A COUNCIL OF WAR
Forsyth had the second watch that night, and Mackenzie came out to
join him. "I couldn't sleep," he said, in answer to Robert's question.
"I don't know what we're coming to, but we mustn't frighten the women."
"Of course I don't know anything about it," Robert returned, "but I
must confess that I didn't like the looks of that Indian who brought
the despatches."
"He seemed fair enough, but you can't trust any of 'em and that's the
whole truth of it. There's been some foul play somewhere, for he knew
the purport of the order, and it strikes me that he had been a long
time on the way."
"What was it that he wanted you to tell Captain Franklin?"
"He wanted me to find out whether the Captain intended to obey the
order, and offered his advice to the contrary. He said the Fort
was well supplied with ammunition and provisions--though it beats
me to know where he found it out--and that it could be held until
reinforcements arrived; but, if we decided to give up the post, it was
better to go at once and leave everything standing. His idea was that
the Indians would be so interested in plundering that they wouldn't
follow us."
"What did Franklin say?"
"Nothing--he never says much, you know."
"Who gave the order?"
"General Hull--the Army of the North-west is at Detroit."
"Perhaps reinforcements will be sent."
"Hardly, in the face of an order to leave the post."
"Why did he wear the British flag?"
"Perhaps to secure safe passage through the country; perhaps to
indicate an alliance with the enemy."
"Lieutenant Howard has said all along that the Indians were with the
British and against us. It begins to look as though he were right."
"My boy," said Mackenzie, with a sigh, "wherever that flag waves,
you'll find blood. The colour of it isn't an accident--it's a
challenge and a warning."
"Well," returned Robert, after a silence, "we'll have to do the best
we can, and that's all any one can do."
"I've wondered sometimes," said the other, thoughtfully, "if I haven't
done wrong."
"How, Uncle?"
"Coming here--with Eleanor. I've brought her into danger, but God
knows I haven't meant to. I've always had an adventurous spirit, and
I couldn't live in the East--the hills choke me. Somebody has to
blaze the trail to the new places, and I thought I might as well do
it as anybody else. Things are moving westward, and some day, in this
valley, there ought to be a great city about where the Fort stands
now. It's the place for it--the river and the lake, with good farming
country all around. I knew I couldn't live to see it, but I--I thought
my children might."
The man's voice wavered, but did not break. "It's a commonplace thing
to do," he went on,--"go to a new place to live,--and our people have
been doing it for more than two centuries. No soldiery, no blare of
trumpets, nothing to make it seem fine--only discomfort, privation,
and danger. The first settlers came from across the water, and since
then we've been moving along, a step or two at a time. Some day,
perhaps, people will leave this place to go to another farther on, and
so keep going, till we reach the ocean on the other side. I haven't
done anything," he added, with a short laugh, "only what the men of
our race must do for a century and more to come."
"You've done what was right, Uncle, and what seemed for the best--no
one could do more. You've given Aunt Eleanor and the children a good
home--shelter, warmth, food, and clothing. You've given your children
sound minds, sound bodies, free air to breathe, and you're giving
them an education. You'll find danger anywhere and everywhere--life
hangs by a thread at its best. If it comes to a fight, we have arms
and ammunition and fifty men, as strong and true as steel. We have
modern weapons against arrows and tomahawks, military skill against
savage instincts; and as for the British, why, I have my grandfather's
sword, that fought them once at Lexington. They tried it and they
failed--they'll fail again; but I say, let them come!"
"God bless you, boy; you put new courage into me!"
Soft darkness lay upon the earth, and pale stars shone fitfully from
behind the clouds as slowly the night passed by. Across the river,
with measured tread, the sentries kept guard at the Fort. Through one
watch and well into another the two men sat there talking, with their
voices lowered, lest the sleepers in the house should wake, and from
each other taking heart for the morrow.
The spirit of his dead fathers lived again in Forsyth; the blood that
burned at Lexington took fire once more at Fort Dearborn. His heart
beat high with that resolute courage which sees the end only, with no
thought of the possible cost--it was as though Victory, in passing,
to hover just beyond him, had brushed his face with her blood-stained
wings.
