THE RED DEATH
"Attention! Forward--march!"
To the music of the Dead March the column swung into line and turned
southward from the Fort. At the head rode Captain Wells, who, after an
Indian custom, had blackened his face with wet gunpowder in token of
approaching death. Half of the Miami escort followed him, then came
the regulars, accompanied by the women, all of whom were mounted; then
the three waggons, and the remainder of the Miami escort.
Mrs. Mackenzie and her four children were in the bateau, with their
clothing and a limited amount of supplies. Chandonnais and a friendly
Indian were at the oars. Black Partridge had appeared at the trading
station before daylight, to ask Mackenzie and his family to go in the
boat. The trader refused, saying he would march with the soldiers;
and Robert also declined the opportunity. Both Mackenzie and his
wife insisted that Beatrice should take the safer course, but it was
useless.
"What?" she asked, "and leave Queen? Not I! We're going with the
soldiers!"
The other children at the post, eleven or twelve in all, were in
the first waggon, which was driven by a soldier. The second waggon
contained the supplies for the march; and in the third, where the
ammunition was stored, sat Mad Margaret. She had come very early in
the morning, with a small bundle, ready for departure.
The day was intensely hot, and the lake was like a sea of glass. The
line of march was along the water's edge, where sand hills intervened
between the beach and the prairie. The Pottawattomies, more than six
hundred strong, kept behind the sand hills and were seldom visible.
As the little company proceeded toward Fort Wayne, heavy hearts grew
lighter and anxious faces became peaceful. No Indians were in sight
save the Miami escort at front and rear. The music of the Dead March
ceased, and then upon the silence came Mad Margaret's voice, as she
croaked dismally, "I see blood--much blood, then fire, and afterward
peace."
Beatrice was riding with Robert, a little way behind Ronald. That
morning she had seen Mad Margaret for the first time. "Listen," she
said, as she leaned forward to stroke Queen's glossy neck, "doesn't
that sound like a raven in the woods? She's a bird of evil omen, but,
just as we were starting, she told me I should find my heart's desire
to-day."
"I trust you may," said Robert, gravely. Then he called to Ronald, but
the Ensign did not hear. He had begun the day in the dull stupor of
yesterday.
At the mouth of the river a Pottawattomie chief crept up behind the
column and signalled to the Indian in the bateau to stop rowing. He
did so, and the company went on a little way without missing the boat.
They were about a mile and a half from the Fort when Captain Wells
came riding back furiously. "They are about to attack us," he shouted.
"Turn and charge!"
Captain Franklin and his company dashed up a sand hill,--a veteran of
seventy falling by the way,--and were greeted with a volley at the
top. In an instant the massacre was on. Under cover of the sand hills
a part of the Pottawattomies had reached the front, and now surrounded
them at every point. The Miamis fled to a safe place when the first
shot was fired.
Captain Franklin endeavoured to mass the waggons upon the shore, but
it was useless, for dire confusion was in the ranks and each man
fought for himself as best he could. Behind them lay the lake--at the
right and left and in front of them were six hundred savages, armed
with arrows, muskets, and tomahawks. The plain rang with the war-whoop
and the cries of the victims, while shrill and clear above the clamour
came Mad Margaret's voice, shrieking, "The time of the blood is at
hand!"
At the first alarm, Chandonnais leaped out of the bateau, swam ashore
and ran to join the troops, leaving Mrs. Mackenzie and the children
alone with the Indian. He made his way through the left line of the
savages with incredible quickness, fighting as he went with the
ferocity of a beast. A painted warrior raised his weapon to strike,
but the half-breed, cursing, snatched it away from him and laid him
low with his own tomahawk.
Now and then Captain Franklin's voice could be heard giving orders.
His plan was to break through the line, turn, and close in, but the
attempt failed and was fraught with heavy loss.
Beatrice was a little way off, partially sheltered by a sand hill. Her
eyes were wide and staring, and the blood was frozen in her veins.
Even in dreams she had not thought it could be like this. Queen
snorted and pawed the ground impatiently, but the hands on the bridle
were numb, and there was no chance to escape.
