The minister had not deceived himself when, at their departure from the block-house, he thought he read in Lambert's and Catherine's manner that they both perceived what he and Aunt Ursul contemplated, in spite of all their precautions. Indeed, while Lambert was guiding the labor of fortifying, and was himself taking an active hand in the work, his mind was constantly oppressed with heavy cares about Conrad. His heart, full of love, and needing love, could not bear the thought that his brother should be so unhappy while he was so happy--that for the first time he could not give the best part of the sunshine of life to him for whom hitherto no sacrifice had been too heavy. No, not him could he give--but he would give--not for all the world--not for his soul's salvation. Here there was no doubt--therecould beno doubt--for this would have been the basest treachery toward himself, and toward the dear girl who had trustfully given him her pure maiden heart. And yet--and yet--
Catherine's heart was scarcely less sad. She held Lambert so unspeakably dear, and her first experience must be that she was bringing to her beloved great suffering as her first gift. She saw, indeed, no mark of sorrow in the countenance of the precious man. She had learned too well to read those smooth and honorable lines. There was no dark cloud on that open brow, no gloomy falling of those mild, blue eyes, no sad contortion about the mouth, which otherwise so readily and often opened in friendly smiles, but which was now closed so fast.
Thus they, without needing to speak about winning back Conrad, had thought and brooded; and when Aunt Ursul, yesterday, brought in the minister, and scarcely left the good man time to sit down and eat his dinner, but soon drove him up again and with him left the block-house, and a few minutes after returned and called Pluto out, as though she no longer placed any reliance on Melac, her watch-dog at home, Lambert and Catherine gave each other an expressive look, and as soon as they were alone fell into each other's arms and said:
"Perhaps, perhaps everything will come out right yet."
However sad the minds of the lovers, they kept their sadness to themselves; and the rest were little inclined to trouble themselves about an anxiety which was so carefully concealed from them; though Richard Herkimer, Lambert remembered, had said it was a pity that Conrad should just at this time show his folly. The others had spoken in a similar manner, but with that on their part the matter was laid aside. With or without Conrad, they were determined to do their duty; and this certainty raised the spirits of the brave young men to unwonted courage. One added circumstance gave a peculiar impulse to this courageous feeling and enabled them to look upon the very important position in which they found themselves in an entirely poetic light. The excellent young men were all quite enchanted with Catherine's beauty and loveliness, and gave to this enchantment the most harmless and delightful expression. If Catherine at the table said a friendly word, there shone five pairs of white rows of teeth. If she expressed a wish, or only indicated one with her eyes, ten hands were stretched out--ten legs began to move. Wherever she went or stood, she had two or three attentive listeners at her side who watched with the greatest eagerness and sought to anticipate her wishes. It was a conviction firmly fixed in the mind of each that for Catherine's sake they were willing not only to be killed, but to die in the most barbaric manner the cruel nature of the Indian had discovered. So, on one occasion, when Lambert was not present, in an overflow of heroism, on Richard Herkimer's special suggestion, they all five had agreed and had shaken hands on it and promised that, whichever of them should outlive the rest, before he died himself he would kill Catherine, so that she should not fall into the enemy's hands.
This agreement of tragic sacrifice did not in any way hinder the five heroes from trying their wit on each other, and, together with their sympathy for the beautiful maiden, to tease and joke each other in every way. Poor Adam had to suffer the most from this habit. They tried to convince the good young man that Lambert had laid away a bullet which was not intended for the French, and that they were not surprised that Lambert should think no one dangerous to him besides Adam. Fritz Volz and Richard Herkimer--that he well knew himself--had already made their selection. Jacob Ehrlich and Anton Bierman were secretly weeping for their treasures that they had left on the Mohawk. Adam had already for years been going about like a roaring lion seeking whom he might devour; that he was a wandering terror and a constant care for all bridegrooms and unmarried young men; that the others had been commanded to come, but that Adam came of his own accord; and that he should tell them to what end and for what purpose, as he stood guard last evening, he had sung so sweetly: "How beautiful shines on us the morning star," that Catherine had cried and said: "Now listen to Adam, who sings sweeter than a nightingale."
Adam did not fail to reply to his tormentors. They should only concern themselves about their own affairs; that he knew what he was about. Then again, in a weeping tone, he would beg and beseech the friends to tell him truly whether Lambert had indeed formed such a shameful purpose, and whether Catherine had really found and declared his singing so fine, and that in this life she only wanted one thing and that was a blonde lock from the head of the singer to take with her into the grave. The friends swore high and low that each of them had heard it out of Catherine's own mouth, and that each of them had promised to fulfill her special wish, and that Adam should now freely give up his scalp-lock before the Indians took it by force and the skin with it. Adam resisted, and called for help until the surrounding space resounded with shouts and laughter.
