THE FIELD OF THE DEAD
The fierce plunging of my horse in his death agony, and his final
pitching forward across my prostrate body, were doubtless all that
saved my life. Yielding to their mad desire for plunder, the savages
scattered when I fell, and left me lying there for dead. I do not think
I quite lost consciousness in those first moments, although everything
became blurred to my sight, and I was imprisoned by the weight above me
so that the slightest effort to move proved painful; indeed, I breathed
only with the greatest difficulty.
But I both heard and saw, and my mind was intensely occupied with the
rush of thought, the horror of all that was going on about me. How I
wish I might blot it out,--forget forever the hellish deeds of those
dancing devils who made mock of human agony and laughed at tears
and prayers! It was plain, as the wild cries of rejoicing rose on
every side, that the Indians had swept the field. The distant sound
of firing ceased, and I could hear the pitiful cries of women, the
frightened shrieks of children, the shrill note of intense agony wrung
from tortured lips. Close beside me lay a dead warrior, his hideously
painted face, with its wide, glaring, dead eyes, so fronting me that I
had left only a narrow space through which to peer. Within that small
opening I saw murder done until I closed my eyes in shuddering horror,
crazed by my own sense of helplessness, and feeling the awful fate
that must already have befallen her I loved. God knows I had then no
faintest wish to live; nor did I dream that I should see the sun go
down that day. Death was upon every side of me, in its most dreadful
forms; and every cry that reached my ears, every sight that met my
eyes, only added to the frightful reality of my own helplessness. The
inert weight of the horse stifled me so that I drew my short breath
almost in sobs; nor did I dare venture upon the slightest attempt at
release, hemmed about as I was by merciless fiends now hideously drunk
with slaughter. Once I heard a man plead for mercy, shrieking the words
forth as if his intensity of agony had robbed him of all manliness; I
saw a young woman fall headlong, the haft of a tomahawk cleaving open
her head, as a brawny red arm gripped her by the throat; a child, with
long yellow hair, and face distorted by terror, ran past my narrow
outlook, a naked savage grasping after her scarcely a foot behind. I
heard her wild scream of despair and his shout of triumph as he struck
her down. Then I lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the multiplying
horrors of that field of blood.
It is hard to tell how long I lay there, or by what miracle of God's
great mercy I had escaped death and mutilation. It was still day, the
sun was high in the heaven, and the heat almost intolerable, beating
down upon the dry and glittering sand. I could distinguish no sound
near at hand, not even a moan of any kind. The human forms about me
were stiffening in death; nor did any skulking Indian figures appear in
sight.
From away to the northward I could hear the echo of distant yelling;
and as I lay there, every faculty alert, I became more and more
convinced that the savages who had attacked us had withdrawn, and that
I alone of all that fated company was preserved, through some strange
dispensation of Providence, for what might prove a more terrible fate
than any on that stricken field. With this thought there was suddenly
born within me a fresh desire for life, a mad thirsting after revenge
on those red demons whose merciless work I had been compelled to see.
Yet if I hoped to preserve my life, I must have water and air; a
single hour longer in my present situation could only result in death.
Fortunately, such relief, now that I felt free to exert myself and
seek it, was not so difficult as it had seemed. The heavy horse rested
upon other bodies as well as my own, so that, little by little, I
succeeded in dragging myself out from beneath his weight, until I was
finally able to lift my head and glance cautiously about me.
I pause now as I sit writing, my face buried in my hands, at the memory
of that dreadful field of death. I cannot picture it, nor have I wish
to try. I took one swift glimpse at the riven skulls, the mangled
limbs, the mutilated bodies, the upturned pleading faces white and
ghastly in the sunlight, the women and children huddled in heaps of
slain, the seemingly endless line of disfigured, half-stripped bodies
stretching far down the white beach; then I fell upon my face in the
sand, sobbing like a baby. O God, how could such deeds be done? How
could creatures shaped like men prove themselves such fiends, such
hideous devils of malignity? It sickened me with horror, and I shrank
from those dead bodies as if each had been a grim and threatening ghost.
Necessity presently overcame the dread possessing me; and slowly,
seeking to see no more than I must of the awful scenes about me, I
struggled to my knees, and peered around cautiously for signs of
skulking Indians. Not a living creature was near enough to observe
me. To the northward the savages were swarming about the Fort, and
it was evident that they had left everything to search for plunder.
My uncovered head throbbed under the hot sun, and my hair was thick
with clotted blood; scarce a hundred feet away was the blue lake, and
on my hands and knees I crawled across the beach to it, forgetful of
everything else in my desire to roll in the cool sweet water.
I realized that it would be far safer for me to remain there until
darkness shrouded my movements; but I felt so revived by the touch of
the water that the old desire for action overcame considerations of
personal safety. Before night came I must somehow gain possession of
a rifle, with powder and ball; and I must discover, if possible, the
fate of Mademoiselle. I cannot describe how, like a frightened child,
I shrank from going again amid those mutilated corpses. I started
twice, only to crawl back into the water, nerveless and shaking like
the leaf of a cottonwood. I knew it must be done, and that the sooner I
attempted it the safer would be the trial; so at last, with set teeth
and almost superhuman effort, I crept up the beach among the silent,
disfigured dead once more.