The exultant cries of the Indians beat upon her ears with physical
pain. The early goldenrod, in full flower on the prairie, was broken
down as by some terrible storm. She saw Mackenzie repeatedly fire his
musket, and always effectively, in spite of warning shouts from the
enemy. Lieutenant Howard was wounded in the shoulder, but was still
fighting gallantly; and Ronald, in the front rank, seemed possessed of
the strength of a madman.
Robert was nowhere to be seen, and even then Beatrice's lip curled
contemptuously. Mrs. Franklin, separated from her husband, turned
blindly back toward the Fort, but two warriors overtook her, pulled
her down from her horse, and carried her away screaming.
Katherine dashed by, toward the thickest of the fight, for her horse
was maddened and utterly beyond control. Doctor Norton was beside her,
his face streaming with blood, and he was making desperate efforts to
reach the dangling bridle rein.
Beatrice laughed hysterically. After they were out of sight, a
deadened auditory nerve resumed its functions, and she heard
Katherine's voice saying, hoarsely, "You were right--I am glad I have
lost my boy!" The power of thought came back to the girl by slow
degrees. She must get away--but how?
Far out on the lake and a little to the rear was the bateau, where
Mrs. Mackenzie sat as if she were made of stone, with the children
huddled about her. Beatrice dismounted, and climbed, gasping, part way
up the sand hill that sheltered her, then looked to see if the trail
were clear, but the battle seemed to be thickest there. Isolated upon
a low mound, far across the plain, she saw Captain Franklin and half
a dozen men. Fifty or more Indians, with yells of fiendish glee, were
running toward them, and Beatrice slipped back, down the incline of
burning sand, afraid to look a moment longer.
She thought if she could attract Mrs. Mackenzie's attention, the boat
might be brought near enough to shore for Queen to reach it safely,
but the flutter of her handkerchief was not even seen, much less
understood. If she could not get to the boat there was only one other
way--to watch for an opening and ride like mad to Fort Wayne, trusting
to Queen's speed for her safety. It seemed hardly possible that she
could hide among the sand hills till dark, or even until there was an
opportunity to try the last desperate plan.
Then out upon that plain of death danced Mad Margaret, with her white
hair hanging loosely about her. "I see blood!" she shrieked. "The time
of the blood is at hand!"
A tomahawk gleamed in the air, but fell harmlessly beyond her, and
there was a murmur of horror in the ranks of the Indians. She went
straight toward them, and they fell back, afraid of her and of her
alone. Doctor Norton saw what she intended to do, and, with his hand
on the bridle of Katherine's horse, kept behind her and out of range.
Step by step, with demoniac laughter and unintelligible cries, with
every muscle of her frail body tense, Mad Margaret forced the Indians
back. One, bolder than the rest, and drunk with blood, stole up behind
her with his tomahawk upraised.
"_Mère! Ma mère!_" cried Chandonnais, darting out of the ranks. In
a flash he had wrenched the weapon away from the Indian and started
toward Margaret, hacking at those who opposed him.
A savage cry rang at his right, and Margaret turned. She saw the
danger and retreated, then ran like a deer between the Indian and
Chandonnais. "_Mère! Ma mère!_" the half-breed cried again, as the
tomahawk intended for him sank into her darkened brain. With the tears
raining down his face he caught her to him, and went backward, step by
step, toward the place where the others were fighting, with the dead
body of his mother in his arms.
Instinctively the soldiers drew near him, but kept to the rear. The
Indians were advancing, but no one of them was bold enough to touch
the man who held Mad Margaret. A moment more and the gap would have
been closed, with that frail body forming a powerful defence; but
a warrior, maddened by the loss of his friends, crept in behind
Chandonnais and struck him down.
Then the battle took a new lease of life. In the midst of the smoke
Norton saw Katherine's strained, white face close to his. They were
surrounded, and a company of Indians, brandishing their war clubs,
were racing toward them. Every avenue of escape was cut off. "Death
comes," said the Doctor, quietly, wiping the blood from his face; "and
here and now I dare to tell you what you must have known, that I----"
He was wrenched from his horse and his scalp lifted off at a single
blow. Katherine turned, and in an instant she was in the grasp of an
Indian. With desperate strength she tried to get possession of the
scalping knife that hung about his neck, but in the moment that she
had her hand upon it she was seized by another Indian, who lifted her
bodily and carried her to the lake.
Mrs. Mackenzie saw the painted savage with the body of her daughter in
his arms, then merciful unconsciousness blinded her.