It was in the afternoon when Lambert, driven from the house by unrest, walked slowly along the bank of the creek up toward the woods. He stopped a moment and shook his head as the noise from the house struck his ear, and then again went on. They could joke and laugh, those good comrades, in this hour of sorrow and need, which oppressed his soul with leaden weight. And yet they well knew that this hour might be their last. They also had parents at home and sisters, and one and another had a girl whom he loved, and the life of these people also hung on the cast of a die. But then, they were all much younger than he, and took life so much lighter--as light as one must take it at last and be done with it so as not to sink under the burden. Was he not already too old to load more on himself--he, to whom the old burden was already so heavy to carry? How often had the rest jeered him on this account; called him Hans the dreamer; using as a by-word when anything more serious occurred: "For this let God and Lambert Sternberg provide." Yes, indeed, he had learned to know care early enough, when his mother died leaving him alone with his peevish, passionate father; and he had to play the mediator between him and the wild Conrad, and their relatives and the rest. And then, after his father's death, all the labor for the common good fell upon him, if there was any failure on the part of the neighbors. So he had always labored and cared, and had well understood this spring that he must undertake the difficult and responsible mission to New York. He had undertaken it, as he did everything which was too burdensome for others, without thinking of pay, without expecting the thanks of those who had given him their commission. Now heaven had so arranged that he should find her from whom one look, one word was pay and thanks for all that he had done--for all that he had suffered. The pay was too great, the thanks were too much. He had perceived this from the beginning. Who could honorably begrudge him his unexpected happiness, obtained after fearful misgivings? Not the neighbors, who would hardly forgive him for preferring a stranger to their daughters. Not Aunt Ursul, who, though her honest and righteous disposition strove against it, yet would rather see Conrad in his place. And Conrad himself--his only, his beloved brother--yes, that was the deepest grief; that was the drop bitter as gall, poured into the sweet draught of love, and which he must always taste. It ought not to be so. If this should not be so what purpose, what meaning had the rest? Why care for a future that could no more bring him true joy? Why cling to a life that had become so burdensome to him? Why undertake the heavy conflict that was imminent? Why hope to come out of this battle as victor? There the grass was growing in his fields. Must it be trampled? There his cattle were, wandering in the wilderness. Must they fall as booty into the hands of the enemy? There stood his barn. Must it go up in flames? There was his strongly built house. Must he and she be buried beneath its fragments?
Thus, in deep, oppressive anxiety, Lambert stood at the edge of the forest, looking over the valley that contained his home, glittering in the bright sunlight. There was no noise in the wide circuit except the buzz of insects over the soft bending grass and flowers of the prairie, and an occasional bird-note from the branches of the dark-green pines which, motionless, drank in the heat of the sun. Was then everything which had passed through his brain a heavy, fearful dream, out of which he could wake when he pleased? Was the signal pile there, which with its smoke and fire should warn the rest down the creek, erected for a joke? Did Aunt Ursul, who, full of care, had the evening before sent Fritz Volz at a late hour to tell them that she had certain knowledge that the enemy was quite near, and that they should keep the sharpest watch--did Aunt Ursul only imagine that it was so?
There! What sound was that which that instant struck his sharp ear out of the woods? There was a cracking and crushing in the dry branches, as when a deer runs with full speed through the bushes. No, It is not a deer. He now clearly heard another sound which could only be produced by the foot of a man running for his life. Nearer and nearer, down the creek, down the steep, stony, bushy path, in mad leaps, as when a stone is pushed down over a slope, came the runner.
A sudden, joyful fear rushed through Lambert's soul. In all the world but one foot could step like that--his brother's foot. In breathless, intense emotion he stands there, his wildly beating heart almost leaping from his breast. He wishes to call, but the sound sticks in his throat. He tries to run to meet him, but his knees tremble under him. At the next moment Conrad, breaking through the bushes, is at his side, and his faithful dog with mighty leaps comes with him.
"Conrad!" cried Lambert, "Conrad!"
He rushed to his brother and encircled him in his arms. All that had just now troubled him so dreadfully is forgotten. Now come what will, it is worth while to live, and also, if it must be, to die.
"Are they coming, Conrad?"
"In one hour they will be here!"
The certainty that now the decisive moment had come, and the joy that the same moment had brought back his brother, again gave Lambert a touch of the peculiarities on account of which young and old valued and praised him--calmness, circumspection, confidence. Without hesitating a moment as to what was next to be done, and calling to his brother to notify those in the house, he hastened across the plank over the creek to the hill yonder, where the signal pile had been erected, which from there could be clearly seen from Ditmar's house away from the creek. A minute later there rose from the lofty, ingeniously constructed wood-pile a dark column of smoke, pushing its way up like the stem of a mighty palm, and spreading out above in the still air like an immense crown. Then, a quarter of a mile down the creek, there came up a dark cloud of smoke. Uncle Ditmar has kept good watch. The signal has been answered and carried farther. In a quarter of an hour they will also know on the Mohawk, six miles farther, that here on the creek the enemy has broken in. Then back over the creek--a strong push--the fastening is broken off. The plank floats away.
