CONCLUSION.
The night was gloomy, cold, and mournful; not a star shone in the sky,
and the young people only forced their way with extreme difficulty
through the shrubs and creepers, in which their horses' feet were
continually caught. They advanced very slowly, for both were too
absorbed by the strange situation in which they found themselves, and
the extraordinary events of which they had been actors or witnesses, to
break the silence they had maintained since leaving the fort. They went
on thus for about an hour, when a great noise was suddenly heard in the
bushes. Two men rushed to the horses' heads, and, seizing the bridles,
compelled them to stop. Prairie-Flower gave a shriek of terror.
"Halloh, brigands!" the Count shouted, as he cocked his pistols, "back,
or I fire."
"Do not do so, for goodness sake, sir, for you would run the risk of
killing a friend," a voice at once answered, which the Count recognized
as the hunter's.
"Bright-eye?" he said, in amazement.
"By Jove!" the latter said, "did you fancy, pray, that I had deserted
you?"
"My master, my kind master!" the Breton shouted, leaving hold of
Prairie-Flower's bridle, and rushing toward the young man.
"Halloh!" the Count continued, after the emotion caused by the first
surprise was slightly calmed, "what on earth are you doing here in
ambush, like pirates of the prairie?"
"Come to our encampment, Mr. Edward, and we will tell you."
"Very good; but lead the way."
They soon reached the entrance of a natural cavern, where, by the
uncertain light of an expiring fire, they perceived a large number
of white and half-bred hunters, among whom the Count recognized John
Black, his son, his wife, and daughter. The worthy squatter had left
the clearing under the charge of his two servants, and fearing lest his
wife and daughter might not be in safety during his absence, he asked
them to accompany him; and though this offer was somewhat singular,
they gladly accepted it. Prairie-Flower immediately took her place by
the side of the two ladies.
Bright-eye, the squatter, and above all Ivon, were impatient to learn
what had happened to the Count, and how he had succeeded in escaping
from the Redskin camp. The Count made no difficulty in satisfying their
curiosity; the more so, as he was eager to learn for what reason his
friends were ambuscaded so near the camp.
What the hunter had foreseen had really happened; scarce victors
over the Americans, and masters of the fort, disunion had set in
among the Redskins. Several Chiefs had been dissatisfied at seeing,
to their prejudice, Natah Otann, one of the youngest Sachems of the
Confederates, claim the profits of the victory, by installing himself,
with his tribe, in the fort, which all had captured at such an effusion
of blood; a dull discontentment had begun to prevail among them; five
or six of the most powerful even spoke, hardly two hours after the
victory, of withdrawing with their warriors, and leaving Natah Otann to
continue the war as he thought proper with the Whites.
Red Wolf had found but slight difficulty in commencing the work of
defection he meditated; thus, at nightfall, he entered the camp with
his warriors, and began fanning the flame which at present only
smouldered, but which must soon be a burning and devouring fire, owing
to the means of corruption the Chief had at his disposal. Of all
the destructive agents introduced by Europeans in America, the most
effective and terrible is, indubitably, spirits. With the exception of
the Comanches, whose sobriety is proverbial, and who have constantly
refused to drink anything but the water of their streams, all the
Indians are mad for strong liquors. Drunkenness among their primitive
race is terrible, and attains the proportions of a furious mania.
Red Wolf, who burned to avenge himself on Natah Otann, and who,
besides, blindly obeyed the insinuations of Mrs. Margaret, had
conceived an atrocious plan, which only an Indian born was capable of
forming. John Black had brought with him into the desert a considerable
stock of whiskey. Red Wolf had asked for this, placed it on sledges,
and thus entered the camp. The Indians, when they knew the species of
merchandize he brought with him, did not hesitate to give him a hearty
reception.
The Chief, while indoctrinating them, and representing Natah Otann to
them as a man who had only acted from personal motives, and with the
intention of satiating his own wild ambition, generously abandoned to
them the spirits he had brought with him. The Indians eagerly accepted
the present Red Wolf made them, and, without the loss of a moment, took
hearty draughts. When Red Wolf saw that the Indians had reached that
state of intoxication he desired, he hastened to warn his allies, so
that they might attempt a bold _coup de main_ on the spot.
The hunters at once mounted their horses, and proceeded toward the
fortress, concealing themselves about two hundred paces from it, so as
to be ready for the first signal.