Captain Wells was in the midst of the battle, fighting with musket
and sword. In and out of the Indian ranks he sped, wreaking vengeance
upon his foes. His hand was steady and his aim was sure. Warrior after
warrior fell before him, and as yet he was but slightly wounded.
A young Indian entered the covered waggon where the frightened
children were huddled together, and emerged at the other end with his
tomahawk dripping and a look of fiendish satisfaction upon his painted
face.
"Is that their game?" cried Wells; "butchering women and children!
Then I will kill, too!"
He wheeled and turned toward the Indian settlement, mad with the
desire for revenge. "Tell my wife," he shouted to some one, "that I
died fighting like a soldier, and that I killed at least seven red
devils!" Then his horse was shot under him, and in the fall he was
pinioned so that he could not escape.
With wild laughter the savages gathered around him, hacking at him
with their knives. "Don't kill him," muttered one of them, in the
Indian tongue, "but keep him for the festival to-morrow!"
"Squaws!" cried Wells. "Women! Papooses! Eight against one, and you
dare not strike to kill! Squaws!" The taunt went home, as he intended
it should, and a tomahawk put a merciful end to his suffering. Then
with one accord the savages fell upon the body, cut out the brave
heart and ate it, hoping to gain his fearless strength.
One of them passed very near Beatrice's hiding-place with a bloody
scalp in his hand. By the black ribbon that dangled from the queue,
she knew that Captain Wells had met the fate he feared. For a moment
horror paralysed her, and the metallic taste of blood was in her mouth.
Queen was standing as quietly as if she were in her stall, but her
nostrils quivered with excitement. "In a moment, Beauty," whispered
the girl, "we'll make a run for life." There was a muffled step, then
around the base of the hill came Ronald, followed by his faithful dog.
The blood was streaming from a deep wound in his breast, and he was
plainly done for; but he smiled when he saw her, then reeled, and
would have fallen had it not been for the horse. Beatrice took hold of
him, and, gasping, he sank to the ground at her feet.
The sand formed a hollow where they were, with the hill on one side
of it and the lake on the other. Drifted ridges of sand still further
screened them, and it was not likely that they would be seen.
"Poor old Major," said Ronald, with long pauses between the words;
"poor--old--boy!" With trembling hands he loaded his pistol, and,
before she knew what he was going to do, he had shot the dog.
"They'd--hurt him," he explained, with a feeble wave of his hand.
"They're all--over there. The Captain has surrendered, but--Wells
and Norton are dead--and most of the boys. The squaws are on the
field with--with the others. They're opening up the wounds with--with
pitchforks!"
His face whitened. Beatrice put her arm around his shoulders, and
he leaned heavily upon her breast. "It's worth while--to die--" he
gasped--"for this!"
"You're not going to die, dear. We'll stay here till night, then we'll
go on to Fort Wayne. You can ride Queen."
Hurt as he was, Ronald smiled. "I--I wouldn't ride that--that gun
carriage," he said with something of his old spirit. "Heart's Desire,
you must not stay. At the first chance, go--ride like mad to--to Fort
Wayne--if you are pursued or surrounded--you know what to do!"
His dimming eyes wandered to the bag of cartridges and the pistol at
her belt.
"Yes," she said steadily, "I know what to do."
"Go!" he whispered.
Beatrice left him for a moment and went up the sand hill to
reconnoitre. Peeping over the top of it, she saw that the Indians were
all north of them, except a few, and that the trail was clear.
"I can't," she lied, when she came back. "There's hundreds of them in
the south."
The cry of a wounded horse came from the field, and Queen started in
terror. Beatrice quieted her, then knelt down beside Ronald. A look of
ineffable happiness came into his eyes and his lips moved, but she put
a warning hand upon his face. "Hush--you mustn't talk--lie still!"
"It seems like heaven," he breathed, "to have you--near me--and to
have you--kind!"
The hot tears came to her eyes. "Don't!" she pleaded. "Dear boy, can't
you forgive me?"
"Sweet, there is naught to forgive. I would live it all--to have you
near me--to have you kind."
"Oh," she sobbed, "you break my heart!"
His hand closed limply over hers. "You must not stay--go--go--to Fort
Wayne!"
