194CHAPTER XV.THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE.
Between the settlement in which the missionary lived and the one next north-east was a wide prairie, succeeded by a stretch of primitive forests, through which, down its abysmal, rocky bed, ran a foaming river. The limestone bluffs that formed its banks abounded in holes and caves–fitting homes for wild beasts. Here the cry of the panther might be heard, and bears and wolves sought their food.
Through these gloomy solitudes Tom was making his way in the buggy, which the missionary had provided; for Tom had been intrusted with the errand of going to the village beyond for a trunk which had arrived from the east for Mr. Payson. He was jogging along, listening to the strange sounds of the forest; for it was near here, the last winter, that a sight met his gaze that he could never forget. There had been a succession of thosestillsnow-storms which so often come in the night in Minnesota, and go off at day-dawn, leaving a perfectly even coating of195snow over everything. The sleighing was quite passable, and the weather, that day, mild. Coming suddenly to an open space, within a few feet of him, were two large gray wolves, eating a horse not yet dead. The poor beast was still attached to his team, and hopelessly struggled against his twofold fate; for he had fallen into a ‘sink-hole’ that the treacherous snow had concealed, and his driver, unable to extricate him, had abandoned him to his fate, or gone for help. Brandishing his whip, Tom shouted at the wolves in hope of frightening them off. They only raised their heads to glare threateningly at him, their jaws dripping blood, then voraciously resumed their gory repast, tearing great quivering masses of flesh from the struggling beast, which they seemed to swallow without chewing, with such a ravenous appetite did they eat.
Tom was a brave lad. But as he descended the side of the hill towards the river, and the dense shadows made his way dim, although it was high noon and a brilliant sun was flooding the prairies, he could not shake off a feeling of dread that had grown upon him. Every now and then he caught himself starting with nervous apprehension, and, to break the spell, he began to whistle a merry tune, to keep up his courage, as boys are wont to do. But he was thinking how dismally it sounded, when, suddenly, in the196distance rang out the clear notes of a robin. Tom involuntarily reined in his horse at that; for the call of that bird his Indian friend Long Hair used to imitate for a signal, and had taught Tom how to do it.
“For the sake of Long Hair,” said Tom, more cheerily, “I’ll answer you, old bird.”
But scarcely had he done so, when, to his surprise, the bird responded.
“Well,” said Tom, “you think I’m your mate, I guess; and if you choose to give me your company, I shall not object, it is so lonely here!”
So he answered the robin again.
Instantly the bushes parted, and Long Hair stepped into view. His eyes were bloodshot, his blanket torn, and his whole appearance indicated that something unusual had happened.
“Why, Long Hair!” exclaimed Tom, greatly startled; “what is the matter?”
The Indian glanced warily about, then laid his ear to the ground, listening intently, and arose quickly, saying,–
“Indian come. Much fight. Kill white man; kill white squaw; kill pappoose.”
“What of my father and mother?” inquired Tom, excitedly. “Have they been murdered?”
“Long Hair save ’um little; father shoot one, two, tree, ten Injun. Long Hair been up to Fort.197Sojer no bleeve Long Hair; say he spy. Long Hair come for Tom to get sojer. Injun see Long Hair; be here pretty soon–one, two, tree, ten, twenty,fifty! Kill Long Hair, kill Tom, take scalp. Tom go with Long Hair. He save him. Horse know way home.”
Tom saw, from Long Hair’s manner, that it was no time for delay, and, leaping from the wagon, with marvellous quickness the Indian turned the horse’s head about, facing home, and, striking him smartly, the spirited animal rapidly retraced his way.
At their right rose a rocky ridge to a considerable height, springing up which Long Hair motioned Tom to follow. The other side was quite precipitous; but a narrow fissure in the rock afforded a scanty footing, down which the Indian glided, Tom following him, although dizzy with the height. Passing along for a short distance, they came to a scrub oak, the roots of which had struck into the side of the ledge. Climbing around it, a small opening appeared. Motioning Tom to enter, Long Hair said,–
“If both stay, Injun kill both. Long Hair run swift like deer;” and he darted up the ridge again with cat-like agility.
