THE LAST DAY IN THE FORT
"Sir," said a soldier; "some one is coming!"
"From which way?" asked the Captain.
"South, sir."
Captain Franklin climbed the ladder that led into the blockhouse at
the south-east corner of the stockade, wondering whether it was friend
or foe who approached. Dim upon the far horizon was a single rider,
who moved slowly, as if his horse were tired. Behind him marched a
small company of Indians.
"What do you make of it, sir?" asked the guard in the blockhouse,
anxiously.
"He bears no flag," answered the Captain. "Train the guns and wait for
a signal."
Only the north gate of the Fort was open, and, as always of late, it
was well protected; but, none the less, the Captain's heart was heavy.
He strained his eyes toward the rider, far across the sun-baked
prairie, and the minutes seemed like hours. The man sat his horse like
an Indian, yet, someway, even at the distance, conveyed the impression
that he was a white man.
The news quickly spread, and the soldiers who were off duty mounted
the stockade. As the company came nearer, the rider waved his hat, but
the men at the Fort made no answer until one soldier, with keener eyes
than the rest, shouted joyously, "Captain Wells!"
"Captain Wells! Captain Wells!" The parade-ground rang with the cry.
The two fifes and two drums struck up a military air, and a small
escort marched to meet him.
"Captain Wells!" The shout brought every soldier to the front, and
even the women, smiling, waited for him at the gate. The escort turned
back, and, swiftly upon the sound of the music, the cannon boomed a
welcome.
When the travel-stained rider dismounted, Captain Franklin wrung his
hand as if he never would let it go. "God bless you," he cried; "what
brought you here?"
"Orders from General Hull," answered Captain Wells. "I have brought
thirty faithful Miami Indians to escort your command to Fort Wayne."
Beatrice, Forsyth, the Mackenzies and their children, as well as
every one at the Fort, gave Captain Wells a warm reception. "Come to
our house," said Katherine.
"He's not going to your house," answered Mrs. Franklin. "He's my
uncle, and he's coming to mine."
It was some time before the Indian escort was taken care of, and Wells
and Franklin had an opportunity to discuss the situation.
"How are things with you?" asked Wells, anxiously.
"All right, I guess; I've been doing the best I can. On the ninth I
received orders from General Hull to evacuate the post and proceed
with my command to Detroit by land, leaving it to my discretion to
dispose of the public property as I thought proper. The Indians
got the information as early as I did, and they have come from all
quarters to receive the gifts. I asked Black Partridge to summon his
people, but I don't believe all the Indians here are Pottawattomies.
I have given them all the goods in the factory store, and all the
provisions which we cannot take with us. I have destroyed the surplus
arms and ammunition, fearing they would make a bad use of it, and I
have also destroyed all the liquor."
"Do the Indians seem friendly?"
"Yes--of course they wanted the ammunition and liquor, but I explained
that. There has been some friction here at the post. The Mackenzies,
of course, are opposed to going, and the feeling has affected others.
There does not seem to be much danger, though, unless the British come
down from Fort Mackinac, which seems hardly possible. The Indians have
promised to see us safely to Fort Wayne, but then--what's the promise
of an Indian?"
"Not much, I admit," answered Wells; "but I'm here to stand by you. If
worst comes to worst, here's one more man to fight. I'm with you to
the last."
"It is a great relief to me," said Franklin, after an eloquent
silence, "for I have felt myself alone--one man against the world."
"I'd do all I could for your wife's sake, if for no other reason. Call
an Indian council this afternoon and let me talk to them."
Franklin's face brightened. "The very thing!" he cried. "I'll give the
order at once." Then he grasped the other's hand and said again, "God
bless you!"
* * * * *
At the appointed hour in the afternoon the entire company of Indians
assembled upon the esplanade. After ceremonious greetings were
exchanged with the chiefs, Captain Wells turned to the others.
"A good day to you, my brothers," he said. "The time has seemed long
indeed since we parted. I see among you many new faces from the
far country, and I am rejoiced to learn that you have promised to
accompany the White Father and his people to the assembling place. Had
I known of this I should not have come, but should have trusted wholly
to my brothers.
"However, it is a happiness to me to see my friends once more.
Although I am a white man, I have been brought up like one of you. I
have learned the secrets of the forest and the trail and I have fought
side by side with the red men. For many of you I have sad news. The
Great Chief, Little Turtle, whose daughter I have taken in marriage,
went to the happy hunting grounds on the fourteenth day of the last
moon.
