THE ATTACK.
White Buffalo and Natah Otann had drawn up their strategic arrangements
with remarkable skill. The two Chiefs had scarce formed their camp in
the clearing, ere they assembled the Sachems of the other tribes camped
not far from them, in order to combine their movement, so as to attack
the Americans simultaneously from all points.
Though the Redskins are excessively cunning, the Americans had
succeeded in thoroughly deceiving them, in the gloom and silence that
prevailed through the fort, for not a single bayonet could be seen
glistening behind its parapets. Leaving their horses concealed in the
forest, the Indians lay down on the ground, and, crawling through the
tall grass like reptiles, began crossing the space that separated them
from the ramparts.
All was still apparently gloomy and silent, and yet two thousand
intrepid warriors were crawling up in the shadow to attack a fortress
behind which forty resolute men only waited for the signal to be given,
and commence the attack. When all the orders had been given, and the
last warriors had quitted the hill, Natah Otann, whose perspicuous
eye had discovered a certain hesitation of evil omen in the minds of
the allied chiefs, resolved to make that final appeal to the Count to
secure his co-operation. We have already seen the result. When left
alone, Natah Otann gave the signal for attack; the Indians rushed like
a hurricane down the sides of the hill, and ran towards the fort,
brandishing their arms, and uttering their war yell. Suddenly a heavy
discharge was heard, and Fort Mackenzie was begirt with smoke and
dazzling flashes. The battle had commenced.
The plain was invaded, as far as eye could trace, by powerful
detachments of Indian warriors, who, converging on one point, marched
resolutely toward the fort, incessantly discharging their bullets at
it; while new bands could be seen constantly arriving from the place
where the chain of hills abuts on the Missouri. They came up at a
gallop, in parties of from three to twenty men; their horses were
covered with foam, which led to the presumption that they had come a
long distance. The Blackfeet were in their war attire, loaded with all
sorts of ornaments and arms, with bow and quiver on their backs, and
musket in hand, while their heads were crowned with feathers, some
of which were the magnificent black and white eagle plumes. They were
seated on handsome saddle cloths of panther skin, lined with red; the
upper part of the body was naked, with the exception of a long strip
of wolf skin passing over the shoulder as a cross belt, while their
bucklers were adorned with feathers and cloth of various colours.
These men, thus accoutred, had something imposing and majestic about
them, which affected the imagination, and inspired terror.
The struggle seemed most obstinate in the environs of the fort, and on
the hill. The Blackfeet, sheltered by tall palisades planted during
the night, replied to the Americans' fire with an equally rapid fire,
exciting each other, with wild cries, courageously to resist the attack
of their implacable foes. The defence was, however, as vigorous as the
assault, and the combat did not appear destined to terminate so soon.
Already many corpses lay on the ground, startled horses galloped in
every direction, and the shrieks of the wounded mingled at intervals
with the defiant shouts of the assailants.
Natah Otann, so soon as the signal had been given, ran off to the tent
where his prisoner was.
"The moment has arrived," he said to him.
"I am ready," the Count answered, "go on. I will keep constantly at
your side."
"Come on, then!"
They went out, and at once rushed into the thickest fight. The Count,
as he had said, was unarmed, raising his head fiercely at each bullet
that whistled past his ear, and smiling at the death which he, perhaps,
invoked in his heart. In spite of his contempt for the white race,
the Indian could not refrain from admiring this courage, which was so
frankly and nobly stoical.
"You are a man," he said to the Count.
"Did you ever doubt it?" the latter remarked, simply.
Still the combat became, with each moment, more obstinate. The Indians
rushed forward, roaring like lions, against the palisades of the fort,
and were killed without flinching; their bodies almost filled up the
moat. The Americans, compelled to make a front on all sides, defended
themselves with the methodical and resolute impassiveness of men who
know they have no help to expect, and who have made up their minds to
sell their lives dearly.
From the beginning of the fight, White Buffalo had, with a picked body
of men, held the hill that commanded Fort Mackenzie, which rendered
the position of the garrison still more precarious, for they were
thus exposed to a terrible and well-sustained fire, which caused them
irreparable loss, regard being had to the smallness of their numbers.
Major Melville, standing at the foot of the flagstaff, with his arms
crossed on his breast, a pallid brow and compressed lips, saw his men
fall one after the other, and he stamped his foot with rage at his
impotence to save them.
