THE MYSTERIOUS FIRE.
Few words were spoken, as the handful of brave men, with the rescued
women and children, and the suffering squatter moved on. Experienced
scouts were thrown out on either hand, to give notice of danger, for
at any moment the wily foe might spring upon them.
"Where can Long Hair be?" whispered Tom to his mother.
"I cannot imagine," she answered; "he left the cabin as I was telling
you about the loss of the children through the treachery of Yellow
Bank. His eyes glared while I was speaking, and there was a look on
his face that I could not interpret. Do you suppose he is trusty?"
"Trusty!" echoed Tom; "why, mother, he perilled his life for us."
"Yes, I know it, child; he is unlike any Indian I ever saw. But why
did he leave so mysteriously?"
"I don't know," replied Tom. "Captain Manly tried to find him; he
wished to present him to General McElroy. He said he did not doubt
that government would reward Long Hair for his services."
"Well," sighed his mother, shuddering as she spoke, "how different
these Indians are from us! They come and go so noiselessly, and talk
so little! But what is that?" she exclaimed, glancing back.
"What?" inquired Tom.
"Why, that light,"--pointing in the direction from which they came.
And Tom saw against the dark woods, for a background, thick flying
sparks from the cabin chimney made themselves visible for miles across
the prairie.
A scout now rode up, to call the attention of the captain to the same
appearance.
"I cannot comprehend it!" ejaculated that officer, putting his glass
to his eyes. "It is clear that the cabin is not on fire. It seems to
be occupied." And, riding up to Mrs. Jones, he said, "Madam, can you
tell me if there was any fuel in the fireplace when we left?"
"There was not," was the decided reply.
"But there is a large fire burning on the hearth now; how do you
account for that? It's a trick of the savages," he muttered, as he put
spurs to his steed; "and yet," he added, "it is not like the Indians
to go into a house and make a fire. If they had discovered our
retreat, they would be too cunning thus to let us know that they had
found it out; we should see them prowling around as stealthily as so
many panthers. Somebody's alive and stirring there; who can it be?"
The singular incident served to heighten the anxiety of all, and
stimulate the soldiers to make as good progress as they could without
too greatly distressing the wounded man. Several times, in the dim
light, the groaning and pallor of her husband led Mrs. Jones to fear
he was dying, and, with Tom and Robert, she watched every change in
his appearance, tenderly ministering to him. Fresh relays of men took
the places of those who bore him, taking their turn at the litter with
alacrity, for Tom's dutiful and heroic conduct, and the mother's
loving gentleness and patient endurance, and the squatter's stubborn
defence of the lone cabin against such odds, had won the hearts of the
soldiers, and they had resolved to see the family safe within the
walls of the fortress, or, if attacked on the prairie, to defend them
to the death.
"How did it happen," asked Captain Manly, in a low voice, of the
mother, "that your cabin was enclosed with those walls of heavy logs.
Were you expecting an attack?"
"Long Hair gave us warning," she replied; "and husband persuaded the
settlers to cut down trees and build the walls."
"And your husband directed the defence?"
"Yes," said she, "and he made a sortie, and rescued a number of
neighbors, who would otherwise have been murdered,--the very persons
who afterwards deserted in the night, leaving, in their haste, the
outer door wide open. We should all have been sacrificed before
morning, had we not been startled at seeing Long Hair standing in the
cabin. How he got in undiscovered through so many enemies, and
notified us of our danger in so timely a manner, we could not
conjecture. Husband secured the door again, and Long Hair vanished as
he came, saying, 'Long Hair go quick, get sojer, come right back
bimeby, quick!' that was, I suppose, when he came to the fort, as Tom
told us about, and not succeeding in his errand, hurried to find Tom,
to intercede with you for us."
"You have had a hard time of it," said the captain, "and your husband
stood a siege before which a well-manned fort might have fallen. I
only hope that the brave fellow'll get well, and enjoy the fruits of
his noble conduct. If I had a few hundred men like him, I could sweep
the red-skins from the soil."
But the jarring, and the motion, and the pain were proving too much
for the wounded pioneer, and delirium setting in, he began to rave,
speaking, however, slowly and distinctly, and without a tinge of the
squatter dialect, but in the purer English of his early days.
"There!" he exclaimed, pointing his finger, "you've come again. I knew
you would not let me rest."
"He's thinking of the Indians," remarked the captain, sorrowfully;
"the confounded red-skins!"
"I told you he stole it all. Will you harass me into my grave? A set
of vampires, sucking the life-blood of an honest man!"
"Now he wanders," said the captain; and, sending for the surgeon, the
latter opened his medicine case, and, lighting a match to read the
labels on his vials, administered an opiate, and the sufferer sank
into a troubled stupor.
"Ah!" whispered the mother to Tom, "it is not the savages that disturb
his mind so; it's the old agony of a wounded spirit."
About noon, the next day, they came in sight of the fort. How welcome
the frowning walls to the weary women and children! How sublime seemed
the national flag, floating proudly on the breeze, symbol of a united
sovereignty of states, powerful to protect its citizens on the ocean
and the land, in the teeming city, and in the wilds of the
wilderness!