When Tom’s eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he found himself in a spacious, rocky room. It was one of those natural caves which198seem as if the work of art, rather than a freak of nature. The room was almost a perfect square, and extending around its sides was a seat of solid rock, while in a square hole, which looked as if it had been excavated for the purpose, was a spring, the water of which was icy cold, and of crystal clearness.
Tom seated himself to await the result of the strange events that had so suddenly befallen him. Not a sound was to be heard in the forest; and had he not known enough of the Indian acuteness in detecting the approach of a concealed or distant foe, he would have doubted Long Hair’s representations of the impending peril. Indeed, as the moments sped,–and they seemed long to him,–he had begun to consider the propriety of venturing out to look about a little, when a slight rustle in the ravine below arrested his attention. At any other time he would not have noticed the sound, it was so like the passing of the breeze. The scrawny roots of the tree at the entrance of the cave, and the darkness within, protected him from observation; and, drawing nearer the mouth of the cavern, he watched the bushes below with strained eye. He had not long to wait when he saw an Indian creeping cautiously along; then, a little farther off, another came into view, and still another. They were Long Hair’s pursuers; and from199their belts hung a number of scalps, which, from their bloody appearance, showed that they had recently been taken; and the luxuriant tresses of some of them indicated that they were from the heads of white women. At the sight Tom’s blood almost froze in his veins. But his heart gave a sudden bound as he heard the sound of soft footfalls. From this he judged that the Indians had got upon Long Hair’s trail, and some of them had gone round in front of the ridge, while the others followed closely in his track. Tom felt that his hour had come, and a mortal terror seized him. Then, thinking of his imperilled father and mother, to whose succor Long Hair had bidden him go, he was astonished at the fierce reaction which followed. He had no weapons; so, planting himself behind the tree, he lay in wait, ready to spring upon the first intruder, and hurl him into the depths below.
The dark figure of an Indian creeping stealthily along, like a horrid serpent, he saw cautiously approaching the tree: a moment more, and the death grapple would come, when an exclamation above made the Indian turn his head. Long Hair’s trail, returning from the cave, had been struck by another Indian. At the same instant, Long Hair’s defiant war-whoop, challenging his pursuers to come on, was heard in the distance. The answering yell of the savages200from the ravine below and the ridge above rang out as they dashed after. The Indian, unaware of the presence of Tom, stepped to the tree to turn himself on the face of the cliff, so that he stood with his brawny back close to Tom. His waist also was hung with gory scalps. The sight maddened Tom to frenzy. The savage let go the tree, and started to join the chase, when Tom thrust his hands at once through the fissure, and sent him headlong from the precipice. The body struck with a dull, heavy thud, and all was still.
Tom could hear the sound of the pursuit as it died away, and knew that there was now no immediate danger to him; and, stooping down, he took a long draught from the spring, and bathed his fevered brow. Then, climbing out of his hiding-place, he passed quickly upon the ridge, and descended into the ravine below, where lay the mutilated form of the red man.
“Who knows but he is the murderer of some of our family?” he said, as he drew near. “No; none of our folks have such hair as that,” he added, after examining the scalps, one by one. Then, taking possession of the rifle, powder-horn, and bullet-pouch, and thrusting the Indian’s scalping-knife into his belt, and throwing some limbs over the body, that it might not so soon be discovered by his friends, Tom hurried201away in the direction of the fort, as Long Hair had suggested. He lingered a moment, however, wishing that he could do something to serve Long Hair, who, he well knew, had uttered that challenging war-cry that saved his life on purpose to call the Indians away from the cave.
But what was he? A mere boy against so many infuriated savages. Besides, they were now far away, he knew not where. Moreover, Long Hair had charged him to go for the soldiers to rescue his father and mother, and, without further hesitation, he turned his steps towards the fort. Tom was in good health, a quick walker, and, like his father, accustomed to thread the woods and traverse the prairies.
