Calm and bright, and beautiful, the Sabbath morning broke over the
woody world around Edith Prevost. Through the tall pine trees left
standing within the earthworks the rosy light streamed sweetly; and
though no birds deserving the name of songsters inhabit the forests of
America, yet many a sweet, short note saluted the rising day.
Edith, with her good negro woman lying near, had slept more soundly
than she had hoped for, but she was awake with the first ray, and
rousing her dark companion, she said: "We must not forget that this is
Sunday, Bab. Call in our good friend Woodchuck, and we will pray
before all the noise and bustle of the day begins. I am sure he will
be glad to do so."
"But you have no book, Missy," answered the woman.
"That matters not," said the beautiful girl. "I know almost all the
prayers by heart, from reading them constantly."
Sister Bab opened the little hurdle door and looked round. She could
not see the person she sought. Three sentinels were pacing to and fro
at different points; one man was rousing himself slowly from the side
of an extinguished fire; but all the rest within sight were fast
asleep. It was useless for Sister Bab to ask the neighboring sentinel
any questions, and she looked round in vain.
"He has most likely gone to sleep in one of the huts," said Edith,
when the woman told her Woodchuck was not to be seen. "We will not
wait for him;" and closing the door again, she knelt and prayed with
the poor negress by her side.
It was a great comfort to her, for her heart that day was sad, perhaps
from the memory of many a Sabbath with those she loved, and the
contrast of those days with her situation at the time; perhaps from
the uncertainty of her brother's fate; and doubtless, too, the thought
that every rising sun brought nearer the hour when a parent and a
lover were to be exposed to danger, perhaps to death, had its weight,
likewise. But she was that day very sad, and prayer was a relief--a
blessing.
Before she had concluded, a good deal of noise and turmoil was heard
without; voices speaking sharply, calls such as Edith had not heard
before, and in a moment after, the door of the hut opened--for it had
no latch--and Monsieur Le Comtois appeared, inquiring if she had seen
anything of her English companion.
"No, indeed," replied Edith. "I sent my servant out to seek for him
half an hour ago, but she could not find him, and I concluded he was
in one of the huts."
The Frenchman stamped his foot upon the ground, and, forgetting his
usual politeness, uttered some hasty and angry words, implying a
belief that Edith knew very well where Woodchuck was, and had aided
his escape. The beautiful girl drew herself up with an air of dignity,
and replied: "You make me feel, sir, that I am a prisoner. But you
mistake me greatly. I do not permit myself to speak falsely on any
occasion. If he has escaped you--and I trust he has--I knew nothing of
it."
"I beg your pardon, mademoiselle," replied the officer, "but this to
me is a very serious matter. I may be subjected to the severest
military punishment for this unfortunate affair. It was of the utmost
importance that the existence of this post should be kept a secret.
The utmost precautions have been taken to keep its existence
concealed, even from the forces in Fort Carillon; and now this man is
at large, to bear the intelligence to the enemy. This must excuse a
little heat. How he has escaped, it is impossible to divine, for I
ordered him to be kept in sight by the sentinels continually, as well
as the Indians who came with you. He must be worse than an Indian, for
they are all safe and quiet enough, but he has disappeared, though the
sentinel swears he passed him sleeping on the ground, under the great
pine tree, not an hour ago."
"Half an hour ago he certainly was gone," replied Edith, "for the
servant went to look for him and could not find him."
"He may be still in the bushes," said the French officer. "I will send
out a party to search;" and he turned from the door of the hut.
Edith followed a step or two to see the result; but hardly had
Monsieur Le Comtois given his orders, in obedience to which about a
dozen men issued forth, some clambering over the breastworks, some
running round by the flanks, when a French officer, brilliantly
dressed, rode into the redoubt, followed by a mounted soldier, and
Edith retired into the hut again.
Le Comtois saluted the newcomer reverently, and the other gave a hasty
glance around, saying: "Get your men under arms as speedily as
possible. On the maintenance of this post and the two abattis depends
the safety of the fortress. I trust, then, to the honor of French
gentlemen, and the faith of our Indian allies. Neither will tarnish
the glory of France or their own renown by yielding a foot of ground
while they can maintain it."
