SAVED FROM HIMSELF
The morning of August twelfth dawned with burning heat. The lake lay
as smooth as a sea of glass and from the south-west came the dreaded
wind of the prairies, hot as a blast from a furnace and laden with
dust. The sun blazed pitilessly in a cloudless sky and countless
Indians patrolled the Fort, the Agency House, and the trading station.
The newcomers were alive with curiosity. Many of them had never seen
the Fort before, and they swarmed in and out unceasingly. Through
the wicket gate and the main entrance, past the soldiers' barracks,
guard-house, hospital, storehouse, magazine, and contractor's store,
back and forth between the officers' barracks, the Indians continually
passed. They lay down on their faces to smell of the drain, muttered
unintelligibly when they came to the subterranean passage, and
wondered at the flag, with its fifteen stripes and fifteen stars, that
hung limply at the staff.
They openly defied the sentinels at the gate, climbed into the
blockhouses, where they surreptitiously felt of the cannon and peered
furtively into the muzzles, and even went into the officers' quarters.
It was the kind of a visit that one makes to an occupied house, on the
eve of taking possession.
"Wallace," said Mrs. Franklin, "isn't there any way to keep these
people out of the Fort?"
"Why, I hadn't thought about it," returned the Captain, absently.
"They're not doing any harm, are they?"
"They haven't as yet," retorted Mrs. Franklin, with spirit, "but
they're likely to at any moment. I don't want them in my house, and I
won't have them here!"
"Tell them so," laughed the Captain. "I have no doubt of the
effectiveness of your request."
"Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not making fun of you, dear, but it is of the utmost importance
that we do nothing to excite the Indians. If they think we are
unfriendly, mischief may easily result. I suppose our houses and the
Fort have the same interest for them that their wigwams and blankets
had for us, when we first saw Indians. Personally, I have no objection
whatever to their examining our weapons of offence and defence."
Mrs. Franklin sighed. "When do we go?" she asked.
"As soon as possible after the council, which will be held this
afternoon. It takes time, however, to prepare sixty or seventy people
for a long overland journey."
"I wish we had boats."
"So do I, but we haven't. Still, I don't know that we'd be any better
off, at the mouth of the St. Joseph River, without guides, than we
are here. There may be a trail from the river across to Detroit, but
I don't know anything about it. Lieutenant Swearingen marched his
company around by land, when the Fort was built. When we get to Fort
Wayne, we'll either stay there, or go on to Detroit with a larger
force. It depends upon the movements of the British."
"Some way, Wallace, I'm afraid of trouble--I don't know why."
"I don't think there'll be any trouble, dear, but the idea that
it would be right and proper to disobey the order appears to be
spreading. Mackenzie is at the bottom of it, of course, and I don't
know that we should blame him, for it means heavy financial loss to
him. Yet he never could have established himself here if it had not
been for the Fort, and it is his place to uphold the military, rather
than to work against it; but there's no accounting for the vagaries
of the human mind. All of his work here has been contingent upon the
protection of the Fort; when that is withdrawn, he has no right to
complain. Civilians seem to think that an order doesn't mean anything
in particular--it's to be obeyed or not, as suits their erratic fancy.
A soldier is a man who obeys orders--when he is no longer willing to
do that he should get a discharge."
"Do you think the Indians will destroy this house, after we leave?"
"Probably, and the Fort also. Quarrels are bound to occur among the
different tribes before long, and while they are settling their
disputes in their own way, we'll get well on to Fort Wayne."
"I've thought," said Mrs. Franklin, slowly, "that Lieutenant Howard
was inclined to make trouble. I haven't had any reason to think so,
but I can't get it out of my head."
"It's quite possible," returned the Captain, with a significant shrug
of his shoulders, "for he is one of the men who are always against
everything they do not originate. He's been chafing at his bit all
along because he isn't in command. If he were Captain, he'd want to
be a step higher--I suppose he thinks himself capable of handling
the whole army. But don't bother yourself about it, dear--we'll get
through some way. I must go, now--I've got things to see to."
In and out of the stockade, parties of Indians were still passing,
braves and squaws, who took great interest in their new surroundings.
Mrs. Franklin locked her door, but savage faces continually appeared
at the windows and at last she determined to go out upon the
parade-ground and find a soldier or two to protect her.
When she opened the door, she started violently, and put her hand upon
her heart.
