ventured on a shot. Those who had no loopholes kept loading
spare muskets and passing them to us, taking our own as soon as we
fired. I had several narrow escapes, but by watching for the spurts of
flame and smoke and for the limbs that now and then showed darkly
against the snow, I killed or disabled half a dozen of the enemy.
Baptiste was on my right, and just beyond him was Captain Rudstone.
There was one diversion during the time I speak of, and that from the
west side of the fort, where a great clamor of firing and whooping
suddenly broke out. I did not dare to leave my post--I was virtually in
charge of the east stockade--but Captain Rudstone led half a dozen men
to the disturbed quarter. The scrimmage was quickly over, and when the
captain returned I got a report from him.
"It's all right," he said. "The devils rushed us, but we drove them back
by volleys from the loopholes, killing half a score and losing one
ourselves. The ground dips down to the fort there, and we had a clean
sweep. They won't molest us on that side again--it was a half-hearted
attack, anyway."
"I wish they would drop the whole thing," I replied bitterly.
Captain Rudstone shrugged his shoulders.
"You would be a fool to expect it, Carew," he said. "I am not a bird of
ill-omen, but, by Heaven! the redskins are determined to hang on till
they take the fort."
"They'll have a wait," said I.
"That's as maybe," the captain rejoined. "If there were only the Indians
to reckon with! But Northwest men are among them, cleverly disguised;
and I doubt not Cuthbert Mackenzie is one of them."
"I am sure of it," I asserted.
"He is after revenge--and Miss Hatherton," the captain went on. "And to
my mind, it is a toss up which will make the girl the happier--Mackenzie
or Hawke."
I turned on him fiercely, and I could have struck him with pleasure; he
seemed to take a malicious delight in probing my heart wound.
"Is this a time to talk of such things?" I cried. "I wish to hear none
of it, Captain Rudstone. Miss Hatherton is nothing to me!"
The captain laughed--a low, sneering laugh--and just then an Indian
bullet sang between us.
"A close shave!" he muttered, as he strode off to his loophole.
I turned to mine, and it partly relieved my feelings to get a shot at a
feathered scalp-lock, that was bobbing behind a tuft of bushes twenty
feet away. I aimed true, and with a convulsive leap a warrior fell
sprawling in the open.
My success stirred the savages up a little, drawing a chorus of vengeful
whoops, and a straggling shower of lead that pelted the stockade like
hail.
Then the fire ceased almost entirely, ami after waiting and watching for
five minutes, I concluded to leave my post temporarily and have a look
about the fort.