He spoke aloud, so as to make his voice heard all over the enclosure;
but then, bending down his head till it was close to Le Comtois' ear,
he added, in a low tone, almost a whisper: "The English are within
sight. Their first boats are disembarking the troops. Monsieur de
Levi, with our reinforcements, has not appeared. All depends upon
maintaining the outposts till he can come up. This, sir, I trust to
you with full confidence, as a brave man and an experienced soldier. I
must now visit the other posts. Farewell! Remember, the glory of
France is in your hands!"
Thus saying, he rode away, and the bustle of instant preparation
spread through the little fort. The French soldiers were drawn up
within the breastworks, and the stores and ammunition gathered
together near the center of the open space, so as to be readily
available whenever they were wanted. Two parties of Hurons were placed
upon the flanks, so as to be ready to rush out with the tomahawk the
moment opportunity offered. Next came the long lines of French
muskets; and in the center of the longest face of the breastwork were
placed Apukwa and his companions, with their rifles in their hands,
and a small party of French soldiers forming a second line behind
them, thus insuring their faith, and rendering the fire from the
center more fierce. Their presence, indeed, was needed at the moment,
for the men who had been sent out in pursuit of Woodchuck had either
mistaken the order not to go far, or had lost their way, and they had
not reappeared when the whole preparations were complete.
These had occupied some time, although Monsieur Le Comtois had shown
all the activity and precision of a thorough soldier, giving his
orders rapidly, but coolly and clearly, and correcting every error as
soon as made. The Indians, indeed, gave him the greatest
embarrassment, for they were too eager for the fight, and--never
subjected to military discipline--were running hither and thither to
the points they thought most advantageous, without consideration of
the general arrangements.
The Frenchman found time, however, for a few courteous words to Edith.
"I am greatly embarrassed, my dear young lady," he said, "by your
presence here, as we expect to be attacked every instant. I wish to
heaven Monsieur de Montcalm had taken you away with him; but in the
hurry of the moment I did not think of it, and I have no means of
sending you away now; and besides, the risk to yourself would be still
greater than staying here. I believe you are as safely posted in this
hut as anywhere. It is near enough to the breastwork to be protected
from the fire of the enemy, but you may as well lie down upon the
bearskin if you hear musketry."
"Could I not place myself actually under the breast-work?" asked
Edith, remembering the instructions sent to her.
"Impossible!" replied the officer. "That space is all occupied by the
soldiers and Indians. You are better here. If we should be driven
back--which God forbid!--you will be safe, as you speak English, and
can say who you are: but remember, address yourself to an officer, for
the canaille get mad in time of battle; and on no account trust an
Indian!"
"I speak the Iroquois tongue," answered Edith.
"My dear young lady, there is no trusting them," said the officer.
"Friends or enemies are the same to them when their blood's hot; all
they want is a scalp, and that they will have. It would be terrible to
see your beautiful tresses hanging at an Indian's belt."
As he spoke, one of the men who had been sent forth after Woodchuck,
came running up, exclaiming: "They are coming, mon capitan! They are
coming!"
"Who?" demanded Le Comtois, briefly.
"The redcoats--the English!" said the man. "I saw their advance guard
with my own eyes. They are not two hundred yards distant."
"Where are your companions?" asked Le Comtois. "We want every musket!"
"I don't know," answered the man. "They have lost their way, I fancy,
as I did. I saw two amongst the bushes just in front, trying to get
back."
"Sacre Di! They will discover us!" said the captain; and, running
forward, he jumped upon the parapet just behind one of the highest
bushes, and looked over. The next instant he sprang down again, saying
in a low tone to the corporal near him: "Stand to your arms! Present!
Pass the word along not to fire, whatever you see, till I give the
order!"
At the same moment he made a sign with his hand to the renegade
Oneidas, but probably they did not see it, for their keen black eyes
were all eagerly bent forward, peeping through the bushes, which now
seemed agitated at some little distance. A moment after a straggling
shot or two was heard, and instantly the Honontkoh fired. The order
was then given by Le Comtois, and the whole front poured forth a
volley, which was returned by a number of irregular shots, blazing out
of the bushes in front.
Then succeeded a silence of a few moments, and then a loud cheer, such
as none but Anglo-Saxon lungs have ever given.
