RECONCILIATION
That night, while the sentries kept guard, Lieutenant Howard paced to
and fro, as sleepless and as vigilant as they. Now and then parties
of soldiers came through the gates with ammunition or liquor from the
Agency, and piled it in front of the storehouse to await the Captain's
orders. Throughout the night the contraband goods were transported, as
quietly as possible, in order that the suspicions of the Indians might
not be aroused.
The Second in Command was in the midst of that battle with self which
every man fights at least once in his life. The events of the past
few days and his own part in them confronted him with persistent
accusation. The prairie beyond the Fort and the figure of the Captain
were etched upon his mental vision with the acid of relentless memory.
The scales fell from his eyes at last, and he saw himself
clearly--mutinous, insubordinate, unworthy of his office; distrusting
his wife and alienating his friends. Conscience, too long asleep,
awoke to demand such reparation as lay in his power to make.
Ten minutes more and it would have been too late. Ten minutes more and
the deadly tomahawk of an unseen foe would have been buried in the
Captain's brain. That little space of time was all that stood between
him and the command of Fort Dearborn--a command which he had planned
to use in open rebellion against the orders of his superior officer.
Cold sweat stood out upon his forehead, and his clenched hands
trembled. Ten minutes more and he would have been a murderer in deed
as well as in thought, though his hands would not have been stained
and there would have been no proof of his guilt. The pine knots blazed
fitfully in the crevices of the stockade, turning to a ghastly glare
as daylight came on. "A murderer!" he said to himself over and over
again; "a murderer!" He was like one who wakes from some horrible
nightmare with the spell of it still upon him, and wondering yet if it
is not true.
Behind it all was a new emotion,--a new feeling for Katherine. Her
hand had saved him. She had drawn him back from the brink of the abyss
even as the ground was crumbling beneath his feet--Katherine, his
wife, whom he had sworn to love and to cherish, and whom he had made
miserable instead. To-morrow, or at most the day after, would see the
end of it all. Two days remained in which to make atonement--two days,
snatched from the past, to fulfil the promise of the future that once
had seemed so fair.
"All in, sir," said a soldier. "Not a box nor a barrel is left at
the Agency. It's all there." He pointed to a pyramid in front of the
storehouse, which was almost as high as the building itself.
"No one saw you?" queried the Lieutenant.
"No, sir; no one saw. One of the pickets has just come in, and he
says, sir, that every blamed Injun is up in the north woods. There's
been a dance going on all night."
"Very well," answered the Lieutenant, carelessly; but his heart sank
within him.
"Mad Margaret was there, too, sir--she was havin' one of her spells."
"Well," said the Lieutenant, sharply, "what of it?"
"Nothing, sir--excuse me, sir." The soldier saluted and went away.
The night wind died down and the sun rose in a fury of heat. No clouds
softened the hard, metallic sky--it was like a concave mirror on which
the sun beat pitilessly.
The guard was changed, and presently Doctor Norton came out on the
parade-ground. When he saw who was there, he turned to go back, then
waited, for the Lieutenant was coming swiftly toward him.
They faced each other for a moment, like adversaries measuring the
opposing strength, then Norton smiled. "Well?" he asked calmly.
"I have not come to you," said the Lieutenant, thickly, "as you have
doubtless expected me to. We have no time to cherish any sort of a
grudge when, in two days at least, we start for Fort Wayne. You know
what awaits us on the way, and if worst comes to worst, and I can no
longer protect her, I ask you to make Mrs. Howard your especial care."
Schooled as he was in self-control, the Doctor started, and the
expression of his face changed as he looked keenly at the Lieutenant.
"What!" cried the other, scornfully, "are you not willing to do that
much for her?"
"Lieutenant Howard, as you say, it is no time to cherish a grudge.
What you have asked of me would be an honour at any time, but I will
not accept the trust until you know from me how I stand. I love your
wife with all my heart and soul."
"Have you told her so?" asked Howard, quickly.
"In words, no--but I think she understands--in fact, I hope and
believe that she understands."
The silence was tense, and Lieutenant Howard gnawed his mustache
nervously. His hand went to his belt instinctively, then dropped to
his side.
"I fear you have misjudged her," the Doctor continued. "A purer, truer
woman never drew the breath of life. In word or act or thought she has
never been disloyal to you. I said a moment ago that I loved her, but
it is more than that--it is the worship that a man gives to a woman as
far above him as the stars."