"Are you here yet, Conrad? How the rest will rejoice! Come!"
Lambert hastened ahead. Conrad followed with slow, lingering steps. Was it fatigue after the dreadful running? Had the blood with which his leathern jacket was dotted spurted from his veins?
So asked Lambert, but received no answer. And now they had reached the temporary bridge, where the friends who stood on the wall received them with loud cheers. Lambert hastened up and shook the hand of each brave youth with heartfelt joy. Conrad still lingered at the foot of the bridge. His face was pale, and as if emaciated with bodily pain, or an inward conflict. He had sworn with a terrible oath that he would not again cross the door-sill of his father's house, or his blood should pay the forfeit. The strong, wild heart shrunk together in his breast. His blood--why should this trouble him? He had not spared it. He had, a quarter of an hour ago in a battle which he alone could take up--which he alone could bring to a happy issue--put it at hazard. But his word! his word! that he had never yet broken--which he now shall break--mustbreak, as his clearer soul tells him--as his noble heart bids him, in spite of all.
As he still lingered, Catherine was suddenly standing among his cheering companions. On her account had he renounced his father's house. As if blinded by lightning he turned away his gaze. But she is already at his side, has seized his hand with a soft pressure that he cannot withstand, leads him with gentle force, that he must follow, up the bridge, over the wall, down into the inner yard, where his comrades, jubilant, press around him, and at the same time, with a sudden impulse, seize him, raise him up on high, and with jubilation and noise carry the fugitive--the returned one--into the house, as though they would with bantering cunning drive from their prey the demons lurking about the door-sill.
So it also seemed to him. Conrad is back, the best rifle in the colony. They had resolved without Conrad to do their duty. But the quick looks, the short words which they interchanged, the faces illuminated with joy, these said plainly, "It is far better so." If only Aunt Ursul and Christian Ditmar were here the dance might begin at once. "They could be here already," thought Catherine. "Hurrah! there they come!" cried Richard Herkimer, who had gone up on the gallery to see better; "and there are three. The third is the minister. Hurrah! and again, hurrah! and once more,hurrah!"
Who now has time or inclination to ask the breathless ones how the minister came to be here? Enough that they are here at the right time, and that at last the bridge can be thrown off and that the door can be barricaded with the strong beams lying ready. There they now are, locked in their wooden fortress in the midst of the wilderness, miles away from friends, depending solely on themselves, on their firm courage, on their strong arms, on their keen eyes--two women, nine men, nine rifles. Though the minister is not to be counted, as he would not know how to use a rifle even if he wished to fight, yet Aunt Ursul has a rifle, and knows how to use it, and will fight; that can be depended on.
Now the parts are assigned and everything and every man is in place. In one division of the lower, thoroughly protected room is Hans, whom Lambert will not sacrifice. In another are the sheep, which were taken in out of compassion, and now bleated piteously in the darkness. On the gallery of the upper story, behind the breastwork, lay Lambert, Richard, Fritz Volz, Jacob Ehrlich and Anton Bierman, with the barrels of their rifles in the port-holes. On the floor above, at the trap-doors of the high, shingled roof, stood Conrad, Aunt Ursul and Christian Ditmar, whose far-carrying rifle was, in his time, the dread of the enemy. With them is the minister, who, though he is not a good shot, well understands how quickly and properly, to load a rifle. This service Adam Bellinger performs for those on the gallery. Catherine is to bring food and drink, when necessary, to those who are to fight. Lambert and the rest have adjured her not in any way to expose herself to danger. She, however, secretly purposed, in case of need, to take Adam's rifle, which now lay idle, and follow Aunt Ursul's example.
Silence reigned in the house. Whoever should see it standing there, still, gloomy, locked, would suppose it forsaken by its former occupants--a piece of abandoned property in the all-embracing wilderness. Silent in its entire circuit lay that wilderness under the ban of the hot afternoon sun. Silent was the green prairie on which scarcely a single flower bent, or grass-stem waved. Silent the woods whose treetops reached up unmoved toward the blue sky, from which several white clouds looked down motionless. Deepest silence! Forest stillness!