Edith sat, deathly pale and trembling, in the hut; but it is not too
much to say that but a small portion of her terror was for herself.
The battle had begun--the battle in which father and lover were to
risk life, in which, amidst all the human beings destined to bleed and
die that day, her love singled out two, while her fancy painted them
as the aim of every shot. It was of them she thought, much more than
of herself.
The door of the hut was turned, as I have shown, toward the inside of
the square; and Captain Le Comtois had left it open behind him. Thus,
as Edith sat a little toward one side of the entrance, she had a view
of one side of the redoubt, along which were posted a few French
soldiers and a considerable body of Hurons. The firing was soon
resumed, but in a somewhat different manner from before. There were no
longer any volleys, but frequent, repeated, almost incessant shots,
sometimes two or three together, making almost one sound. Thrice she
saw a French soldier carried across the open space and laid down at
the foot of a tree. One remained quite still where he had been
placed; one raised himself for a moment upon his arm, and then sank
down again; and Edith understood the signs full well. Clouds of
bluish-white smoke then began to roll over the redoubt and curl along
as the very gentle wind carried it toward the broad trail by which she
had been brought thither. The figures of the Indians became
indistinct, and looked like beings seen in a dream. But still the
firing continued, drawing, apparently, more toward the western side;
still the rattle of the musketry was mingled with loud cheers from
without. But suddenly those sounds were crossed, as it were, by a wild
yell such as Edith had only heard once in her life before, but which
now seemed to issue from a thousand throats instead of a few. It came
from the northwest, right in the direction of the broad trail. The
French soldiers and the Hurons who had been kneeling to fire over the
breastwork, sprang upon their feet, looked round, and from that side,
too, burst forth at once the war-whoop.
"Oh, Missy! Missy! Let us run!" cried Sister Bab, catching Edith's
wrist.
"Hush! hush! Be quiet!" said the young lady. "These may be friends
coming!"
As she spoke, pouring on like a dark torrent, was seen a crowd of
dusky forms rushing along the trail, emerging from amongst the trees,
spreading rapidly over the ground, and amidst them all a tall youth,
equipped like an Indian, and mounted on a gray horse, which Edith
recognized as her own. The sight confused and dazzled her. Feathers,
and plumes, and war paints, rifles, and tomahawks, and knives, grim
countenances and brandished arms, swam before her, like the things
that fancy sees for a moment in a cloud, while still the awful
war-whoop rang horribly around, drowning even the rattle of the
musketry, and seeming to rend the ear. Two figures only were distinct;
the youth upon the horse, and the towering figure of Black Eagle
himself, close to the lad's side.
Attacked in flank, and front, and rear, the French and Hurons were
broken in a moment, driven from the breastworks, beaten back into the
center of the square, and separated into detached bodies. But still
they fought with desperation; still the rifles and the muskets pealed;
still the cheer, and the shout, and the war-whoop resounded on the
air. A large party of the French soldiery were cast between the huts
and the Oneidas, and the young man on the horse strove in vain,
tomahawk in hand, to force his way through.
But there are episodes in all combats, and even a pause took place
when the gigantic Huron chief rushed furiously against the Black
Eagle. It may be that they were ancient enemies, but, at all events,
each seemed animated with the fury of a fiend. Each cast away his
rifle, and betook himself to the peculiar weapons of his race--the
knife and the tomahawk; but it is impossible to describe, it was
almost impossible to see the two combatants, such was their marvelous
rapidity. Now here, now there, they turned, the blows seeming to fall
like hail, the limbs writhing and twisting, the weapons whirling and
flashing round. Each was the giant of his tribe, each its most
renowned warrior, and each fought for more than life, the closing act
of a great renown. But the sinewy frame of the Black Eagle seemed to
prevail over the more bulky strength of his opponent; the Huron lost
ground, he was driven back to the great pine tree near the center of
the square; he was forced round and round it; the knife of the Black
Eagle drank his blood, but missed his heart, and only wounded him in
the shoulder.