"In that case," said Howard, in a hoarse whisper, "you are well fitted
to protect her."
"You still offer me that trust?" asked the other, eagerly.
The answer was scarcely audible. "I do."
Their eyes met in a long look of keen scrutiny on one side, and of
fearless honesty upon the other. Then Norton extended his hand. The
Lieutenant grasped it, caught his breath quickly, then turned away,
for once the master of himself.
Beatrice came out of the Captain's house and smiled at him as he stood
there with his head bowed. "You're--you're out early," he said, with
an effort.
"I couldn't sleep. It was hot, and--Cousin Ralph, you must tell me. I
am not a child, to be kept in the dark. What is this horrible thing
that seems to be hovering over us? Uncle John does not speak to any
one; twice yesterday I found Aunt Eleanor crying; Cousin Rob and Mr.
Ronald are not in the least like themselves; Kit and Mrs. Franklin are
as pale as ghosts, and you--I saw you walking here all night. What
does it mean? Tell me!"
"We fear attack," he answered sharply.
"Indians or British?"
"Indians--under British orders."
For a moment the girl stared at him as if she did not believe what he
said. "Would they--would they--" she gasped, "turn those fiends upon
us?"
"Yes," he cried, "they would! They have done so in times past and
they will do so again! They--I beg your pardon--I have forgotten
myself--I--I--"
"Cousin Ralph, you are not well. You have walked all night, and you
need rest. I understand your anxiety, your fears for us, but you need
not be alarmed. We are women, but we are weak only in body--at heart
we are soldiers like you, and, like you, we will obey orders. Cousin
Ralph! You are ill! Come!"
He staggered, but did not fall. Beatrice put her arm around him and
helped him home. "Don't be frightened, Kit," she said, when the door
was opened; "he's just tired. He's been up all night and sleep will
bring him to himself again."
"Can I help?" asked Forsyth, anxiously. He had come to ask Beatrice if
she would not breakfast at home.
"Yes, please," said Mrs. Howard, quietly. "Help me get him into bed.
He has been under a great nervous strain."
Beatrice sat on the piazza and waited. She had said she was not weak,
but she was suffering keenly, none the less. After a little Robert
came back. "He went to sleep immediately," he said; "but Mrs. Howard
prefers to stay with him."
"Then we'll go home," she sighed. Together they went out of the
stockade into the merciless heat that already had set shimmering waves
to vibrating in the air. She drooped like a broken lily--her strength
was gone.
Robert's heart went out to her in pity, and something more. When they
reached the piazza he put his hand upon her arm. "Beatrice, dear," he
said, softly, "lean on me. I cannot bear to see you so--my darling,
let me help you!"
His voice shook, but she did not seem to hear. "I'm tired," she
answered dully; "I--I didn't sleep." She put him away from her very
gently. "I--I'm so tired," she repeated, with an hysterical laugh that
sounded like a sob. "I don't want any breakfast--I just want to lie
down and rest. Don't let Aunt Eleanor worry."
She went down the passage unsteadily, and he watched her until she was
safely within her own room. He quieted Mrs. Mackenzie's fears as best
he could, and managed to eat a part of his breakfast, though it was as
dust and ashes in his mouth.
"Rob," said the trader, "can you help me to-day?"
"Certainly, Uncle."
"We've got to get all the goods out of here and out of the Agency,
and divide them into lots of equal value. Black Partridge says seven
hundred of his people are entitled to the gifts. The Captain and I
decided last night to put the things out behind the Fort, send the
Indians by in single file, and let each one choose as he will. Black
Partridge agreed to the plan. He will form the line himself, so
there's no chance for trouble."
The bateau was put into service, and Chandonnais was instructed to
carry all the stores from the trading station to the esplanade, where
two of the soldiers kept guard. Mackenzie and Forsyth, with the aid
of a number of soldiers, carried out nearly all the stores from the
Agency House, reserving only the provisions needed for the march.
Mackenzie had made out lists the night before from his inventory, so
the task was not as difficult as it first appeared. As the men brought
out the goods, articles of a kind were grouped together, so, with the
aid of his note-book, the lots were quickly formed.