There!--a loud, long drawn-out, many-voiced whoop, whose dreadful echo is reflected back from surrounding objects. From the forest break forth at once fifty half-naked Indians in their colored war-paint, swinging their rifles and tomahawks, and, leaping forward with wild jumps, hastening over the prairie, one part coming directly toward the block-house, the other going around so as in a short time to rush up from all sides. The house stood as silent as before. There was no reply to the demand which the on-rushing enemy kept repeating with yells and cries and whoops. The first are already within a hundred paces--then comes the answer, a short, sharp sound from four German rifles fired at the same moment, so that but one report was heard. Four Indians fall not to rise again. The others run on more rapidly, and had already reached the surrounding wall, when again is heard the crack of four rifles and again four Indians fall--one, having been shot through the heart, leapt up high, like a deer.
This they had not expected. A third salvo might follow the second, and there yet lay between them and the house a ditch and wall. Who could tell whether this third salvo might not be more dreadful than the first two? No one wants it tried. In a moment all turn and run, in like haste, back to the woods, which they had not reached until again four shots are sent after them. Two more sink dead at the feet of the French, who had kept concealed in the woods, observing the bloody spectacle before them, full of horror and compelled to confess that the first attack, which they had cunningly left to their Indian allies, had altogether failed.
Yes, the first attack had been repelled. Those in the block-house shook hands with each other, and then again grasped their freshly loaded guns. One of the Indians raised up on his hands and knees, and again fell back, and then again raised up. Richard Herkimer said: "That is my man. The poor devil shall not be in pain much longer." He raised his rifle to his cheek, but Lambert laid his hand on his shoulder saying: "We shall need every shot, Richard, and he has enough." The Indian, in a death-cramp grasped the grass, twitched a few times, and then lay rigid like the rest of his comrades.
"What will happen now? Will they seek us again in the same way, or choose some other mode of attack? and what then?" The young men debated the matter, and Aunt Ursul, who had come down from the upper floor, joined in the discussion. Their views were divided. Lambert thought that they had soon enough found out how strong the fastness was, and how much they must sacrifice in this most dangerous pitfall until the rest should actually reach the house. It also appeared how large the number was, since thus far it was clear that they had had to do with only a part, and that their principal force was still in the woods.
"Lambert is right," said Aunt Ursul. "They are one hundred and fifty strong--fifty French and a hundred Onondagas."
"Ninety-two," said Anton Bierman, "for eight lie there."
Jacob Ehrlich usually laughed when Anton said something witty. This time he did not laugh. He was silently reckoning how many Indians, leaving out the French, would fall to his share if there really were so many. Jacob Ehrlich could not make out the exact number, but he reached the result that under all the circumstances it would be hard work.
The others looked inquiringly at Aunt Ursul. That the report came from Conrad was certain, but how had he learned the fact? Aunt Ursul now related her yesterday's expedition with the minister. But thus it could not be concealed that, without her interference, Conrad would not now have been here. But about this she did not wish to speak, at least today. She also said that Conrad had found and watched the camp of our enemies; that he had counted them head by head, and that they had divided into two parts; that of these the larger, a hundred French, as many Onondagas and at least two hundred Oneidas, had started for the Mohawk, and would doubtless already have arrived, but that the Oneidas had no heart for the affair, and that it was at least possible that at the decisive moment they would fall away and go over to their old treaty friends.
"If it is so, we can also reckon on help from my father," said Richard Herkimer.
"We will reckon on nobody but ourselves," said Lambert.
"What are the fellows up to now?" said Anton Bierman.
Out of the woods in which the enemy for the last half-hour was entirely concealed there came three men--one Frenchman and two Indians. They had laid aside their arms. Instead of them they carried long rods to the ends of which white cloths were tied. They swung the rods back and forth and made the cloths flutter. So they came up slowly as though they were not quite sure, and wished to assure themselves whether those on the other side were disposed to regard a flag of truce. Anton Bierman and Jacob Ehrlich felt no inclination to do this. They thought that the scoundrels, the year before, had never shown mercy, and that for their part they would send them to the devil with their white rags and, though there were but three, they were worth three charges of powder. Lambert had enough to do to hush the excited men, and to make it clear to them that they, as Germans, should not be the first to do that.
Meanwhile those who had come to ask a parley had approached to within a short distance of the house. Lambert appeared on the gallery, after he had told the others not to let themselves be seen, and called out: "Halt!"
The three stood still.
"What do you want?"
"Is there one among you who speaks French?" asked the Frenchman in German.
"We speak only German," answered Lambert. "What do you want?"
