THE BATTLE ON THE SHORE
What followed was long a famous story on the border, and I have even
read it written out most carefully in books purporting to tell the
history of those troublous times. None of them have it as I recall the
details of the incident, although it all occurred so rapidly that I
myself can hardly tell just how 'twas done.
I know that I scrambled again to my knees, resting half in the water,
my purpose being to fling myself into the river in an effort to regain
the boat. But it was already out of sight in the dense gloom, while
not the slightest sound reached me for guidance. Beyond this, I had no
time for much save action. Above me, upon the high bank not three yards
away, I saw several Indian forms peering over; and then others, three
or four, I am uncertain which, sprang lightly down within a yard of
where I crouched in waiting.
My father gave me a frontier maxim once, which ran, "If you must
fight, strike first, and strike hard." The words flashed in my memory,
and I put them to the test straightway. These prowling savages were
apparently unaware of my predicament; their sole thought was with the
boat floating away lakeward down the stream. At all cost, they must
be blocked in any purpose of pursuit. These were the thoughts that
darted through my brain like fire through stubble. How many opposed
me, how desperate would be the struggle, were matters of which I did
not stop to think. I could at least busy them until the fugitives were
safe; after that, it was God's affair, and theirs. My rifle was wet
and useless from my recent tumble; but before the group at the water's
edge even saw me I was fairly upon them, striking fiercely with my
gun-stock, and two savages went down, shrieking from pain and surprise,
before so much as a return blow reached me.
It was not a noisy battle; from the outset it was too fierce and rapid
for any waste of breath. Never did I need my strength of body more, nor
did the long training of my father come in better play. I made that
long rifle-barrel both club and sword, knife and axe in one, striking,
thrusting, clubbing, in the mad fury with which desperation bids a man
battle for his life. I had no thought to live, but was determined that
if I went down to earth many a painted savage should lie there with
me. The enshrouding darkness proved a friendly help; for as I backed in
closer against the bank, I gained a fair view of my opponents, while
keeping myself more hidden. Again and again they charged upon me,
joined now by the others from above; but the circling iron I swung with
tireless arms formed a dead-line no leaping Indian burst through alive.
Once a hurtling tomahawk half buried itself in my shoulder; a
long-knife, thrown by a practised hand, pierced the muscles of my
thigh, and stuck there quivering, till I struck it loose; and twice
they fired at me, the second shot tearing the flesh of my side, searing
it like fire. Yet I scarcely realized I was touched, so fiercely was
the battle-blood now coursing through my veins, so intense the joy with
which I crushed them back. I grew delirious, feeling the rage to slay
sweep over me as never before, giving me the crazed strength of a dozen
men, until I lost all sense of defensive action, and sprang forth into
their midst as might an avenging thunderbolt from the black sky. Never
had I swung flail in peaceful border contest as I did that murderous
iron bar in the dark of the river-shore, driving them back foot by foot
against the high bank which held them helpless victims of my wrath. I
struck again and again, my teeth set together in bulldog tenacity, my
breath coming in gasps, the streaming blood from a deep cut over my
eyes half blinding me, yet guided by fierce instinct to find and smite
my foes. I trod on limp bodies, on writhing forms, and felt my weapon
clash against iron rifle barrels and clang upon uplifted steel; but
nothing stopped me, no cry of terror, no plea for mercy, no clutching
hand, no deadly numbing blow.
God knows the story of that fight,--how long it lasted, by what miracle
'twas won. To me it is--and was--little more than a dim haze of strange
leaping figures, of fierce dark faces, of maddened cries of hate,
of uplifted hands, of dull-clashing weapons. I seemed to see it all
through a red fog whence the blood dripped, and I lost consciousness of
everything save my unswerving duty to strike hard until I fell. At last
out from the maelstrom of that wild _mêlée_ but a single warrior seemed
to face me; and some instinct of the fight caused me to draw back a
pace and wipe the obscuring blood away, that I might see him better.
It came to me that this was to be the end, the final duel which was to
decide that midnight battle. He and I were there alone; and the stars
bursting through the clouds gave me faint view of him, and of those
dark, silent forms that lined the shore where they had fallen.
A chief, a Pottawattomie, this much I knew even in that hasty shrouded
glance. Writers of history affirm my opponent was Peesotum, the same
fierce warrior whose cruel hand slew the brave Captain Wells and
wrenched his still beating heart from out the mutilated body. All I
realized then were his broad sinewy shoulders, his naked brawny body,
his eyes ablaze with malignant hate. He was the first to close, his
wild cry for vengeance piercing the still night; and before I knew it,
the maddened savage was within the guard of my rifle-barrel, and we
were locked in the stern grapple of death.
It was knife to knife, our blades gleaming dull in the dim light of the
stars, each man gripping the uplifted wrist of the other, putting forth
each last reserve of strength, each cunning trick of fence, to break
free and strike the ending blow. Back and forth we strove, straining
like two wild animals, our moccasined feet slipping on the wet earth,
our muscles strained, and sinews cracking with intensity of effort,
our breath coming in labored gasps, our bodies tense as bowstrings.
Such merciless strain could not endure forever, and, strong as I was
in those young days, the savage was far stronger and less exhausted by
the struggle, so that inch by inch he pressed me backward, battling
like a demon, until I could see the cruel gleam of his eyes as I gave
slowly down. It was God who saved me, for as I fell I struck the sharp
shelving of the bank, and the quick stoppage swung the savage to one
side and below me, so that, even as he gave vent to an exulting yell of
triumph, wrenching his hand loose from my weakening clasp to strike the
death-blow, I whirled and forced him downward, his face buried in the
stream.