Had it not been for the heat, the task would have been finished by
noon; but two o'clock found the tired men still at work and the long
line of Indians waiting impatiently, kept back by the pickets on guard
and the commands of their chief.
"Why," said Mackenzie, in surprise, "the things aren't all here. Three
blankets are missing, two hams, a side of bacon, some calico, and I
don't know what all."
"Haven't you made a mistake, Uncle?"
"No, I'm sure I haven't. Somebody must have stolen them, but I don't
know how nor when it could have happened. Go up to the Fort, Rob, and
get all the blankets they can spare--I can even up while you're gone."
The Indians were waiting with ill-concealed eagerness, and in half an
hour more the word was given. Each went in turn to the wide stretch
of prairie where the piles of merchandise were placed, and where
sentinels were stationed to prevent stealing. When one started back
with his goods, another went, and so on, until late in the afternoon.
On account of the great number of Indians and the reservation of
provisions for the march, as well as four months' depletion of the
stores, the portion of each one was small; but there were no signs
of discontent until the distribution was over and the last Indian
gathered up the single pile that was left and went back to his place
at the foot of the line.
Then Black Partridge called Mackenzie and said he wished to speak to
Captain Franklin.
"The goods of the White Father have been given to his children, the
red men," translated Mackenzie. "We have received the blankets,
calicoes, prints, paints, broadcloths, and the tobacco that the White
Father promised us at the second hour after noon of yesterday's sun.
All is as it was written. But where is the powder and shot of the
Great White Father? Where are the muskets that were in the storehouse?
Why can we not have weapons for our hunting during the long Winter
that is but four moons away?
"The feet of the palefaces have a strange tread. They have frightened
away the deer, the wolves, and the foxes that the Great Spirit has
placed in the forest for his children to slay. Where is the firewater
that strengthens the arm and the heart of the red man--the firewater
which is the best gift of the Great White Father? Much of it was in
the storehouse--we have seen it with our own eyes, but now it is gone."
"Say to him," said the Captain, "that when the strange tread of the
palefaces has died away on the trail, the forest will once more fill
with the wolves and the deer and the foxes that the Great Spirit has
given for his children to kill. In the meantime, we leave our cattle
for our brothers, the Pottawattomies, beside whom we have so long
dwelt in peace. The grass is green upon the plains and there is water
for all. When the long Winter night comes upon them, the hay that we
have stacked in the fields will sustain the cattle until the Great
Spirit once more sends the sun. There are roots in our storehouses
with which they may do as they please, and they will not miss the deer
and the wolves and the foxes that the palefaces have frightened away.
"The firewater which our brothers think they have seen in our
storehouses was not firewater, but only empty casks. The red man is
brave, and it has been written by the Great White Father that he needs
no firewater to strengthen his arm and his heart. It is for women and
for children and for men who are not strong, as the medicine man of
the Pottawattomies has told them many times. It would be displeasing
to the Great White Father should we take away the firewater from the
palefaces who need it, for the sake of the red men who need it not.
"We have given to our brothers freely all that we have to give. It is
a sorrow in our hearts that there is not more, but our storehouses are
empty, as they must see, and other gifts are promised at the place of
our assembly.
"When other moons have waxed and waned, and when the Great White
Father has made known unto us his commands, we shall return once more
to the river and the plains to dwell by the Great Blue Water with our
brothers, the Pottawattomies, whose kindness and whose wise counsels
are forever written in our hearts."
"They say it is well," said Mackenzie, when the long speech and its
brief answer had been translated; "and that they will pray unceasingly
to the Great Spirit that the moons may be few ere the friends of the
red men return."
Forsyth and Mackenzie went home thoroughly exhausted. Night brought no
relief from the intense heat, and the guards paced listlessly to and
fro. Under cover of the darkness a small company of soldiers, under
Ronald's orders, broke up the muskets and flint-locks, wet down the
powder, put the shot into the well in the sally-port, and knocked in
the heads of the barrels containing liquor.
Careful as they were, noise was inevitable. Barrel after barrel was
rolled to the river bank and its contents poured into the stream. A
cask of alcohol shared the same fate, and the peculiar, pungent odour
filled the air.
"It's too late, sir," said a soldier, when he came in, rolling the
last empty barrel before him.
"What do you mean?" demanded Ronald.
"The Indians, sir. Three of them are lying in the grass downstream,
drinking the river water for the sake of the grog."