"Were he alive he would send his greetings to his brothers who are
here assembled. Thirty of his people have come with me to lead the
Americans safely upon the trail. For three or more days must we
journey, since the feet of the palefaces are slow, but we have no
fears. From the dangers of the day and the night, from wild beasts,
from every creature that stalks abroad with intent to slay; from
the unlearned tribes who are unfriendly to the whites, and from the
warriors of another White Chief, who may be known by their red coats,
we will protect our friends. It has been written by the Great White
Father that after we have led his people safely to the assembling
place, many gifts shall be distributed among us there. My brothers, I
bid you farewell."
Silently the Indians went back to the woods. No answer was made to
the speech except that it was good, and that all should be as it was
written.
"Franklin," said Wells, when they were again alone, "everything seems
to be all right, and yet I scent trouble. Do you suppose they have
received orders from the British to cut us off?"
"I wish I knew," answered Franklin, sadly; "and yet what could I do?"
"We must get out of here as quickly as possible. How much ammunition
have you reserved?"
"Twenty-five rounds per man."
"How about provisions?"
"We have enough for a long march. We'll take all we can, and give the
remainder to the Indians on reaching Fort Wayne."
"How many horses have you?"
"Enough for the officers and the women, as well as for the waggons.
The children can go in the waggons."
"Things are better than I feared," said Wells. "I hope we'll get
through all right--at any rate we'll do our best."
Orders were given for an early start on the following morning, and the
baggage of each person was limited to the absolute essentials. The
day passed in active preparations for departure, and the appearance
of Captain Wells, with the guard, had lightened the situation
considerably.
All of the pine knots that were left were fastened between the bars of
the stockade, as the soldiers had determined to illuminate in honour
of Captain Wells. The day had promised to be a little cooler, but the
lake breeze of early morning soon retreated before the onslaught of
the south-west wind.
The women had packed up their toilet articles and a few little
trinkets valued for their associations, and the kit of every soldier
was in readiness. Forsyth made a belt for his sword, pistol, and
cartridges, which looked oddly enough when it was fastened over his
suit of rusty black. Beatrice had recovered her spirit enough to laugh
heartily at the picture he presented.
All save Ronald were more cheerful than they had been for many a day.
He walked about as if he were in a trance, and when he was spoken to
he did not seem to hear. More than once he was seen staring into space
with a glassy look in his eyes.
In the evening the Mackenzies became sad at the prospect of leaving
their old home, as they sat before the desolate hearth, side by side,
for the last time. For a little while Beatrice sat there with them.
The children were asleep, Robert was finishing his packing, and she
felt herself an intruder, so at last she stole away and went over to
the Fort, where the pine knots blazed with a lurid light and cast
shadows afar.
Lieutenant Howard and Katherine were on the piazza at Franklin's,
where Captain Wells sat with his hosts. Under cover of the darkness
the Lieutenant was holding Katherine's hand, and Captain Franklin sat
with his arm over the back of his wife's chair.
"See what it is to be a spinster," laughed Beatrice, as she
approached. "Captain Wells, would you mind holding my hand?"
Wells stammered an excuse, for he was unused to the ways of women,
and Beatrice made him the subject of her playful scorn. "Am I so
unattractive, then?" she queried, looking sideways at the discomfited
Captain from under her drooping lids.
"N--no," answered Wells, miserably; "but--" He floundered into
helpless silence, not at all relieved by the laughter of the others.
That evening, if at no other time, Beatrice was beautiful. Her high
colour had faded to a languorous paleness, and the harshness of her
manner was gone. Her trailing white gown was turned in a little at her
round, white throat, and her long, shining hair hung far below her
waist in a heavy braid.
"Ronald," called the Lieutenant, "come here!"
The Ensign came slowly across the parade-ground. His shoulders drooped
and his face was very pale. "What is it?" he asked.
The tone was unlike Ronald. "Nothing," replied the Lieutenant, "except
that Beatrice wants somebody to hold her hand and Captain Wells won't.
He's too bashful, and the rest of us are occupied."
"It's too hot," sighed the Ensign. He sat down on the piazza, near
Beatrice, and fanned himself with his cap; but he took no part in the
conversation, and did not even answer Katherine's "good-night" when
her husband took her home.
"I'm going in, too," said Mrs. Franklin, "if nobody minds. I'm very
tired."
Franklin and Wells talked listlessly, feeling the restraint of the
others' presence. "Come out for a little while," said Ronald to
Beatrice. "I don't think they want us here."
The full moon was low in the heavens and the lake was calm. They went
out of the Fort and down near the water, but still he did not speak.
Then Beatrice put her hand on his arm. "What's wrong with you?" she
asked softly; "can't you tell me?"