Tom was agitated with strong and conflicting emotions as he pursued his lonely way. His boy-nature had been terribly roused by the exciting scenes through which he had just passed. He had experienced the strange feeling which men feel, when, in battle, they are stirred by danger and the sight of blood to deeds of blood. It was under this feeling that he was led to precipitate the Indian from the bluff, and to view his remains with so much composure. But now a faintness came stealing over him. His young heart recoiled at the thought of what he had done. This relenting, however, was repelled by202the recollection of Long Hair’s heroism, and his father and mother’s beleaguered condition, if, indeed, the tomahawk ere this had not drank their life. How many days had passed since Long Hair had seen them he knew not; but it was easy to see from his friend’s anxiety that his parents were in an extremity of danger, and whether he could succeed in procuring assistance for them in season seemed doubtful. It would take him, to go afoot, two days to reach the fort; and he could not hope to get to his father’s settlement with the soldiers in less than a day more, even if they were mounted. It was now about two o’clock, and he had eaten nothing since early in the morning; but he thought not of food as he hurried on. With the accuracy of the practised pioneer he struck a bee-line for the fort. This took him some miles away from any village; but towards night he reached a cabin standing alone. Entering, he found the family just taking their evening meal. With true western hospitality, the man of the house urged him to sit down and partake with them, while his wife poured out a generous bowl of strong, black coffee, which, as was the custom, was used without sugar or milk; and she heaped his plate with fried pork, and hot, mealy potatoes, while by the side of his plate she laid a generous slice of brown bread.203
Tom partook with a relish that did honor to the fare.
“Where are you from, and where are you bound, my lad?” asked the man, who had refrained from questions until he saw that his guest was well under way eating.
Tom’s mouth and heart were full, and between them both he found it difficult to reply. He was painfully hungry from his long fast and the thrilling experiences of the day, and his brain was greatly excited.
“I am going,” said he, answering the last question first, perhaps because it was nearest at hand, “to the fort after help.”
“After help!” cried the wife, stopping short in the act of transferring a potato from the end of her fork to Tom’s plate, holding it aloft unconsciously. “Ain’t any trouble down your way with the Injuns–is there?”
“No, not exactly,” said Tom.
And the good woman, relieved, remembered the potato, and deposited it as she had designed, then was proceeding to place another slice of pork beside it, just as Tom added,–
“But I saw lots of them this morning not more than twelve miles from here, and they looked fierce enough in their war-paint, and with the bloody scalps dangling from their bodies.”
“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed the good204lady; and, again forgetting herself, she paused with the pork, letting the fat drip upon the snowy cloth. “I told you, husband, they’d be down upon us yet, and we more’n three miles from any neighbor.”
And as Tom commenced his recital of the occurrences of the morning, she sat down in her chair with the slice of meat still in its elevated position, and the gravy dripping into her lap, while the husband ceased eating, and listened with open-mouthed interest.
Tom eyed the pork longingly as he continued his narration, and, seeing no prospect of getting it, abruptly said,–
“I hadn’t tasted a bit of food till I came here since five o’clock this morning, and I’ve got to Walk all night.”
“Law me!” ejaculated his good-hearted hostess; “if I haven’t forgot to help ye, I was so scared ’bout the Injuns;” and she passed it, adding, “Husband, you jist go down cellar, and bring up a pumpkin pie, and some o’ that gingerbread. The boy mustn’t leave this huss till he’s had his fill;” and the tears came into her large blue eyes. “And are you going with the sojers over among the Injuns where your father and mother is?”
“Yes,” answered Tom.
“Why, it seems to me that a stripling like you205had best stay behind, and keep out o’ danger. One o’ them Injuns wouldn’t make nothin’ o’ taking your scalp.”
Tom’s spirit rose at this, and he told them how he killed the Indian in the morning.
“Well, I never!” said the good lady, in blank astonishment. “Why, I don’t s’pose my husband here would be any more dependence if them wild critters should come beseeching our dwelling than a three-year-old.”
At which the husband thrust his hand up into his wiry hair, till he made it stand upon end all over his head, while he grew very red in the face, and said, fiercely,–
“Let the varmints come on if they wants to. Guess I could stand it if you could.”
Tom saw that there was danger of a falling out between his fat, overgrown hostess and her diminutive husband, and adroitly said,–
“We don’t any one of us know what we could do until the time comes. I was surprised myself at what I had done.”