"Where are the rest?"
"In the woods, sir, dancing, same as last night. The northern pickets
told me, sir."
A long, low whistle came from the Ensign's lips. "If I might be so
bold, sir," continued the man, in a low tone, "some of the boys have
thought as how you weren't falling in with this order of the Cap'n's.
Orders is orders--we know that--but the boys are with you, to a man.
We'll do whatever you say, sir."
In spite of the threat which the words veiled, Ronald was deeply
touched by the devotion of the barracks. He laid his hand on the man's
shoulders before speaking.
"To be with me is to be with the Captain," he said. "It is one and the
same. Trying times must come to all of us, and for a soldier there
can be no nobler end than to die fighting for his country. Captain
Franklin will ask no one of us to go where he would not go himself.
Tell the boys that, and that to stand by the Captain is to stand by
me."
"All right, sir. And the barrels isn't all emptied. There's a cask
over in the barracks. The boys thought it might hearten 'em up a bit,
and they said, sir, that you wouldn't care."
"You are welcome to it," answered Ronald, absently, "but make a good
use of it. We'll need a steady hand, each and every man of us, when we
start out on the march."
The night sentinels came on and the soldier went on to the barracks,
where his comrades were making merry with the wine. "I wonder," said
Ronald to himself, "what would have happened if he had said that
to--to another?"
Even in his thought he did not name the Lieutenant, but, as he passed
the house, he saw Katherine moving back and forth before the open
window. "Poor girl," he said aloud. "Poor girl!"
Katherine had had a hard day, even though her husband had slept
without a break since Forsyth helped her get him into bed. At first
she thought he had been drinking, though she knew he was not in
the habit of it. Mrs. Franklin had been over and had been told
indifferently that the Lieutenant was tired out and was resting.
It was late when he awoke, rubbed his eyes, and sat up in bed.
Katherine went to him and put her cool hand upon his hot face. "Are
you better, dear?" she asked.
"Yes," he sighed; "I'm all right. It's hot, isn't it?"
She sat down on the bed beside him and talked to him soothingly, as
if he were a tired child. She told him everything that had occurred
during the day, and said she was glad he could rest. She got him a
glass of water, then bathed his flushed face with a soft cloth and
stroked his hands gently with her cool fingers.
For a long time he watched her as she ministered to him with unfailing
gentleness. Her straight shoulders were bent a little and there were
lines upon her face; but the ashen gold of her hair and the deep blue
of her eyes were the same as when he first loved her--so long ago. He
remembered the mad joy that possessed him when his lips first touched
hers, and the crushing sorrow of their bereavement, which should have
drawn them closer together, but instead had driven them apart. He knew
that another man loved her and that she knew it also, yet she had been
loyal.
As she went out, he wondered whether another woman in her place would
have been true to him. With a swift searching of self he tried to
remember some tender word that he had said to her, but it was all
blotted out, as if darkness had come between them. For the first time
he looked at their life together from her point of view, and shuddered
as he saw how she might think of him. Her silence and her patience
were evident to him, as they had not been before. Many a time he had
seen the blue eyes fill and the sweet mouth tremble at some careless
word of his, and often, too, he had seen her shut her teeth together
hard when some shaft was meant to sting.
Two days were left--no, only one--for it was night now. One day in
which to atone for the countless hurts of the past four years. The
dominant self melted into unwonted tenderness as she came back into
the room.
"I was gone too long," she said quickly; "but I didn't mean to be."
"Katherine!" he said in a new voice.
"Yes, dear; what is it?" She sat down beside him once more and looked
anxiously into his face, fearing that he was ill.
"What is it, dear?" she asked again.
"Nothing," he said huskily; "only that I love you and I want you to
forgive me."
"Ralph! Ralph!" she cried, sinking into his arms, "there's nothing to
forgive; but I've prayed so long that I might hear you say it!"
"Will you?" he pleaded, with his face hidden against her breast.
"Yes," she cried, "a thousand times, yes! I've wanted you to love me
as I've never wanted anything else in the world!"
"I love you with all my soul," he said simply. "I----" A catch in his
throat put an end to speech, for her love-lit face, wet with tears,
was very near to his. His arms closed hungrily around her, and the
lips that but a moment before were quivering with sobs, were crushed
in eternal pardon against his own.