Suddenly, a terrific shriek of agony rose from the interior of
the buildings, and the wives of the soldiers and _engagés_ rushed
simultaneously into the square, flying, half mad with terror, from an
enemy still invisible. The Indians, guided by White Buffalo, had turned
the fortress, and discovered a secret entrance which the Major fancied
known to himself alone, and which, in case of a serious attack and
impossibility of defence, would serve the garrison in effecting its
retreat. From this moment the Americans saw that they were lost; it
was no longer a battle, but a massacre. The Major, followed by a few
resolute men, rushed into the buildings, and the Indians scaled on all
sides the palisades, now deprived of protection.
The few surviving Americans collected round the flagstaff, from the top
of which floated the starry banner of the United States, and strove to
sell their lives as dearly as possible, for they feared most falling
alive into the bands of their implacable enemies. The Indians replied
to the hurrahs of their foes by their terrific war cry, and bounded
on them like coyotes, brandishing over their heads the blood-stained
weapons.
"Down with your arms!" Natah Otann shouted, on reaching the scene of
action.
"Never!" the Major replied, rushing on him at the head of the few
soldiers still left him.
The mêlée recommenced, more ardently and implacable than before. The
Indians rushed about in every direction, throwing torches on the roofs,
which immediately caught fire. The Major saw that victory was hopeless,
and tried to effect his retreat. But that was not so easy; there was
no chance of climbing over the palisades; the only prospect was the
gate; but before that gate, the Blackfeet, skilfully posted, repulsed
with their lances those who tried to escape by it. Still there was no
alternative. The Major rallied his men for a final effort, and rushed
with incredible fury on the enemy, with the hope of cutting his way
through.
The collision was horrible--it was not a battle, but a butchery; foot
to foot, chest against chest--in which the men seized each other
round the waist, killed each other with knives, or tore the foe with
teeth and nails: those who fell did not rise again--the wounded were
finished at once. This frightful carnage lasted about a quarter of an
hour; two-thirds of the Americans succumbed; the rest managed to force
a passage and fled, closely pursued by the Indians, who then commenced
a horrible manhunt. Never, until this day, had the Redskins fought the
Whites with such fury and tenacity. The presence among them of the
Count, disarmed and smiling, who, although rushing into the thickest
of the contest by the side of the Chief, appeared invulnerable,
electrified them, and they really believed that Natah Otann had told
them the truth--and that the Count was that Motecuhzoma they had waited
so long, and whose presence would restore them for ever that liberty
which the White men had torn from them. Thus they had kept their eyes
constantly fixed on the young man, saluting him with noisy shouts of
joy, and redoubling their efforts to secure the victory. Natah Otann
rushed toward the American flag, tore it down, and wound it over his
head.
"Victory--victory!" he shouted, joyfully.
The Blackfeet responded to this cry with yells, and spread in every
direction to begin plundering. A few men still remained in the fort,
among them being the Major, who did not wish to survive his defeat.
The Indians, rushed upon him with loud yells, to massacre him, but the
veteran remained calm, and did not offer to defend himself.
"Stay!" the Count shouted; and turning to Natah Otann, said,--"Will you
let this brave soldier be assassinated in cold blood?"
"No," the Sachem answered, "if he consents to surrender his sword to
me."
"Never!" the old gentleman said, with energy, as he broke across his
knee his weapon, blood-stained to the hilt, threw the pieces at the
Chief's feet, and, crossing his arms, he regarded his victor with
supreme contempt, as he said--
"Kill me now; I can no longer defend myself."
"Bravo!" the Count exclaimed; and, not calculating the consequences
of the deed, he went up to the Major, and cordially pressed his hand.
Natah Otann regarded the two for an instant with an indefinable
expression.
"Oh!" he muttered to himself, with sorrow; "we may beat them, but we
shall never conquer them: these men are stronger than we; they are born
to be our masters."
Then raising his hand above his head.
"Enough!" he said, in a loud voice.
"Enough!" the Count repeated, "respect the conquered."
That which the Sachem could not have obtained, in spite of the respect
the Indians had for him, the Count obtained instantaneously, through
the superstitious veneration he inspired them with; they stopped, and
the carnage finally ceased; the Americans were disarmed in a second,
and the Redskins remained masters of the fort.
