Each one has had his supping mess,
The cheese is put into the press,
The pans and bowls, clean scalded all,
Reared up against the milk-house wall.
COTTON.
It seemed strange to Mabel Dunham, as she passed along on her way to
find her female companion, that others should be so composed, while she
herself felt as if the responsibilities of life and death rested on her
shoulders. It is true that distrust of June's motives mingled with her
forebodings; but when she came to recall the affectionate and natural
manner of the young Indian girl, and all the evidences of good faith and
sincerity she had seen in her conduct during the familiar intercourse
of their journey, she rejected the idea with the unwillingness of a
generous disposition to believe ill of others. She saw, however, that
she could not put her companions properly on their guard without letting
them into the secret of her conference with June; and she found herself
compelled to act cautiously and with a forethought to which she was
unaccustomed, more especially in a matter of so much moment.
The soldier's wife was told to transport the necessaries into the
blockhouse, and admonished not to be far from it at any time during the
day. Mabel did not explain her reasons. She merely stated that she had
detected some signs in walking about the island, which induced her to
apprehend that the enemy had more knowledge of its position than had
been previously believed, and that they two at least, would do well
to be in readiness to seek a refuge at the shortest notice. It was
not difficult to arouse the apprehension of this person, who, though a
stout-hearted Scotchwoman, was ready enough to listen to anything that
confirmed her dread of Indian cruelties. As soon as Mabel believed that
her companion was sufficiently frightened to make her wary, she threw
out some hints touching the inexpediency of letting the soldiers know
the extent of their own fears. This was done with a view to prevent
discussions and inquiries that might embarrass our heroine: she
determining to render her uncle, the Corporal, and his men more
cautious, by adopting a different course. Unfortunately, the British
army could not have furnished a worse person for the particular
duty that he was now required to discharge than Corporal M'Nab, the
individual who had been left in command during the absence of Sergeant
Dunham. On the one hand, he was resolute, prompt, familiar with all
the details of a soldier's life, and used to war; on the other, he was
supercilious as regards the provincials, opinionated on every subject
connected with the narrow limits of his professional practice, much
disposed to fancy the British empire the centre of all that is excellent
in the world, and Scotland the focus of, at least, all moral excellence
in that empire. In short, he was an epitome, though on a scale suited to
his rank, of those very qualities which were so peculiar to the servants
of the Crown that were sent into the colonies, as these servants
estimated themselves in comparison with the natives of the country; or,
in other words, he considered the American as an animal inferior to
the parent stock, and viewed all his notions of military service, in
particular, as undigested and absurd. A more impracticable subject,
therefore, could not well have offered for the purpose of Mabel, and yet
she felt obliged to lose no time in putting her plan in execution.
“My father has left you a responsible command, Corporal,” she said, as
soon as she could catch M'Nab a little apart; “for should the island
fall into the hands of the enemy, not only should we be captured,
but the party that is now out would in all probability become their
prisoners also.”
“It needs no journey from Scotland to this place to know the facts
needful to be o' that way of thinking.” returned M'Nab drily.
“I do not doubt your understanding it as well as myself, Mr. M'Nab,
but I'm fearful that you veterans, accustomed as you are to dangers and
battles, are a little apt to overlook some of the precautions that may
be necessary in a situation as peculiar as ours.”
“They say Scotland is no conquered country, young woman, but I'm
thinking there must be some mistak' in the matter, as we, her children,
are so drowsy-headed and apt to be o'ertaken when we least expect it.”
“Nay, my good friend, you mistake my meaning. In the first place, I'm
not thinking of Scotland at all, but of this island; and then I am far
from doubting your vigilance when you think it necessary to practise it;
but my great fear is that there may be danger to which your courage will
make you indifferent.”
“My courage, Mistress Dunham, is doubtless of a very pool quality, being
nothing but Scottish courage; your father's is Yankee, and were he here
among us we should see different preparations, beyond a doubt. Well,
times are getting wrang, when foreigners hold commissions and carry
halberds in Scottish corps; and I no wonder that battles are lost, and
campaigns go wrang end foremost.”
Mabel was almost in despair; but the quiet warning of June was still
too vividly impressed on her mind to allow her to yield the matter. She
changed her mode of operating, therefore, still clinging to the hope of
getting the whole party within the blockhouse, without being compelled
to betray the source whence she obtained her notices of the necessity of
vigilance.
“I daresay you are right, Corporal M'Nab,” she observed; “for I've often
heard of the heroes of your country, who have been among the first of
the civilized world, if what they tell me of them is true.”
“Have you read the history of Scotland, Mistress Dunham?” demanded the
Corporal, looking up at his pretty companion, for the first time with
something like a smile on his hard, repulsive countenance.
“I have read a little of it, Corporal, but I've heard much more. The
lady who brought me up had Scottish blood in her veins, and was fond of
the subject.”
