FIRE
Mark was disposed to make light of that which distressed Susan, and
thus did he make his first mistake in the defence.
To his mind there was nothing very serious in the loss of the water
which had been carried into the dwelling, because the spring was
within the stockade, and however much mischief the sheep had done,
it would be the work of but few moments to put everything in proper
order once more.
The chief thought in his mind was regarding the possible trouble
which the Abenakis might make while hidden in the thicket back of
the palisade, and, after this, the fear that the ablest of his
assistants might become disabled because of her wound, which had not
received the attention such an injury required.
Therefore it was he said to Susan speaking almost sharply to the end
that she might feel forced to obey without argument:
"The first thing for you to look after is that wound. Have your
mother dress it once more while you can be spared from the
palisade." Then, seeing that she hesitated, he added, "It is
necessary for the safety of all that you look after yourself,
because if you were disabled, we would be in most serious plight,
you being the best marksman among us."
Susan hesitated no longer; but went toward the house, even though
she did not believe it necessary to give very much attention to her
arm, which was not so badly injured but that she could use it with
comparative ease.
When she had disappeared within the dwelling, Mark, watching through
the loophole for a target, cried to his brother:
"How is everything over your way, Luke?"
"There has been no change. The Frenchmen are sticking close to their
vessel."
"I reckon it would be safe for you to come here a few minutes. I'll
send Mary to take your place."
The lad obeyed promptly, and, after cautioning him not to expose
himself to the aim of the enemy, although it was essential he keep
close lookout over the thicket, Mark went toward the spring.
The damage done by the sheep was greater than he had supposed. The
earth in the immediate vicinity had been ploughed up by the feet of
the animals until the spring was nearly choked, and Mark realized
that a full hour's work would be required to repair the mischief.
"We can't spend much time at it while the Abenakis are in the
woods," he said to himself. "Later in the might, perhaps, I shall
have a chance to do the job."
Then he went to where Mary was taking Luke's place as sentinel near
the gate, instructing her to raise an alarm immediately she saw any
movement on the part of the Frenchmen.
"Keep your eyes open wide," he said, "and, while watching the
schooner, give some attention to what may be going on close at hand.
I don't believe the Indians will come out of the thicket to show
themselves where no shelter can be found. But, at the same time, it
is possible. Remember that all our lives might pay the forfeit of
your carelessness."
"You can trust me as you do Susan, although I can't shoot so well;
but my eyes are as good as hers."
"True for you, sister mine, and between now and morning I'm counting
on your doing a full share of standing guard."
Then Mark ascended the platform for one look at the vessel, which
remained at her moorings with but few men showing on deck, after
which he went into the dwelling, where his mother was preparing
supper.
Susan's arm was being rebandaged, after having been bound up with
simples which had been gathered in the woods against just such an
emergency, and the smaller children were huddled in one corner like
frightened sheep.
"I have left Luke in my place," the lad said, in reply to his
mother's question. "The Abenakis are taking good care to keep out of
sight, and it is only a waste of ammunition to fire at a waving bush
or curl of smoke. I'll get something to eat, now that I'm here, and
then go on duty again."
Susan declared she would stand watch near the gate, in order that
Mary might take care of the children, and to that end ate supper
with Mark, after which the two went out to their weary, dangerous
vigil once more, with the disheartening knowledge that there was no
probability of receiving aid from any quarter.
[Illustration: Susan's arm was being rebandaged.]
"We won't talk about it, Sue," Mark said, when his cousin bewailed
the fact that even though a fishing-vessel should pass near at hand,
her crew would not come ashore when it was seen that the _Future
Hopes_ had left her anchorage. "We can't afford to look on the dark
side of affairs, lest we grow faint-hearted, for you know that, once
our courage is gone, we are the same as beaten."
Susan did not reply, as she might have done with truth, that they
were then very nearly in that deplorable condition; but shut her
teeth tightly as if to prevent the escape of a single word, while
she walked rapidly toward the gate to take her station as sentinel.
Mary begged to stand guard an hour or two longer; but Susan insisted
that she was needed in the house, and reluctantly the girl descended
from the platform.
Then Mark relieved Luke from duty, instructing him to first get his
supper, and then, if the Indians remained inactive, to set about
cleaning out the spring.
By this time the night had fully come, and Mark noted with
apprehension that clouds were gathering in the sky. While the moon
shone brightly it was as easy to guard against surprise as at
noonday; but once that light was obscured, the enemy might creep up
at a dozen places on the palisade without being detected.