With little trouble I found the wagon against which I had seen
Mademoiselle draw back her horse in that last desperate defence. It was
overturned, scorched with flame, its contents widely scattered; while
about it lay the bodies of men, women, and children. A single hasty
glance at most of these was sufficient; but a few were so huddled and
hidden that I was compelled to move them before I thoroughly convinced
myself that Mademoiselle was not there. I finally found her horse,
several rods away, lying against the sand-ridge; but she whose body I
sought with such fond persistency was not among those mangled forms.
Faint and sick from the awful scene, with head throbbing painfully, I
sank down upon a slope of sand where I was able to command a clear view
in either direction, and thought rapidly. I was alone with the dead. Of
all those lying silent before me, none would stir again. Not a savage
roamed the stricken field,--though doubtless they would again swarm
down upon it as soon as the sacking of the Fort had been completed. I
must plan, and plan quickly, if I would preserve my own life and be of
service to others. And life was worth preserving now, for there was
a possibility,--faint, to be sure, yet a possibility,--that Toinette
still lived. How the mere hope thrilled and animated me! how like a
trumpet-sound it called to action! She had told me once of friendships
between her and these blood-stained warriors; of weeks passed in
Indian camps on the great plains, both with her father and alone; of
being called the White Queen in the lodges of Sacs, Wyandots, and
Pottawattomies. Perchance some such friendship may have intervened
to save her, even in that fierce _mêlée_, that carnival of lust and
murder. Some chief, with sufficient power to dare the deed, may have
snatched her from out the jaws of death, actuated by motives of
mercy,--or, more likely still, have saved her from the stroke of the
tomahawk for a far more terrible fate.
This was the thought that brought me again to my feet with burning face
and tightly clinched teeth. If she lived, a helpless prisoner in those
black lodges yonder, there was work to be done,--stern, desperate work,
that would require all my courage and resourcefulness. Firm in manly
resolve, and rendered reckless now of contact with the dead, I crept
back among the bodies in eager search for gun and ammunition. For a
long time I sought vainly; the field had been stripped by many a vandal
hand. At last, however, I turned over a painted giant of a savage whose
head had been crushed with a blow, and beneath him discovered a long
rifle with powder-horn half filled. As I drew it forth, uttering a cry
of delight at my precious find, my eyes fell upon a pair of bronze
boots, with long narrow toes, protruding from beneath a tangled mass of
the slain. It was no doubt the tomb of De Croix; and without so much as
a thought that he could be alive, I drew the bodies off him and dragged
his form forth into the sunlight.
Merciful Heaven! his heart still beat,--so faintly, indeed, that
I could barely note it with my ear at his chest. But life was
surely there, and with a hasty glance about to assure me that I
was unobserved, I ran to the lake shore. I returned with hat full
of water, with which I thoroughly drenched him, rubbing his numbed
hands fiercely, and thumping his chest until at last the closed eyes
partially opened, and he looked up into my anxious face, gasping
painfully for breath. His lips moved as I lifted his head in my arms;
and I bent lower, not certain but he was dying and had some last
message he would whisper in my ear.
"Wayland," he faltered feebly, "is this you? Lord, how my head aches!
Send Sam to me with the hand-mirror and the perfumed soap."
"Hush!" I answered, almost angry at his flippant utterance. "Sam is no
doubt dead, and you and I alone are spared of all the company. Do you
suffer greatly? Think you it would be possible to walk?"
"I have much pain here in the side," he said slowly, "and am yet weak
from loss of blood. All dead, you say? Is Toinette dead?"
"I know not, but I have not found her body among the others, and
believe her to be a prisoner to the savages. But, come, De Croix," I
urged, anxiously, "we run great risk loitering here; there is but one
safe spot for us until after dark,--yonder, crouched in the waters of
the lake. The Indians may return at any moment to complete their foul
work; and for us to be found alive means torture,--most likely the
stake, and will remove the last hope for Mademoiselle. Think you it can
be made if you lean hard on me?"
_"Sacre!_ 'twill not be because I do not try, Master Wayland," he
answered, his voice stronger now that he could breathe more freely, and
with much of his old audacity returned. "Help me to make the start,
friend, for every joint in my body seems rusty."
His face was white and drawn from agony, and he pressed one hand upon
his side, while perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead. But no
moan came from his set lips; and when he rested a moment on his knees,
looking about him upon the dead, a look of grim approval swept into his
eyes.
"Saint Guise, Wayland," he said soberly, "'twas a master fight, and the
savages had it not all their own way!"
It made me sick to hear such boasting amidst the horror that yet
overwhelmed me, and I drew the fellow up to his feet with but little
tenderness.
"God knows 'tis sad enough!" I answered, shortly. "Come, there are
parties of Indians already straying this way from the Fort yonder, and
it behooves us to get in hiding."
He made the distance between us and the water with far less difficulty
than I had expected, and with a better use of his limbs at each step.
In spite of vigorous protest on his part, I forced him out from the
shore until the water entirely covered us, save only our faces; and
there we waited for the merciful coming of the night.