* * * * *
In the first light of morning, Beatrice came across the river from
the Fort. Whether she knew of the impending danger or not, she showed
no signs of fear. "Well," she said, "it was only yesterday that I
told Kit I thought I'd move, and here's a military order to make it
practicable. We're going with the soldiers--Queen and I."
Forsyth smiled, but made no other answer, and she went on into the
house. Mrs. Mackenzie did not appear, having passed a sleepless night;
so Beatrice presided over the coffee-pot and made breakfast a gay
affair. She revelled in her new authority, and took advantage of her
position to tease the children.
"Maria Indiana," she said, with mock severity, "you'll have to behave
yourself better from now out, because I'm your mother."
The child's eyes filled and a big tear rolled down one cheek. She slid
out of her chair and instinctively went to Robert, as one who might be
trusted. "Is Tuzzin Bee my muzzer?" she asked plaintively.
"No, dear," he laughed, taking her up in his arms.
"Give her to me!" cried Beatrice, snatching her away from him. "You
darling," she said tenderly, as another tear followed the first one;
"I'm not your 'muzzer,'--I'm only your 'Tuzzin Bee.'"
"She's too little to joke with," said Forsyth, in an aside.
"And I'm too big to be lectured," replied Beatrice, with a saucy
smile. "We get on all right, don't we, baby?"
Something in the girl's attitude, as she held the child in her arms,
reminded Forsyth of a picture of the Madonna, and an unreasoning
giddiness took possession of his senses. With a blind impulse to get
away, he went out on the piazza, but Beatrice followed him.
"Cousin Rob," she said, in a low tone, "please tell me the truth--is
there danger?"
There was no denial of that look in the eyes of the girl he loved,
no chance to conceal the truth. He drew a quick inward breath as he
thought, for the first time, what danger might mean to her. "Yes," he
said, in a voice that was scarcely audible; "I am afraid there is."
In a flash he saw that she had misunderstood him, but it was too late
to explain. The colour flamed into her cheeks, and she held her head
high. "I'm sorry you're afraid," she said, scornfully, "I'm not!"
He looked after her helplessly as she went into the house, dazed by
the consciousness that he had lost her forever. He knew then that
she had never forgotten his failure to go up-stream with Ronald the
night the Indians had been at Lee's, even though she had asked him to
forgive her.
"I have lost her," he said to himself, over and over again,--"I have
lost her." Second thought convinced him that he had had no chance from
the beginning--since the night he leaned on his musket in the shelter
of the Fort; confused past the power of action, when the Ensign asked
for volunteers.
"Want to go over, Rob?" It was Mackenzie who asked the question, and
Forsyth gladly welcomed the respite from his torturing thoughts.
At the Fort all was changed, for the order had been read that morning
on parade, and the men stood about in little groups earnestly
discussing it. Mrs. Franklin and Katherine were on the porch at the
Lieutenant's, and Robert went there, feeling that their society would
be more bearable than that of the men.
"If we go," said Katherine, "there'll be very little we can take with
us."
"If we go!" snapped Mrs. Franklin. "Do you think for a minute we're
not going? A soldier's first duty is to obey orders!"
Katherine turned a shade paler as she welcomed Forsyth. "Have you
packed your belongings?" she asked.
"Not yet," he answered, with a hollow laugh. The impending danger was
obscured, in his mind, by something of infinitely more moment. "When
do we start?" he inquired of Mrs. Franklin.
"I don't know--Wallace hasn't decided. But we'll start when he says we
will, and nobody need think we won't!"
"Kit," said Mackenzie, as he joined the group, "I wish you'd go over
to your mother--she isn't well. Bee is with her, but perhaps you
could do something."
"I'll go at once," replied Katherine.
"And I must go home," said Mrs. Franklin. "If I can do anything, just
let me know."
Ronald and Lieutenant Howard were standing near the gate, and Forsyth
stopped there when Mackenzie and Katherine went on home. "It's usual
in such circumstances," Ronald was saying, bitterly, "to call a
council of war."
"And by the Lord," flashed the Lieutenant, "there shall be a council
of war! What are we--children, or fools?"
Ronald put a friendly arm across Forsyth's shoulders. "What do you
think about it, old man?"