"Two hours of blackness, and we are done for," Mark said to himself,
with a sigh, and then, remembering what he had told Susan, he added,
"We've got to take whatever comes, and the only manly way is to make
the best of it. In case it is very dark to-night, Mary and Ellen
must both stand watch with the rest of us."
The report of a musket interrupted his train of gloomy thoughts, and
involuntarily he ducked his head when a bullet came singing over the
fence so near that he felt the "wind" of it.
"You can't tempt me to shoot till I see something to fire at," he
said, grimly, watching through the loophole at the underbrush which
was merged by the shadows into one single mass of gloom, amid which
not even a movement among the branches could be distinguished.
Two more shots, which caused him to wonder why the Abenakis were
growing so active, and then he caught a glimpse of a faint spark in
the thicket, which at first sight appeared to him like the glow from
an Indian's pipe.
He had raised his musket, intending to fire at the bright spot, when
it suddenly increased in size, and, while he stood speculating as to
what it could be, a long tongue of flame leaped upward from branch
to branch.
No need for speculation now, nor was it well that he stand very much
longer on guard, for the terrible truth was all to plain.
The Abenakis had fired the woods, counting on burning the palisade,
and thus giving them free entrance for the bloody business upon
which they had come.
His first thought was to run for water, and then, even before he
could make a movement toward the spring, came the realization that
it was impossible to effect anything by such a course.
He would not be able to throw water upon the fire in the thicket,
even though he exposed himself to full view over the top of the
palisade, and this was probably exactly what the Indians hoped he
might do.
"It begins to look as if we had about come to an end of the defence,
and that nothing remains but to sell our lives as dearly as
possible," he said, gloomily, to himself. "Everything around here is
as dry as it well can be, and once the fire gains headway, even the
houses must go."
Mark descended doggedly from the platform, and as he did so Susan
cried, from her post of duty near the gate:
"What is on fire?"
"The Abenakis have started a blaze in the woods."
"Will the fence burn, think you?"
"Ay, when the fire is well under way."
"Can't we do anything toward putting out the blaze?"
"Nothing, unless we want the Indians to shoot us down before we can
fire a shot."
"Then what is to be done?" and in her distress Susan leaped down
from the platform to approach her cousin.
"Better stay where you are!" the lad cried, warningly. "I don't
suppose it will make any great difference to us, and yet we should
know if the Frenchmen come ashore after seeing the fire."
The girl returned immediately to her station, and even though he was
at a considerable distance from her, Mark could hear the choking sob
which escaped her lips.
"Keep up a stout heart, Sue; we can make a last stand inside the
house."
"Ay, Mark; but it will be the last!"
The lad made no reply; he stood at some distance from the palisade
as if trying to decide upon a course of action, and while he thus
remained irresolute his mother came from the house.
There was no need that she ask for information; the blaze was so
bright by this time that it must have been seen by those on the
vessel, and Mistress Pemberton inquired in a low tone, but with no
tremor in her voice:
"Are the logs dry?"
"Ay, mother; but it will be some time before the flames can eat in
very deeply. We've got fifteen or twenty minutes yet."
"What is to be done?"
"We'll take refuge in the house, and shoot down as many as possible
before the fire drives us out."
"If there is nothing more before us, why not come inside now? The
Indians can climb up on the posts on either side and shoot you down
while you stand here in the light."
"The Frenchmen are coming ashore!" Susan cried. "One boat-load has
pushed off already!"
"We are going into the house," Mark said, hesitatingly, as if, even
now, when prudence demanded that they should seek shelter as soon as
possible, he was questioning whether he might effect something by
remaining in the open.
"But if we don't stand guard the Indians will soon be over the
fence," the girl cried, nervously.
"Ay, and if you stand there in the glow of the fire they can creep
up under cover of the shadows to one side or the other, and shoot
you down. We've done all we can here, Sue, and the remainder of our
fight must be made from the house."
The report of a musket from the southern side of the stockade, and
the humming of a bullet close beside Susan's head, gave emphasis to
the lad's words, causing the sentinel to obey without further parley.
Once inside the dwelling, with the door strongly barred, the older
members of the little party strove to appear unconcerned, each
hoping to cheer the other, and at no time since the island was
besieged did they display more courage than now, when there seemed
no ray of hope remaining.
Through the crevices of the logs and the window-shutters could be
seen the glow of the flames, which were increasing each instant,
fanned as they were by short, furious gusts of wind which came from
the gathering clouds.
"We must get under the roof, where I made the loopholes," Mark said
to Susan and Luke. "There's no question but that the Indians will
make a try at coming over the stockade before the fire has destroyed
it, else they have changed their natures completely, and we won't
give them full swing, even though we are cooped up here like rats in
a trap."