Those who write history say the rescuing warriors discovered him alive.
I know not; but this I swear,--I held him there until every struggle
ceased, until answering yells from the westward told me others were
already close at hand, and then, breathless and trembling from the
struggle, blinded by blood and faint from wounds, I sprang forward into
the night-shadows, dimly conscious that my sole hope for escape lay
lakeward. I ran but feebly at first, skirting the partially destroyed
stockade of the old Fort, with its litter of debris, and stumbling
constantly in the darkness over the obstructions that lined the river
bank. As my breath returned, and I somewhat cleared my eyes of blood, I
saw better; and at last ran from the darker soil on to the white sand
of the beach.
There were now many stars in the sky, with the moon struggling feebly
to break through the haze; but to my anxious glance nothing was visible
upon the water. Surely the boat must have floated to the river-mouth
by this time,--surely the force of the current would have accomplished
that; nor was it likely that Ol' Burns would draw far away from shore
until assured of my fate. The wild shouting told me that savages from
the camp had already found their dead. A moment more would place them
on my trail, hot for revenge; and there was no course left me but to
take the water, before their keen eyes found me out. I waded out,
seeking thus to get far enough from shore to baffle their search, when
suddenly a quick spark of light winked from the blackness in front of
me. Surely it could be nothing less than a signal, the swift stroke of
flint on steel,--no doubt in the faint hope it would prove a beacon to
me in my need.
Desperate as the chance was, it was still a chance, and to my mind the
only one. I glanced behind; a dim figure or two dotted the white sand,
and my heart lifted a silent prayer to God for guidance. A second later
I was beyond my depth, breasting the unknown waters, swimming steadily
toward the place where that mysterious spark had glimmered. Once again
it flashed, the barest glimpse of light through the intense gloom; and
I pressed on with new vigor, certain now it was a real beacon. But I
was so weakened by wounds and spent from exertion, and such desperate
work is swimming fully clad, that my progress proved slow; and twice I
was compelled to pause, paddling slowly on my back, in the buffeting of
the waves, in order to gain strength to renew the struggle. I almost
lost heart in the black loneliness, as the swirling water swept me back
and confused me with its ever-tossing motion. Once I went down from
sheer weakness, choking in a cloud of spray that swept my face; and
doubtless I should have let the struggle end in despair even then, had
not the spark leaped up once more through the deep haze; and this time
so close was it that my ears caught the clashing of the flint and steel.
With the new hope of life thus given me, I pushed grimly forward, using
the silent Indian stroke that never tires, my eyes at the surface level
where the light of the moon glimmered feebly. At last I saw it,--the
black lumpy shadow of the boat. I must have splashed a little in my
weakness and excitement, for I plainly perceived the figure of a man
hastily leap to his feet, with an oar-blade uplifted threateningly
above his head.
"Don't strike, Burns!" I managed to cry aloud. "It's Wayland."
The next moment, with scarce so much as a breath remaining in my
battered body, I laid hand upon the boat's side, and clung there
panting and well-nigh spent. I felt his hands pressed under my arms,
and then, with the exercise of his great strength, he drew me steadily
up, inch by inch, until I topped the rail, and fell forward into the
bottom of the boat. An instant I rested thus, with tightly closed eyes,
my head reeling, my breath coming in sobs of pain, every muscle of my
strained body throbbing in misery. Scarcely conscious of what was being
done about me, I could still realize that arms touched my neck, that
my head was gently lifted to a softer resting-place, and that a hand,
strangely tender, brushed back from my forehead the wet tangled hair.
The touch was thrilling; and I unclosed my wearied eyes, looking up
into the sympathetic face of Mademoiselle. The faint moonlight rested
upon it gently, touching her crown of hair with silver; and within the
dark depths of her eyes I read clearly the message I had waited for so
long.
"Toinette!" I murmured, half conscious.
She bowed her head above me, and I felt a sudden plash of tears that
could not be restrained.
"Do not try to speak now, John!" she whispered softly, her finger at my
lips. "I can only thank the good God who has brought you back to me."
I made no effort to say more; I could only lie in silence and gaze up
at her, pressing the hands resting so frankly within my own. Indeed, we
needed no words in that hour; our hearts had spoken, and thenceforward
we were one.
Suddenly the heavy boat lurched beneath us, to some quick impetus that
sent a shudder through every inch of it; and I heard a heavy splash
alongside, which instantly brought me upright, anxiously grasping the
rail.
"May Heaven help him!" cried Burns excitedly, and pointing out at the
black waters. "The Frenchman has gone overboard!"
"Overboard?" I echoed, striving to regain my feet. "Did he fall?"
"Fall? No; it was a dive off the back seat here. Save me! but he went
into it like a gull."
We sought for him long and vainly, peering over those dark swirling
waters, calling his name aloud, and striking flint on steel in hope to
guide him by the spark. Nothing appeared along the rolling surface, no
answering cry came from the black void; De Croix had disappeared into
the depths, as desperate men go down to death. Suddenly, as I leaned
over, sick at heart, peering into the dimness, Toinette drew near and
touched me softly.
"Let us not mourn," she said, in strange quietness. "No doubt 'tis
better so."
"How?" I questioned, shocked at her seemingly heartless words. "Surely
you cannot rejoice at such a loss?"
"'Tis not a loss," she answered firmly, and the soft moon-rays were
white upon her face. "He has only gone back to her we left behind; it
was the beckoning hand of love that called him through the waters. Now
it is only ours to pray that he may find her."