“Well,” said the woman, restored to good humor, “there’s a great deal o’ good sense in that remark. I know it from experience. For when I had the toothache so that I couldn’t sleep nights for a week, and husband wanted to take me over to Groveville, to the doctor’s, I felt as weak as dish-water; but when I got there, I206had out two jaw teeth and a stump without wincin’, as you may say, and the doctor said he’d like me for a subject to pull on all the time. But I told him it would take two to make a bargain on that, I reckoned;” and she laughed heartily at the remembrance of her own wit.
But Tom had finished his meal, and rose to go, when his hostess said,–
“You won’t think o’travelling in the night–will yer?”
“Every moment is precious,” replied Tom.
“Well, husband,” said she, “if the boy feels, under the circumstances, that he must go, it isn’t in me to detain him. But it seems to me we orter do as we’d be did by, and help him onto his way a piece. Now, you jist go and harness the hoss into the waggin while I put up something to stay his stomach like till he gets to the fort. You could drive him there just as well as not, husband.”
“Pretty long drive,” observed the man, looking out of the little window dubiously.
“Well, but,” she persisted, “you see the child’s got to go all the way afoot, and it’ll take so long that his folks’ll be killed, murdered, tomahawked, and scalped, afore he can git there.” Then, waxing warm, “an’ if you an’ I was in that perdicament, we’d want them as was going to help207us not to aggervate our feelin’s by coming to our rescue when it was too late.”
“Yes, yes,” returned the little man, unable to reply to his wife’s wordy reasoning.
“Now, if you’re not afeard–”
“Afeard!” said he, bristling his hair, and reddening again. “Who’s afeard? I was only thinking, if the Injuns should come whilst I’m gone, what would become of you, Barbery Jane.”
“Well,” said she, looking aghast, and sinking into her chair anew, “I declare, if I hadn’t forgot that!”
But she was a person who “made it a point” to carry her point in all domestic arrangements and controversies with her lord; and partly on this principle, and partly, we hope, from a worthier motive, she rallied, and added,–
“But I’ll risk it, if you will, James. An’ I’m more in danger ’n you are, bein’ I’m so fleshy. You can hide most anywhere in the woods, and they couldn’t find ye any more ’n a needle in a haymow; an’ I never could stand it to think on’t that we’d been sich cowards–”
“Cowards!” interrupted her husband, goaded by this; for on the matter of size and courage he was specially sore–a wound which his spouse took care to keep open. “Cowards!” and, bristling about, and striking his feet together, he208bustled out, and, with commendable energy, soon had the horse in the buggy before the door. Tom sprang in, as the kind-hearted woman passed him a bountiful supply of provisions, saying, as she wiped her eyes with her apron,–
“I hope next time you come this way you’ll be alive an’ well; but I’m dreadful afeard the Injuns’ll git ye.” The latter remark seemed to have more effect upon her husband than Tom, for the flush disappeared from his cheeks again.
The ponderous wife watched the wagon until it was out of sight, then, with much pains, fastened the little window and the outer door, and, going to her trunk, took from thence a copy of the Bible, and sat down and read a chapter–a duty which she always performed on extra occasions, and especially in times of danger. It mattered not to her what chapter she read; and she now opened to the genealogical records in First Chronicles. She was a poor reader at best; but she struggled on with those names of foreign accent, feeling much safer with the exercise, while her thoughts were far away, following Tom and her husband. In truth, she had done a good deed, and one that had cost her a real sacrifice, in sending away her husband with the horse to accompany the lad; and the consciousness of this began to fill her with happiness, calmed as she was by the feeling of security which the209use of the good Book imparted. Hers was a simple-hearted faith; but who shall say that she was not accepted and blessed according to the measure of her light?
Who would not choose to be such a one, with her defective knowledge and her weak superstition,–as some would call it,–than the proud sceptic, ever croaking, like some hideous night-bird, as he turns his bleared eyes away from the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, “No God, no Bible, no Saviour, no Heaven of blessedness, no Immortality,” wandering through life without hope and God in the world, and, at death, taking a frightful “leap in the dark”!
210CHAPTER XVI.A BELEAGUERED CABIN.