Natah Otann then took his totem from the hands of the warrior who bore
it, and, after swinging it several times in the air, hoisted it in the
place of the American flag, in the midst of the frenzied shouts of the
Indians, who, intoxicated with joy, could hardly yet believe in their
victory.
White Buffalo had not lost a moment in assuring himself of the
peaceful possession of a conquest which had cost the confederates so
much blood and toil. When the Sachems had restored some little order
among their warriors; when the fire, that threatened the destruction
of the fort, had been extinguished; and all precautions taken against
any renewal of the attack by the Americans--though that was very
improbable--Natah Otann and White Buffalo withdrew to the apartment
hitherto occupied by the Major, and the Count followed them.
"At length," the young Count exclaimed, with delight, "we have proved
to these haughty Americans that they are not invincible."
"Your weakness caused their strength," White Buffalo replied. "You have
made a good beginning, and now you must go on; it is not enough to
conquer; you must know how to profit by that victory."
"Pardon my interrupting you, gentlemen," the Count said; "but I fancy
the hour has arrived to settle our accounts."
"What do you mean, sir?" White Buffalo asked, haughtily.
"I will explain myself, sir," the Count continued, and, turning to Natah
Otann, "you will do me the justice to allow that I have scrupulously
kept the promise I made you; in spite of the grief and disgust I felt,
I did not fail once; you ever found me cold and calm at your side. Is
this not so?--answer, sir."
"It is true," Natah Otann replied, coldly.
"Very good, sir; it is now my turn to ask from you the fulfilment of
the promises you made me."
"Be a little more explicit, sir," the Chief said. "During the last
few hours I have been actor in and witness of so many extraordinary
things, that I may possibly have forgotten what I did promise you."
The Count smiled with disdain.
"I expected such trickery," he said, drily.
"You misinterpret my words. I may have forgotten, but I do not refuse
to satisfy your just claims."
"Very good; I admit that, so I will remind you of the stipulations made
between us."
"I shall be glad to hear them."
"I pledged myself to remain by yourself unarmed during the action,
to follow you everywhere, and ever to go in the first rank of the
combatants."
"That is true, and it is my duty to allow that you have nobly performed
that perilous task."
"Very well; but in doing so I only acted as my honour dictated; you,
on your part, pledged yourself whatever the issue of the battle might
be, to grant me my liberty, and give me an honourable satisfaction,
in reparation for the unworthy treachery of which you rendered me the
victim, and the odious part you forced me unconsciously to play."
"Oh, oh!" White Buffalo said, frowning, and striking the table with his
fists. "Did you really make such a promise as that, child?"
The Count turned to the old man with a gesture sovereign contempt.
"I believe, sir," he said, "that you are doubting the honour of a
gentleman."
"Nonsense, sir," the republican said, with a grin "How can you talk to
us of honour and nobility? You forget that we are in the desert, and
that you are addressing savage Indians, as you call us. Do we recognize
your foolish caste distinctions here? Have we adopted your laws and
absurd prejudices?"
"What you treat so cavalierly," the Count sharply retorted, "has
hitherto been the safeguard of civilization, and the cause of
intellectual progress; but I have nothing to discuss with you; I am
addressing myself to your adopted son; let him answer me, yes or no,
and I shall then know what remains for me to do."
"Be it so, sir," White Buffalo said, with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Let my son answer, and, according to his reply, I shall then know what
remains for me to do."
"As this affair concerns me alone," Natah Otann interposed, "I should
feel mortally offended, my friend, if you interfered in any way in it."
The White Buffalo smiled with contempt, but made no reply. Natah Otann
continued--
"I will employ no subterfuges with you, sir; you have spoken the truth;
I promised you liberty and satisfaction, and I am prepared to keep my
word."
"Oh, oh!" White Buffalo said.
"Silence!" the Chief ordered, peremptorily. "Listen, my friend;
prove to these Europeans, so vain and so proud of their so-called
civilization, that the Redskins are not the ferocious brutes they
imagine them, and that the code of honour is the same among nations
who are regarded as the most barbarous. You are free, sir, from this
moment, and, if you please, I will myself lead you in safety outside
the lines. As for the duel you desire, I am equally ready to satisfy
you in any way you may indicate."