Natah Otann, in crossing the camp after escorting the two young people,
perceived the effervescence prevailing among his allies, and several
unpleasant epithets struck his ear. Although he did not suppose that
the Americans, after the rude defeat they had suffered during the
day, were in a condition to assume the offensive immediately, still,
his thorough knowledge of his countrymen's character made him suspect
treachery, and he resolved to redouble his prudence, in order to avoid
a conflict, whose disastrous results would be incalculable for the
success of his career. Agitated by a gloomy foreboding, the young Chief
hurried on to reach the fort; but at the moment he prepared to enter,
after opening the gate, a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, while a
rough voice hissed in his ear--
"Natah Otann is a traitor."
The Chief turned, as if a serpent had stung him, and wheeling his heavy
axe round his head, dealt a terrible blow at this bold speaker; but the
latter avoided the stroke by springing on one side, and raising his
axe in his turn, he directed a blow, which the Sachem parried with the
handle of his weapon, and then the two men rushed on each other. There
was something singularly startling in this desperate combat between two
men dumb as shadows, and in whom their fury was only revealed by the
hissing of their breath.
"Die, dog!" Natah Otann suddenly said, his axe crashing through the
skull of his adversary, who rolled on the ground, with a yell of agony.
The Chief bent over him.
"Red Wolf," he shouted, "I suspected it."
Suddenly an almost imperceptible sound in the grass reminded him of the
critical situation in which he was; he made a prodigious bound back,
entered the fort, and bolted the gate after him. It was high time; he
had scarce disappeared, ere some twenty warriors, rushing in pursuit
of him, ran their heads against the gate, stifling cries of rage
and deception. But the alarm had been given, the general combat was
evidently about to begin.
Natah Otann, immediately on entering the fort, perceived, with a groan,
that this victory, which he had so dearly bought, was on the point of
slipping from him. The Kenhas had done within the fort what the other
Blackfeet, incited by Red Wolf, had effected on the prairie.
After the capture of the fortress they spread in every direction, and
the spirits did not long escape their search; they had rolled the
barrels into the square, and tapped them, availing themselves of the
White Buffalo being asleep, and the absence of Natah Otann, the only
two men whose influence would have been great enough to have kept
them in subordination. A frightful orgy had then commenced--an Indian
orgy, with all its incidents of murder and massacre. As we have said,
drunkenness in the Redskins is madness carried to the last paroxysm of
fury and rage; there had been a frightful scene of carnage, at the end
of which the Indians had fallen on the top of one another, and gone to
sleep in the midst of the confusion.
"Oh!" the Chief muttered, in despair. "What is to be done with such
men?"
Natah Otann rushed, into the room where he had left White Buffalo; the
old Chief was quietly sleeping in an easy chair.
"Woe! woe!" the young man yelled, as he rushed toward him, and shook
him vigorously, to rouse him.
"What is the matter?" the old man asked, opening his eyes, and sitting
up. "What news have you?"
"That we are lost!" the Chief replied.
"Lost!" the White Buffalo said, "what is happening then?"
"The six hundred men we had here are drunk, the rest of our
confederates are turning against us, and the only thing left to us is
to die."
"Let us die then, but as brave men," the old man said, rising.
He asked Natah Otann for details, which he soon gave him.
"The situation is grave, but all is not lost, I hope," he said; "let us
collect the few men still capable of fighting, and make head against
the storm."
At this moment a tremendous fusillade was heard, mingled with war cries
and shouts of defiance.
"The final struggle has commenced!" Natah Otann exclaimed.
"Forwards!" the old Chief said.
They rushed out. The situation was most critical. Major Melville,
taking advantage of the intoxication of his keepers, had broken out of
his prison at the head of some twenty Americans, and boldly charged the
Redskins, while the hunters outside tried to scale the barricades.
The Indians of the prairie, ignorant of Red Wolf's death, and believing
they were carrying out his plans, advanced, in a compact body, on the
fort, with the intention of carrying it. Natah Otann had to contend
against the enemies without and those within; but he did not despair;
his energy seemed to increase with peril; he was everywhere at once;
encouraging some, rebuking others, and imparting some of his own nerve
to all. At his voice, many of his warriors sprang up, and joined him;
then the battle was organized, and became regular.
Still the hunters, excited by the Count and Bright-eye, redoubled their
efforts; climbing on each other's backs, they reached the top of the
palisades, which they wished to scale. The Americans, though themselves
surprised, when they expected to surprise their enemies, fought with
indescribable fury, returning instantly to the attack in spite of the
bullets that decimated them, and seemed resolved to fall to the last
man, rather than give way an inch.