It was a misty morning when Tom and his companion approached the fort. The air was damp with vapor, and the American flag, with its glorious stars and stripes, drooped heavily. The fortress was on the very outskirts of civilization, on an elevated point of land, commanding an extensive prospect on every side. Richly diversified prairies, rarely pressed by the white man’s foot, gave one an impressive sense of vastness and magnificence. As the sun arose, and the curtain of fog rolled off, Tom gazed on the landscape, spell-bound; for, accustomed as he was to prairie scenery, he had never seen any view that equalled this.
“Not an Injun could come nigh this ere fort,” said the little man that held the reins; “everybody has to be seen, no matter how fur off they be, specially when the officers gits their telescopes to their eyes. Why, I suppose they can see hundreds o’ miles with one of them big glasses; any211rate, I heard tell about their seeing clean up to the stars, an’ a good piece beyend.”
They had now approached a gate, before which paced an armed sentry, in answer to whose challenge, the little man, who grew consequential as he neared the citadel, said,–
“This ere youngster, Mr. Sojer, wants to see the commander of this ere institution on very perticler business, which admits of no delay.”
The man with the gun sent a message into the fort without a word in reply, until the messenger returned, when he said, laconically,–
“Pass in.”
Tom had never before seen a fortress, and surveyed with eager interest the rows of heavy guns, and the cannon-balls in conical shaped piles, and the long, four-storied brick buildings extending around the spacious square, from the centre of which rose the flagstaff. Grimly as frowned the guns and warlike munitions, the neatness and order that reigned had a pleasing effect on Tom’s mind. And within those many-roomed buildings, standing amid the solitudes of the wilderness, in the families of the officers gayety and mirth often held carnival. Already a gush of music, elicited by fair fingers from a richly-toned piano, was borne through an open window into the court below. Then a clear, sweet voice accompanied the instrument.212
“Pooty as a bird, and a plaguy sight nicer,” exclaimed the little man as he frisked about, hitching his horse to an iron-ringed post.
Tom and his friend were shown into the dining-room of the commander of the fort. The officer was an early riser, and breakfasted betimes. The mahogany extension table was set with an elegant service. General McElroy was a tall, slender man, with iron-gray hair and weather-beaten face. His wife, a richly-dressed, stately lady, sat at the head of the table, and a boy of seven, in Highland costume, was at her side, while black Nancy flitted in and out with viands in her hands.
“Well, my lad,” said the general, sedately, “what do you want of me?” motioning his callers to be seated.
Tom commenced to state the occasion of his calling, and the general’s stolid features lighted up with growing interest; and he said,–
“Wait a moment, my boy; I guess you’ve a message important enough, and it will save time for you to relate it to two of us at once;” and pulling a bell-rope, a soldier appeared, to whom he said,–
“Tell Captain Manly that I wish to see him.”
In a moment the last-named personage came in. He was about forty, of frank, open face, and soldierly bearing. Tom liked him at the first glance.213
“Captain,” said the general, “I want you to hear this boy’s story. Commence again, my lad, and state the whole as briefly and connectedly as you can.”
When Tom finished his recital, “You are a brave little fellow,” said the general, “and in my opinion, if you were in the ranks, you would be sure to be well spoken of;” then turning to the captain, he added, “This is grave business, Manly, and something should be done for the settlers whom this boy represents. I heard that an Indian called at the fort, and tried to make us understand that there was an uprising; and I suppose it was this Long Hair that the lad tells about, but I did not attach much importance to what he said. And now, Manly, I want you to take a detachment of men,–for I think I can depend on you to do it up right. See that they are well mounted and provisioned, and that their arms are in good order,–but you understand all about that,–and go to the relief of the settlement that these villains have beset.”
Then turning to Tom, he asked,–
“What is your name, young man?”
“Thomas Jones,” he replied.
“Well, Thomas, I conclude you will want to go with the men.”
“Yes, sir.”214
“And do you know, the shortest route to the settlement in question?”
Tom answered affirmatively.
“Include a horse for the boy’s use, captain, and see that he is well provided for. He may be of use in piloting the way. At any rate he is a noble-spirited fellow, and deserves consideration at our hands. How many men will you need, captain?”