“I'll warrant ye, the Sergeant no' troubled himself to expatiate on the
renown of the country where his regiment was raised?”
“My father has other things to think of, and the little I know was got
from the lady I have mentioned.”
“She'll no' be forgetting to tall ye o' Wallace?”
“Of him I've even read a good deal.”
“And o' Bruce, and the affair of Bannockburn?”
“Of that too, as well as of Culloden Muir.”
The last of these battles was then a recent event, it having actually
been fought within the recollection of our heroine, whose notions of it,
however, were so confused that she scarcely appreciated the effect her
allusion might produce on her companion. She knew it had been a victory,
and had often heard the guests of her patroness mention it with triumph;
and she fancied their feelings would find a sympathetic chord in those
of every British soldier. Unfortunately, M'Nab had fought throughout
that luckless day on the side of the Pretender; and a deep scar that
garnished his face had been left there by the sabre of a German soldier
in the service of the House of Hanover. He fancied that his wound bled
afresh at Mabel's allusion; and it is certain that the blood rushed
to his face in a torrent, as if it would pour out of his skin at the
cicatrix.
“Hoot! hoot awa'!” he fairly shouted, “with your Culloden and Sherriff
muirs, young woman; ye'll no' be understanding the subject at all,
and will manifest not only wisdom but modesty in speaking o' your ain
country and its many failings. King George has some loyal subjects in
the colonies, na doubt, but 'twill be a lang time before he sees or
hears any guid of them.”
Mabel was surprised at the Corporal's heat, for she had not the smallest
idea where the shoe pinched; but she was determined not to give up the
point.
“I've always heard that the Scotch had two of the good qualities of
soldiers,” she said, “courage and circumspection; and I feel persuaded
that Corporal M'Nab will sustain the national renown.”
“Ask yer own father, Mistress Dunham; he is acquaint' with Corporal
M'Nab, and will no' be backward to point out his demerits. We have been
in battle thegither, and he is my superior officer, and has a sort o'
official right to give the characters of his subordinates.”
“My father thinks well of you, M'Nab, or he would not have left you in
charge of this island and all it contains, his own daughter included.
Among other things, I well know that he calculates largely on your
prudence. He expects the blockhouse in particular to be strictly
attended to.”
“If he wishes to defend the honor of the 55th behind logs, he ought to
have remained in command himsel'; for, to speak frankly, it goes against
a Scotchman's bluid and opinions to be beaten out of the field even
before he is attacked. We are broadsword men, and love to stand foot to
foot with the foe. This American mode of fighting, that is getting into
so much favor, will destroy the reputation of his Majesty's army, if it
no' destroy its spirit.”
“No true soldier despises caution. Even Major Duncan himself, than whom
there is none braver, is celebrated for his care of his men.”
“Lundie has his weakness, and is fast forgetting the broadsword and open
heaths in his tree and rifle practice. But, Mistress Dunham, tak' the
word of an old soldier, who has seen his fifty-fifth year, when he talls
ye that there is no surer method to encourage your enemy than to seem
to fear him; and that there is no danger in this Indian warfare that the
fancies and imaginations of your Americans have not enlarged upon, until
they see a savage in every bush. We Scots come from a naked region,
and have no need and less relish for covers, and so ye'll be seeing,
Mistress Dunham--”
The Corporal gave a spring into the air, fell forward on his face, and
rolled over on his back, the whole passing so suddenly that Mabel had
scarcely heard the sharp crack of the rifle that had sent a bullet
through his body. Our heroine did not shriek--did not even tremble; for
the occurrence was too sudden, too awful, and too unexpected for that
exhibition of weakness; on the contrary, she stepped hastily forward,
with a natural impulse to aid her companion. There was just enough of
life left in M'Nab to betray his entire consciousness of all that had
passed. His countenance had the wild look of one who had been overtaken
by death by surprise; and Mabel, in her cooler moments, fancied that it
showed the tardy repentance of a willful and obstinate sinner.
“Ye'll be getting into the blockhouse as fast as possible,” M'Nab
whispered, as Mabel leaned over him to catch his dying words.
Then came over our heroine the full consciousness of her situation and
of the necessity of exertion. She cast a rapid glance at the body at
her feet, saw that it had ceased to breathe, and fled. It was but a
few minutes' run to the blockhouse, the door of which Mabel had barely
gained when it was closed violently in her face by Jennie, the soldier's
wife, who in blind terror thought only of her own safety. The reports
of five or six rifles were heard while Mabel was calling out for
admittance; and the additional terror they produced prevented the woman
within from undoing quickly the very fastenings she had been so expert
in applying. After a minute's delay, however, Mabel found the door
reluctantly yielding to her constant pressure, and she forced her
slender body through the opening the instant it was large enough
to allow of its passage. By this time Mabel's heart ceased to beat
tulmultuously and she gained sufficient self-command to act collectedly.