"I haven't thought about it. I'm not a soldier, you know, and I'm not
supposed to think. Of course, I'll obey orders, and if it comes to
trouble, here's one more man to fight--I'm with you to the last."
"Bully for you!" said Ronald. "If the Captain would listen to reason,
there wouldn't be any trouble; but he won't--I know him too well."
"He is only one man," put in the Lieutenant, with sinister
significance.
"And he is our superior officer," concluded Ronald. "Hello, Norton!"
The Doctor and the Lieutenant exchanged cool salutations. The faces
of the others were clouded, but the Doctor was as serene as the clear
blue sky overhead. "Haven't you heard?" asked Forsyth, in astonishment.
"What's the odds?" queried Norton, with a cynical shrug of his broad
shoulders. "So far, we have one life and one death; at the end of one
we meet the other--how does it matter, when or which way?"
"It matters to me," said Ronald, huskily, "whether I die like a
soldier or like a beast."
"'Imperial Cæsar, dead and turned to clay,'" quoted Norton,
suggestively. "Clay we were in the beginning and clay we shall be at
the end. 'Dust thou art; to dust shalt thou return.'"
Lieutenant Howard's white teeth showed in a sarcastic smile, but he
said nothing. He seemed interested and even amused by the surgeon's
point of view.
"That's all very well for you," retorted Ronald, "because you're a
selfish brute, with water in your veins instead of a man's blood. If
you loved a woman----"
The Lieutenant instantly stiffened. His smile disappeared, leaving a
frown in its place, and Norton's face changed, almost imperceptibly.
"If I loved a woman," he said, "I would protect her at the risk of my
own life, my own happiness, my own soul. If need be, I would protect
her even from herself. If I loved a woman she should think of me in
just one way--as her shield."
For the sheerest fraction of an instant his eyes met Howard's, openly
and unashamed; then, with another shrug of his shoulders, he turned
away, saying, "I must go back to my lint and my bandages--we may need
them before long."
Forsyth went back to the trading station, and the other two continued
their uneasy march around the parade-ground. "I think," said the
Lieutenant, "that the sane, reasoning men in the settlement, outside
the ranks, ought to get together and talk to the Captain."
"It won't do any good," replied Ronald, dubiously.
"No? Perhaps not, but there's nothing like trying. We don't have to
go, you know--it's not compulsory. The boys would be with us, and, as
I said before, he's only one man."
Ronald recoiled as if from a blow. "God, man," he said, thickly,
"don't make me forget I'm a soldier!" He swallowed hard, and it
was some time before he spoke again. "I don't mind telling you,
privately, that I don't think much of Captain Franklin, nor," he
added, as an afterthought, "of General Hull; but, in one sense at
least, they're my superior officers. I don't know what's going to
happen to me in the next world, nor even if there is any next world;
but I'll march to the end of my enlistment with my soldier's honour
still unstained."
The Lieutenant gnawed his mustache in silence while Ronald walked
beside him, breathing heavily. "It's madness," said the Ensign; "we
all know that. The North-western Army is at Detroit, and the British
are at Fort Mackinac--unless they've already started down here.
Meanwhile, the Indians, leagued to a man with the enemy, are waiting
for us to set foot outside the Fort. That fellow that brought the
despatches dared to inquire what we were going to do--so the tribes
could act in harmony, I suppose! Of course, it's possible that we can
get through to Fort Wayne in safety, and go on to Detroit with a force
large enough to clear our path--but I doubt it."
"Well," said Howard, "let's have a try at it. Let's call a council of
war."
"All right--I'll go across for Mackenzie and Forsyth, while you get
Norton."
The Lieutenant waited until he saw the others coming before he
delivered the message. The two men stood facing each other for a
moment after the salute. "Doctor Norton," said Howard, stiffly, "we
have called a council of war at Captain Franklin's, immediately. Will
you be present?"
"Yes; if you wish it, I will."
"I do wish it," answered the Lieutenant, clearing his throat.
Captain Franklin himself opened the door to the five men, and there
was no trace of agitation in his manner as he welcomed them and bade
them be seated. "To what do I owe the honour of this visit?" he
inquired, after an awkward silence.