“I’d as lief have forty as more, if I can have my pick.”
“Make such arrangements as will please you; and I hope to have a good report when you come back. The rascally red-skins should be taught a severe lesson for this outrage, or they may commit more.”
Tom and his friend rose to withdraw with the under-officer, when the general said,–
“But you have not told me how far you came this morning.”
“We rode all night,” returned Tom; “I took supper at this man’s cabin, and he brought me here in his wagon to save time.”
“Bless me!” ejaculated the general, as he left the table; “that has the true ring in it. Nancy, see that these folks have a sip of coffee, and something to eat, and when you’ve broke your fast, my lad, come out into the square. I guess the captain will be ready by that time.”215
Tom felt some diffidence about accepting the invitation of the general; but Mrs. McElroy was a true lady, and her winning smile, as she filled his cup with the fragrant beverage from the silver urn, put him at ease. She had many a woman’s question to ask about his adventures of yesterday morning, and seemed never to tire admiring his heroic conduct. He was just explaining for the third time how he pushed the savage from the cliff, when his voice was drowned by that of a girl, who came tripping and singing through the long hall that led into the dining-room. Hers were the same bird-like notes that came through the open window. It was the general’s only daughter, Alice, who, as she burst into the apartment, stopped in surprise as she saw strangers there.
“Just in time, Alice,” said the mother, pleasantly, “to hear this story.”
The girl was scarcely in her teens, and her fair face, expressive of good sense, gentleness, and intellectuality, was set off by a wealth of auburn curls that fell in careless profusion over her shoulders.
Tom had never known anything of sentiment, or thought much of personal looks, but he had a quick eye for grace and beauty, and, charmed at the unexpected ingress of the little fairy, he forgot alike his food, his manners, and his story, and216gazed in stupid silence at the lovely apparition. The mother comprehended the state of things, and, with a look of gratified maternal pride, said to Tom,–
“But you mustn’t forget your plate; you have had a long ride, you know, and have another before you.”
This recalled Tom to his senses, and in his straightforward, manly way he finished the account of the affair.
“The captain’s most ready,” said black Nancy, glancing out of the window, as Tom finished his repast.
“Farewell, my boy,” said Mrs. McElroy. “I wish you success, and hope no harm will come to you;” and Tom went out and mounted the horse that had been provided for him, and shaking hands with the kind settler who brought him there, he saw Mrs. McElroy and Alice waving their handkerchiefs, as he and the men rode in military order out of the square.
The horses were in good order, and the men in fine spirits, glad, after their idle life within the fort, to be sent on active duty. The day was almost cloudless, the air pure and bracing, and they coursed the smooth prairies at a rapid rate. Yet to Tom’s anxious heart the moments seemed long; and when they stopped at noon for refreshment, and to bait the horses, Tom could scarcely217brook the delay. He was really on his way with a brave band for the rescue. The thought of this was joyful to him, yet he was afraid that they might arrive too late; and as the soldiers lay upon the grass eating their rations, Captain Manly, reading his feelings, said to him,–
“Be patient, my dear boy; be patient. The old saying, ‘Prayer and provender hinder no man’s journey,’ is as true in war as in peace.”
He was a Christian soldier, and he added,–
“We must pray, Tom, that God will prosper us. By this bit of rest the men and horses will be all the better for service when we catch up with the savages; and if God shall so order it, we will save such of the poor settlers as have escaped from massacre.”
About the middle of the afternoon they drew near one of the settlements that lay in their path. Scouts were sent ahead to see if any Indians were lurking in the vicinity. They reported that none were to be seen, but that the village had been totally destroyed. Putting spurs to their horses, the eager soldiers were soon on the ground.
The air was still heavy with the smell of the burning, and as they passed along they saw that every cabin had been consumed. It was a scene of utter desolation. The horses’ feet splashed in pools of clotted blood, while ever and anon they came to the mutilated remains of some victim of218the massacre. In one place lay the form of a brawny pioneer, his broken rifle still clutched by the muzzle, while the ground around him was torn up by the mighty struggle he had made with his assailants. Here young children had been murdered by being dashed against a tree. To an oak near by a woman had been nailed while yet alive. All the corpses were horribly mangled and disfigured, indignities the most fiendish being heaped upon them. Their ears and noses were cut off, sticks were thrust into their eyes, and their mouths were filled with filth.