"The boys want water," Ellen, who had been attending to the younger
children, said, at this moment, and the elders of the party looked
at each other in dismay.
The new danger which confronted them had driven, for the time being,
everything else from their minds; but now all realized that, even
though they might not be permitted to remain long in that frail
refuge, they would suffer severely from thirst before the end came.
"Get into the loft, one on each side, and shoot with good aim if you
see a painted face over the fence!" Mark cried, as he took up one of
the buckets and went swiftly toward the door.
"You must not go out!" his mother said, as she barred the way. "It
is certain by this time that the Abenakis are where they can have a
view of the enclosure, and you will be shot down. Better that the
children should suffer from thirst."
"We will all soon be needing something to drink, for it's bound to
be hot inside here when the palisade catches fire. One bucketful of
water will save us a good deal of suffering, and I'm bound to take
the chances."
Then, before his mother could prevent him, Mark opened the door,
running at full speed to the spring, which was not more than twenty
feet distant.
That the Abenakis were on the alert could be told when half a dozen
shots were fired in rapid succession; but, fortunately for the
defenders of the island, not a bullet took effect, owing to Mark's
rapid movements.
To those who were watching him in agonizing suspense from the house,
it seemed as if the lad no more than wheeled about when he gained
the spring, and then came toward the building in a zigzag course,
well calculated to confuse the most skilful marksman.
[Illustration: He reentered the house with a bucket two-thirds full
of muddy water.]
He reentered the house with a bucket two-thirds full of muddy water,
and, while barring the door, once more said, in a tone of triumph:
"I reckoned it might be done if a fellow used his legs well. That
stuff doesn't look fit to drink; but after the mud has settled a bit
it will be better than nothing. I am to blame for not cleaning the
spring out when I first knew that the children had wasted the
supply."
"You have nothing with which to reproach yourself, Mark," his aunt
said as she laid her hand affectionately on his shoulder. "You have
taken the place of both your father and uncle, and there is not a
man grown who could have done more, or better, work."
The lad's face flushed with pleasure at this praise, but he affected
to give no heed to the words as he clambered into the loft, musket
in hand, calling out when he was on the timbers above:
"Give us the ammunition up here, and we'll load our own guns until
the enemy comes too fast."
Mistress Pemberton handed him only a portion of the powder and
bullets, after which she stood on the top of a table ready to take
the empty weapons when the sharpshooters required her services.
Mark was the first to discharge his musket, and a cry of pain
followed the report, telling that the ammunition had not been wasted.
"What did you see?" his mother asked, anxiously.
"An Indian's head over the top of the fence near the gate. There's
one villain the less to trouble us!"
At this moment Susan and Luke both fired, the reports coming so near
together as to sound like one, and the girl cried, triumphantly:
"I've hit another! What did you do, Luke?"
"I don't know; he went backward at the flash, like a loon; but it
seems as if I must have struck him, for I had a fair aim."
Mistress Pemberton now had work to perform, for those in the loft
soon learned that it would be impossible to recharge the weapons and
at the same time keep close watch on what might be happening outside.
Seven shots had been fired from the dwelling, three of which were
known to have found their targets, when a heavy pounding at the gate
told of additional danger.
"What is it?" Mistress Harding cried, and Mark replied, quietly, as
if it was of no especial consequence:
"The Frenchmen have come, and are battering down the gate."
"How long will it take them to do it?" Susan asked, her voice
quivering despite all efforts to render it steady.
"It will be a good half-hour's job, with what timber they can pick
up near at hand. If they should cut down a stout tree, the work
might be done in half that time. Keep your eyes on the top of the
fence, for if one fellow gets inside he might succeed in pulling out
the bars before we could stop him."
Twice more the children fired, and then it was as if the Abenakis
had tired of a game at which they were rapidly being worsted without
an opportunity to inflict any injury.
"They've made up their minds to wait till the gate is down," Mark
said, grimly. "We must have all the muskets ready when the rush
comes, and shoot with good aim, for it will be our last fair chance."
All this while the flames had been increasing in volume, and the
heat inside the dwelling, filled with the smoke of burning powder as
it was, seemed stifling.
The younger children had drank of the muddy water eagerly, giving no
heed to its disagreeable appearance, and the older members of the
little company were already suffering with thirst; but never one of
them ventured to claim a portion of the scanty supply.
"The fence is on fire," Mark said as he left his station at the
front of the loft to survey the scene in the rear. "The wind is
getting up in great shape, and coming from the east, otherwise these
housed would be on fire by this time."