The Frenchman, a tall, dark-complexioned man, placed himself in a quite theatrical posture while he set his flag of truce on the ground with his left hand and raised the right hand toward heaven, and called out:
"I, Roger de St. Croix, Lieutenant in the service of his most Christian Majesty, Louis XV., and commander of his majesty's troops here present, and of the allied Indians of the tribe of the Onondagas, herewith bring to your knowledge and inform you that, if you at once and on the spot lay down your arms and give yourselves up to our mercy or severity, we will grant life to you, your wives and children, nor will we injure you in your possessions, but will leave everything--house, barn and cattle--undestroyed. But should you be mad enough to make further resistance against the formidable power of six hundred well-armed and disciplined soldiers of his majesty, and as many more brave and dreadful Indians, then I swear--I, Roger de St. Croix--that not one of you shall get away with his life--neither you, nor your wives, nor your children--and that we will level with the dust your houses and barns, so that nobody could again find the place where they stood."
The man, who spoke German glibly enough, though with a French accent, had spoken louder and louder until at last he shrieked. He now let his gesticulating right arm fall to his side and stood there in an indifferent attitude, like a man conducting a spiritless conversation which he can stop or continue just as the other may prefer.
"Shall I answer for you?" asked Anton as he struck his rifle.
"Still!" said Lambert, and then raised his voice: "Go back to your people and tell them that we here, united German men, one as all and all as one, are resolved to hold the house, come what will; and that we are quite confident that we can hold it, even if you were twelve hundred instead of one hundred and fifty, counting in the ten already lying there."
The Frenchman made a quick motion of surprise, and turned to his attendants who had been standing there without altering their posture, or stirring. He appeared to say something to them which arrested their attention. Then he again took his former theatrical posture and called out:
"From what you last said, though it is false, I infer that there is with you a certain Conrad Sternberg. I promise you that not a hair shall be bent and a hundred Louis d'or besides, if you will deliver to us this Conrad Sternberg."
"The man of whom you speak," replied Lambert, "is with us, and you have already twice heard the crack of his rifle, and if you so please you can hear it again."
"But this Conrad is a traitor, who has cheated us in the most shameful manner," cried the Frenchman. "I am no traitor," called Conrad, who now stood beside his brother. "I told you I would escape as soon as possible. Since you this time thought your six could hold me you will the next time set a dozen to guard me."
"The next time I will begin by having laid at my feet, first your scalp and then your head," cried the Frenchman in loudest tones.
"Enough!" called Lambert. "I give you ten minutes to get back into the woods. He of you who then yet lets himself be seen outside does it at his peril!"
The Frenchman doubled up his fist, and then bethought himself as to what, under all circumstances, a Frenchman owes himself against German blockheads, and taking off his large, three-cornered hat, made a low bow, turned on his heel, and walked at first slowly, then faster and faster toward the woods, until he fell into a regular trot, evidently to spare the Germans the shame of shooting, after the ten minutes had elapsed, at the messenger of his Most Christian Majesty.
"Lord of my life!" cried Anton. "Now I first know him. That is the same fellow, Jacob, who three years ago came to us begging, and who afterward hung about the neighborhood half a year. He called himself Mr. Emil, and said that he had shot a comrade in a duel and had on that account to flee. But others claimed that he was an escaped galley-slave. Afterward he wanted to marry Sally, Joseph Kleeman's black girl, but she said she was too good for a fellow like that, and Hans Kessel, Sally's treasure, once pounded him as limber as a rag, after which he disappeared. Lord of my life! He gives himself out here as a lieutenant, and speaks of his Most Christian Majesty, and is willing to leave us our dear lives--the mean plate-licker, the gallows-bird!"
So honest Anton scolded and abused, and asserted that if he did not get this Mr. Emil, or Saint Croix, or whatever the fellow's name was, in front of his rifle, to him the whole sport would be spoiled.
The rest would gladly have known what Conrad had before had to do with the French, but their curiosity remained unsatisfied, for Conrad had immediately again gone up, and soon the attention of the besieged was directed to another side. From the barn-yard arose a column of smoke, which every moment became thicker and blacker, until the flames burst forth from the mass. The enemy had made his threat true. It seemed to be a useless barbarity, for the barn was too far from the block-house for the flames to leap across, though the wind, which now began to rise, was blowing toward the house, driving along smoke and sparks. But this whole war was only a continuous chain of such barbarities. This morning Lambert had mentally seen what he now actually saw. He had wrought all this with his own hands, which now the more firmly grasped the barrel of his gun. Then there cracked a shot above and another, and Aunt Ursul called down the stairs: "Be watchful! Eyes left! In the reeds!"
The meaning of these words and of the shots fired from above soon became clear. The attention of the besieged had not been uselessly directed to the land side. In the thick sedge and reeds, of man's height, with which the shores of the creek were overgrown, one could come from the woods within a hundred paces of the house. It was a difficult undertaking, for the ground was a bottomless bog as far as the reeds grew, and where they ended the creek was deep and rapid. But they had ventured to do it, and it soon appeared with what result. From among the reeds here and there shots were soon being fired with increasing rapidity. There must indeed have been a considerable number who had came by that dangerous way, and had concealed themselves along the shore in spite of all that those in the house could do to free themselves from neighbors so unwelcome and dangerous.