"I'm sorry I frightened you," said Katherine. "I'm frightened myself.
I don't like to have those Indians running in and out. Four squaws
just came into my house and began to look around, just as if I had
something that belonged to them. I don't know what they're doing
now--they're still there. Can't we get some of the boys to drive them
out and shut the gates?"
Before there was time for an answer, three braves and two squaws
entered the Captain's house and began to inspect the furnishings
of the room. Katherine was stiff with terror, but Mrs. Franklin was
angry. She held her peace, however, until one of the warriors took
down a musket from the wall, aimed it at the ceiling, and fired.
In an instant the Captain's wife was on her feet. Her husband's rifle
was on the table behind her, and quick as a flash, she levelled it at
the intruders. "Out of my house, you dogs!" she cried, and the Indians
retreated, pausing outside just long enough to make savage grimaces at
the women.
The report of the musket brought Ronald and some soldiers to the
rescue. "What's up?" he asked, looking from one to the other.
It was Katherine who explained, for Mrs. Franklin's courage had
deserted her, and she was trembling so she could not speak. "Cheer up,
Mamie," said the Ensign--"I'll see to it."
Upon his own responsibility, he cleared the Fort of the intruders,
closed the south gate, and put a double line of armed sentinels at the
north entrance.
No sooner was it accomplished than Captain Franklin came out of the
offices. "May I ask," he sarcastically inquired of Ronald, "by whose
authority you have done this?"
The Ensign saluted. "By the authority of a Second Lieutenant who sees
the wife of his Captain in danger," he answered stiffly, then turned
on his heel and walked away.
The two women were sitting on the piazza and the Captain did not share
Ronald's fears for their safety. Mackenzie and Black Partridge passed
through the line of sentinels and he went to meet them.
"He says," began the trader, indicating the chief, "that noon of the
sun is too early for the council, but that at the second hour after
noon, he and his people will be assembled upon the esplanade, to await
the pleasure of the White Father."
"Very well," said the Captain, carelessly.
Black Partridge went out and the Indians at once began to rally around
him. At least a thousand, including the squaws, came out of the woods
and were assigned to different stations, according to their rank. The
chiefs of the several branches of the Pottawattomies and the chiefs
of allied tribes, had places of honour in the front ranks. The braves
and young warriors came next, and the squaws were grouped a little way
off, by themselves.
For fully an hour before the appointed time, the solid phalanx waited
in the broiling sun. Some of the squaws sat upon the hot ground,
but the braves stood, silent and statuesque, with grim fortitude.
The Ensign went to the gate of the Fort and took a long look at the
assembly, frankly admitting to himself that he did not like the
appearance of it.
When he had turned back and had passed the sentinels, Doctor Norton
stopped him. "Ronald," he said, in a low tone, "the boys are talking
mutiny."
The Ensign considered a moment. "How do you know?"
"Well, I've overheard two or three significant remarks that seemed to
point in the same direction."
"Who began it?"
"It seems to have started in about fifty places at once."
"Do you know the names of the men?"
"No, I do not." Ronald knew that the Doctor lied, and respected him
for it.
"Do you think the boys thought of it by themselves?"
"I should judge so--I didn't hear any references to the officers."
Ronald looked at him quickly but he appeared unconscious. "I just
thought I'd tell you," he continued. "Of course, it's none of my
affair."
"All right--much obliged to you."
The Doctor went away and Ronald went immediately to his superior
officer. "Lieutenant Howard," he demanded sternly, "have you been
talking mutiny to the men?"
Howard's eyes met his squarely. "No," he said sharply, "have you?"
Ronald retreated, shamefaced and ill at ease. "I--I beg your pardon."
"The boys aren't fools," laughed the Lieutenant. "They can see farther
than some. I've spoken to no one but you, but if mutiny arises, I'll
let it take its rightful course."
"Well, I won't. Remember what I said."
"I can't remember all your valuable utterances. Don't cast your pearls
before swine, but reserve them for--for a more appreciative audience."
Stung to the quick by the insult, Ronald instinctively put his hand on
his sword. Then both saw the Captain coming swiftly toward them, and
waited.
"It is time for the council," he said.
"Well?" queried the Lieutenant, after an awkward pause.
"Are you going with me?"
Silence.
"Lieutenant Howard and Ensign Ronald, it is time for the council I
have appointed with the Indians. Are you going with me?"
