A BLACK NIGHT.
At the time, so exciting and dangerous was the situation, I scarcely
realized what had happened. The fight was still raging, and I was in the
thick of it. Leaving others to render aid to the factor, I sprang with
clubbed musket at the redskin who had shot him. I struck hard and true,
and I yelled hoarsely as he dropped with a shattered skull. My comrades
finished several more, and now the survivors--four in number--turned and
fled. One scrambled safely over the stockade; the other three were cut
down as they ran.
That ended the struggle. Again, and with terrible loss, our desperate
foes had been repulsed. The moaning of the wounded was drowned in hearty
cheers, and the musketry fire had dwindled to a few straggling shots.
There was a sudden cry from the watch-tower that the enemy were in full
retreat, and I ran to a loophole to see if this good news could be
verified. It was true enough! The Indians were fading away into the
curtain of snow, and in a manner that showed they had no intention of
stopping short cf the forest, since none took to shelter in the
clearing.
I peered out for a few moments, until not a savage was in sight. Then
the triumphant clamor within the fort seemed to change to an angry and
mournful key, and I heard the factors name called from mouth to mouth.
As I turned from the loophole, Captain Rudstone met me face to face.
"He wants you," he said. "Come at once."
"Who?" I asked mechanically.
"Griffith Hawke, of course. Surely you knew he had been shot. He is
dying, I believe."
I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. The captain looked
at me keenly for an instant, and then strode off. I followed at his
heels, reeling like a drunken man, and with my thoughts in such a whirl
as I cannot describe.
Griffith Hawke dying! It was difficult to grasp the meaning of the
words. At first I felt bitter grief and remorse for the untimely end of
the man who had been my greatest benefactor; I remembered his many
kindnesses, and how basely I had requited them.
Captain Rudstone led the way to the little room at the base of the
watch-tower. We pushed through the crowd outside and when I was over the
threshold I saw a pitiable sight by the glow of a lantern. Griffith
Hawke lay partly on a blanket, with Andrew Menzies supporting his head
and shoulders. His face was ghastly pale, and there was blood on his
lips and chest. The doctor, kneeling beside him, was preparing to give
him a dose of spirits. Half a dozen sorrowing men stood about.
"His minutes are numbered," Captain Rudstone whispered in my ear. "He is
shot through the lungs. They brought him here because it was the nearest
place of shelter."
The factor looked up and saw me. He made a feeble gesture, and as I
knelt by him the tears came to my eyes and a lump rose in my throat. I
would have given anything to save his life; my sorrow was true and
sincere.
"They tell me the fort is safe--that the Indians have retreated to the
woods," he whispered faintly.
"Yes, they have been beaten off," I replied, "and with heavy loss."
"Thank God!" he murmured. "They will hardly make another attack. All
will go well now. Menzies, have you sent for Miss Hatherton?" he added.
"Yes, she will soon be here."
The dying man lifted his head a little, looking at me with a smile. The
doctor poured some strong liquor between his lips, and it instantly
brought a brightness to his eyes and a tinge of color to his cheeks.
"That will keep me up for a time," he whispered. "I have something to
say to Mr. Carew, and I wish it to be as private as possible. You and
the doctor must remain, Menzies, but the rest--"
A spasm of pain stopped him, and while he writhed with it all the men
who were in the room, save we three kneeling by him, stepped quietly
outside. He grew more comfortable in a moment, glanced wistfully at the
door, and put a cold hand in one of mine.
"Denzil, my boy, it is only a question of a few minutes," he said, in a
low voice. "I am dying at my post, and without regret. It is better so.
I nearly made a mistake, but I saw it in time. I know your secret--I
suspected it days ago. You love Miss Hatherton--"
"It is true," I interrupted hoarsely. "Forgive me, my old friend, and
believe that I would not for the world have wronged you in thought or
deed. I would have left the fort long ago, had you given consent--"
"Hush! there is nothing to forgive," he murmured. "Mine was the
mistake--mine the blame. It is only natural that you should have loved
each other. I was too old to mate with one so young and fair. I had made
up my mind to release her from her promise--to give her to you, Denzil."