Instead of yielding to the almost convulsive efforts of her companion
to close the door again, she held it open long enough to ascertain that
none of her own party was in sight, or likely on the instant to endeavor
to gain admission: then she allowed the opening to be shut. Her orders
and proceedings now became more calm and rational. But a single bar was
crossed, and Jennie was directed to stand in readiness to remove even
that at any application from a friend. She then ascended the ladder to
the room above, where by means of a loophole she was enabled to get
as good a view of the island as the surrounding bushes would allow.
Admonishing her associate below to be firm and steady, she made as
careful an examination of the environs as her situation permitted.
To her great surprise, Mabel could not at first see a living soul on
the island, friend or enemy. Neither Frenchman nor Indian was visible,
though a small straggling white cloud that was floating before the wind
told her in which quarter she ought to look for them. The rifles had
been discharged from the direction of the island whence June had come,
though whether the enemy were on that island, or had actually landed on
her own, Mabel could not say. Going to the loop that commanded a view of
the spot where M'Nab lay, her blood curdled at perceiving all three of
his soldiers lying apparently lifeless at his side. These men had rushed
to a common centre at the first alarm, and had been shot down almost
simultaneously by the invisible foe whom the Corporal had affected to
despise.
Neither Cap nor Lieutenant Muir was to be seen. With a beating heart,
Mabel examined every opening through the trees, and ascended even to the
upper story or garret of the blockhouse, where she got a full view of
the whole island, so far as its covers would allow, but with no better
success. She had expected to see the body of her uncle lying on the
grass like those of the soldiers, but it was nowhere visible. Turning
towards the spot where the boat lay, Mabel saw that it was still
fastened to the shore; and then she supposed that by some accident Muir
had been prevented from effecting his retreat in that quarter. In short,
the island lay in the quiet of the grave, the bodies of the soldiers
rendering the scone as fearful as it was extraordinary.
“For God's holy sake, Mistress Mabel,” called out the woman from below;
for, though her fear had become too ungovernable to allow her to keep
silence, our heroine's superior refinement, more than the regimental
station of her father, still controlled her mode of address,--“Mistress
Mabel, tell me if any of our friends are living! I think I hear
groans that grow fainter and fainter, and fear that they will all be
tomahawked!”
Mabel now remembered that one of the soldiers was this woman's husband,
and she trembled at what might be the immediate effect of her sorrow,
should his death become suddenly known to her. The groans, too, gave a
little hope, though she feared they might come from her uncle, who lay
out of view.
“We are in His holy keeping, Jennie,” she answered. “We must trust in
Providence, while we neglect none of its benevolent means of protecting
ourselves. Be careful with the door; on no account open it without my
directions.”
“Oh, tell me, Mistress Mabel, if you can anywhere see Sandy! If I could
only let him know that I'm in safety, the guid man would be easier in
his mind, whether free or a prisoner.”
Sandy was Jennie's husband, and he lay dead in plain view of the loop
from which our heroine was then looking.
“You no' tell me if you're seeing of Sandy,” the woman repeated from
below, impatient at Mabel's silence.
“There are some of our people gathered about the body of M'Nab,” was the
answer; for it seemed sacrilegious in her eyes to tell a direct untruth
under the awful circumstances in which she was placed.
“Is Sandy amang them?” demanded the woman, in a voice that sounded
appalling by its hoarseness and energy.
“He may be certainly; for I see one, two, three, four, and all in the
scarlet coats of the regiment.”
“Sandy!” called out the woman frantically; “why d'ye no' care for
yoursal', Sandy? Come hither the instant, man, and share your wife's
fortunes in weal or woe. It's no' a moment for your silly discipline and
vain-glorious notions of honor! Sandy! Sandy!”
Mabel heard the bar turn, and then the door creaked on its hinges.
Expectation, not to say terror, held her in suspense at the loop, and
she soon beheld Jennie rushing through the bushes in the direction of
the cluster of the dead. It took the woman but an instant to reach the
fatal spot. So sudden and unexpected had been the blow, that she in
her terror did not appear to comprehend its weight. Some wild and
half-frantic notion of a deception troubled her fancy, and she imagined
that the men were trifling with her fears. She took her husband's hand,
and it was still warm, while she thought a covert smile was struggling
on his lip.
“Why will ye fool life away, Sandy?” she cried, pulling at the arm.
“Ye'll all be murdered by these accursed Indians, and you no' takin'
to the block like trusty soldiers! Awa'! awa'! and no' be losing the
precious moments.”