Wherever an eagle-feathered head or a naked arm showed itself, or the barrel of a gun glistened, yes, if the sedge only moved, a bullet struck. But though a few dead bodies floated down the creek, others lay dead or wounded among the rushes and others still had sunk in the morass, the remaining number was so great and the daring enemy was so embittered by his heavy losses, it seemed that the worst must and would come. Besides, the evening wind kept increasing, causing the tops of the rushes to wave hither and thither, so that it was difficult and often impossible to follow the movements of the unseen enemy, and many a precious charge was wasted. This evidently made the attacking party more bold. The fire-line was constantly receding from the shore. The more frequent bullets rained against the breastwork and roof. It might be expected at any moment that a rush would be made from the reeds and that, having rapidly run across the short distance that still separated them from the house, they would attempt to storm it.
But it soon became manifest that on the opposite side of the house they were by no means willing to set the decision of the day on a single card. Suddenly, at the edge of the woods, there began to be a stirring and a moving as if the forest itself had become alive. Broad shields of man's height cunningly contrived out of pine branches were pushed out or carried, one could not tell which, in a connected line over the smooth level meadow toward the house. The progress was slow, but onward, until they had approached within rifle shot, and then the marksmen behind the shields opened a lively fire. The shields were indeed no sure protection for the attacking party, but they made the aim of the beleaguered more difficult, and moreover compelled them to be more watchful, and to direct their rifles toward two sides at once.
But the oncoming foe had not yet exhausted his ingenuity. From the barn-yard, where everything was entirely burned down, they at the same time came rolling before them Lambert's large casks, and, as soon as they were near enough, they set them up and so made a wall that could every moment be shoved farther, and offered a much more sure protection than the pine-branch shields. Anton Bierman had laughed loudly when he saw the casks coming toward the house, but after he had fired at them a few times, clearly without effect, he laughed no more, but said softly to his friend Jacob: "Things begin to look serious!"
It was indeed serious. So far no one had received apparent injury, except that one and another was badly cut by splinters torn from the breastwork by bullets, and bled profusely. But the battle had now lasted for three hours. It was a warm piece of work, under the June sun, and the cheeks of the fighters glowed, and the barrels of their guns were hot. Furthermore, many an eye, when it could turn away a moment from the unaccustomed bloody work toward the sun, had observed with care how rapidly it had been sinking during this hour which would not end--how low it already stood. So long as its light lasted a handful of men might keep up the doubtful strife against a crafty, cunning enemy far outnumbering them, and leave it undecided. But how soon the sun would set, and when it did, and darkness came on, it would cover the valley for hours with an impenetrable veil, since now the moon did not rise till after midnight; and under the protection of the night and of the fog the enemy could slip up and storm the place. True the beams of the lower story were thick enough, and the only door was barred, but a dozen axes could in a short time break in the door and, however thick the beams, they could not withstand fire. Then the beleaguered would have no choice but to give their living bodies to the flames, or with their arms in their hands try to open a way from the closely surrounded, burning house. And even then their destruction was sure. Whoever was not killed at once would, on account of the number of the pursuers, be overtaken and brought down.
Such was the situation. It could not be doubtful either to the besieged, or besiegers, who had long been convinced that the house was defended by no more than ten rifles. But however much this certainty may have raised their desire to fight and their thirst for vengeance, the courage of those in the blockhouse remained unbroken. Nobody thought of flight, which was indeed impracticable; nor of surrender, which equally meant a painful death. All were resolved to defend themselves to the last breath, and sooner to kill themselves, or each other, than to fall alive into the hands of the cruel enemy.
Lambert and Catherine had already before said this to each other, and during the battle they had more than once signaled the death covenant to each other with silent, intelligent glances. But the courageous girl was--not only to her lover--like a banner which waves before the bold soldier in battle and on which his eyes rest with an enthusiasm that overcomes death. Whoever looked at the pale, still, determined, restlessly helpful maiden, drank from a spring of courage and strength, so that his fearful heart beat higher and his tired limbs were again strengthened. To the commands constantly repeated from the first: "Stay away, Catherine! Don't stand there, Catherine!" she paid no attention. Where she knew she was needed, there she was; above with the men under the hot roof; below with those on the gallery, giving one a drink; taking a discharged rifle from the hands of another; giving to another a gun that she herself had loaded. She had also learned quickly, as she learned everything on seeing it, that Adam Bellinger, though he reasonably exerted himself and the sweat ran in streams from his forehead, was not equal to his task, and that the marksmen often called in vain for their guns.