These awful sights wrought up the soldiers to frenzy. Tom’s passions rose also; but he was startled by the deadly paleness that sat upon the countenances of the others, so expressive of intensified hate and desire for revenge. But the scouts again appeared, and reported a large force of Indians encamped before a log house a few miles farther on; and Captain Manly decided to strike for a piece of woods to the right of the savages. When the woods were reached, it was discovered that all the dwellings on either side of the besieged cabin, comprising three promising young villages, had been swept away. Cautiously the little company pushed on to the scene of action. Before the lone cabin were assembled hundreds of Indians, engaged in some savage ceremony.219
“They have taken a captive,” whispered Captain Manly, “and have brought him near the cabin to tantalize the inmates, hoping to induce them to make a sortie for the rescue of the prisoner.”
“It is Long Hair!” replied Tom, wild with excitement.
“Be quiet, be quiet, my boy,” replied the captain; “we’ll be intheirlong hair before they get his, if they don’t look sharp.”
Then dividing his force into four companies of ten men each, and directing them to crawl carefully through the long grass to the points he designated near the foe, he instructed each man to be sure of his aim, and fire when the captain’s division fired. The Indians had been so successful in their attacks on the settlements thus far, and so unmolested in their barbarities, that they were now completely off their guard, which enabled the whites to get close to them unobserved.
Tom’s eyes were fastened upon Long Hair. The faithful Indian’s handsome face betrayed no fear, but it was evident that he had given up all hopes of deliverance. With eagle eye he watched the ceremonies, and, as he saw them approach their fatal termination, began to chant his death-song. Captain Manly understood Indian customs, and telling certain of his men to make sure of the savages nearest Long Hair, he gave the220signal, and the bullets of the ten unerring marksmen mowing them down, firing from the other detachments following with deadly effect.
The panic of the Indians was indescribable; for the firing from so extended a line gave the impression of a much larger force than had really attacked them. Their confusion was increased also at seeing some soldiers issue from the woods, mounted; for the captain had given orders, in case there was a panic, for a portion of the command quietly and quickly to take to their horses and pursue the fugitives. Thinking themselves attacked by superior numbers of both cavalry and infantry, the Indians were at the mercy of the soldiers, who shot and sabred them with small opposition.
As soon as Captain Manly saw the effect of the first volley, he said to Tom,–
“I shall leave Long Hair in your charge.”
For with delicate magnanimity he would have Tom be the deliverer of the noble Indian who had perilled his life for Tom.
The lad needed no second hint, but sprang away, and severed the thongs that bound his Indian friend to the death-stake.
“Ugh! Tom good friend; big soldier-boy,” ejaculated the grateful Indian.
“Are father and mother safe?” asked Tom.
“In cabin there,” replied Long Hair.221
Tom hurried forward towards the dwelling, but Long Hair seized him, saying,–
“Maybe they think you Injun; shoot you!” for his keen eye had caught sight of the muzzle of a gun pointing at them from out an aperture in the building. “White chief come soon,” he immediately added. “They no fire at you; see, gun gone.”
Scarcely had he uttered these words, when the outer door opened, and Tom saw his mother standing there, for she had discerned him in the deepening twilight, and recognized him as her son. Tom, with a bound, hastened to her, and as she folded him in her arms, and tenderly kissed him, he inquired,–
“But where is father?”
“Speak softly,” she replied, as she led the way to a bed in a corner of the inner building, on which lay Mr. Jones. “He is wounded,” said she, mournfully, “and is sleeping now. We cannot yet tell how it will turn with him, but hope for the best.”
“But where are the other men?” asked Tom, weeping, for only a few women and children were in sight.
“They deserted us night before last. Our provisions had run low, and the savages had retired to make us think they had left, and the men, half crazed with sleepless nights and scanty food,222were deluded by the idea that they might get safely away, and perhaps bring us aid. But, poor things, they were not themselves, and they had gone only a few rods, when they were set upon by the savages, and brutally slaughtered before our eyes. We used our guns on the Indians as well as we could, but found it difficult to prevent them from scaling the building.”