"We have come for a word with you, Captain," replied Lieutenant
Howard. "In effect, this is a council of war."
"One moment please." The Captain went to the door, summoned his
orderly, and gave him a whispered message. "Now, then, I am ready to
listen."
"Do you intend to obey this order from General Hull's headquarters?"
"Certainly--why not?"
"Captain," said Ronald, "we appreciate your position, but you must
see that it is highly improbable that we should ever reach Detroit, or
even Fort Wayne, in safety. Since war was declared against England,
the Indians have been openly hostile. The country through which we
must pass is infested with them, and they are in league with our
enemies. For what reason do the English pay an annual tribute to the
Indians, at the same time searching our ships on the high seas? Do you
remember, before war was declared, two of the Calumet chiefs told you
that our women would soon be hoeing in their corn-fields? If you need
further proof, consider for a moment that the Indian who brought the
despatches wore the blood-red flag of our enemy.
"Captain, our march must be slow. We have women and children to
protect, and feeble men of seventy and more in our own ranks. We have
only a few horses, scarcely enough for the women, and about fifty
fighting men. If General Hull had been acquainted with the conditions,
he would not have given the order. As it is, we must act upon our own
judgment, and, short of suicide, only one course seems to be open."
"Is this your opinion also, Lieutenant Howard?"
"It is."
"Doctor Norton?"
"I am not a military man, but I agree in substance with what has been
said."
"Mr. Mackenzie?"
"I'm no soldier, either," said the trader, "but I think the proper
course has been described. Of course, if we go, I'll lose everything
I've got in the world; but I don't care for that, if we only do what's
best."
"Mr. Forsyth?"
"Like my uncle, I'm no soldier, but I agree with Ensign Ronald. Still,
I will do what seems best, obey whatever orders may be given by those
in authority, and if you wish to send a messenger to Detroit I am at
your service. I will take my horse and start at once."
"Gentlemen," said the Captain, ignoring the suggestion, "I appreciate
the spirit in which you have come to me, but it is impossible to
disobey orders. A soldier's obedience is paramount to all other
considerations. Special orders have been issued by the War Department
that no post is to be surrendered without battle having been given.
Our force is inadequate to cope with either Indians or British, and I
should be severely censured for remaining, if not court-martialed.
"On the other hand, even if the Indians are in league with the enemy
because of the yearly distribution of presents, we have weapons of the
same kind in our hands, and I shall not hesitate to use them. There is
a prospect of a safe march through, and I propose to ally the Indians,
temporarily at least, with us."
Here the orderly entered, bringing with him Black Partridge.
"Say to him," said Franklin to Mackenzie, "that the White Father bids
him assemble his people from the four quarters of the earth before
noon of to-morrow's sun." The trader translated rapidly as the Captain
spoke.
"Tell him that we have long dwelt side by side in peace and content,
except when our brother, Black Partridge, was away from us, and the
Winnebagoes, fearing nothing because our protectors were gone, fell
upon us to kill.
"Say that our Great White Father in Washington has bidden us to
assemble at another place, even as he will bid his people to assemble
here, and that, while our hearts are torn with sorrow, we must obey
the command. Tell him that we wish him and his people to see us start
upon our journey, and that our cattle and our provisions, our clothing
and our supplies, at present in the storehouses of the Great White
Father, will be given to him and his people as a parting gift. Tell
him all this and ask him if he understands."
Mackenzie was translating, sentence by sentence, and all eyes were
turned upon Black Partridge. The Indian stood as calm and as immovable
as stone, listening intently, with only the glitter of his eyes
betraying any interest whatsoever.
"Tell him that long shall remain in our hearts the memory of the
kindness received at the hands of our brethren the Pottawattomies, and
the wise counsel of the Great Chief who rules them. Some day, when
other suns have run their course, and the Great White Father gives
us permission, we shall return to live in peace once more with our
brethren, the Pottawattomies, and their Great Chief, Black Partridge,
who is our brother and our friend. Ask him if he understands."
The harsh gutturals of the question fell upon the ears of the bronze
statue, and, for the moment, there was a tense stillness in the room.
Then the Indian signified that he understood, and withdrew as silently
and as sinuously as a snake in the grass.