So she was again occupied in the inner room when Aunt Ursul, Conrad, old Christian and the minister came down from above, while also those in the gallery stopped shooting and it became still outside.
"What is going on?" asked Catherine.
"They are about to visit us with a second storming party," said Lambert, coming in from the gallery. "It is well that you have come down. Every man of us must now be on the gallery. We shall soon enough have them under us."
Others also came in to hear what would happen. They were assembled in full count.
"I think," said Lambert, "we had better not shoot until they are on the wall, for now they will not turn back again, and then we have eight of them sure. Afterward five of us will give attention to the others, while the rest put a stop to the work of the scoundrels below us. Are the rifles all loaded?"
"Here!" and, "Here!" said Catherine and Adam, handing out the last two rifles.
It so happened that the two were Lambert's and Conrad's rifles. As they both at the same time came up it was not by mere chance that both took their guns with the left hand, for at the next moment their right hands clasped, and thus they stood before Catherine, who, blushing deeply, took a step back, fearing that her nearness should anew break the bond of the brothers. But the minister laid his hand on the hands of the brothers as they held each other with a firm grasp, and said: "As these two who had for a moment lost each other, and in the hour of danger have again found each other, to be and to remain, in life and in death and in eternity united, so let us all, dear brothers and sisters, thank and praise God that we here stand together so united, and that, in this solemn hour, which according to all human calculation is our last, we are fulfilling the chief commandment, and are loving one another. Since life can offer us nothing greater than this, though we should live a thousand years, let us without murmuring take our departure from this dear life. We do not give it up lightly. We have defended it as well as we could. But we are only flesh and blood, and this our fortress is wood. God, however, who made us in his own likeness and breathed his breath into us--God is a spirit and a strong tower."
As the minister uttered the word, then, as though the Spirit to whom they were praying had inspired it, the sentiment it awakened passed through the little assembly and Luther's battle-hymn sounded forth as if from one mouth:
A Strong tower is our God--A good defense and armor;He keeps us free in every needWhich us has yet befallen;The old and angry fiend,Earnestly he means,Great might and much craftHis dreadful armor is,On earth there's nothing like him.With our own might nothing's done;We surely are quite helpless;There fights for us the very Man,Whom God himself has chosen.Ask you who is He?He's called Jesus Christ,The Lord Sabaoth,There is no other God;The field he'll not surrender.And were the world of devils full,Would they us wholly swallow,So fear we not so very much;We yet shall surely prosper.
A Strong tower is our God--A good defense and armor;He keeps us free in every needWhich us has yet befallen;The old and angry fiend,Earnestly he means,Great might and much craftHis dreadful armor is,On earth there's nothing like him.
With our own might nothing's done;We surely are quite helpless;There fights for us the very Man,Whom God himself has chosen.Ask you who is He?He's called Jesus Christ,The Lord Sabaoth,There is no other God;The field he'll not surrender.
And were the world of devils full,Would they us wholly swallow,So fear we not so very much;We yet shall surely prosper.
There they were, on every side, as though the creek and the prairie and the woods had spit them out at once. They came on in wild leaps, swinging axes and guns and brush-bundles. French and Indians, hunters and dogs, rushed on to battle. In a moment they flew across the narrow intervening space, down into the ditch, up the wall, in frenzied motion, digging with their nails, one on another's shoulder, up, up.
Up but not over--at least not the first.
As soon as a head emerged from behind the wall, a pair of elbows put firmly on it, a breast exposed, came the deadly bullet, and the venturesome enemy fell back into the ditch. This fate befalls the first, the second, the third and the fourth. The fifth at last succeeds and the sixth; and now half-a-dozen at once, and at another point also a couple. These are enough. The object is gained. Words of command are called out. Those who are still on the other side of the wall retire, forming about the house in a double circle and continually firing. Again, and then for the last time, to rush forward so soon as those who had pressed to the house should have finished their work.
It will to all appearance soon be finished. Sharp axes cut down the door. The ax-swingers understand their work. They have before opened breaches in many a barricaded house. And those on the other side, toward which the wind was blowing, understood their business equally well. They have often before placed a firebrand against a house they could not otherwise take. Those above shot well through the round holes in the bottom of the gallery, and one or two of those below must pay for their bravery with their lives. But the others are covered, and the rain of bullets which pours upon the house divides the force of the besieged who must turn to every side at once. Yet a few strokes and the door lies in fragments and out of the thick smoke which comes up over there the flame will soon burst forth.
The beleaguered know it. An attempt to avert the threatened danger must be made. They must risk a sally. Two of them must do it. Which two?
"I!" called out the brave minister. "Why is it not suitable for me?"
"I!" cried Conrad. "This is my business!"