"There goes the upper part of the gate!" Luke cried. "Two or three
more fair blows, and the whole will be down!"
Mark came back to where he could overlook the scene of what he
believed would be the final struggle, and the three children
crouched, muskets in hand, ready to empty the six weapons before the
enemy could approach the house sufficiently near to find shelter
under its walls.
The two women were standing on a table, where they could reach the
weapons when they were empty. In one corner of the room, seated on a
bed which was laid on the floor behind the barricade of the door,
were the other children, some crying for water, and others weeping
with fear.
The powder smoke hung heavily in the small apartment, which was
illumined by the glow of the flames, now not more than thirty feet
distant, and the heat was almost overpowering.
The bucket in which Mark had brought the muddy water from the
spring, was empty, and the throats of the three children in the loft
were literally parched with a thirst that could not be allayed.
They were beset by danger on every hand, and the supreme moment
seemed very near, for once the gate was demolished, however
desperately they might fight, the end was come.
"We are not to leave here alive," Susan whispered softly in Mark's
ear, and he replied, pressing her hand:
"That part of it sha'n't be forgotten, Sue dear."
A cry from Luke; the crashing and splintering of wood; a shock which
could be felt by the refugees as the heavy timbers fell inward, and
the passage was open to the foe.
"Take good aim!" Mark shouted. "Shoot at the foremost, and work
quickly!"
While one might have counted ten the enemy hung back as if fearing
that a party of women and children might have planned an ambush, and
then with a yell of triumph, the opening in the palisade was filled
with armed men.
The defenders in the loft fired at almost the same instant; then,
delaying only sufficiently long to fling back the empty weapons and
take up those that were loaded, three more reports rang out.
The Frenchmen halted irresolutely for an instant, as four of their
number fell to the ground, and had the children been able to fire
one more volley immediately, it is quite certain the entire party
would have beaten a retreat even at the moment of victory.
As the men, recovering courage, dashed forward, a heavy peal of
thunder seemed to shake the very earth, and on the moment rain fell
in torrents, coming as suddenly and in such volume as if having been
poured from some immense reservoir.
The enemy recoiled as if confronted by an overwhelming force, and as
they wavered the children in the loft discharged three muskets, each
bullet seemingly taking effect.
Then, suddenly, it was as if a black mantel had been dropped over
the terrible scene. A certain portion of the enormous downpour of
water was converted into clouds of steam by the flames, which were
literally beaten down, and those who had struggled so bravely to
defend the island could distinguish nothing.
[Illustration: Again the crash of thunder drowned all sounds.]
"What is the matter?" Ellen cried in alarm at thus being suddenly
plunged into profound darkness, and the younger children screamed
with terror.
A deafening peal of thunder seemingly came in answer to the question
followed a second later by a vivid, blinding flash of lightning
which illumined the interior of the loft through the few crevices
between the logs, until the defenders could see each other's faces
gleaming ghastly pale.
The water trickling through the roof restored them to their senses
somewhat, and Mark said, speaking as if with an effort:
"The storm has been gathering since afternoon. Now, while we are
cooped up here in the darkness, the enemy can work his will!"
Again the crashing of thunder drowned all other sounds; once more
the jagged rifts of unearthly fire, breaking though the clouds,
illumined the scene, and Susan cried, as if unable to believe her
own statement:
"The men are running away! They are running away!"
Mark and Luke sprang to her side, waiting for another flash of
lightning, and when it came, preceded by crashing thunder which
caused the house of logs to tremble, the enclosure was deserted.
"It's true that some of them have gone; perhaps all," Mark
announced; "but the whole crew will come back when the storm is
over, and there will be nothing save our muskets to prevent them
from marching in at their pleasure."
"Let us give thanks for the mercies which have already been bestowed
upon us," Mistress Pemberton said, devoutly. "The fire is
extinguished, and we need no longer fear being burned to death."
"That might not be the worst that will befall us," Mark thought,
recalling to mind the fate of those settlers of Maine who had been
put to death by torture.
Because of the fury of the tempest, it seemed as if its force must
be quickly spent, and the besieged waited in painful suspense,
fearing that the downpour of water would speedily cease; but the
moments went by amid the flashing of lightning and crashing of
thunder, without any abatement of the tempest, save as the wind
lulled for a few seconds to come in yet more spiteful gusts.
When half an hour had passed, Mistress Pemberton insisted that the
three children should come down from the loft in order that they
might all be together during this respite from the cruel foe, and
when they were in the room below, freed from the fear of immediate
death, thanks were given to Him who "ruleth the tempest" for this
new lease of life, brief though it might prove to be.