THE SECOND RUSH.
I went first to the highest watch-tower, the occupants of which had been
better protected than those at the stockade, but for all that I found
one poor fellow dead and another badly wounded. Such a true and steady
fire had been poured at the loopholes, I was told, that it was as much
as the men's lives were worth to expose themselves sufficiently to take
aim. I looked out for a moment, but though I could see vaguely through
the driving snow to the dark line of the forest, not an Indian was in
sight.
"They have not retreated?" I asked.
"Not them, sir," a grizzled voyageur remarked, with emphasis. "Every
clump of bushes, every stump and snow heap, has a lurking redskin behind
it. And the woods yonder are full of 'em, too."
He had hardly spoken when there was a flash and a report off to the
left, followed quickly by one from the right. Both shots were aimed at
the stockade loopholes, but they seemed to strike harmlessly, and drew
no reply from our men.
"Consarn the devils!" growled the voyageur as he peered into the night.
"They don't show as much as a feather tip."
"They ain't lying so long in the snow for nothing," added another man.
"They'll be at us again with a rush presently."
"I am afraid they will," I assented. "Keep a sharp lookout and give us
timely warning."
With that I left the tower and walked along the north side of the fort.
I was glad to observe that the men were in confident and even cheerful
spirits. Some were loading muskets, while others were bringing bullets
and canisters of powder, and, what was more urgently needed at present,
pannikins of steaming hot coffee. The latter, I ascertained, came from
the factor's house, and I had no doubt that it was due to the womanly
forethought of Flora and Mrs. Menzies.
I could not find Father Cleary, and on making inquiries I learned that
he was with the wounded, who had all been taken to the hastily
improvised hospital in the men's quarters. I was told that he had stuck
to his post through the fighting, and had done as good and valorous
service as any man in the fort.
Mr. Christopher Burley I came upon seated astride of an empty cask, with
his musket across his knees. His cap was gone, and his hair was awry; he
was scarcely recognizable for a mask of perspiration and powder grime.
"I congratulate you," I said, "on keeping a sound skin."
"The same to you," he replied. "It was indeed a severe and bloody fight.
I bore your advice in mind Mr. Carew, and I have fired six shots without
discomfort."
"To what purpose?" I inquired.
"I hope at least that I have hit none of our own men," he answered with
a touch of humor. "I confess I am more handy with a quill than a musket.
I have friends in London, sir, who will not believe me when I relate my
adventures in this barbarous country. But, alas! I may not live to see
England again."
I thought this more than likely, but did not tell him so.
"Come, come, Mr. Burley!" I replied, "keep up your spirits; don't yield
to depression. You will be spared to stamp many a blue document--to
entangle scores of luckless litigants in the meshes of the law."
I clipped on without waiting to see how he took this sally, and went as
far as the northwest angle of the fort. Here I stopped to talk with some
comrades who were drinking hot coffee flavored with a dash of rum.
Close by, other men were watching alertly at the loopholes. Occasionally
they would fire at some partly exposed Indians, and then dodge back as a
straggling volley of bullets pelted the stockade. Over on the east side
muskets were cracking in the same desultory fashion. The storm showed no
signs of abating. On the contrary, the snow was falling more thickly and
in finer flakes, and a bitter wind was constantly heaping it in higher
drifts, and blowing it in blinding, eddying showers about the inclosure.
I was about to return to my post, warmed and strengthened by a pannikin
of coffee, when a couple of shots rang out. One of the very men to whom
I had been talking--a young Scotchman named Blair--reeled and fell
heavily, hit by a ball that had entered at a loophole. I bent over him,
and saw at once that he was badly hurt. He was shot in the left breast,
and blood was oozing from his lips.
"It's all up with me, Carew," he moaned. "Let me lie here."
"Not a bit of it," I replied. "You'll pull through, take my word for it.
But you must be in the doctor's hands without delay."
Three of us picked the wounded man up, and bore him across the yard to
the hospital. At the door I relinquished my share of the burden, for the
firing had suddenly recommenced so briskly that I feared the savages
were meditating a rush.
But the fusillade dwindled to a few shots before I was halfway to the
east side, and the next instant, as I was pushing along leisurely, I saw
a dark object looming out of the snow twenty feet to my right. It was
the figure of a woman. Her back was toward me, and she seemed to have
halted in perplexity.
Suddenly she moved forward a little, and with that I was in pursuit, my
heart beating fast. As I overtook her she turned round with a start.
"Denzil!" she gasped.