During the two hours that night still lasted, the fight was maintained
without any decided advantage on either side; but when the sun
appeared on the horizon, matters changed at once. In the darkness it
was impossible for the Indians to recognize the enemies against whom
they were fighting; but so soon as the gloom was dissipated, they saw,
combating in the first rank of their enemies, and pitilessly cutting
down the Redskins, the man on whom they counted most, whom their chiefs
and medicine men had announced to them as their leader to victory, who
would render them invincible. Then they hesitated, disorder broke out
among them, and, in spite of the efforts made by Chiefs, they gave way.
The Count, having at his side Bright-eye, the squatter and his son,
and Ivon, made a frightful butchery of the Indians; he was avenging
himself for the treachery of which they had made him their victim,
and, at each stroke, cut them down like corn ripe for the sickle. The
Count at length reached the gate of the fort; but there he came in
contact with a band of picked warriors, commanded by White Buffalo,
who was effecting his retreat in good order, and without turning his
back, closely pursued by Major Melville, who was already almost master
of the interior of the fortress. There was a moment, we will not say
of hesitation, but of truce between the hostile bands; each of them
understood that the fate of the battle depended on the defeat of the
other.
Suddenly Natah Otann made his appearance, mad with grief and rage;
brandishing in one hand his totem, he guided with his knees a
magnificent steed, with which he had already ridden several times into
the thickest of the enemies' ranks, in the vain hope of reanimating
the courage of his men, and turning the current of the action. Horse
and rider were bathed in blood and perspiration; the shadow of death
already brooded over the Chiefs contracted face; but his forehead
still shone with enthusiasm. His eyes seemed to flash forth lightning,
and his hand wielded an axe, the very handle of which dripped gore.
Some twenty devoted warriors followed him, wounded like himself, but
resolved, like him, not to survive defeat.
On reaching the front of the American line, Natah Otann stopped; his
eyebrows were contracted, a nervous smile played round his lips; and,
rising in his stirrups, he bent a fascinating glance around.
"Blackfeet, my brothers," he shouted, in a strident voice, "as you
know not how to conquer, learn at least from me how to die!"
And burying his spurs in the flanks of his steed, which shrieked with
pain, he rushed on the Americans, followed by a few warriors who
had sworn not to abandon him. This weak band, devoted to death, was
engulfed in the ranks of the hunters, when it entirely disappeared;
for a few minutes there was a sullen contest, a horrible butchery, an
ebb and flow of courage impossible to describe, a Titanic struggle of
fifteen half naked men against three hundred; gradually the agitation
ceased, the calm returned, and the ranks of the hunters were reformed.
The Blackfeet heroes were dead, but they had a sanguinary funeral, for
one hundred and twenty Americans had fallen, burying their enemies
under their corpses.
White Buffalo's band alone resisted; but, attacked in the rear by
Major Melville, and in front by the Count, its last hour had struck:
still the collision was rude, the Indians resisted obstinately, and
made the whites purchase their victory dearly; but, attacked on all
sides at once, and falling helplessly under the unerring bullets of the
white men, disorder entered their ranks, they disbanded, and the rout
commenced.
One man alone remained calm and impassive on the field of battle. It
was White Buffalo, leaning on his long sword; with pallid brow and
haughty look, he still defied the enemies he could no longer combat.
"Surrender!" Bright-eye shouted, as he rushed upon him; "surrender, or
I will shoot you like a dog."
The Chief smiled disdainfully, and made no reply. The implacable hunter
seized his rifle by the barrel, and whirled it round his head. The
Count seized him sharply by the arm.
"Stay, Bright-eye," he said.
"Let the man alone," White Buffalo said, coldly.
"I do not wish him to kill you," the young man replied.
"I suppose you wish to kill me yourself, noble Count of Beaulieu," he
said, in a cutting voice.
"No, sir," the young man said, with disdain; "throw down your weapons;
I spare your life."
The exile gave him a withering glance. "Instead of telling me to throw
down my weapons," he said, ironically, "why do you not try to take them
from me."
"Because I pity your age and your grey hair,"
"Pity? confess rather, O noble Count, that you are afraid."
At this insult the young man trembled, and his face became livid. The
Americans formed a circle round the two men, and anxiously awaited what
was going to happen.
"Put an end to this!" Major Melville exclaimed, "kill that mad brute."
"One moment, sir, I beg; let me settle this affair,"
"As you wish it, air, act as you think proper."