His breath came quickly at her touch and he swallowed hard. "Heart's
Desire," he said huskily, "I die to-morrow--will you tell me you love
me to-night?"
"Die!" cried Beatrice. "What do you mean?"
"Sweet, the death watch ticked last night--Norton and I heard it and
most of the men. To-night, while I have eyes to see and ears to hear,
let me dream that you are kind. Since that first day, when I saw you
across the river, I have hungered for you; yes, I have thirsted for
you like a man in the desert who sees the blessed, life-giving water
just beyond his reach. My arms have ached to hold you close--my rose,
my star, my very soul!"
"All my life has been lived only for this; to find you and to tell
you what I tell you now. I have no gift of words--I'm only an awkward
soldier, but with all my life I love you. Poets may find new words
for it, but there is nothing else for a man to say. Just those three
words, 'I love you,' to hold the universe and to measure it, for there
is nothing else worth keeping in all the world!"
Shaken by his passion, he stood before her with the moonlight full
upon his face. His shoulders were straight once more, but his eyes
were misty and he breathed hard, like a man in pain.
The girl was sobbing, and very gently he put his arm around her.
"Heart's Desire," he said again, "I die to-morrow--will you tell me
you love me to-night?"
"I do--I do," she cried, as he drew her closer; "but, oh, you must
not talk so! You cannot die to-morrow--you are young--you are strong!
Don't! Don't! I must not let you misunderstand! It is not what you
think!"
His cry of joy changed to an inarticulate murmur, and his arms
stiffened about her as she stood with her face against his breast. "I
must be a stone," she sobbed, "or I would care. Don't think I haven't
known, for I have; but I've been afraid--I've always been afraid to
care, and now I've grown so hard I can't! Pity me--be kind to me--I
cannot care, and on my soul I wish I could!"
His arms fell to his sides and she was free. Half fearfully she lifted
her lovely, tear-stained face to his. "I wish I could!" she sobbed.
"Believe me, upon my soul, I wish I could!"
"Heart's Desire, I would have no words of mine bring tears to your
dear eyes. To see you so is worse than death to me. I was a fool and
a brute to speak, but the words would come. I have known you were not
for me. I have walked in the mire, and you are a star; but sometimes
men dream that even a star may descend to lift one up. Forget it,
Sweet, forget that I was mad, and if you can, forgive me!"
"I never shall forget," she answered, with her lips still quivering,
"for it is the sweetest thing God has yet given to me. But all my life
I have been afraid to trust, afraid to yield, and now, when I would,
I cannot. It is my punishment, and even though I hurt you, I must be
honest with you."
"Sweetheart, the hurt is naught--it is a kindness since it comes from
you. I ask your pardon, and remember I shall never speak of it again.
Others, perhaps, would say I have had enough--my youth, my strength,
and all that makes life fair. I have served my country well and
to-morrow I die fighting, as soldiers pray that they may. Women have
loved me, and yet-- My darling, I die to-morrow--ah, kiss me just once
for to-night!"
She was very near him, but she turned her face away. "No," she
whispered, "I can't. I will give you nothing unless I give you all."
"So let it be," he sighed. He put his arm around her again, and she
tried to move away, but he held her fast. "Don't be afraid of me,"
he said. "Dear Heart, can't you trust me? You might lay your sweet
lips full on mine, and yet mine would not answer unless you said
they might. I just want to tell you this. I can see no farther than
to-morrow, and after that--I do not know. But I'm not afraid of death,
nor hell, nor of God Himself, because I take with me these two things.
I think all else will be forgiven, Sweet, because I have served my
country well and I have been man enough to love you."
"Oh," cried Beatrice, with the tears raining down her face, "I can
bear it no longer--let me go home!"
She went across the river alone, and the sound of her sobbing came
through the darkness and cut into his heart like a knife. The dull
stupor of the day gave place to keenest pain. He was alive to the
degree that no man knows till he is wounded past all healing. Every
sense was eager for its final hurt. "How shall I live!" he muttered.
"How shall I live until to-morrow, when I die!"
He went back into the Fort with his head bowed upon his breast. As in
a dream he saw Wells and Franklin sitting by a table in the Captain's
house. The single tallow dip, with its tiny star of flame, was almost
too much light for his eyes to bear. The pine knots in the crevices of
the stockade filled the place with a lurid glare that seemed like the
blaze of a noonday sun.
He sat alone in a dark corner, muttering, "How shall I live! How shall
I live until to-morrow, when I die!" Lieutenant Howard passed him, but
did not see him. Then Doctor Norton called out, "Do you know where
Ronald is?"--but the Lieutenant did not know.