"I shall never leave you," said Beatrice, simply.
"Dear Heart, you must--there is no other way. When you are
gone--I--I----"
He looked her full in the face for a moment before she understood.
"No!" she cried in anguish; "you shall not!"
"It is best," he said. "I am hurt--even past your healing--it is
better than--the torture--and--and--if you are followed, you must do
the same. Promise me you will!"
"I promise," she answered, but she hardly knew her own voice.
"They were--in the north," he went on. "To the southward--all is
clear. If it were not for me--you would go."
He fumbled around in the sand until he found the pistol and loaded it
once more, though his hands shook. Beatrice tried to take it from
him, but very gently he put her away.
"It is time," he breathed. "Taps have sounded for me. I said I would
not--not speak of it again--but you--you will grant me pardon--I love
you--so much that death will make--no difference--I love you--with
all--my soul!" With a trembling hand he put the muzzle against his
right temple, and looked up into her face with the ghost of a smile.
His eyes asked mutely for something more.
Then Beatrice bent over him, and the kiss for which he had vainly
pleaded was laid full upon his lips. He caught his breath quickly,
with a gasp of pain. "God is very good to me," he said unsteadily.
"It was in my dream--but I did not dare--and now--Heart's
Desire--good-bye!"
He closed his eyes. There was a sharp crack, a puff of smoke, and the
boy was dead; but the supreme exaltation of a man's soul was frozen in
his face.
* * * * *
For a long time Beatrice sat there, sobbing helplessly, with his cold
hand in hers. It was nine o'clock when they started, and now the sun
blazed at the zenith. Mrs. Mackenzie and the children were nowhere in
sight--the boat was gone. Beatrice was as absolutely alone as if she
had been in a desert. "Oh, if it were dark!" she thought, and then she
prayed, in a shrill whisper: "Dear God, make it dark now!"
She felt her reason slipping from her and knew that she must get away.
Blinded by her tears, she climbed to the top of the sand hill once
more, and saw, dimly, that the coast was clear. A few Indians still
moved about among the dead, but there was no firing, and the garrison
horses, riderless and blood-spattered, stood quietly here and there,
apparently heedless of the burning heat.
With the start she had, she was sure she could get away safely. Once
on the trail, and then----
She saw that saddle and bridle were right in every detail, and
mounted. "For life," she whispered to the horse; "for your life and
mine!" She cautiously guided Queen in and out among the sand hills
until she came to the open prairie. Before her lay the trail and
hovering beyond it in her distorted vision, like a mirage glimmering
in the desert, she saw the flag flying from the ramparts of Fort Wayne.
"Now then, Beauty--fly!"
Like an arrow shot from a bow, Queen sped across the plain, but there
was a war-whoop just behind them and Beatrice knew she had been seen.
The cry came nearer and she looked back. Fifteen or twenty Indians
were in full pursuit and others, mounted, were following them.
The girl's heart rose in her throat. "On!" she breathed--"on!"
The unintelligible cries of the savages echoed and re-echoed in her
ears, becoming perceptibly fainter as she rode on. Then there was
an exultant yell and she turned quickly in her saddle. The mounted
Indians had overtaken the others and seemed to be gaining upon her,
but with a sudden spurt, Queen left them far in the rear.
Beatrice laughed hysterically and the sickening taste of hot blood
was in her mouth. Those on foot had given up the chase and one of
the horses had fallen, but well in the lead, with his sides bleeding
cruelly, Ronald's big bay charger thundered down the trail.
An arrow sang past her, then another just missed her, and she leaned
forward, close to the horse. Queen plunged on, then suddenly snorted
and reared as an arrow struck her flank.
Beatrice managed to loosen the barb and pull it out, hurting the horse
badly as she did so, and in the meantime the enemy gained upon her.
Another arrow, shot from the right, pierced Queen's quivering side,
and Beatrice, hopeless and despairing, reined in long enough to tear
it out. She was sick at the sight of Queen's blood-stained body and
the savage who rode Ronald's horse was almost within range.
She turned, held her pistol steadily, and waited. Queen was almost
exhausted and breathed heavily. Spurred on to new effort, the other
Indians emerged from a cloud of dust and galloped toward their leader.
A tomahawk whizzed past her and sank into the sand. Then she fired,
and with a cry of pain, the Indian dropped from his horse.