"You desire a duel then?" the Count said, addressing White Buffalo, who
still stood perfectly calm.
"Yes," he answered, through his clenched teeth, "a duel to the death!
two principles, and not two men, will contend here. I hate your race,
and you hate mine."
"Be it so."
The Count took two sabres from the hands of the men nearest him, and
threw one at the exile's feet. The latter stooped to pick it up, but as
he rose again, Ivon aimed a pistol at him, and blew out his brains.
The young man turned furiously on his servant.
"Wretched fellow," he shouted, "what have you done?"
"Kill me, if you will, sir," the Breton replied, simply, "but indeed it
was stronger than myself, I was so frightened."
"Come, come," the Major said, interposing, "you must not be angry with
the poor fellow, he fancied he was acting for the best, and for my part
I think he was."
The incident had no other result; the exile died on the spot, taking
with him the secret of his name.
While this scene was taking place in the courtyard of the fort, John
Black, who was anxious to reassure his wife and daughter, went to look
for them; but though he went through all the rooms and outbuildings of
the fort, where he had concealed them for a few minutes previously, he
could not possibly find them anywhere.
The poor squatter returned, with lengthened face and despair in his
soul, to announce to the Major the disappearance of his wife and
daughter, probably carried off by the Indians. Without losing a moment,
the Major ordered a dozen hunters to go in search of the ladies; but
just as the band was about to start, they arrived, accompanied by
Bright-eye and two American hunters. Margaret and her daughter were
with them. So soon as Prairie-Flower perceived the Count, she uttered a
cry of joy, and rushed toward him.
"Saved!" she exclaimed.
But all at once she blushed, trembled, and went in confusion to seek
refuge by her mother's side. The Count went up, took her hand, and
pressed it tenderly.
"Prairie-Flower," he said to her, softly, "do you no longer love me now
that I am free?"
The maiden raised her head, and looked at him for a moment with
tear-laden eyes.
"Oh! ever, ever!" she answered.
"Look, daughter," Mrs. Black said to poor Diana.
"Mother," she replied, in a firm voice, "did I not tell you that I
should forget him?"
The squatter's wife shook her head, but made no further remark. The
Indians had fled without leaving a man, and a few hours later the fort
returned to its old condition.
The winter passed away without any fresh incident, for the rude lesson
given the Indians had done them good. Prairie-Flower, recognized by
her uncle, remained at Fort Mackenzie. The girl was sorrowful and
pensive; she often spent long hours leaning over the parapets, with
her eyes fixed on the prairie and the forests, which were beginning to
reassume their green dress. Her mother and the Major, who were so fond
of her, could not at all understand the gloomy melancholy that preyed
upon her. When pressed to explain what she suffered from, she replied,
invariably, that there was nothing the matter with her.
One day, however, her face brightened up, and her joyous smile
reappeared. Three travellers arrived at the fort. They were the Count,
Bright-eye, and Ivon; they were returning from a long excursion in
the Rocky Mountains. As soon as he arrived, the Count went up to the
maiden, and took her hand, as he had done three months before.
"Prairie-Flower," he asked her once again, "do you no longer love me?"
"Oh! yes, and for ever!" the poor child answered, gently, for she had
grown timid since she gave up her desert life.
"Thank you," he said to her; and, turning to the Major and his sister,
who were looking at each other anxiously, he added, without loosing
the hand he held,--"Major Melville, and you, Madam, I ask you for this
lady's hand."
A week later the marriage was solemnized; the squatter and his family
were present. And a month previously, Diana had married James. Still,
when the "yes" was uttered, she could not suppress a sigh.
"You see, Ivon, that you are never killed by the Indians--and here is a
proof of it," Bright-eye said to the Breton, on leaving the chapel.
"I am beginning to believe it," the latter made answer, "but no matter,
my friend, I shall never get accustomed to this frightful country; it
makes me so afraid."
"The old humbug!" the Canadian muttered; "he will never alter."
* * * * *
And now, to satisfy certain curious readers who like to know
everything, we will add the following in the shape of a postscript.
A few months after the 9th Thermidor, several members of the
Convention, in spite of the part they played on that day, were not
the less transported to French Guyana. Two of them--Collot D'Herbois
and Billaud Varenne--succeeded in escaping from Sinnamori, and buried
themselves in the deserts, where they endured horrible sufferings.
Collot D'Herbois succumbed, and we have told his comrade's fate.
THE END.