"Conrad's and mine," said Lambert with determined voice, "and no one else. Away, the rest of you, to your posts. You, Richard and Fritz, guard the door. Here are the two axes; and now, in God's name--"
The beams which bar the door are taken away so as to uncover a strong plank, fitting closely into the opening and against which the blows from without are directed, the door having been shattered. The last beam is drawn away; the plank falls; the breach desired by the besiegers is made, and out of the breach rush Lambert and Conrad side by side, old Christian Ditmar swinging aloft an ax with his nervous arm and crying: "Here! Germany forever!"
It is the first word that has to-day fallen from his lips, and it is his last for to-day and forever. Pierced at once with three bullets, cut and crushed by a dozen knife cuts and ax-blows he falls, but his big-hearted purpose is attained. He broke the first onset of the attacking party. He made a way for the two young men behind him. They rushed into this passage-way. Nothing can withstand Conrad's giant strength. His blows fall like hail. He rages among the crowd like a jaguar among sheep. Yes, it is a jaguar that has come among them--the great jaguar, as they call him at the lake, who had already torn so many of the tribe of Onondagas. They are willing to fight with the devil himself, but cannot bear to look at the flaming eyes of the great jaguar. They rush away toward the wall, over the wall, into the ditch, followed by Conrad. Lambert, who had already pulled apart the burning pile of wood, called after him that he should go no farther but come back, for the others, who had seen the shameful flight of their comrades, now directed their fire at the two. Bullet after bullet strikes the wall near Lambert. It is a wonder that he is yet uninjured; yes, that he is alive. But he does not think of himself. He only thinks of his lion-hearted brother. He rushes toward the raging one, who is fighting near the wall with three Indians, the last within the enclosure. They shall not get over it again. He seizes one, whirls him on high and dashes him against the wall where the unlucky fellow lies with a broken neck. The two others improve the moment and climb over the wall. One of them, before sliding down into the ditch, discharges his gun.
"Come in, for God's sake, Conrad!" called Lambert. He seizes Conrad by the hand and drags him away. They had reached the door when Conrad staggered like a drunken man, Lambert caught him about the body.
"It is nothing, dear brother," said Conrad and straightened himself up. But in the door he fell down. A stream of blood gushed from his mouth and moistened the door-sill which he had sworn never again to cross without the shedding of his blood.
The door is again barred more strongly than before.
The fire that Lambert had pulled apart wastes away powerless at the base of the house. The house is saved; but how long? The little company that guards it is poorer by two fighting men. The rest, exhausted by their frightful labor, are more dead than alive. The ammunition is used up to within a few charges, and the sun pours its last red rays over the lonely battle-field in the midst of the surrounding forest. In a few minutes it will go down. Night--the last night--will come on.
"Your brother is dead," said the minister to Lambert.
"He has gone before us," said Lambert. "Stay near me, Catherine."
The minister and Catherine had been occupied below with Conrad. The minister was skilled in the healing art, but here his skill could accomplish nothing. Conrad had opened his beautiful blue eyes, with a bewildered look, but once. They for a moment became bright and clear, as he saw Catherine's face through the mist of death. Then he lay still with closed eyes. There was deep peace in the yet wild and battle-angered face. He breathed but once again. Then his head sunk to one side as if he were now sleeping quietly. The sun sinks behind the forest, spreading its blood-red evening-light over those on the gallery.
"On what do the fellows wait?" asked Jacob Ehrlich.
"Eternity will be long enough for you, fool," replied Anton Bierman.
"If father means to send us succor he must be quick about it," said Richard Herkimer, with a sad smile.
"Hurrah! hurrah! and again hurrah!" cried Adam Bellinger, who now rushes down the stairway and dances about like a crazy person, and then, crying loudly, falls into the minister's arms.
"Poor boy! poor boy!" said the minister.
Lambert went round to the other side of the gallery, from which one could look down the creek to the edge of the woods where the road makes a turn and then disappears to reappear for a short distance a little further on. On this side and on that there was nothing in the road. The slight hope which had kindled in Lambert's breast was at once extinguished. Sadly he shook his head.
And yet, what sound is that? Lambert clearly hears a dull, strong sound, while, at the same moment, the noise of the enemy is stilled. The sounds become heavier and stronger. Lambert's heart beats as though it would split.
Suddenly there came around the corner of the woods one, two, three riders in full run and a moment later a large company; twenty, thirty horses, under whose hoofs the ground trembles. The riders swing their rifles and "Hurrah! hurrah!" sound forth so that Lambert hears.
He hastens to his comrades. "Have you all loaded? Then up and out! Now it is our turn. Now we will drive them!"
A sharp pursuit--a wild pursuit on the darkening prairie after the French and Indians, who in frenzied flight rush toward the woods while German rifles crack after them.