* * * * *
There was a stir at the gate and Mackenzie came in, accompanied by
Black Partridge. They went straight to the Captain's quarters and
were admitted at once. Mackenzie's face was grey and haggard, but
the Indian was as stolid as ever, save that his eyes glittered
cruelly. Wells and Franklin felt an instant alarm. "What is it?" asked
Franklin, hurriedly.
Black Partridge took off the silver medal which Captain Wells had
given to him and laid it on the table. The light of the tallow dip
shone strangely on the metal, and picked out the figures upon it in
significant relief. Then he spoke rapidly, and Mackenzie translated.
"Father, I come to deliver up to you the medal I wear. It was given
me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual
friendship. But our young men are resolved to bury their hands in the
blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a
token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy."
"Captain," cried a soldier, rushing in, "the Indians are having a war
dance in the hollow!"
"Close the gates," commanded Franklin, "and call the pickets in." He
was outwardly calm, though cold sweat stood out upon his forehead, and
Captain Wells stood by in silent distress. Before any one had time to
speak, Black Partridge was gone. He passed through the gates almost at
the moment they rumbled into place, and fled like a deer to join his
people.
"I suppose," said the trader, "that in the face of this you will not
march to-morrow."
"Yes," cried the Captain, in a voice that rang; "we march to-morrow in
spite of hell!"
Beside himself with fear, anger, and pain, Mackenzie rushed out and
told the first soldier he met all that had passed. In an instant there
was the sound of hurrying feet and the Fort was aflame with rebellion.
"Wells," said Franklin, quietly, "I wish you'd go to the barracks. You
may be needed there."
But the barracks were empty. As the guns thundered the signal for the
pickets to return, the men gathered around Ronald. Instinctively, in
times of trouble, they looked to him.
"Go to the barracks, boys," he said, in a low tone, "and wait for me
there. I'll do what I can."
A white figure appeared at a window and the Lieutenant went in to
speak to Katherine. Doctor Norton went straight to the Captain.
Franklin's eyes were blazing and his body was tense. The martial
spirit of the frontier had set his blood aflame. His fingers fairly
itched for his sword, and his hands were clenched. "Captain," said the
Doctor, calmly, "is there no other way?"
"No," cried Franklin; "there is no other way! Are you a coward that
you ask me this?"
The Doctor laughed unpleasantly, and went out without another word.
Hardly had his footsteps died away before Lieutenant Howard came in,
white to the lips with wrath.
"Is this true?" he shouted. "Do we march to-morrow, with our women and
children, when the Indians have declared war?"
"Yes," said Franklin, meeting his gaze steadily, "we do."
"Captain, this is madness. The men will never go. It is certain death
to leave the Fort. Your orders will not be obeyed, if it comes to
that."
"Lieutenant Howard, my orders will be obeyed. The man who refuses will
be shot."
"Captain, can't you listen to reason? Our force is small. We never can
cope with those fiends that even now are having their war-dance in the
hollow. I said it was certain death, but death in itself is nothing
to fear. Torture waits for us--for our women and children. Captain,
change the order--stay!"
"Sir, I have my orders."
The Lieutenant turned away. "Stop!" commanded the Captain. "You need
not go to the men. I am in command of this Fort and I will have no
mutiny. The soldier who attempts to disobey my orders will be shot
down like a dog, be he officer or man. We march to-morrow, if I go
alone!"
The Lieutenant staggered out and almost into the Ensign's arms.
"Ronald," he pleaded thickly, "go to the Captain. See if you cannot
do something to save us all. Don't ask for ourselves--he is pitiless
there--but the women and the children--" His voice broke at the words,
but he kept on. "Ronald, for God's sake, go!"
The thought of Beatrice's danger stirred the Ensign's blood to fever
heat, and he rushed into the house like a madman. "Captain!" he cried.
There was an instant of tense silence. A torrent of words was on
Ronald's lips, but the Captain raised his hand. "I suppose," he
said coolly, "that you are merely following the general tendency.
Mackenzie, Norton, and the Lieutenant have all been here to suggest
that I disobey my orders. Is that your purpose, also?"
"Yes," shouted Ronald, "it is!"
"By what right do you presume to offer unasked advice to your superior
officer?"
"By the right of one who has kept your men from mutiny!"
The Captain cleared his throat. "Well?"
"I have no plea to make for myself, Captain. I have come to ask at
your hands the lives of the women and children who are under our
protection--to ask you not to betray the most sacred trust that can be
given to man. You speak of orders. As I understand it, no time was set
for the evacuation of the Fort?"
"We have delayed too long already."
"Suppose the British army was at our gates--would those orders hold
good?"