"Thank you, sir," the Count answered, with a bow, "I am happy to hear
your determination."
"Now that affair is arranged between us, allow me to add a few words."
"I am listening to you, sir."
"Am I in the way?" White Buffalo asked, ironically.
"On the contrary," Natah Otann said, with emphasis, "your presence is
at this moment more necessary than ever."
"Ah, ah! what is going to happen?" the old man went on, in a sarcastic
tone.
"You will learn," the Chief said, still cold and impassive; "if you
will take the trouble to listen to me for five minutes."
"Be it so; speak."
Natah Otann seemed to be collecting himself for a few moments, and
said, in a voice which, spite of all his efforts to conceal it,
trembled slightly, through some hidden emotion,--
"Owing to events too long to narrate here, and which I would probably
possess but slight interest for you, I became the guardian of a child,
who is now a charming maiden. This girl, to whom I have ever paid the
greatest attention, and whom I love as a father, is known to you; her
name is Prairie-Flower."
The Count quivered, and made a gesture in affirmation, but no other
reply. Natah Otann continued,--
"As I am entering now on a hazardous expedition, in which I may meet
my death, it is impossible for me to watch longer over this girl; it
would be painful to me to leave her alone, and without support, among
my tribe, if destiny were to cause my plans to fail. I know that she
loves you, I entrust her to you frankly and honestly; I have full faith
in your honour--will you give to her protection? I know that you will
never abuse the trust I offer you; I am only a brutalized Indian,
a monster, perhaps, to your civilization; but, believe me, sir, the
lessons a great man has consented to give me have not been all lost,
and my heart is not so dead, as might be supposed, to finer feelings."
"Good, Natah Otann," White Buffalo said, joyfully; "good, my son. Now I
recognize my pupil, and I am proud of you; the man who succeeds in each
a victory over self is really born to command others."
"You are satisfied," the Chief answered; "all the better. And you, sir?
I await your answer."
"I accept the sacred trust you offer me, sir. I will be worthy of your
confidence," the Count answered, with much emotion. "I have no right to
judge your actions; but, believe, sir, that whatever may happen, there
will be always one man to defend your memory, and proclaim aloud the
nobility of your heart."
The Chief clapped his hands, the door opened, and Prairie-Flower
appeared, led by an Indian woman.
"Child," Natah Otann said to her, nothing evincing the violence he did
to his feelings, "your presence among us is henceforth impossible;
this Chief of the Palefaces consents to watch over you for the future;
follow him, and if at times you are reminded of your stay with the
tribe of the Kenhas, do not curse them or their Chief, for all have
been kind to you."
The maiden blushed, the tears rose to her eyes, a nervous tremor
agitated her limbs, and, without uttering a word, she took her place by
the Count's side. Natah Otann smiled sorrowfully.
"Follow me," he said, "I will escort you out of the camp."
And he went out, accompanied by the two young people.
"We shall soon meet again, I presume, noble Count?" White Buffalo
called out, after his countryman.
"I hope so," the latter answered, simply.
Guided by Natah Otann, the Count and his companion left the fort, and
entered the prairie, passing through groups of Redskins, who stood back
respectfully to make room for them. Their walk was silent; it lasted
about half an hour, until the Chief stopped.
"Here you have nothing more to fear," he said; and going to a dense
thicket, and pulling back the branches, "Here are two horses I had
prepared for you; take also these weapons, perhaps you will need them;
and now, if you wish to fight with me, I am ready."
"No," the Count answered, nobly, "any combat is henceforth impossible
between us; I can no longer be the enemy of a man whom honour orders me
to esteem; here is my hand, I will never lift it against you; I offer
it you frankly, and without any afterthought; unfortunately, too deep
a hatred divides our two races to prevent us being ere long opposed to
each other, but if I fight your brothers, I shall not the less remain
personally your friend."
"I ask no more of you," the Chief replied, as he pressed the hand
offered him; "farewell! be happy!"
And without adding a word, he turned away, and hurried back by the road
he had come; he soon disappeared in the darkness.
"Let us go," the Count said to the maiden, who was pensively watching
the departure of the man she had so long loved as a father, and whom
now she did not feel strong enough to hate. They mounted and went off,
after a parting glance at the scattered fire of the Blackfoot camp.