Those nearest the scene had actually paused for a moment in the
contest, to witness the fierce single combat going on; but in other
parts of the square the bloody fight was still continued. For an
instant the French party in the front of the huts, by desperate
efforts, seemed likely to overpower the Oneidas before them. A tall
French grenadier bayoneted the Night Hawk before Edith's eyes, and
then, seeing the great Huron chief staggering under the blows of his
enemy, he dashed forward, and, not daring in the rapid whirls of the
two combatants, to use his bayonet there, he struck the Black Eagle on
the head with the butt of his musket. The blow fell with tremendous
force, and drove the old chief to his knee, with one hand upon the
ground. His career seemed over, his fate finished. The Huron raised
his tomahawk high to strike, the Frenchman shortened his musket to pin
the Black Eagle to the earth. But at that moment a broad, powerful
figure dropped down at once from the branches of the pine tree above,
between the Oneida and the grenadier--bent slightly with his fall, but
even in rising, lifted a rifle to his shoulder, and sent the ball into
the Frenchman's heart. With a yell of triumph, Black Eagle sprang up
from the ground, and in an instant his tomahawk was buried in the
undefended head of his adversary.
Edith beheld not the close of the combat, for in the swaying to and
fro of the fierce struggle the French soldiery had by this time been
driven past the huts, and the eye of one who loved her was upon her.
"Edith! Edith!" cried the voice of Walter Prevost, forcing the horse
forward through the struggling groups, amid shots, and shouts, and
falling blows. She saw him, she recognized him, she stretched forth
her arms toward him; and, dashing between the two parties, Walter
forced the horse up to the door of the hut and caught her hand.
"Spring up! Spring up!" he cried, bending down, and casting his arm
around her. "This is not half over. I must carry you away!"
Partly lifted, partly leaping from the ground, Edith sprang up before
him; and, holding her tightly to his heart, Walter turned the rein and
dashed away, through friends and enemies, trampling, unconscious of
what he did, alike on the dead and the dying. The western side of the
square was crowded with combatants, and he directed his horse's head
toward the east, reached the angle, and turned sharp round to get in
the rear of the English column, which was seen forcing its way onward
to support the advance party of Major Putnam. He thought only of his
sister, and, pressing her closer to his heart, he said: "We are safe,
Edith! We are safe!"
Alas! he spoke too soon. There had been one group in the square that
stood almost aloof from the combat. Gathered together in the
southeastern angle, Apukwa and his companions seemed watching an
opportunity for flight. But their fierce eyes had seen Walter, and
twice had a rifle been discharged at him from that spot, but without
effect. They saw him snatch his sister from the hut, place her on the
horse, and gallop round. Apukwa, the brother of the Snake, and two
others, jumped upon the parapet, and scarcely had he uttered the
words, "We are safe!" when the fire blazed at once from the muzzles of
their rifles. One ball whistled by his ear, and another passed through
his hair. But clasping Edith somewhat closer, he galloped on, and in
two minutes after came to a spot where three or four men were
standing, and one kneeling, with his hand under the head of a British
officer, who had fallen. Walter reined up the horse sharply, for he
was almost over them before he saw them; but the sight of the features
of the dead man drew from his lips the sudden exclamation of "Good
God!" They were those of Lord H----.
Edith's face, as Walter held her, had been turned toward him, and he
fancied that she rested her forehead on his bosom to shut out the
terrible sights around. Her forehead was resting there still, but over
the arm that held her so closely to his heart Walter saw welling a
dark red stream of blood. He trembled like a leaf. "Edith!" he said,
"Edith!" There was no answer. He pushed the bright brown curls back
from her forehead, and as he did so the head fell back, showing the
face as pale as marble. She had died without a cry, without a sound.
Walter bent his head, and kissed her cheek, and wept.
"What is the matter, sir?" said the surgeon, rising from beside the
body of Lord H----. "Did you know my lord?"
"Look here!" said Walter.
It was all he said, but in an instant they gathered round him, and
lifted Edith from the horse. The surgeon put his hand upon the wrist,
then shook his head sadly; and they laid her gently by the side of
Lord H----; they knew not with how much propriety--but thus she would
have loved to rest.
[Illustration: He trembled like a leaf. "Edith!" he said, "Edith!"
There was no answer, She had died without a cry. Page 374.
--_Ticonderoga_.]
Thus they met, and thus they parted; thus they loved, and thus they
died. But in one thing they were happy--that neither, at their last
hour, knew the other's peril or the other's fate.