"Sir, you are impertinent!"
"Captain, that medal which Black Partridge returned to you to-night
was equivalent to a declaration of war. If you are not willing to
act upon your own responsibility, send Captain Wells and his Indians
to General Hull to ask for reinforcements. If Captain Wells is not
willing to go, I am. I know the provisions have been given to the
Indians, but we have the cattle and perhaps enough else to last the
garrison two weeks or more. With reinforcements we can hold the Fort
against any force that may be brought against it. Captain--let me go!"
"Sir, I have my orders."
"Orders be damned!"
"At West Point," asked the Captain, hoarsely, "were you taught to
speak to your superior officer in that way?"
"Captain, I speak to you not as my superior officer, but as man to
man. Our force is small, some of our boys are too old to fight, and we
have women and children to protect. I ask nothing for myself, nor for
men like me--we are soldiers. I plead for the helpless ones under our
care. I ask you only to wait, not to disobey. I beg you to save the
women and children from torture--from cutting their flesh to ribbons
while they still live--from things that one man cannot look another in
the face and name."
Franklin turned away, his muscles rigid as steel.
"You have a wife, Captain--a tender, loving, helpless woman. Are you
willing to give her to the Indians and let them do as they please
with her? Suppose you had a child, just old enough to walk--a little
daughter, whose flesh was so soft that you almost feared to touch
her--a child who loved you, trusted you, and leaned upon you, knowing
that you would risk your life to save her from the slightest hurt.
Suppose two thousand Indians in their war-paint were pounding at the
gates of the Fort, and the knife and the stake were waiting for their
victims--would you stand upon the stockade and throw that child to
those beasts?
"That is what you are going to do to-morrow. You will sacrifice your
own wife, the wife of every man at the post, and every little child,
but it touches you only at one point. In the name of the woman who
loves you--in the name of the children who might have called you
father--Captain--in God's name--stay!"
The Captain's face was ashen, but his voice was clear. "Sir, I am a
soldier--I have my orders!"
With a muttered curse, Ronald flung himself out of the room. He
staggered to the parade-ground blindly, gasping with every breath.
Then the door opened softly and a white figure, barefooted, came
quietly into the room.
"What!" cried the Captain; "you, too?"
Her gown was no whiter than her face, but she came to him steadily.
"Wallace," she said, "you are a soldier, and I am a soldier's wife. I
could not help hearing what they said. Don't think I blame you--I know
you will do what is right. Captain Wells and I will stand by you!"
He took her into his arms, and then a hoarse murmur came to their
ears. She started away from him in fear. "What is it?" she cried.
"It's only the barracks," he answered, trying to smile. "Come, dear,
come!"
When Ronald opened the door, where the men were drinking heavily,
the confusion was heard to the farthest limits of the Fort. "Boys,"
he cried, "it's all over--there's nothing any one of us can do!"
Lieutenant Howard, the Doctor, and Captain Wells were standing
together near the door, but he did not seem to see them.
Straight to the middle of the room he went, and a soldier filled his
glass. "Make merry while you can, my brave boys," he shouted, "for
this is the last of life for us! To-night we are men--to-morrow we
are food for the vultures! To-night we are soldiers--to-morrow we
are clay! To-night we may sleep--to-morrow we wake to the knife, the
scourge, and the flames! To-night, for the last time, we stand side by
side--to-morrow we fight a merciless foe of ten times our strength!
"If you have neither wife nor child, thank God that you stand
alone. If you have, load your muskets and strike them down at
sunrise to-morrow,--yes, stain your hands with their innocent blood
that you may save them from something worse. Twelve hours of life
remains--waste none of it in sleep! Fill your glasses to the brim
and drink till the night is past. Pray that your senses may leave
you--that your reason may be replaced by the madness of beasts! Pray
for strong arms to-morrow--pray for a soldier's fate! Drink while the
stakes are being put in place for us--drink to your ashes and the fall
of Fort Dearborn--drink, boys--to Death!"
The room had been deadly still while he was speaking, but now the cry
rang to the rafters,--"To Death!"
"Again," shouted Ronald, "fill your glasses once more! To the
strong arm and the fearless heart--to the torture that waits for us
to-morrow--to the red spawn of hell that is grinning at our gates--a
toast to Death!"
The door opened and Captain Franklin came into the room. Every man
turned accusing eyes upon him save one. "To the Captain!" cried Wells,
lifting his glass.
He drank alone, since, for the moment, no one else moved. Then, with
one accord, the wine was thrown to the floor and the sharp crash of
glass followed it, as the deep-throated bell sounded taps--for the
last time.