He stopped again, and I saw a sudden change in his face. The doctor
answered my questioning look with a grave nod, and just then the door
was thrown open and Flora entered. She gave me a glance of startled
surprise, and knelt on the opposite side. Shaking the snow from her
furred cloak, she bent over the dying man; her eyes filled with tears of
grief and pity, and her lips trembled.
"Griffith, tell me it is not true!" she cried; "Live for my sake!"
He looked from the girl to me.
"God bless you both!" he said weakly. "Do not grieve for me, Flora. I
loved you, but it was more the love of a father for a daughter. Now I
leave you a legacy of happiness--a husband who will cherish and protect
you. Promise before I go that you will be Denzil's wife. I shall die the
happier if I know that my mistake--is--atoned--"
The effort was too much for him. He gasped for breath, and his face
turned the color of ashes, blood oozed to his lips. I was speechless
with emotion, and Flora was weeping too bitterly for words; but I saw
her lips move, and she suddenly stretched out her hand. I clasped it for
a brief moment, and as I released it and looked at Griffith Hawke, he
shuddered from head to foot and lay still, with closed eyes.
"He is dead," said Menzies.
"Yes, it is over," assented the doctor.
A silence fell on us all, broken only by Flora's sobbing. Overhead, the
sentries spoke in low tones while they watched at their posts, and
outside the wind howled a mournful requiem.
* * * * *
Through the remaining hours of that night the storm raged, heaping the
snow in higher drifts, and keeping half a dozen men busily employed in
clearing the entrances to the various outbuildings. That the Indians had
taken shelter in the forest, and were not likely to attempt another
assault, did little to lighten the general gloom and grief that pervaded
the fort, for there was not a man but felt he had lost a friend in
Griffith Hawke. As for myself, I had a heavy weight of responsibility
upon me, and that prevented my mind from dwelling too much on other
things. I gave a thought now and again to my new-born happiness, but the
thrill of joy was as quickly stifled by bitter shame--by a vision of the
dead man who had returned good for my meditated evil. Flora was in the
care of Mrs. Menzies. Captain Rudstone had taken her back to the house,
and I had no intention of seeking an interview with her until she should
have partly recovered from the shock of the factor's death.
It was indeed a black and dreadful night--a night of horrors and
anxiety, of gloom and mourning. For the outlook was by no means so
bright as we had let Griffith Hawke believe. What the result would be if
the savages rushed us a third time none of us dared contemplate. It was
too much to expect that they would abandon the siege, with men of the
Northwest Company among them to egg them on; and if they knew our
weakness, as was likely, another desperate attack was certain to come
sooner or later. Out of a total number of forty-six at the beginning of
the trouble, no more than half were now fit for service, the rest were
dead or disabled.
These were stern facts that weighed heavy on my mind and held me
sleepless and occupied while the night wore on. I saw well to it that
the sentries were alert and at their posts, that muskets and howitzers
were loaded and ammunition within easy reach, that the stockade was
secure at every point. I fought off drowsiness and fatigue with cups of
hot coffee, with pipes of strong tobacco.
Two hours before dawn the weather thawed a little and the snow turned to
a drizzling rainfall. In the gray flush of early morning when I made my
last round, it was bitterly cold again; a crust was on the snow, and the
leaden skies promised an early resumption of the storm. To north and
east the drifts reached halfway to the top of the stockade.
Bluish curls of smoke, rising here and there out of the surrounding
forest, told that the Indians were still in the vicinity. The frozen
crust was an incentive to them to make a final attack, and I expected it
during the day. I ate a hasty breakfast, and then Menzies summoned me to
the factor's house, where he had called a meeting to consider the
situation.