"An order, Captain?" inquired Ronald.
"Neither an order nor a request--not even a suggestion. It is an
opportunity, to be taken or not, as you choose."
"Speaking for myself," said Ronald, "I do not see what we could
accomplish by going. You are the army and the officers of it."
"As you pay no attention to our suggestions," remarked the Lieutenant,
"I prefer to remain here."
"Very well." The Captain and Mackenzie went out alone.
"Better go to the blockhouse, hadn't we?" asked Ronald. "There may be
trouble."
"I hope there will be," answered Howard. "Let Franklin fight it out
alone with his precious Indians. Providence may yet intervene and give
me the command."
Ronald went to the blockhouse alone, trained the cannon at the
port-holes, and watched the Indians. After the first formal greetings
were exchanged, the business of the afternoon began. Franklin spoke to
Mackenzie, who translated for the benefit of Black Partridge, and he,
in turn, conveyed the message to the assembly.
"We come for the last time," said Captain Franklin, "to speak with our
brothers, the red men. Your Great Chief has told you how our Great
Chief has bidden us to assemble at another place and how, though our
hearts are torn with sorrow, we must obey the command. We have sent
swift messengers a day's journey and more on every side, that we might
say farewell to those with whom we have so long dwelt in peace. The
goods in yonder storehouse, by the mandate of the Great White Father,
are to be given to our brothers as a parting gift, that they may long
hold us in kindly remembrance, as we shall them.
"We ask, however, a favour in return. We ask that some of our noble
brothers, such as it may please, shall escort us to Fort Wayne, the
place of our first assembly, and long known to the red men, who
have many friends there. We ask that our brothers shall aid us in
protecting our women and children from the dangers of the trail. If
any are graciously inclined to do this kindness for us, we shall press
upon them still other gifts when we reach our destination."
Black Partridge, in a loud voice, repeated the speech in the Indian
tongue. Each of the chiefs in the front rank then expressed an
opinion upon the subject, as he was asked by the spokesman. Then Black
Partridge spoke apart with Mackenzie.
"They say," said the interpreter, "that it is well. They will joyously
receive the goods in the storehouse as a parting gift from their white
brothers, beside whom they have so long dwelt in peace. The plains
will be lonely and the river sad without the palefaces. The houses
of the Great White Father will be desolate when the friends of the
red men are gone, but as it is written, so must it be. The bravest of
the warriors will attend on the trail to Fort Wayne and safely shield
the friends of the red men from savages and wild beasts. From all
that stalks abroad with intent to slay, the friends of the palefaces
will guard them. Let the children of the Great White Father have no
fear. All shall be well. Side by side shall they journey with their
brothers, the Pottawattomies and the allied tribes. In three moons, or
perhaps two, if the Great Spirit is kind, the palefaces will return to
dwell with their brothers once more, when their assembly is over and
the Great White Father has made known unto them his commands."
"Tell them," said Captain Franklin, "that at the same hour of
to-morrow's sun, the presents shall be given them. They shall have
blankets, prints, calicoes, broadcloths, and adornments for their
women and their papooses. For the Great Chiefs there will be tobacco,
war paints, cunning contrivances for the sharpening of weapons, and
provisions against the long cold Winter when the hunting grounds
are barren, which is but four moons away. Say that the Great White
Father will be pleased when he learns how the Great Chiefs, with their
fearless braves and warriors, have safely guided his children unto the
place of assembly."
"They say it is well," said Mackenzie, after the speech and its answer
had been duly made, "and that at the same hour of to-morrow's sun they
will assemble here, to receive the parting tokens of the Great White
Father."
With much ceremony, the council was concluded and the Indians
dispersed. Black Partridge lingered to express his pleasure because
all had gone well, then he, too, went along the river bank to the
woods where the Indians were gathered.
"Captain," said Mackenzie, "I want to talk to you a bit."
"All right--let's go back to the Fort, where it's cooler."
Ronald came down from the blockhouse as they entered the stockade and
went across the river, where Beatrice was visible at a shaded window.
"How about the ammunition and liquor?" asked the trader. "Are you
going to include that in the distribution?"
"I hadn't thought about it--why?"
"It's risky," said Mackenzie. "We don't want to furnish them with
weapons to use against us. Arm those seven hundred Indians with
muskets, give them powder and shot, fill them up with liquor, and
where would we be?"