“Didyoufire upon them?” asked Tom, wonderingly.
“Yes, my son,” said she, gently; “and last night, knowing how feeble our force must be, they were emboldened to attempt to burn the house. The roof caught in several places, and your father went up and put out the fire at the risk of his life. It was then that he was shot. He had been our main defence from the first, for the Indians were more afraid of his rifle than a dozen of others.”
“But how did you get along after father was disabled?”
“We women loaded, watched, and fired by turns. I do not see how we could have held out an hour longer. Help came just in time.”
“But where are all the children,” inquired Tom, forebodingly.
Mrs. Jones gave a low moan, as if her heart would break, but, with wonderful self-command, suppressed all other manifestations of emotion,223and said, lovingly, laying her hand on his shoulder,–
“My son, we are a broken family; we shall never all meet again on earth. Charlie disappeared at the first attack. I did not see him killed; and you know what a quick, active boy he is, and he may have escaped, although the chances were fearfully against him. Sarah was overtaken by an Indian, and tomahawked while flying home from the store.”
“And Bub?” sobbed Tom.
“That was one of the crudest of the cruelties connected with the outbreak. There was an Indian who made great professions of friendship, visiting our cabin almost daily. You saw him, Tom, when you visited us. We treated him very kindly, and made him many presents. He seemed to have a particular liking to Bub, and Bub was fond of him, and would always run to meet him when he saw him coming. The day of the fatal attack, he made his appearance as usual, and Bub, with an exclamation of joy, hastened to be the first to greet him, when, as the child drew laughingly near, the treacherous savage raised his rifle, and shot him through the head. This was the signal for the assault. Sarah was standing at the time in the store door opposite, and, seeing the murder, started for the house, her face terribly pale with fright. So terrified224was she that it seemed as if she flew rather than ran; but the same savage swiftly pursued her, and, being nearer the house than she, struck her down with his tomahawk. But Robert has been left to us, and a brave, good boy has he been.”
Tom was so absorbed that he had not noticed the quiet entrance of Captain Manly and others of the command, who, seated or standing around the room, listened intently to his mother’s account of the massacre. As she concluded, the captain said,–
“I had taken the precaution, madam, to bring the surgeon along with me; and if you desire it, he will examine your husband’s wounds, and see what is best to be done for him.”
At which the doctor stepped forward and proceeded to probe and dress the wound.
“It is an ugly hurt,” remarked the surgeon, “but by good care and nursing he may rally.”
“Just what are impossible,” answered the captain, “in this place. Would it do to remove him, doctor?”
“If a good litter was prepared,” was the reply, “there would be less risk in doing so than in leaving him in this wretched hole.”
“Particularly,” added the captain, “as the red-skins would be sure to come back to finish their fiendish work. And I would propose, madam, that, after my men have taken a little rest, we225remove you and your family at once to the fort, where you shall receive the best of attention, and everything be done for your husband that skill and medicine and needful comforts can do for his recovery.”
Mrs. Jones glanced at the ghastly wound of her husband.
“I understand your feelings,” said the captain, kindly; “but you have shown that you are a brave woman, ever ready to do what is for the best. Now, the Indians to-night were some three or four hundred strong; and, panic-stricken as they were, some of them must have discovered that I have but a handful of men. They will return in larger force, thirsting for revenge. It is therefore indispensable that we take Mr. Jones with us. It is all we can do under the circumstances.”
Mrs. Jones saw the propriety of this, and gratefully assented to the captain’s plan, and at the hour appointed–all the preparations having been efficiently made–the wounded man was carefully placed upon the nicely-constructed litter, the women and children taken upon the soldiers’ horses, and the little cavalcade moved noiselessly out on the star-lighted prairie.
226CHAPTER XVII.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 to227General 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 be228too 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.”229
“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 without230a 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 apartments231were 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,–232
“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 isoneminister 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 a233furious 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,–234
“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 knowhim. 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 had235some 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 heavenly236beauty, 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.