In her desperate efforts, the woman pulled the body of her husband in
a way to cause the head to turn completely over, when the small hole in
the temple, caused by the entrance of a rifle bullet, and a few drops
of blood trickling over the skin, revealed the meaning of her husband's
silence. As the horrid truth flashed in its full extent on her mind, the
woman clasped her hands, gave a shriek that pierced the glades of
every island near, and fell at length on the dead body of the soldier.
Thrilling, heartreaching, appalling as was that shriek, it was melody to
the cry that followed it so quickly as to blend the sounds. The terrific
war-whoop arose out of the covers of the island, and some twenty
savages, horrible in their paint and the other devices of Indian
ingenuity, rushed forward, eager to secure the coveted scalps. Arrowhead
was foremost, and it was his tomahawk that brained the insensible
Jennie; and her reeking hair was hanging at his girdle as a trophy
in less than two minutes after she had quitted the blockhouse. His
companions were equally active, and M'Nab and his soldiers no longer
presented the quiet aspect of men who slumbered. They were left in their
gore, unequivocally butchered corpses.
All this passed in much less time than has been required to relate
it, and all this did Mabel witness. She had stood riveted to the spot,
gazing on the whole horrible scene, as if enchained by some charm, nor
did the idea of self or of her own danger once obtrude itself on her
thoughts. But no sooner did she perceive the place where the men had
fallen covered with savages, exulting in the success of their surprise,
than it occurred to her that Jennie had left the blockhouse door
unbarred. Her heart beat violently, for that defence alone stood between
her and immediate death, and she sprang toward the ladder with the
intention of descending to make sure of it. Her foot had not yet reached
the floor of the second story, however, when she heard the door grating
on its hinges, and she gave herself up for lost. Sinking on her knees,
the terrified but courageous girl endeavored to prepare herself for
death, and to raise her thoughts to God. The instinct of life, however,
was too strong for prayer, and while her lips moved, the jealous senses
watched every sound beneath. When her ears heard the bars, which went on
pivots secured to the centre of the door, turning into their fastenings,
not one, as she herself had directed, with a view to admit her uncle
should he apply, but all three, she started again to her feet, all
spiritual contemplations vanishing in her actual temporal condition, and
it seemed as if all her faculties were absorbed in the sense of hearing.
The thoughts are active in a moment so fearful. At first Mabel fancied
that her uncle had entered the blockhouse, and she was about to descend
the ladder and throw herself into his arms; then the idea that it might
be an Indian, who had barred the door to shut out intruders while he
plundered at leisure, arrested the movement. The profound stillness
below was unlike the bold, restless movements of Cap, and it seemed to
savor more of the artifices of an enemy. If a friend at all, it could
only be her uncle or the Quartermaster; for the horrible conviction now
presented itself to our heroine that to these two and herself were the
whole party suddenly reduced, if, indeed, the two latter survived.
This consideration held Mabel in check, and for full two minutes more
a breathless silence reigned in the building. During this time the girl
stood at the foot of the upper ladder, the trap which led to the lower
opening on the opposite side of the floor; the eyes of Mabel were
riveted on this spot, for she now began to expect to see at each instant
the horrible sight of a savage face at the hole. This apprehension soon
became so intense, that she looked about her for a place of concealment.
The procrastination of the catastrophe she now fully expected, though
it were only for a moment, afforded a relief. The room contained several
barrels; and behind two of these Mabel crouched, placing her eyes at an
opening by which she could still watch the trap. She made another effort
to pray; but the moment was too horrible for that relief. She thought,
too, that she heard a low rustling, as if one were ascending the lower
ladder with an effort at caution so great as to betray itself by its own
excess; then followed a creaking that she was certain came from one of
the steps of the ladder, which had made the same noise under her own
light weight as she ascended. This was one of those instants into which
are compressed the sensations of years of ordinary existence. Life,
death, eternity, and extreme bodily pain were all standing out in bold
relief from the plane of every-day occurrences; and she might have been
taken at that moment for a beautiful pallid representation of herself,
equally without motion and without vitality. But while such was the
outward appearance of the form, never had there been a time in her brief
career when Mabel heard more acutely, saw more clearly, or felt more
vividly. As yet, nothing was visible at the trap, but her ears, rendered
exquisitely sensitive by intense feeling, distinctly acquainted her
that some one was within a few inches of the opening in the floor. Next
followed the evidence of her eyes, which beheld the dark hair of an
Indian rising so slowly through the passage that the movements of the
head might be likened to that of the minute-hand of a clock; then came
the dark skin and wild features, until the whole of the swarthy face had
risen above the floor. The human countenance seldom appears to advantage
when partially concealed; and Mabel imagined many additional horrors as
she first saw the black, roving eyes and the expression of wildness as
the savage countenance was revealed, as it might be, inch by inch; but
when the entire head was raised above the floor, a second and a better
look assured our heroine that she saw the gentle, anxious, and even
handsome face of June.