"It might amuse them," replied the Captain, thoughtfully. "If there
was whiskey enough in the storehouse to get every man of them dead
drunk, except our guides, it might be the best thing to do."
"Unfortunately, we can't force the proper quantity down the throat of
each one. Some are wiser than the rest and they wouldn't drink."
"Well, suppose they had the muskets--wouldn't they use them against
each other?"
"No," said the trader, conclusively, "they wouldn't. They'd turn
against us."
"I hardly think that any of them will go with us, except Black
Partridge and a few of his friends. By to-morrow, numerous fights
will have started, and they'll be too busy to notice our departure.
Besides, they have promised."
"Captain Franklin, the promise of an Indian is absolutely worthless,
as you must know by this time. Since the troubles on the Wabash, the
general trend of feeling toward us has been hostile. Their tomahawks
are bad enough--they don't need our own weapons. When I got as far as
De Charme's, last Fall, on my way to Detroit, and heard of the battle
of Tippecanoe, I turned back immediately to Fort Dearborn and sent
messengers to the outer trading posts with positive orders to furnish
neither ammunition nor liquor to the Indians. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember. Perhaps it would be as well to keep back the liquor
and ammunition, but in that case, they must not know we have them. How
can we manage?"
"Bring everything into the Fort secretly, by night, and destroy it."
"Very well," said the Captain, after a silence; "you have had better
opportunities than I have had to gain an intimate knowledge of the
Indians. To-night and to-morrow night, as secretly as may be, I will
have the goods brought in and destroyed."
After Mackenzie went home, the Captain went out to walk back and forth
on the prairie near the Fort. His head was bowed and his arms were
folded. In spite of General Hull's order and the friendly professions
of the Indians, he felt the situation keenly. His responsibility sat
heavily upon him, for he knew his officers were opposed to him and had
begun to suspect that the men were disaffected. He would not have been
surprised at a mutiny, feeling, as he did, that it was a case of one
man against the world.
From a window, Katherine saw him walking to and fro, and at first
she thought it was her husband, but a second look convinced her of
her mistake. She was about to turn away when something arrested her
attention.
On the Captain's right, and at some little distance from him, an
Indian was moving stealthily toward the Fort. On his left, and still
farther away from him, another was doing the same thing.
The Captain turned to the right, and instantly the Indian on that side
dropped full length on the grass, while the other moved more quickly
toward the Fort. When the Captain turned to the left the manoeuvre
was repeated, but it was some time before she grasped the horrid
significance of their actions.
When she perceived that both Indians were endeavouring to get
between the Captain and the Fort, the blood froze in her veins. The
parade-ground was deserted, and the long, droning notes of the locusts
were the only sound she heard. She screamed, but the Captain did not
turn, and no one seemed to hear. At the gate the sentinel leaned on
his musket, unconscious of danger. She screamed again, but could not
hear her own voice.
Then the springs of action threw off their lethargy. She dashed out of
the house and flew over the parade-ground, with the taste of hot blood
in her mouth and a heavy weight upon her breast. Trembling in every
nerve, she climbed the ladder that led to the blockhouse, and entered,
flushed and gasping. She was dimly conscious that she was not alone,
but there was no time to waste.
Praying that she might not be too late, she seized a loaded musket,
aimed through the porthole, and fired. It seemed an age before she saw
the Captain through the smoke, running back to the Fort, and the two
Indians making for the woods.
"Thank God!" she breathed, "thank God!" Then she turned--and faced her
husband, his face so ghastly that she scarcely knew him.
"Ralph!" she whispered, hoarsely. "Ralph!"
His eyes refused to meet hers, and a tumult surged in her brain.
Detached pictures of her childhood, confused and unrelated memories,
and a thousand trivial things passed swiftly before her mental vision.
Then, as if by magic, there was a clearing--all things gave way to the
horrible knowledge that he had seen--and had failed to warn.
"Ralph! Ralph! My husband!"
The blood beat hard in her pulses and her lips curled in scorn. Then
her unspeakable contempt melted to pity, as she saw how the man was
suffering. Like an avenging angel she stood before him, confronting
him mutely with his sin.
Captain Franklin came into the Fort. As the Lieutenant saw him safe
and sound, he groaned deeply, like one whose suspense is ended. Then
he raised his eyes to the face of his wife.
"I thank you, Katherine," he said, gravely; "you have saved me from
myself."