General McElroy received the settlers in the kindest manner, causing
them to feel at once that they were among friends. Airy, quiet
apartments were assigned to the wounded man and his household, and
the ladies of the garrison vied with each other in their attentions to
him and his stricken family. Often would Mrs. McElroy come in and sit
by Mr. Jones, that his wife might get some rest. With her and her
husband Tom had become a great favorite, and they entertained a high
respect for the mother.
The squatter's life in the open air, roaming the prairies, tended to
build up for him a healthy physical organization, favorable to the
healing of the wound; and as this progressed, the doctor marvelled
that he did not get stronger. He was strangely liable to delirious
attacks, and opiates gradually lost their influence over him.
One day the surgeon entered as his patient, wildly raving, was
exclaiming, with great vehemence,--
"I tell you, again, that I have nothing to pay with, and you will give
me no chance to earn. O, what a load to carry! Debt! debt! debt! Shall
I never find rest?" Then, in a moment more, his thoughts relapsing to
another subject, he murmured, "What did the preacher say?
'Come--unto--me--and I will--give you rest;' yes, that is what I want.
O, if only I could come!"
The surgeon watched him through the delirium, and said,--
"Madam, it is not the bullet of the savage that's killing your
husband, but some more deadly sore. He needs medicine for the mind,
rather than the body; and when he is himself, you had better call in
the chaplain to converse with him."
An hour later, when Mr. Jones had an easy interval, she gently
said,--
"Husband, you are very sick. Don't you think it might do you good to
have a little talk with the minister?"
"Minister!" he feebly answered; "what minister?"
"The minister that belongs to the fort."
"I don't know him," replied the sick man, suspiciously. "But there is
_one_ minister that I do know," he added, after a moment's pause.
"Who?" she inquired.
"Why, _him_!" he answered, impatiently, as if he thought she ought to
understand.
"You mean the missionary," she returned.
"Yes; if I could talk with him, I would like to."
The wife mentioned his remarks to the surgeon, and General McElroy
sent for the missionary.
It was evening, of a lowering, rainy day, when the messenger returned
with Mr. Payson. It had been drizzling and dripping all day, but
towards night the clouds grew black and wild, and a furious wind
dashed the big rain-drops violently against the window. The air was
raw, and seemed to pierce to the bones. The old fort buildings were
delightful in fair weather, but now were damp and chilly. Mrs. Jones
feared for the effect of the storm on her husband, whose frame, since
his wound, had been extremely sensitive to atmospheric changes; and
dreading that, if he was disturbed, he would relapse into delirium,
she concluded not to invite the missionary in to see him until
morning. She had disposed everything as comfortably as possible about
the bed, and had a nourishing broth and his medicines handy, when Mrs.
McElroy entered, and said,--
"You look worn out. Go and take a nap now, and if you are needed I
will call you. You know the missionary is here, and will wish to be
with him in the morning; and it is desirable that you should feel as
well as you can, to encourage your husband."
Mrs. Jones, thus charged, retired to an adjoining room, thinking to
rest herself for a short time, and then return. She felt that a great
event was impending, and thought it impossible for her to close her
eyes; but so utterly exhausted was she, that she immediately fell into
a sound sleep, from which she was awakened at midnight by Mrs.
McElroy, who said,--
"A great change has come over your husband. I think he is going to get
well. He wants to see you and the boys."
Hurrying to her husband's side, she found him sitting up in bed as
composedly as if no trouble had ever disturbed the serenity of his
mind, looking much as he did in their bridal hour. He had called for a
bowl of water and a towel, and was calmly washing himself. Bestowing
on her a loving look as she entered, he asked,--
"Mary, dear, has the missionary come?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Can I see him now?"
Mrs. McElroy took out her watch, and said, pleasantly,--
"Are you particular about seeing him now? I suppose you are not aware
how late it is."
"Yes," he answered, "it is twelve o'clock;" and his eye shone with a
strange intelligence. "I should have sent for him a year ago, had not
my heart been so proud and bitter. But I know _him_. He'll come now,
if it is late."
There was something unearthly in his manner, and Mrs. McElroy said,
rising,--
"It shall be as you request."
As Mr. Payson entered, the sick man extended his hand, saying,--
"I'm almost through, my friend. I've had some sore trials in
life,--not so much on my own account as because of those who were too
dear to me. We were cruelly wronged, and I have not been quite right
here,"--placing his hand upon his forehead,--"and what has made it
worse, I have been all wrong here,"--laying his hand upon his heart.
"I have doubted everybody, and distrusted my God. I have been hard and
scornful, and hated my fellows; but it is different with me now. I
have heard that voice speaking to me, that you told us of in the
little cabin. He has said unto me, even me, 'Come,' and he has given
me 'rest.' I have had a long, long struggle, but the conflict is over.
Ah, He is so different from human creditors! I have been a poor
debtor, chased, hunted, oppressed, goaded almost to insanity, and none
took pity on me, because I owed them a few paltry dollars, which I had
the heart to pay, but, through the robberies of another, and their
oppressions, could not. But what a debt I owed my Savior! Yet, without
a word of reproach, he has forgiven me all!"
This was spoken with a wondrous energy and clearness of voice; but a
deathly paleness began to overspread his face; partial delirium
supervened, not raging, as before, but his features lighted up the
while with a smile of heavenly beauty, and repeating again, his voice
sinking to a whisper,--
"What did the preacher say? 'Come unto me, and I will give you rest.'
Rest! Rest! It is mine." His spirit was gone.