Without waiting for the word, Queen started on at a furious pace, but
in spite of it, Beatrice managed to load her pistol again. She looked
back only once, for she could hear the hoof-beats behind her. Ronald's
horse, with a new rider, was again in the lead, and the rest were
close upon his heels.
Inch by inch they gained upon her and mutterings of hideous portent
reached her ears. Queen's strength was rapidly failing, and when an
arrow struck her in the leg, the gallant little horse stumbled and
fell. A tomahawk gleamed just beyond them and at the same instant an
arrow grazed the girl's left arm.
Blind with pain, she staggered to her feet, put the muzzle between
Queen's pleading, agonized eyes, and fired. The horse rolled over,
dead, and Beatrice loaded once more, thinking grimly, as she did so,
that there was just time.
She raised the pistol, felt the burning circle of the muzzle against
her temple, and turned for one last look at the world that once had
seemed so fair. The Indians were almost upon her, but far out on the
plain was a man with neither hat nor coat, riding furiously, and the
pistol fell from her nerveless hand.
"Robert!" she cried, as if he could hear. "Go back!"
All at once she saw what he meant to do. Already he had turned a
little toward the lake, hoping to cut them off.
"Oh God!" breathed Beatrice. "And I called him a coward!"
The Indians now were not more than three hundred feet away, but when
they saw him coming they swerved away from Beatrice and rode toward
him. Robert turned straight east at a plunging gallop, then there was
a sharp report from his musket and a savage fell dead.
Then he threw away the musket, pulled out his pistol, fired and
wounded another. A tomahawk grazed his head and the blood dyed his
face, but he kept on.
From where she stood, she saw it all. Hand to hand, almost--yes, they
were upon him now, but there was a gleam of silver in the sun and two
of them fell back, wounded.
"Lexington!" she cried. "His grandfather's sword!"
All but four retreated, though his horse was hurt and well-nigh spent.
His next shot missed fire and his pistol was snatched out of his hand,
but the keen blade shone once more and another was dismounted.
The blood streamed from his wound as he dashed toward her, gaining
upon the two who were pursuing him. All at once he stopped in his mad
pace, turned, and with a single swift cut struck down the one nearest
him. With a wild war-whoop the second Indian signalled to another who
stood beside his dead horse, far out on the plain, but there was no
answer. Quick as a flash Beatrice ran toward them, aimed steadily,
fired, and the last Indian fell, mortally wounded.
"Thank God!" cried Robert, as he fell from his horse. "You are safe!"
* * * * *
They stood alone upon the desolate plain, looking into each other's
eyes. Robert's clothes were torn and cut, and his face was black with
blood and dust, but he seemed like a god to her.
"You saved me," she murmured, with parched lips. "How did you save me?"
"You were like another Beatrice," he whispered,--"you led me through
hell!"
Face to face at last, after all the misunderstandings, Beatrice saw
him as he was. The terrors of the day were temporarily forgotten, as
when one wakes from a horrible dream to a new joy. Something stirred
in the girl's heart and sprang, full-fledged, into exultant being. The
light in her eyes confused him, and he turned his face away.
"It was nothing," he said diffidently,--"only a running fight--that's
all. When the history of to-day is written, it will be a single
paragraph--no more. Two officers and thirty-six regulars killed in
action, two women and twelve children--a mere handful. No one will
know that a civilian was so fortunate as to save the woman he loved.
It is a common thing--not worth the writing."
Beatrice, still transfigured, put her hands upon his shoulders; but,
though he trembled at her touch, he kept his face turned away.
"Don't thank me," he said unsteadily. "I can't bear it. It is nothing.
Perhaps I've proved that I'm not----"
The girl put her fingers on his lips. "You shall not say it!" she
cried. "With all my heart I ask you to forgive me--you have covered me
with shame."
He turned and looked down into her eyes. "Shame," he repeated; "no,
not you. Forget it, Bee; it is nothing. A single paragraph, that is
all--which has to do with the soldiers, not with me."
"My soldier!" she said in a new voice, "my captain--my king--listen!
No better, braver fight was ever made. The thirty-six who were killed
in action have done no more than you; and some day, when they write it
all, they will say a civilian fought like a soldier to save the life
of the woman who loved him!"