As I had suspected, it was Flora Hatherton. She was muffled in a cloak,
a fur cap crowned her pretty face, and in her gloved hands she held a
light musket.
"You here!" I exclaimed. "Are you mad, to expose yourself to such
danger? Go back!"
"I don't want to go back," she said. "Please don't make me, Denzil."
"You must," I answered sharply. "Is it possible that Mrs. Menzies
allowed you to do this rash thing?"
"I came without her permission. She thinks I have retired," Flora
replied in a spirited tone. "Let me help to defend the fort, Denzil. I
can fire a gun, and I am not a bit afraid, and it is my duty, I feel
like a coward these brave men fighting and dying."
What could I say? The girl's rashness angered me, but I admired her
pluck and courage. I had never loved her so much as I loved her that
instant--never so fully realized what the barrenness of my life would be
without her. And she was Griffith Hawke's!
"Flora--" I began.
She seemed to divine my feelings, and of a sudden she shrank a little
from me.
"Hush!" she said. "I have been foolish and impulsive, Denzil. I am going
back to Mrs. Menzies."
The mad words were checked on my lips.
"Yes, go!" I answered hoarsely. "Go at once--"
There was the sound of a footfall to one side, and I glanced around to
see the factor. How much he had heard I could only surmise; but he stood
in silence for a moment, looking from one to the other of us.
"Flora, why are you here?" he asked, and to me his voice seemed cold and
harsh.
"I wanted to help to defend the fort," she answered in faltering tones,
"but Mr. Carew stopped me--"
"I fortunately met Miss Hatherton," I broke in, "and urged her to go
back."
"Quite right," said the factor. "It is not a woman's part to fight. Your
place is in the house, Flora."
Without a word she turned and glided rapidly through the snow. Griffith
Hawke hesitated, and then started to follow her; but he had not made two
steps when a cry rang loudly from the northeast watch-tower:
"The redskins are coming! The clearing is alive with them! Every man to
his post!"
The alarm was not a false one, for immediately a fiendish clamor and
whooping broke out and scores of musket shots blended in a rattling din.
The attack seemed to be directed entirely against the east side, and to
that quarter the two of us ran fleetly.
"Spare guns this way!" the factor shouted at the top of his voice.
"Stand firm, men!"
The scene that followed baffles description. There was no panic or
fright, nor did the men entirely desert the other sides of the fort for
the threatened point; but all who could be spared rallied to the north.
I felt sure that this second rush would be a more serious business than
the first, and I was not mistaken.
I quickly reached the stockade--I did not see what had become of
Griffith Hawke--and managed to squeeze my way through to one of the
loopholes. At grave risk--for the fire was already heavy on both
sides--I peered briefly out. Through the smoke and snow I saw the dusky
warriors advancing in great numbers and at close quarters, filling the
air with their infernal yells. Some carried felled saplings with the
branches lopped off short, the purpose of which was plain.
One glimpse was enough. I began to fire with my comrades, reckless of
the bullets that whizzed about me. From angle to angle of the north
stockade, from the embrasures of the tower, poured a deadly sheet of
flame. A howitzer crashed, and then a swivel gun. I fired three
times--spare muskets were passed to me--and I drew back from the
loophole to reload. By the ruddy flashes I recognized friends--Baptiste
and Captain Rudstone, Griffith Hawke and Andrew Menzies, the excited
countenance of Christopher Burley in the rear.
"Rake them down," the factor cried shrilly. "Beat them off if you can.
Don't let them get a footing inside!"
The words were hardly uttered when the stockade groaned and rattled. The
savages had reared their rude scaling ladders against it, and by these
means some gained the top, while others clambered up with the agility of
cats.
It was a most desperate and daring assault, but we met it with the
dogged pluck of men who fight for a last chance. We shot half a score of
the devils as they clung to the top of the stockade, and speedily
finished others who dropped down among us.
They poured over thicker and faster, screeching like fiends, and now we
were driven back a little. We fired as long as we could load, and then
made an onset with clubbed muskets. The advantage was on our side, the
Indians being mostly armed with tomahawks, and though more than a score
of them were inside at once, we soon sent them scrambling back, and so
checked the incoming tide.
A little handful stuck out to the last, disdaining to flee. They came at
us ferociously, and nearly broke through our line. I finished one, and
Captain Rudstone and Baptiste killed two more. A fourth Indian--a
stalwart, hideously painted savage--carried a musket. He suddenly
leveled it and fired, and I heard a sharp cry behind me. I looked round
in time to see Griffith Hawke stagger, clutch at the rail and fall
heavily.